Northern grimaced as he watched the strange guy floating above.
'A gift? To me? I don't even know your crappy ass.'
Regardless, he had to act—something had to be done about the rift, about that guy, about the lives of the students that were now hanging by a thread.
Just as he made to move, figures blurred past him, landing at scattered points across the arena. Each stood still, eyes locked on the rift with a cold, unwavering focus.
Northern's gaze swept the coliseum. Aside from the academy instructors—easily identified by the black shoulder capes adorned with the academy's sigil—there were four others. Well, technically three. One, he recognized.
The first was a man who radiated danger without needing to raise his voice or unsheath a blade. His robe, half-draped over a lean, scar-marked torso, hinted at old traditions—but the look in his eyes made it clear he no longer lived by them.
Messy black hair fell across his face, accentuating a sly, mocking smirk that never quite reached his gaze.
And those eyes—sharp, surgical—they didn't just watch. They studied. Always reading, always calculating.
Standing next to him was a woman who didn't just command presence—she claimed the air itself. Not just the space around her, but the entire coliseum seemed to bow, ever so slightly, in her direction.
Her hair was cropped like a statement—platinum and wild—exposing the razor-sharp lines of her bone structure and the defiant cut of her gaze. Pale, icy irises sliced through both light and shadow, locked in an unwavering stare that dared anyone to look away first. Freckles dusted her cheeks like sparks on tempered steel—fierce, untamed, and unapologetically hers.
But what truly marked her was the ink blooming across her collarbones and throat—a tapestry of florals, not delicate but predatory, blooming in the shape of war.
Then came the one who stood like he was used to attention, but tired of it. His slouch was intentional, bored, almost regal in its indifference. Tousled golden hair jutted in reckless spikes, and absurdly—perched atop his head—was a round, yellow creature with long bunny ears and innocent, blinking eyes.
The contrast was disorienting. He looked like a man forged in chaos, yet crowned with the emblem of peace.
And finally, Northern's gaze found the one person he recognized.
A girl—slight in stature, with a lean, muscled frame and the lines of a huntress drawn across her face. Her eyes still held that signature defiance, the kind Northern had never liked. And after three months, it hadn't faded—it had only grown stronger. Yet something beneath it flickered, a suppression, a strain behind the fire.
"Student... step back, okay? Representatives of the Five Citadels will take it from here."
Northern frowned.
Until a cold hand touched his shoulder—and a voice, soft as breath, fluttered into his ear—he hadn't even realized there was a fifth one.
She stood like silence distilled into form.
Every breath she took, every blink, felt deliberate. Her all-black attire clung to her like a second skin—stitched not for seduction, but for speed and precision. A belt of layered sashes cinched her waist, a statement of discipline as much as lethality. Her arms were wrapped in reinforced cloth, like a fighter who struck with accuracy, not force.
Her jet-black hair was parted cleanly and swept behind her ears, framing a face not sculpted for beauty, but for intent—sharp jawline, storm-gray eyes, brows that refused to lift unless something genuinely mattered.
She wasn't the kind to waste emotion. Every inch of her was composed. Controlled.
She looked like someone who'd vanish the instant he blinked—and leave him doubting whether she'd been real to begin with.
With a cracking voice and wide, uncertain eyes, Northern spoke—or tried to.
"Who—"
"I am Selis Vorn."
She interrupted, calm and precise.
"You may also refer to me as Silent Tenebris."
Her gaze didn't soften. It was surgical. Indifferent. Controlled.
"I'm from the Caelvyn Citadel—unarguably the strongest in the Central Plains."
She continued, then added without a shift in tone.
"And I'd like you, sometime."
"Hey! You sly witch!"
The platinum-haired woman shouted from her perch.
"Don't you dare go poaching him when we should be focused on the rift here!"
Selis didn't respond with words—only a subtle smirk, as though she'd already won something no one else had noticed. With a movement so clean it was nearly imperceptible, she slipped something into Northern's pocket. Had he not been this close, he wouldn't have caught it. He was sure no one else did.
Then, without pause, she walked away.
Her rear moved with a calm, splendid rhythm—neither exaggerated nor restrained. Just enough to stir something unpresentable in Northern, something he hadn't felt since arriving in Tra-el.
He quickly shook his head. Focus. Eyes forward. Rift first.
Still… was it really okay to step back and let them handle this?
'Would they even be able to?'
A Tier Seven Rift wasn't so difficult. Even though it was devastation waiting to blossom. But only Northern—and a rare few—could say that with certainty.
He narrowed his gaze and looked deeper. Past their faces. Past the theatrics.
Northern looked into the soul of each one of them.
[Profile]
Name: [Vector Irevne]
True Name: [Duality]
Attributes: [Unpredictability]
Soul Rank: [Maverick]
Soul Core Saturation: [Mid]
Talent: [Crown of Paradox]
Talent Class: [S]
Talent Abilities: [Split Sigil], [Laughing Crown], [Schism Pulse], [Contradiction Drive]
[Profile]
Name: [Ivara Solene]
True Name: [The Blossom That Drinks From Ashes]
Attributes: [Dead Flower]
Soul Rank: [Transient]
Soul Core Saturation: [Mid]
Talent: [Bloodbloom]
Talent Class: [SS]
Talent Abilities: [Petal Brand], [Thorn Kiss], [Ashen Bloom], [Blossom Pact], [Lilly of Mourning]
[Profile]
Name: [Kaik Kavan]
True Name: [Writing Blade]
Attributes: [Black Ink], [Red Ink]
Soul Rank: [Transient]
Soul Core Saturation: [Low]
Talent: [Inkstone]
Talent Class: [S]
Talent Abilities: [Scripted Draw], [Red Ink Reversal], [Truth Split], [Erasure Split], [Silent Requital]
[Profile]
Name: [Selis Vorn]
True Name: [Silent Tenebris]
Attributes: [Shadows]
Soul Rank: [Transient]
Soul Core Saturation: [High]
Talent: [Umbracell]
Talent Class: [SS]
Talent Abilities: [Muffled Step], [Shadow Bind], [Ink Veil], [Memory Eclipse], Tenebral Marionette]
[Profile]
Name: [Helena Tharvieyne]
True Name: [Spirit of The Wild]
Attributes: [The Despondent Huntress]
Soul Rank: [Ephemeral]
Soul Core Saturation: [Low]
Talent: [Wildheart]
Talent Class: [S]
Talent Abilities: [Primeval Senses], [Predator's Wake], [Elemental Pulse], [Wildform Awakening], [Runes of the Untamed], [Ancestral Howl].
Northern frowned slightly. He hadn't given her much credit before—too distracted by her defiance, by her loud presence—but Helena was strong. Stronger than he remembered. And now, an Ascendant.
Though… he doubted she achieved that in the Dark Continent.
'Perhaps she had help from Thalen Citadel…'
That would explain why she accepted their proposal, despite being a fan girl of Raven.
Still, that aside, every single person the citadels had sent was formidable. Not just competent—they were Sages. All but one.
And even that one... he felt like the kind of anomaly that warped the battlefield just by existing.
'The five citadels... they really are monsters,' Northern thought, eyeing them all.
If these were just the ones they were willing to send for recruitment, he could only imagine the caliber of power they kept hidden.
And it made sense—they were no longer scouting just anyone.
He had shifted their priorities.
They were here... for him.
These are no slouches. These are their best.
And for the first time in a long while, Northern felt something shift inside him.
'Perhaps… I really can leave.'
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he stepped back, each footfall light, silent. He had other priorities now. Bigger ones.
The rift shimmered—unstable, pulsing, angry. Something inside clawed at its boundary, struggling to breach.
Weapons were summoned. Talents flared. The air grew dense with tension.
But far above, the strange student watched Northern retreat.
His eyes locked onto the boy's back, and something twisted in his expression.
A shadow of rage.
"I came here all the way for you…"
He muttered, voice a low tremor.
"What do you think you're doing…"
He extended his only hand—fingers trembling not from weakness, but from some volatile truth building inside.
Then—
Lightning fell.
Not around him.
On him.