RETURN TO REALITY

  The grand towers of the Academy of Stars rose in the morning sun, bathed in soft golden light. Students bustled about the courtyards and halls, chattering and laughing, as if the recent war games were already a distant memory.

  The carriages rolled to a gentle stop in the Academy’s main courtyard, and Ethan and his friendsstepped down one by one, taking in the familiar sights.

  “Finally,” Orion stretched, cracking his neck. “I’m never sitting that long in a carriage again.”

  Callan gave him a side glance, smirking. “You say that now.”

  Ethan chuckled as he adjusted the strap of his pack, looking up at the Academy’s towers. “Feels like we’ve been gone for weeks.”

  From behind them, Lysandra and her trio of friends—Seraphina, Evelynn, and Mirielle—descended elegantly, as if returning from a royal event rather than a friendly estate visit.

  “Well,” Lysandra said, adjusting her silver-blonde hair. “Back to reality.”

  Evelynn let out a soft laugh. “Still, that was a nice break from all this.”

  Mirielle, ever composed, surveyed the courtyard and added, “We’ll be drowning in lessons and training soon enough.”

  Callan, smiling good-naturedly, turned to them. “You’re all welcome to visit again anytime. My parents wouldn’t mind.”

  Seraphina gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Perhaps we will.”

  Orion grinned. “Next time, let’s have fewer nobles trying to turn our training into a formal gala.”

  Lysandra rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  They lingered for a moment longer before starting to head their separate ways.

  “Alright, I’m heading to my room for a real bed,” Orion said, waving them off as he turned toward the dorms.

  “Same here,” Callan added with a knowing smile.

  Ethan gave a nod to them both. “See you later.”

  As Lysandra walked away with her friends, she glanced back once, giving Ethan a half-smile before turning sharply and vanishing into the crowd.

  Ethan exhaled softly and made his way back to his room, throwing his pack onto his bed with a satisfying thud.

  Far from the sunlit towers of the Academy, deep underground, the air was thick with smoke and the scent of burning incense. A gathering of masked figures stood in a circle, their dark cloaks brushing against the rough stone floor.

  Off to the side, five young men sat close together, whispering among themselves—nervous, excited, and afraid.

  They were commoners, boys of the lower cities—faces hard from labor, hands scarred from years of farm work, smithing, or worse. Their clothes were worn and patched, though someone had given them newer cloaks for the ceremony.

  “I still can’t believe we’re actually here,” one of them, a broad-shouldered boy named Marek, muttered under his breath.

  The youngest among them, Joren, glanced around uneasily. “But… are we sure this is the way? I mean… they say the Academy picks only the strongest. Maybe there was another way.”

  Marek scoffed. “Another way? You think any of us would ever step foot in that Academy without help? Look at us, Joren—we’ve been passed over our whole lives. No gifts, no noble blood.”

  Another boy, Halrik, leaned forward, eyes dark with determination. “But he made it. And look at what he became.”

  Joren hesitated. “You mean Dren, right? The blacksmith’s son?”

  Halrik nodded. “Yeah. He was one of us. Now look at him. They say he could tear down a stone wall with one hand.”

  “But… at what cost?” Joren asked softly, glancing at the altar in the center, where the black chalicepulsed ominously.

  Before anyone could answer, a man stepped from the shadows, his presence like a sudden storm. His mask was sleek and sharp, resembling a beast with curled horns.

  Dren, once just a blacksmith’s son—now a full-fledged dark adept.

  “So,” Dren said, his voice cold but tinged with something like pride, “you’ve come.”

  Marek stood first, fists clenched. “We’re ready.”

  “Ready to take what the nobles and the Academy denied us,” Halrik added, standing beside him.

  Joren swallowed hard but said nothing.

  Dren looked them over, his gaze sharp as a blade. “You will drink. You will take in the Shadow, and it will make you strong. Then, no one will ever call you worthless again.”

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  At his gesture, the dark-robed cult leader stepped forward, carrying the black chalice filled with the swirling, living darkness.

  “One by one,” the leader intoned. “Take the gift, or leave in pieces.”

  Joren flinched at the words, but Marek stepped up without hesitation. He drank deeply, his body seizing as black veins spread up his neck and face. When he stood, his eyes were fully black, power coursing through him.

  Halrik followed, his eyes burning with ambition as he drank. Two others, desperate for power, took the cup eagerly, groaning as the darkness fused into them.

  Then it was Joren’s turn.

  The youngest of them stared at the chalice as though it might swallow him whole. He took it in trembling hands but froze.

  Dren watched him sharply. “What are you waiting for?”

  “I… I don’t know,” Joren whispered. “I didn’t think it would be like this.”

  The other boys now looked at him with cold, black eyes, standing straighter, stronger, darker.

  “This is your only chance,” the cult leader said, voice a razor’s edge.

  Joren shook his head. “No… no, I can’t.”

  Silence fell.

  Dren’s face darkened. “Then you’re weak.”

  With a snap of his fingers, he turned to the other boys, his expression merciless.

  “Show me your loyalty.”

  Without hesitation, Marek and Halrik stepped forward.

  “Wait—no, please—!” Joren backed away, but the others lunged, cutting him down before he could even scream.

  His body slumped to the ground, lifeless, as the darkness crawled over him like smoke.

  Dren looked on coldly. “Only the strong will rise.”

  The warm sunlight poured into the Virgo lecture hall as students filed in, murmuring curiously. Long tables were covered in raw materials—wood, metal, enchanted crystals, cloth, and more exotic elements like lightweight stone and vines already infused with latent magic.

  At the front of the room, Professor Alden Greybourne stood with hands folded behind his back, his sharp eyes watching the students settle.

  “Today,” he began, his voice echoing slightly off the polished stone walls, “you will create something that defines you.”

  A ripple of whispers spread through the room.

  “This is not about recreating what others have done,” he continued. “You are to design and craft a material or tool that reflects you. Think not of battle alone—think of survival, of adaptation, of what might give you an edge when everything else fails.”

  Greybourne gestured to the tables. “Materials are before you. Use them wisely. At the end of class, you will present your creations.”

  Orion grinned, nudging Ethan. “Now that’s a class I can get behind.”

  Ethan smiled faintly but felt a small knot in his stomach. What should I make?

  Immediately, students spread out, their auras flaring to life as they touched materials, some already sketching designs in the air with glowing sigils.

  Ethan, Callan, Orion, and Darius set off to one side of the hall, but many other Virgo students quickly took their places, their auras flaring as they eyed the materials with focus.

  Lysandra Vaelith, already standing prim and proper, eyed a collection of thin steel rods and velvet cloth. She ran her fingers along the smooth metal, deep in thought.

  Orion grinned, leaning over to Ethan. “Bet she makes something elegant and sharp—just like her.”

  Lysandra, as if hearing him, gave Orion a cool glance but said nothing.

  Across the room, Nerina, a quiet but brilliant alchemist known for her precise work, carefully combined thread and crystal fragments to create a set of bracelets that could extend into razor-thin wire traps — her specialty in battlefield control.

  Near her, Gregor, a bulky student more focused on defensive alchemy, was busy infusing metal plates with cushioning layers of magic, creating armor that could absorb and redistribute kinetic energy— clearly intending to protect others rather than just himself.

  Callan walked over to one of the storage racks, where several old bows and swords lay neatly organized. He picked up a sturdy wooden bow, but something about its simplicity made him frown.

  From a pouch at his waist, he drew the ceremonial sword he had received during the Gifting Ceremony, its blade gleaming faintly with Virgo runes.

  Ethan watched curiously as Callan laid both weapons on the table, running his aura over them.

  “I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” Callan murmured. “Why choose between bow and blade when I can combine them?”

  Focusing, Callan slowly transmuted the material of the bow, fusing it with the sword’s metal. The wood twisted with glimmering veins of silver running along its curves, until the weapon looked like a hybrid of bow and blade—still flexible but now edged with sharp metallic reinforcements.

  Callan wasn’t done. He reached for thread spools, choosing a near-invisible but strong silk, and wove it into a fine tether, attaching it to the arrow.

  A test shot at a wooden dummy showed its effect—the arrow launched and then returned as Callan tugged the thread, embedding again with surgical precision.

  Orion let out an impressed whistle. “Fancy. You give me an idea.”

  Orion moved to another table, his gaze resting on a delicate gold necklace with a thick chain, probably discarded as a failed noble’s gift.

  He rolled the pendant in his fingers thoughtfully. “Jewelry’s a waste… unless you know how to weaponize it.”

  Grinning, Orion began reshaping the gold, melting the pendant’s soft surface until it hardened into a compact, gleaming dagger. But he didn’t stop there.

  He extended and reinforced the gold chain, stretching it longer, then used Virgo aura to infuse it with transparency runes, making the chain turn invisible at will.

  With a quick flourish, he tested the dagger—swinging it in a tight arc, attached to the invisible chain, and striking a training dummy with precise force before yanking it back to his hand.

  “Classy and deadly,” he said, twirling it between his fingers.

  Each student seemed determined to outdo themselves, taking to the challenge with focused determination.

  Meanwhile, Ethan stood quietly before a table of raw materials, arms crossed, feeling a weight in his chest.

  Everything others were making was clear and focused. He, however, felt torn—his mind wandering through all the battles he had fought. He needed something versatile, something unique, but he didn’t know what.

  His thoughts drifted back to the desert battle, the corrupted scorpions, the darkness in the caves, and the intricate way he had used chains mid-combat. Something flexible…

  Then it clicked.

  Chains had served him well—but what if he could evolve that concept?

  He sat down and, for the first time in public, activated his Lion’s Sight in a subtle way, looking beyond the physical material to its atomic code.

  Slowly, he began weaving strands of glowing atoms into double-helix shaped chains, thinner than any regular metal, glowing softly like engraved living threads.

  Not only that—he modified them so they could change properties on command. Harden for combat. Soften for concealment. Extend like threads—or even retract invisibly.

  To conceal them, he carefully wove small pins out of those threads and attached them along his coat’s lining—each holding a piece of chain compressed to almost nothing. To an outsider, they were mere decorative pins, but in reality, they were weapons waiting to be unfurled.

  As Ethan finished, wiping sweat from his brow, he flexed one hand and a tiny thread unspooled silently between his fingers, shimmering faintly with alchemic codes before vanishing again into his sleeve.

  Orion, watching from nearby, gave a low whistle. “You always gotta be dramatic, don’t you?”

  Callan chuckled, stringing his new bow. “Looks like you figured it out.’”

  Ethan only smiled faintly but didn’t answer. Inside, a spark of excitement had lit up—this was something new. Something only he could wield.

  At another table, Lysandra Vaelith stood with arms crossed, observing the others for a moment—her sharp gaze calculating. She was, as always, impeccably composed. But there was a glimmer of thoughtfulness in her eyes today—challenge accepted.

  She approached the material table and picked up a length of silver-blue silk and polished obsidian shards.

  “This should do.”

  Returning to her station, Lysandra ran her aura along the silk, hardening it without losing its flexibility, then embedded the shards into the fabric like jagged runes. But she wasn’t done—whispering incantations as she worked, she wove small defensive runes into the fibers, meant to activate and shield her when needed.

  When she finally held up the finished piece, it was a sash-like belt, elegant yet deadly—silken, but reinforced with sharp edges and protective magic.

  “Now that’s more my style,” she murmured to herself, clearly pleased.

  As students gathered their tools and creations, Ethan tucked his new chains neatly into his coat, ready to test them when the time came.

  Callan clapped him on the shoulder as they walked out. “So… when do you show us what those can really do?”

  Ethan smirked slightly. “Soon.”

  As class wrapped up, Professor Greybourne walked through the rows, inspecting each creation.

  Finally, turning to address everyone, Greybourne declared:

  “You are Virgo. You shape the world around you—not only to protect, but to dominate the battlefield through ingenuity. What you’ve created today is only the beginning. You will rely on these tools more than you know.”

  With a slight nod, he concluded: “Class dismissed.”