Anton leaned against the wall, watching the academy grounds with a detached curiosity. Six days had passed since the festival had begun, and he could practically feel the restlessness in the air. Students were caught up in the excitement, their routines disrupted by the ongoing competitions and events, laughter and tension mixing in every corridor. But there was another tension, too—one that he saw more clearly on certain faces.
Chloe's was one of them. He'd caught her staring out the windows more than once, her gaze distant, her smile noticeably absent. Elysia, usually calm and composed, had been distracted as well, her eyes flickering towards every shadow, as though she expected someone to step out at any moment. The two of them seemed to be carrying an invisible weight, their conversations quieter, their glances shared with unspoken worry.
Anton shook his head, unable to relate. Nate being absent for days was hardly unusual. Nate was impulsive, prone to disappearing on his own agenda without so much as a hint of explanation. It was his nature, after all. Why worry? He'd probably stroll back into the academy as if nothing had happened, wearing that trademark grin and deflecting every question with some charmingly evasive comment.
To Anton, it didn't feel like anything worth stressing over. He wasn't sure if it was Nate's unpredictability or his own innate sense of detachment, but either way, he couldn't bring himself to share their concern. Worry was a luxury for people with attachments, and attachments only led to vulnerability.
Pushing away from the wall, he headed towards the academy's edge, slipping away from the throng of students and heading into the city. His destination was a run-down neighborhood on the outskirts, where the polished streets of the main district faded into shadows and rust. This part of the city—The Abyss District, as everyone called it—was where those deemed "unfit" by society were cast aside. Here, the unfortunate, the disabled, and the rejected gathered, left to fend for themselves in a world that had no use for them. It was a place for those without implants, those whose abilities had faltered, and those who lived without the privilege that most of NovaMyst's students took for granted.
Anton reached an abandoned building, slipping inside through a side entrance. The shadows swallowed him as he moved down the corridor, his steps silent, his senses alert. He stopped near the back, where a faint figure awaited him, concealed in the darkness.
"About time you showed up, Melnic," the figure muttered, stepping forward to reveal a face scarred from years of service—a man Anton knew only as "Salvage," a code name that suited his line of work. Salvage was a contact from Anton's black ops unit, someone who operated in the shadows even among their own ranks.
"You're not my commanding officer," Anton replied coolly, folding his arms. "So, spare me the timing talk."
Salvage grunted, a faint smile playing at the edges of his mouth. "Still a smartass. Even after spending all this time with the Novies, huh? Guess some things never change." His gaze hardened, and he got straight to business, his voice dropping. "Listen up. We've intercepted chatter that an anti-magic faction—calling themselves 'The Purity Front'—is on the move."
Anton's brow furrowed, recognizing the name. The Purity Front was a militant group that had been gaining traction recently, preaching the dangers of magic and calling for its restriction—if not outright elimination. They believed in purging magic from society, blaming it for inequality and corruption. Dangerous idealists, if one were being polite.
"Just rumours, or is there something solid?" Anton asked, his voice flat but edged with tension.
Salvage nodded grimly. "More than rumours, I'm afraid. Our intel suggests they're planning to disrupt the academy directly. We don't know if they're targeting specific students, faculty, or the infrastructure itself."
"Now with all eyes on NovaMyst, do you really think they would make a move?" Anton asked.
"If they want to gain more traction or support, then they need more eyes," Salvage replied. "And with ATRA making sure any talk about anti-magic gets silenced, the Front really is desperate to get any sort of message across. With so many people watching NovaMyst, well... someone is bound to get something."
"So, what are my orders?" Anton inquired, his tone as steady as ever.
"Your orders are to do more than prepare," Salvage replied, his tone sharpening. "If things go sideways, you'll be needed on the front lines. This academy—its students, its facilities—they're not safe if the Front has set their sights here. And if they're bold enough to come after NovaMyst, we have to assume they're coming prepared to do real damage."
Anton took in the information, his expression unreadable. "Understood. I'll be ready."
"Good," Salvage nodded, his voice firm. "We're relying on you to stay sharp. Keep your eyes open, especially during this festival. It's the perfect cover for an infiltration." He paused, his gaze hardening as he added, "And remember, Melnic—loyalties might shift fast if the academy falls under fire. Make sure you know where you stand."
Anton didn't reply, simply giving a curt nod before turning and heading back towards the academy. As he walked away, he sensed Salvage's gaze lingering on him, perhaps searching for signs that Anton was wavering in his dedication. Salvage's final words echoed in his mind, reminding Anton of his place—and warning him of the shifting allegiances that might arise if things went south.
He knew better than to underestimate factions like the Purity Front—they wouldn't hold back, and neither would he if it came to that.
As he entered the academy grounds once again, the sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting the campus in a warm, amber glow. The buzz of festival activities had lulled slightly, with students preparing for the evening events.
That's when Anton's gaze fell upon a familiar figure near the library steps—Irina. She stood with a forced, polite smile, her posture stiff and uncomfortable. Opposite her was a male student, clearly from a well-established family, if the elaborate design on his CAT device was anything to go by. He was leaning in close, a charming smile on his face, but his presence radiated entitlement, and Anton could see the tension in Irina's expression.
He didn't need to think twice. With purposeful strides, he approached, reaching Irina and, without hesitation, pulling her close. In one smooth, possessive motion, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, an unmistakable show of claim that left no room for misinterpretation.
When he pulled back, he shot the other student a cool, unbothered look. "Everything alright here?"
The student's face twisted with disgust, his eyes flicking between Anton and Irina before he spat to the side, muttering something under his breath as he turned and walked away.
Once the student was out of sight, Irina looked up at Anton, her expression a mixture of frustration and something he couldn't quite place—something sad, almost wounded.
"Must you do this every time?" she asked softly, her voice laced with a quiet disappointment that unsettled him. He searched her gaze, feeling a strange pang at the way her eyes dimmed, but the feeling quickly slipped away, leaving him more confused than anything.
"What, you don't like tongue?" he asked deadpan, attempting to brush off the discomfort with a hint of his usual wit.
Irina's eyes widened, her cheeks flushing slightly. She wasn't used to him speaking like that, and her shock only deepened the silence between them.
Before Irina could respond, Evan appeared, striding over with a wave. He shot Anton a wry grin before turning to Irina, his expression shifting to one of concern. "Hey, Irina. How's Susana doing?"
Irina sighed, still trying to recover from the shock of Anton's comment. "Pretty much the same. Even with that anonymous donation that came in, it only covered part of the treatment. There's still a long way to go."
Evan's eyes softened, and he nodded thoughtfully. "I was asking because... well, it's Sophia. She's been acting... off lately. I mean, understandably so, but..." He scratched the back of his head, looking away as if searching for the right words. "With her taking part in the assembly and representing the Blanks and Voiders, I just... worry she might be carrying too much weight on her shoulders."
Irina nodded, her expression sympathetic. "It's hard. The assembly idea was supposed to give a voice to those of us who've been sidelined. A way for everyone to have a platform, to bring issues forward. But it's a lot for someone like Sophia to shoulder alone."
She paused, her gaze drifting for a moment. "The thing is... Sophia chose this. She told me it's her responsibility to her sister, to people like her." Irina's voice softened. "I just hope she's not putting too much on herself.
Evan gave a small nod, a shadow of concern passing over his face. "The council, the festival, the assembly—it's all... a lot." He hesitated, then added, "I get it. It's tough standing up when no one else will, especially when everyone else is just waiting for you to fail."
Anton listened, watching them both as they spoke, but feeling a familiar detachment. Emotions, sentimentality... they weren't his realm. But as he glanced at Irina, he caught something—an invisible weight she was carrying, a sadness he couldn't fully understand.
"We do what we must," Anton said quietly, his tone almost indifferent. "Everyone has their part to play. If they can't handle it... well, that's just reality."
Irina shot him a look, a mixture of exasperation and something else. "You don't have to be so... cold, Anton," she said softly. "This is more than just strategy. These are people we care about."
He looked at her, the words rolling over him but failing to penetrate. For him, all of this—emotion, connection—was just noise. Nate was missing, Sophia was struggling, Susana was fighting to survive... and yet, Anton found himself feeling nothing but the weight of responsibility, detached from the sentiment that seemed to grip everyone else.
In his world, there was only emptiness.
But as he watched Irina turn away, her gaze distant, he felt a strange irritation—a nagging sense that he was missing something, something important, even if he couldn't define it. The world of emotions was unfamiliar territory, and for now, he was content to leave it that way.
Irina shifted her weight uncomfortably, standing with the other Marks students in the grand hall. The vaulted ceiling arched high above, stained glass windows casting hues of red and purple across the intricate stonework. The imposing architecture pressed down on her, amplifying the tension simmering in the air. Today's assembly was more than a debate; it was a clash of worlds, an attempt to pull the academy's ugly truths into the light. She could feel the gravity of it, the weight of the unspoken secrets, the lingering resentment that filled the room like smoke.
Across the hall, Sophia stood on the left side, poised and solemn, her posture almost defiant as she prepared to represent the Voider and Blank students. To the right stood Chloe, representing the Marks and, by extension, the academy's interests. Chloe looked collected, calm as ever, with a hint of calculation in her gaze. The seats below them were filled with students, each face reflecting a different mix of curiosity, bitterness, and silent frustration.
Irina forced herself to keep her expression neutral, but inside, a dull ache gnawed at her. Beside her, Elysia noticed, casting her a quick sidelong glance.
"You alright?" Elysia murmured, her voice barely audible above the hushed silence that had settled over the assembly.
Irina forced herself to keep her expression neutral, but inside, a dull ache gnawed at her. Beside her, Elysia noticed, casting her a quick sidelong glance.
"You alright?" Elysia murmured, her voice barely audible above the hushed silence that had settled over the assembly.
Irina hesitated, unsure if she should even voice what she was feeling. She hadn't thought herself the type to be distracted by personal matters, but Anton's behavior—the possessive kiss, the indifferent attitude that followed, and now his cold, unreadable demeanor—it was starting to grate on her. Something about his aloofness made her feel unseen, like a mere accessory to his schemes. She forced a shrug. "I'm fine... just dealing with some... issues with a boy."
Elysia raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "You don't strike me as the type to let a guy get under your skin," she replied, her tone a mix of amusement and genuine curiosity. "But if you ever need someone to listen, I'm here." Elysia's own voice softened, a hint of sympathy slipping through her normally composed exterior. "Though, admittedly, I'm not much of an expert in that area."
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Before Irina could respond, the grand doors swung open with a loud creak that reverberated through the silent hall, catching everyone's attention. The room fell dead silent as a figure strode in, each step echoing against the stone floor.
It was Nate.
Elysia's face lit up with visible relief, a rare, unguarded smile gracing her lips as her eyes met his. Chloe glanced over, a faint smile curling at the corners of her mouth, though she quickly composed herself, her expression slipping back into its usual stoic calm. Anton, standing a few feet away, barely reacted, save for a slight smirk that seemed to say, See? Told you he'd just show up.
Irina leaned toward Elysia, lowering her voice with a smirk. "Looks like you might be the one needing advice on boys soon."
Elysia looked at her, blinking in mild confusion before her gaze flickered back to Nate. Realization dawned, and her cheeks flushed faintly. "Oh... yeah. Maybe."
A figure at the podium cleared their throat, drawing attention back to the front. The assembly was about to begin.
A council representative—a senior student with a reputation for strict adherence to protocol—addressed the crowd. "This assembly," he began, his voice ringing out across the room, "is an opportunity to address ongoing issues of discrimination and unequal treatment within the academy. Today, we will hear from representatives of the affected parties and the academy administration".
He turned to Sophia, nodding once. "Sophia Bently, representing the Voiders and Blanks, will present her opening statements."
Sophia stepped forward, her expression hardened by the weight of responsibility she carried. She scanned the faces in the crowd, her gaze landing on a few familiar students who bore the same struggles and scars. She took a deep breath, letting the silence settle before she spoke.
"We're not here today to beg for scraps of equality," Sophia began, her voice firm and clear. "We're here to demand the rights that every single student in this academy should have." She looked over at Chloe, a challenging glint in her eyes. "Voiders and Blanks have been systematically excluded from opportunities, sidelined from education, and stripped of basic respect. And I'm here to make it clear—that needs to change."
She outlined her demands, one by one, her voice unwavering. "We need access to the same advanced magic training that Marks receive. Not modified, diluted versions, but the real thing. We want equitable distribution of resources, from facilities to magical equipment. We deserve anti-discrimination policies that are actually enforced, not just decorative words on paper."
Sophia's gaze turned icy as she continued, her voice hardening. "And we want representation. Blanks and Voiders need a voice in student government, a seat at the table when decisions are made. Because as it stands, we are left powerless, expected to endure while others prosper."
She took a breath, her voice softening slightly, almost vulnerable. "And maybe... maybe we want something else too. We want acknowledgment. Recognition. We're tired of being invisible, of being treated as second-class students simply because of circumstances beyond our control."
A quiet murmur rippled through the audience as her words sank in, the bitterness and frustration she carried resonating with many in the room.
The council representative nodded, his face impassive. "Chloe Rawllings, representing the administration, will now respond."
Chloe stepped forward, her calm and poised demeanour a stark contrast to Sophia's passionate plea. She began with a measured tone, her voice calm but firm. "I hear you, Sophia. I hear all of you," she said, addressing the Voider and Blank students in the crowd. "The experiences you've shared are real, and no one should feel that their voice doesn't matter."
She folded her hands, her expression contemplative. "But we have to be realistic. The advanced magic training you're asking for—it's tailored specifically to Marks. The risks, the intensity... it wasn't designed for Voiders or Blanks, who have their own unique abilities and challenges. Forcing a one-size-fits-all approach could be detrimental, even dangerous, to some students."
Sophia's eyes flashed with frustration, but Chloe continued, unperturbed.
"As for equitable resource distribution," Chloe said, addressing the next demand, "the academy has always operated on a system that prioritizes students who demonstrate high potential and ability in magic. That's not favouritism; it's about maintaining the standard of excellence that NovaMyst has always stood for. However, I'm willing to discuss expanding support options specifically tailored for Voiders and Blanks, to give them a fair chance without compromising the quality of our programs."
Chloe's voice softened, acknowledging the tension in the room. "Anti-discrimination policies are already in place, and I agree they could be more actively enforced. But these policies can only be as effective as we make them. We all have a role to play in fostering respect and inclusion. I will always be the first one to follow into this role, after all my family has guided the academy's standards for generations." Chloe continues after a slight pause. "After the festival new rules and regulations will be put in place that will hopefully help alleviate some of these issues, and hopefully with time we will get there."
She paused, then looked directly at Sophia. "Representation in student government is determined through democratic elections. Anyone, regardless of their background, has the right to run and be elected. If Voider and Blank students want representation, they should campaign, rally their peers, and earn it through the democratic process. Creating specific positions for each faction would fracture our community further rather than unify it."
The hall was silent as the two girls stood facing each other, their arguments hanging heavily in the air.
Sophia's voice was steely as she countered, "These issues are about more than democracy, Chloe. They're about giving a voice to those who've been systematically silenced, sidelined, and forgotten. Campaigning might work in theory, but in practice, Voiders and Blanks lack the network, influence, and resources Marks have. It's not a level playing field, and you know it."
Chloe's gaze hardened, but her voice remained steady. "If we start creating separate channels for every faction, we risk dividing this academy even further. We risk pitting students against one another. Unity doesn't come from demanding separate paths; it comes from working together, finding common ground."
Sophia's jaw tightened, but she didn't back down. "Unity can't happen until everyone is treated as equals. We can't 'find common ground' when some of us are forced to stand on lower ground just to be here. For example, why are we being separated into groups like Marks, Voiders, and Blanks? Why can't we all just be NovaMyst students? Why do we even have to have different uniforms?" Sophia questions.
The audience shifted, glancing between the two, the tension in the hall palpable. Irina felt herself caught between admiration and unease. This wasn't just a debate—it was a fight for dignity, for recognition. And despite the calm facade Chloe wore, it was clear Sophia's words had struck deep.
Amidst this intense exchange, Elysia leaned closer to Irina, whispering softly, "Sophia's got fire. It's inspiring... even if it feels like we're balancing on a knife's edge."
Irina nodded, her own turmoil momentarily forgotten. "It's about time someone shook things up," she whispered back, her gaze fixed on the two figures at the front.
As Sophia's final words echoed across the hall, a hush fell, tense and electric. She held Chloe's gaze, her own expression hardened, defiant. The red light from the stained-glass windows cast her features in sharp relief, painting her like a figure from a revolution.
Around her, murmurs rippled, quiet but charged. A few students shifted in their seats, exchanging glances that held the beginnings of something dangerous—a shared understanding, a brewing resentment. Somewhere in the crowd, a clenched fist, a steely glare.
Chloe's composed facade didn't falter, but a flicker of something—discomfort, or perhaps quiet rage—crossed her face before she smoothed it back into an unreadable mask. "This academy, this world... they're not as flexible as you might like to believe," she replied, her voice calm, almost pitying. "Change must be handled carefully. Pushing too fast could break things beyond repair."
Sophia's expression didn't waver. "Then maybe it's time to break a few things."
Just as the weight of her statement began to sink in, the doors at the far end of the hall swung open, revealing a group of figures that sent a ripple of unease through the gathered students. Mason Blackburn, Ryder Ainsley, Clara Bramdam, and Lyle Rowan—a notorious quartet whose names were whispered with disgust and dread among the student body—stepped inside, their expressions smug and self-assured.
The reaction from the crowd was immediate. Murmurs turned to gasps, and a palpable wave of tension washed over the students. Some averted their eyes, as if by ignoring these students, they could deny the rumours about them. Others glared openly, fists clenched, their disdain clear.
Nate's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his Integrated Armament CAT, the wooden sheath of his katana gleaming with a soft, menacing glow. He looked ready to spring forward, but Anton's hand settled on his shoulder, a silent message to wait, to see how this would unfold.
Sophia, however, remained calm and collected, her expression unreadable as she stared at the new arrivals. Her gaze was intense, focused, yet strangely detached.
Suddenly, the sharp whistling sound of missiles tore through the air.
BOOM!
A thunderous explosion erupted from the side wall of the assembly hall, shattering stone and glass, and sending deadly shards flying through the room. The sheer force of the blast threw students and debris across the hall. Screams filled the air as bodies hit the ground, blood pooling beneath them. Limbs twisted at impossible angles, eyes wide with shock and terror. A student near the front lay sprawled across the floor, his face unrecognizable, replaced with a gaping wound that leaked a river of crimson onto the stone tiles.
The hall was a scene of pure chaos. Those closest to the explosion were reduced to torn flesh and blood-soaked scraps of uniform, scattered across the once-grand room. Shattered wood from the pews splintered into the skin of students still alive, their agonized cries mingling with the frantic shouts of those struggling to find cover. Dust and smoke billowed, clouding the once-bright stained-glass windows in a haze of destruction.
Students scrambled to activate their CATs, panic evident as they found themselves defenceless. One after another, the CAT devices fizzled, unresponsive, the usual hum of magic silenced. Desperation filled their faces as they realized something was jamming their abilities. A collective fear spread through the remaining students as they realized they were sitting targets.
Some attempted to flee, darting toward the exits, but Mason Blackburn, Ryder Ainsley, Clara Bramdam, and Lyle Rowan moved to block their paths, their faces twisted into mocking smiles, revelling in the chaos around them.
Through the gaping hole in the wall, masked figures in dark combat gear stormed in, carrying weapons not of magic but of cold, brutal metal—real guns, glinting with live ammunition. Members of The Purity Front. The students shrank back, terror flooding their faces as they came to understand the reality of this situation. This was no academy scuffle. This was war.
Irina, who had been watching with growing horror, sprang into action. Her fingers traced a hidden glyph in the air, her CAT device glowing subtly. In a flash, she activated her Chrono Stasis ability, creating a frozen pocket around herself and charging it with stored energy. The world around her slowed, every panicked scream and frantic movement grinding to a halt. She released the spell, casting a wide radius of stasis across the hall.
Time itself held still, and silence enveloped the frozen battlefield. Irina took a deep, steadying breath, then began selectively releasing certain individuals from her stasis spell: Chloe, Sophia, Elysia, Nate, Anton, the vice president of the student council, and a few enforcers who had managed to shield themselves.
"We need to neutralize the ones with guns first," she said, her voice firm, steely. "And find a way to dismantle whatever's jamming our CATs."
Elysia's face was pale but resolute as she nodded. "I can handle the jamming. I'll dismantle it."
Typically, Royals were forbidden from revealing their unique abilities to each other, a rule strictly enforced among their kind. But with Irina and Elysia's bond—formed through shared secrecy and their mutual care for Susana—the lines of trust had long since been crossed. Elysia's gaze met Irina's for a brief, silent moment before she focused her attention on the intricate web of interference affecting their CATs.
Irina let the stasis down slowly. Nate and Anton moved in tandem, springing toward the nearest members of the Front with raw, brutal force. Nate's blade was a blur of pink light as he cut through the air, his strikes precise and ruthless, while Anton fought with calculated efficiency, his fists landing with bone-crushing impact. Evan joined the fray, augmenting his physicality with a surge of magic, his movements fluid and deadly.
Elysia's hands wove an unseen pattern, her heterochromatic eyes narrowing with concentration. One by one, the interfering scripts unravelled, her magic stripping them apart with a clinical precision until the jamming effect dissipated completely. A ripple of energy pulsed through the hall as the remaining students felt their CATs reawaken, the hum of magic filling the air once more.
The vice president sprang into action, summoning thick vines with razor-sharp thorns that snaked out like sentient ropes, capturing Mason Blackburn, Ryder Ainsley, Clara Bramdam, and Lyle Rowan in their grasp. The thorns bit into their skin, drawing blood, as the vines coiled tighter, restraining them in place.
Meanwhile, Chloe's expression was devoid of her usual calm. She raised a hand, summoning an anti-matter barrier that shimmered darkly before slashing through the weapons of the remaining Front members. Their guns and limbs vanished in an instant, erased from existence as though they had never been, leaving the soldiers disarmed, horrified, and bleeding out, their faces twisted in pain and shock as the life drained from them.
The Front members collapsed, lifeless, as coming into contact with Chloe's spell eventually erased even their blood.
But as the dust began to settle, a betrayal unfolded.
Sophia, calm as ever, moved behind Chloe with a look of grim determination. Before anyone could react, she plunged a concealed dagger into Chloe's side, the blade flashing with a dark energy. Chloe's eyes widened, her hand reaching for the wound as blood began to seep through her uniform.
"Sophia..." Chloe gasped, the pain and confusion flashing in her eyes.
Sophia didn't hesitate. Her voice was cold and unfeeling as she turned to Mason Blackburn, who was still bound by the vice president's vines. "Mason," she commanded, "blow yourself up."
Without a second's pause, Mason grinned—a twisted, malicious expression—and activating an Aether Script detonates himself.
The blast was devastating, sending blood, flesh and bone flying across the hall, splattering all of the walls and students. spray of blood coated Nate, Elysia, Irina, Anton, and Evan, their shocked expressions frozen in horror as the blood splattered over them. The blood itself began to glow, the intricate script of a curse seared into each droplet.
Instantly, each of them felt the curse take hold—a spell rooted in the blood itself that bound their bodies, paralyzing their movements and locking their abilities. They were trapped, unable to move or call on their magic as they watched Sophia step forward with chilling authority.
She turned to the vice president, her eyes hard. "Release the others." Her tone left no room for argument.
Reluctantly, the vice president's vines retracted, freeing Ryder Ainsley, Clara Bramdam, and Lyle Rowan. The freed students straightened, grinning as they joined Sophia, who glanced back one last time at the devastated hall, her eyes meeting the others.
As Sophia and the others moved toward the exit, Nate and Evan struggled against the spell binding them, desperation and rage etched on their faces. Nate's voice was raw with betrayal as he shouted after her, "Sophia! What the fuck are you doing?!"
Evan's cry was laced with anguish, his voice trembling. "Sophia, stop! Why are you doing this?!"
Sophia paused, looking back over her shoulder, her gaze cold and unfeeling. She offered no explanation, her silence more damning than any words could be. With a final, almost dismissive glance, she turned away, taking Chloe, and guiding Ryder, Clara, and Lyle out through the shattered remnants of the hall.
As they disappeared into the smoke and chaos, the sound of gunfire and screams from outside filtered in, a grim reminder that the entire academy was under siege.