“There is no side, Izaac!” Iskar burned with grief. “They saved me.”
Izaac stepped closer, his voice rising. “After they almost killed you!”
“They had every right to defend themselves!” Iskar shot back. “I attacked them. I—” His voice broke with the weight of his guilt. “—I would never have raised my blade if I knew you all lied to me.”
Their eyes met—Iskar’s, fierce with conviction; Izaac’s, cold with something else. Something final.
The blade came swiftly.
A flash of silver—and pain.
Iskar’s body jolted as Izaac’s dagger drove deep into his chest. His breath hitched—a wet, broken gasp.
"Lord!" Samadiel shouted at Izaac, his grip tightening to hold Iskar upright—to keep him from falling.
“Brother?”
Izaac leaned in, his lips inches from Iskar’s ear. His voice, low and venomous:
“You shouldn’t have been here, brother.” A cruel press—the dagger sank deeper. “I knew you’d never stand with me. But I didn’t think I’d have to end you like this.”
Iskar’s fingers twitched, his body shuddering against the searing cold blooming through his chest.
Izaac’s eyes flicked to the others—the remaining squad members. Silent. Unmoving. But their subtle nods sealed Iskar’s fate.
“It’ll be… inconvenient to handle Christian and the council,” Izaac mused aloud, in a calm, detached tone. “But with the right... narrative, you’ll be declared ‘dead on duty’.”
A pause. A smirk.
“What a waste.” Izaac's voice dripped with mock pity. “You could’ve had a glorious future—if only you’d pledged your loyalty to the right man.”
Then a whisper, laced with something bitter—personal.
“At least now…” Izaac twisted the blade before wrenching it free, tearing through flesh and hope alike. “I won’t have to compete with you for Elly.” His lips curled. “I’ll make her happy—far more than you ever could.”
The dagger slipped from Iskar’s body, and his life followed.
“Greedy… bastards,” Iskar rasped with a last whisper of blood and defiance.
The teacher’s hands, once steady, now felt heavy with guilt. He held Iskar until the boy’s broken body went limp. Until his heart… went still.
Then, he let him fall.
The battle’s echoes faded, leaving only silence. The air, thick with the scent of death, seemed to hold its breath.
A soft chime broke it—
[+317 VP]
The score flashed before Izaac’s eyes.
He raised an eyebrow, amused. “So little Void Points?” His lips twisted. “So, the bastard wasn’t a saint after all.”
The totem, slick with blood, pulsed faintly in his palm.
And Izaac smiled.
"Should we search for his belongings?" Samadiel’s voice was cold, businesslike. "Do you want anything from him?"
Izaac’s eyes, dark and unreadable, didn’t waver from the lifeless body. “No. I want nothing that ties me to his death.”
Samadiel gave a sharp nod. “Frigo, burn the body.”
A flicker of pink flame danced at Frigo’s fingertips. He hesitated. “I can’t believe... I’m burning my own student.”
“Shut up and do it,” Samadiel snapped.
As the flames began their cruel work, Izaac’s order came final:
“This never happened. He died at the hands of the savages. That’s the story.” His eyes swept over the squad. “Say it.”
“Yes, Lord,” they answered as one, like obedient, hollow, and loyal servants.
The fire consumed what was left of Iskar. And with it—every trace of the truth.
----------------------------------------
CHRISTIAN
“What?” The disbelief in Christian's voice hit like a hammer. “How is this possible?”
The royal messenger, his face tight with unease, delivered the blow: “The report states… he was killed by the savages.”
Christian’s gaze shot to the Headmaster of Hosta Academy, his voice razor-sharp. “Didn’t you say that Fera 2 wasn’t that dangerous?”
The Headmaster, his hands folded tightly, tried to steady his voice. “My prince, our scouts reported minimal threats. That’s why we permitted your peers to participate—under the protection of veteran teachers. But… accidents—”
“Accident?” King Grail’s voice exploded across the chamber, a lion’s roar that made the air tremble. His eyes, blazing with fury, pinned the Headmaster. “Losing one of the prodigies of this generation—under the eyes of more than ten experienced vireans—that is an accident?”
The Headmaster’s voice wavered under the king’s wrath. “Sire… any mission bears risk. Talent, strength, status—none grant immunity to death. This is a profound loss, not only for his family, but for the kingdom itself.” His voice dipped cautiously, “However… we should consider ourselves fortunate that young Lord Izaac returned unharmed. Were he lost…” His eyes flickered with restrained fear. “I dare say his father would have razed our kingdom to the ground by now.”
The king’s fury cooled—just enough for the truth to sting. “Yes.” His voice, though quieter, carried the weight of a kingdom’s sorrow. “You are… right.”
But Christian’s voice cut through the air—sharp, certain, unshaken. “No.”
His fists clenched, his eyes ablaze. “Father. Iskar was a swordsman—better than me. He was careful, tactical—gifted beyond his years. He wouldn’t have lost his life in a fight. Not like this.” His tone dropped, tight with anguish. “He wouldn’t have entered a battle he couldn’t win.”
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
A heavy silence followed—a silence marked by suspicion.
The king shattered it:
“Summon them.”
The air in the throne room seemed to grow colder.
“All who participated in this mission. I want their faces before me. I want their words—every one of them.”
His complexion, dark with a king’s grief and a father’s resolve, trembled with finality.
“And I swear—” His voice rang through the chamber like a blade being drawn. “This will never happen again.”
----------------------------------------
Planet: Zion
System: Galahatos Z1
Coordinates: Kew Dew City, Luxeus Academy Football Stadium
Target of Interest: Eden, Age 16, Fragment: Control
----------------------------------------
Fire. The world burned. The ground, the sky—even the spirits—all engulfed in flames.
Then—a tear in the darkness. A gate, blazing with pure white light. As the light spilled forth, the inferno collapsed, devoured into nothing.
Spirits—thousands, no, millions—rushed toward the gate, their forms colliding, clawing, tearing in a frenzy. Desperation and madness drove them, each fighting to cross the threshold.
Yet—one spirit, blacker than the void itself, was rejected. A force, unseen but absolute, hurled it back.
It roared. An ear-splitting cry that halted the chaos for a fleeting second—flames shuddering, the very air trembling.
Then—it returned to me.
I froze. Fear coiled in my chest—but it knelt.
“...Eden?”
“Huh?” I blinked.
The fire. The spirits. Gone.
I was back—on the field, the roaring crowd crashing into my ears like a wave.
Another vision? What was that? Am I… unlocking a new ability? I need to visit the Vault Breakers HQ—get some tests.
A hand thumped my chest.
“Eden!” Kyle’s voice, sharp with urgency. “What’s up, man?”
I shook my head, my pulse still racing from the vision. “Dunno. Just… dizzy for a second.”
Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “Come on, bro. Focus. We can’t lose this.”
I inhaled deeply, shaking off the haze. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m good now.”
The chants from the stands thundered around me, the Luxeus Academy crest on my chest suddenly heavier. We were down to business. This wasn’t just a match—this was pride, glory, and the dream we bled for.
The ball, focus on the ball.
A sudden crunch of contact—our defender, perfect tackle, the ball ours again.
“Forward!” The shout cut through the air as the ball zipped to Kyle.
Kyle—fast as ever—slipped past a midfielder with his [River Flowing] technique, smooth as water, his flux pulsing through every stride. No hesitation—pass—and kept running, slicing into Aobara Academy’s defense.
The ball hit my foot.
A defender lunged—I faked a shot, sending him the wrong way. My gaze flicked to Darwin—our striker—before locking on the net.
The world narrowed—no noise, no crowd—just the goal.
I felt it—the desire to score.
In a heartbeat, I darted with my [Burst]—flux surging through me—breaking past the defense, then—stop.
A sudden pivot. The defenders flinched—too late. An opening.
Left foot planted—right foot struck.
The ball curved—impossibly—a thread of white through the orange line of defenders.
The goalkeeper dove—too slow.
The net billowed.
“GOAL!! GOAL!! GOAL!!!”
The stadium exploded.
I ran to the corner, heart pounding, the crowd’s roar electric, crashing over me—pure, burning life.
Rarely was I the one that craved the spotlight. But here—now—drenched in their raw, unfiltered energy—
I felt alive.
“EDEN!!”
The team crashed into me—arms around my shoulders, laughter and joy merging into a single heartbeat. They lifted me—like a hero—like they did with Darwin, our ace.
But this time—
I was the one soaring.
“Eden—the sharpshooter—strikes again!” The commentator’s voice thundered across the stadium, charged with excitement. “Not with a pass. Not with a cross. But with a marvelous goal!”
The Luxeus team jogged back to their positions, the echoes of the crowd still vibrating through the air.
Darwin caught up, falling into step beside Eden. His grin was wide, his voice light.
“That was a hell of a shot!” he praised, clapping Eden on the back.
Eden nodded. “Thanks.”
“Just don’t forget to feed me some passes like that, alright?” Darwin then said more like a command than a friendly reminder.
“If I don’t have a clear shot…” Eden mumbled, eyes flicking down. “Then yeah. I’ll pass it to you.”
Darwin, already jogging ahead, didn’t catch the hesitation in Eden’s voice.
But Eden felt it.
A whisper of something foreign.
Why… didn’t I pass it?
He stared at the ground, the heat of the moment still thrumming in his veins. His pulse was wild—not from the sprint, but from the choice.
I don’t like conflict. So why… did I take that shot?
The question dug into him. Something inside him—was changing.
----------------------------------------
CHRISTIAN
“Brother,” came a soft, melodic voice. “You should take a break.”
A white towel, warm from the sun, landed on his head, blocking his view of the training yard.
Christian scowled beneath it. “Sister!”
Ayla, First Princess of Lamiere, stood with her arms crossed, an amused smile playing on her lips. “You won’t be able to compete in the next tournament if you push yourself to the brink.”
“I’ll rest when I’m finished,” Christian muttered, yanking the towel off and resuming his stance. His flux wove through his blade—faint, unstable. He exhaled and tried again, forcing the flow from scratch.
Ayla’s smile softened, but her voice grew firm. “Repeating the same motion until you collapse won’t yield results.”
Christian’s grip tightened. “I know—”
“Do you?” she interrupted, stepping closer. “Sit.”
He faltered at the command in her tone.
“Calm your mind,” she urged. “Analyze. Reflect. Frustration clouds the path. Precision clears it.”
Christian wanted to argue—but he didn’t. He lowered his blade and dropped to the grass, sweat clinging to his skin. His chest heaved as he accepted the cup of water she handed him.
As he drank, the silence between them settled.
Ayla broke it first. “Still struggling with the technique?”
Christian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah. Every time, I fail on the last step.” His jaw clenched. “I know what I should do. But I can’t feel it. I can’t see it.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself. Creating a technique from scratch is… monumental. Most masters can’t do it in a lifetime, let alone a teenager in a few years’ time.”
“I’m not upset because it’s hard,” Christian cut in. “It’s because… he completed it first.”
His fists curled, nails digging into his palms. “Before he left… he showed me.” A sharp breath. “And it was… unstoppable.”
Christian’s eyes flicked to the sky as if searching for something lost. “I couldn’t block it. Not with anything.”
He gave a hollow laugh. “The so-called ‘genius swordsman’ of the kingdom. Me.” His voice cracked on the word. “But he—he mastered it first.”
Ayla’s heart ached at his anguish. “Christian…”
The boy stood abruptly, his body tense, his voice colder. “The technique isn’t the problem. I am.”
“You’re wrong.”
Christian’s jaw tightened. “Am I?”
“You’re mistaking comparison for failure. He was your ally, your support, and you—” her voice grew fierce—“were his.”
Christian’s gaze wavered, his defenses cracking. “He could’ve had all the glory. He earned it. But he kept it hidden. And perished with nothing. Not even a burial ground.”