[Location: Verm Plain, Near the Translocation Device – 4 Vespera, Year 1092 Ad Felicitas]
image [https://i.ibb.co.com/ftgYdQJ/vermplain.jpg]
The lush green expanse of Verm Plain stretched endlessly before them, the fresh grass reflecting the glow of the setting sun, creating a gradient of emerald to silver hues. In the distance, ice-capped peaks rose like silent giants, their shadows draping the plains with an air of cold majesty. A cool breeze swept through the landscape, carrying a refreshing chill that did little to ease the tension weighing on Drifter’s chest.
He walked at the rear of the group, his eyes fixed on the faint glow of the Translocator ahead, its silhouette towering against the darkening sky.
The Translocator, a polished black stone monolith, glimmered in the fading light. Energy pulsed through the etched symbols on its surface, vibrating softly like a calm heartbeat. At its apex, a crystal of deep blue glowed with an enigmatic light, reflecting off smaller, darker blue crystals beneath it. The stones seemed alive, resonating with the power coursing beneath their surface.
Drifter felt the familiar warmth of the Black Cube in his pocket, as though the object were drawing his attention, pressing against his fingertips. Its steady pulse remained constant, an unyielding presence. Reflexively, his fingers brushed against the Elysian Wardstone at his side. The soft blue light of the stone illuminated the encroaching shadows, offering a faint glimmer of clarity in an ever-darkening world.
Clutching the Wardstone, its faint glow cast a halo across his face. Memories surfaced vividly—fragments of a past he couldn’t let go. Jaden’s bright smile, Vina’s calm gaze, and her steady voice as she placed the stone in his hand:
"We all have to make it through this, okay?"
His breath hitched as his thumb traced the stone’s surface. The warmth it radiated seeped into him like an anchor, tethering him to something real. Grief crept into his chest, a crushing weight of loss. He gripped the stone tighter, the dimming light a silent reminder of what was gone.
Drifter exhaled slowly, the burden of the past pressing heavily on his shoulders. The stone’s faint hum resonated in his mind, a comfort that also brought a pang of sorrow, intensifying as darkness cloaked the world around him.
For the first time in days, something stirred within him. The Black Cube was... silent. No whispers, no voices invading his thoughts. There was a strange stillness, albeit fleeting.
But suddenly, a voice pierced through the quiet.
Dear... Drifter...
The words seeped into his mind, distorted yet oddly soothing. They reverberated both in the air and within him—a duality of warmth and cold, an unplaceable sound that made his head spin. Waves of unease washed over him.
Drifter spun around sharply, his eyes scanning the fading twilight, his heartbeat accelerating.
"Who’s there? Show yourself!"
The air around him grew heavier, the words crawling into his mind like frost. His breath hitched as a strange vibration crept through his bones. His gaze swept over the empty plains, but he saw only faint, shifting shadows. His hand instinctively moved toward the pouch at his side.
Alma raised an eyebrow, her voice soft with concern.
"What’s wrong? Do you think someone’s following us?"
Drifter felt his heart pound, but he forced himself to suppress his unease. His voice came out steady, though the anxiety lingered beneath.
"...It’s nothing. Sorry. Just my imagination."
Luna turned sharply, her movements precise and deliberate. Her narrowed eyes fixed on Drifter, scrutinizing him with intensity. Her tone was firm and direct.
"Are you sure?"
Drifter hesitated, his gaze drifting toward the Black Cube hidden in his pocket. The weight in his chest grew heavier. Yet he held back. It wasn’t time to share this—he wasn’t ready to trust strangers with this secret.
"I’m sure."
But Luna wasn’t convinced. Her tone hardened, becoming sharper. For a moment, a flicker of concern broke through her typically calm demeanor.
"You don’t have to lie to us… Tell me, is the Cube speaking to you?"
Friedrich remained silent, his calm gaze fixed on Drifter, observing every word and movement. As a leader, he knew when to speak and when to let others handle the situation.
Drifter clenched his hand, tension creeping into his chest like a familiar weight. There was so much he couldn’t say. Would they see him as nothing more than an experiment? A weapon? But as the voice whispered again, faint yet persistent, he realized he was running out of time.
Finally, he spoke, his voice barely audible, heavy with reluctance.
"Sometimes…"
He paused, his throat dry, his jaw tightening as memories flooded unbidden.
"Yes... it whispers."
Alma looked at him, confusion evident in her expression.
"Whispers? How can a lifeless object speak?"
Drifter glanced down at the pocket where the Cube rested. Its faint pulse was barely perceptible, yet to him, it was unmistakable.
"I don’t know."
His words were quiet, each syllable weighed down with uncertainty.
"But I don’t think... I can just let it go."
His fingers hovered over the pocket, a slight tremor betraying the conflict within him.
Luna’s expression darkened. A flicker of frustration crossed her face as she stepped closer.
"Don’t lose yourself to it…"
Friedrich stayed silent, his eyes calm but watchful. His posture remained firm, his presence steady, though he said little—his actions carried more weight than his words ever could.
The hum of the Translocator grew louder, the pulse of its energy enveloping them, becoming more tangible. Friedrich stepped forward with purpose, his hand activating the Lumina Core on his wrist. The platform beneath them began to glow, branching veins of Evocyte energy surging through its surface, preparing for the journey ahead.
Drifter paused, his gaze lingering on the endless expanse of Verm Plain stretching behind them. The cold touch of the Wardstone pressed against his skin, its dim blue glow flickering in the twilight, casting a faint shadow over his face.
A silent battle waged within him—between the weight of his past and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.
The hum of the Translocator reached its peak, a steady, resonant thrum that filled the air. Friedrich’s voice broke the hanging tension, grounding them all like an anchor in the chaos.
"It’s time. Let’s go."
Drifter took a deep breath, feeling the faint pulse of the Black Cube at his side, a weight he could never truly set down. With one last glance at the Verm Plain, he stepped forward. The platform beneath his feet vibrated with coursing energy.
The light from the Translocator engulfed them, the familiar hum of magic filling the air, and in an instant, they vanished—carried into the unknown future that awaited them.
[Location: Nethia City, Verm – Afternoon, 4 Vespera, Year 1092 Ad Felicitas]
The hum of the Translocator faded like a dying breath, leaving behind a suffocating void. Drifter felt a strange heaviness, as if gravity itself had become an unfamiliar burden. The air tasted alien in his lungs—too clean, too pure compared to the dust-choked memories of his past.
Before him, a gleaming road stretched out like a mirror, a stark contrast to the rough, dirt-covered paths he once knew. Its smooth surface reflected hesitant footsteps, mocking the unease growing in his chest. High above, roads floated in defiance of gravity, challenging the very idea of what was possible.
In the distance, Alcheriders zipped through the air—familiar in shape but entirely transformed. Once, these machines stomped across the ground on sturdy mechanical legs, their movements shaking the earth. Now, they glided like ghosts, hovering just above the ground as though gravity was merely a suggestion.
Towering crystalline buildings pierced the sky like swords, their sunlit reflections dancing across their flawless surfaces. Gone were the imposing, rough-hewn castles of the past; everything here was a symphony of geometric beauty—alien yet mesmerizing. The world had redefined what beauty meant, a definition that felt like a betrayal to his memories.
His steps faltered as his gaze fell upon the people walking the streets. The citizens wore robes adorned with golden embroidery and hoods encrusted with diamonds—attire once reserved for nobles in royal banquets. Platinum bracelets and jeweled necklaces floated around their bodies, their ornaments hovering as though guided by invisible strings. Once, such luxuries marked the separation of classes, but now they were worn casually, stripped of their former significance.
"This..." the words caught in his throat, choked by the bitter irony of history. Clothing that once symbolized power and privilege now seemed commonplace—or perhaps this world had grown so rich that opulence itself had lost its meaning.
But what truly stopped Drifter in his tracks was their smiles—calm, genuine, as if this world had never known suffering.
He stared, searching for cracks in the facade. In his time, when the Cataclysmaris invasion tore the skies apart with Abyssal Breaches, there was no room for smiles or laughter. Fear was the only expression he knew. Yet here, in this dreamlike world, happiness was real. Life had grown from the ruins he left behind, and he wasn’t sure whether to feel joy or despair.
Ahead of him, Friedrich walked calmly. His silver armor began to dissolve into swirling golden particles, vanishing completely. In its place, he now wore a sleek black suit with a crisp white collar, every movement smooth and natural, as though he had never donned armor at all. Friedrich glanced back, motioning subtly for Drifter to follow.
image [https://i.ibb.co.com/yhyHS5k/01-9.jpg]
Drifter exhaled deeply, his hand brushing against his black armor before deciding to remove it. Blue particles shimmered in the air as it disassembled, leaving him in a simple black tunic that felt… old-fashioned. He stepped forward, but for the first time in a long while, he felt small.
"It feels like a dream," he murmured, his voice nearly lost in the soft hum of the city. "None of this feels real."
Light footsteps approached from behind. Luna Sabriel stood beside him, her demeanor like a statue carved from ice. Her piercing gaze bored into him, as if searching for something even Drifter wasn’t sure existed. For a moment, she said nothing, her silence laden with a weight that made Drifter feel exposed.
At last, she spoke, her tone cold and sharp.
"Seven centuries, Drifter. The world didn’t wait for you."
The words struck him like a storm, crashing down from all sides. Seven centuries. The number echoed in his mind, too vast to fully grasp. The world had changed—not just in appearance but in essence. He tried to breathe, but the air felt heavier, as though gravity had shifted along with time.
They boarded a Skyrail, and as the train ascended, the crystalline city unfolded before them like a painting too perfect to be real. In the distance, Skyships drifted gracefully, resembling silver fish swimming in an ocean of air. Below, Automatons moved with unnerving precision, their metallic bodies glinting under a sun that felt the same yet strangely different. Everything was too orderly, too controlled—a symphony of technology and magic that once seemed unimaginable.
What unsettled Drifter most were the passengers around him. The Lumina Cores on their wrists glowed softly, weaving an invisible web of light that connected them. Conversations flowed silently, magical messages moving through the air like unseen currents. He could feel the subtle hum of magic all around—delicate yet constant, a stark contrast to the raw, explosive energy he remembered from his past.
Some passengers stood motionless, their eyes fixed on holographic displays glowing in midair, while others swayed gently to music only they could hear. Magic and technology had merged into a seamless dance—what was once considered a defilement of the arcane was now a perfect harmony.
As the Verm Evocaier Academy came into view, its towering crystal spires rose high into the heavens. Drifter could only stare, his awe tinged with sadness.
Alma pointed toward the building with a small smile.
"That’s our academy," she said, her voice proud yet gentle.
Drifter nodded slowly, a faint murmur escaping his lips.
"It’s... massive."
But his thoughts drifted back to the Officer Academy Paxluma, once the pride of noble houses. Compared to this, Paxluma felt like a forgotten town.
The Skyrail came to a halt, and they disembarked, walking toward the academy’s grand entrance. Drifter’s pace slowed as they neared the gates. Banners fluttered on either side, and his throat tightened. The familiar symbol of a glowing blue Lotus, surrounded by the Evocaier Order’s winged crest, was still there—just as he remembered.
Yet alongside the blue-and-black crescent moon of the Holy Empire of Selvaria, the white tree of the Conclave of Eldoria, and the red dragon head of Kaen, there were new symbols—ones he didn’t recognize.
01-12 [https://i.ibb.co.com/CPwN7Vk/01-12.jpg]
Drifter stared, the weight of unfamiliarity pressing down on him once more. The past he clung to felt distant, and the future stretched before him, daunting and uncertain.
"Selvaria... Eldoria... Kaen..." The words caught in Drifter’s throat, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest before reality extinguished it. The foreign symbols standing alongside those he recognized shattered that brief flame. His world wasn’t entirely gone, but it had transformed into something almost unrecognizable.
Confusion and disbelief mingled in his voice as he asked,
"Wait... wasn’t Verm supposed to be part of the Elysium Kingdom?"
Friedrich replied solemnly, each word weighted by the history he seemed to carry firsthand.
"It was. But Elysium didn’t survive. After the Cataclysmaris Invasion, everything collapsed."
Drifter murmured softly, his voice laced with bitter understanding.
"I suppose... the Civil War had already done enough damage."
A shadow crossed Friedrich’s face, the lines on his forehead deepening under the weight of memories.
"Now, Area Zero, Verm, and Verudia are neutral zones under Evocaier Order oversight. As for the rest of Elysium, new nations rose from its ruins—Serrahn Kingdom, Nusa Union, and Arcadia Republic. What once was, still exists... but in a different form."
A furrow appeared on Drifter’s brow as he tried to comprehend the fundamental changes in the world he had known. The Evocaier Order, which he remembered as protectors and guardians of balance, now governed territories. His voice trembled slightly as he asked,
"Why control territories? The Evocaier Order was an organization, not a nation."
Friedrich straightened, his eyes reflecting the burden of centuries. His sigh was heavy, a sound far older than the youthful body he seemed to inhabit.
"It was meant to stay that way. The Evocaier Order was never intended to become a ruling force. We were protectors, a bastion against any threat, safeguarding the world from destruction. That was our purpose."
Drifter noticed how Friedrich’s hands clenched and relaxed—a subtle motion most wouldn’t notice, but to him, it revealed an inner struggle. Friedrich continued, his voice quieter, as if confessing a heavy secret.
"But time changed everything. The descendants of Elysium—those who survived its fall—began to see the Evocaier Order differently. They looked to us not just as protectors, but as rulers, a force with authority. And the so-called neutral zones became more than just a name—they became symbols of control."
His final words came out like an admission of guilt,
"The truth is, those neutral zones were never truly neutral. They’ve always been under the Evocaier Order’s dominion."
A familiar chill crept down Drifter’s spine, reminiscent of the day he learned the truth about war—a day when idealism crumbled in the face of darker realities. The Evocaier Order had shifted from protectors to rulers, a betrayal of the very principles it once held sacred.
The gates of the Verm Evocaier Academy emitted a gentle hum, opening with a precision that felt mocking in its elegance. The crystal doors receded into the walls with movements too smooth, too perfect—a stark contrast to the heavy iron gates of the past that groaned and screamed with purpose. Above, the symbol of the Evocaier Order glowed brightly, its light dancing mockingly in the air, as if taunting Drifter’s memories of what it once represented.
A holographic map floated midair, projecting the academy’s structure in an unnervingly organized layout. The Command Spire loomed to the north like a crystalline dagger piercing the sky. The Academic Wing stretched arrogantly to the west, while the Courtyard, Residential Complex, Training & Recreation Zone, and Research Center fanned out in a perfect symmetry, with an Alcherider Parking Lot neatly tucked below. Everything felt too structured, too modern—alien to his memories.
"Let’s go," Friedrich interrupted, his voice cutting through Drifter’s wandering thoughts. His steps were resolute as he headed toward the Command Spire, its towering presence casting long shadows that felt like they pierced the heavens.
The Courtyard sprawled wide, its glowing pathways snaking like illuminated serpents in the dimming light. Students and instructors moved in patterns that were unnervingly precise, their gazes sharp and filled with silent questions. Whispers flowed like icy streams:
"Who is he?"
"Why is he dressed like that...?"
"Is that an old tunic?"
Friedrich’s steady stride cut through the murmuring crowd like a blade through water. Luna and Alma followed close behind, their faces calm, though the tension in their shoulders was unmistakable.
[Location: Verm Evocaier Academy, Grand Hall]
They made their way to the Command Spire and into the Grand Hall, where Luna and Alma paused just inside the entrance. The hall stood as a testament to majesty, with walls adorned in glowing runes that pulsed with ancient energy. The towering ceiling gave the impression that time itself was trapped within the room. Despite its grandeur, a tense energy filled every corner as the holographic projections of four Grandmasters appeared.
At the head of the table sat Grandmaster Lysander, his presence calm yet commanding. His silvery-white hair cascaded to his shoulders, contrasting sharply with his pale, weathered skin. His eyes scanned the room with quiet calculation, his armor adorned with silver accents that shimmered faintly with a soft golden light.
01-22 [https://i.ibb.co.com/8N5DHG2/01-22.jpg]
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Beside him stood Grandmaster Ragnar, a tall, imposing figure with wild white hair and sharp silver eyes that radiated suspicion.
01-26 [https://i.ibb.co.com/q7W90pG/01-26.jpg]
On the opposite side, Grandmaster Amisha stood partially obscured by shifting shadows, her presence unsettling in its quiet menace.
01-37 [https://i.ibb.co.com/7Xwd08n/01-37.jpg]
Finally, there was Grandmaster Mina, her burgundy hair falling to her shoulders, exuding an aura of quiet strength and crystalline resonance.
01-24 [https://i.ibb.co.com/N1srHbQ/01-24.jpg]
When Grandmaster Mina’s projection flickered to life, Drifter’s gaze locked onto her. There was something in her presence—a familiarity that stirred emotions he had long buried.
He spoke in a low voice, though the tension in his words was palpable.
"So... she’s a Grandmaster now."
His expression darkened briefly as he struggled to suppress his emotions, standing stiff and tense as his thoughts raced.
Grandmaster Lysander broke the silence, his voice calm but laden with authority.
"You’ve returned, Friedrich. Report."
Friedrich Rosenthal stepped forward, his tall frame unwavering though his voice carried a faint tremor that betrayed the concern beneath his composed demeanor.
"Grandmaster, we found no new Abyssal Breaches... but what we did find may be far more significant."
He stepped aside slightly, gesturing toward Drifter. The room fell into a sudden, heavy silence. The Grandmasters’ holograms flickered slightly, their attention narrowing in on the man now in their midst.
"He claims... to have crossed time, from the past."
The silence deepened, as though time itself had paused. All eyes turned to Drifter, waiting for him to speak.
Friedrich continued, his voice steady but carrying the weight of his words.
"He claims to be one of us, from the era of the First Grandmaster. He says he fought in the operation to reclaim Paxluma."
The mention of Paxluma rippled through the room like a physical force. The atmosphere grew heavier, thrumming with the weight of memories—of destruction, loss, and the staggering sacrifices of that time. Even Grandmaster Ragnar, whose expression was typically stoic, tightened his jaw, his lips pressed into a thin line as though holding back his thoughts.
Grandmaster Ragnar voiced his doubt with a sharp, challenging tone.
"From the past, you say? What proof do you have for this... impossible claim?"
All eyes turned to Drifter, the weight of their gazes pressing down on him. He stood silent for a moment, old memories stirring within him. Slowly, he reached into his pouch and pulled out an old Lumina Core. Its design was bulkier than the modern versions, a relic of an era long gone.
Carefully, he placed the Lumina Core on the table. The room collectively held its breath as the device emitted a faint hum.
But Drifter wasn’t done. He reached into his pouch again and pulled out a second object—the Black Cube. Its appearance was unlike anything they had ever seen. The Cube seemed to absorb the surrounding light, its surface dark and shifting, as though alive. The air in the room grew colder as the Grandmasters stared at it.
Grandmaster Amisha, typically composed, looked slightly unsettled. There was a tremor of discomfort in her voice.
"The Lumina Core... it’s indeed an old model, but that..."
Her voice trailed off, and the shadows that seemed to cling to her flickered uneasily. Her eyes darted to the Black Cube, her unease palpable.
"That’s no mere relic. Whatever it is... it feels deeply dangerous."
Silence reclaimed the room. Drifter felt the weight of their attention but stood firm. His grip tightened around the Black Cube, as though it was the only thing anchoring him to reality.
At last, Grandmaster Lysander broke the silence, his voice calm but laden with purpose.
"Drifter, tell us your story."
The words were simple, but the weight behind them was immense.
Drifter drew a deep breath, his thoughts spinning. He knew that what he was about to say would change everything.
"Thank you, Grandmaster."
His voice was steady, though there was a profound weariness he couldn’t hide.
"I was there, fighting the Cataclysmaris. One of them dropped this."
He gestured toward the Black Cube, his fingers brushing its surface with a strange reverence.
"I picked it up, and in an instant... I fell into darkness. When I woke up, everything was... different."
His voice lowered as he spoke, memories of that moment flooding back vividly. The sensation of falling through endless darkness, losing all sense of time and space.
"Whatever this is, I believe it’s connected. I can feel it. Maybe it ties to the Abyssal Breaches... and the Cataclysmaris."
His words hung in the air, their gravity tangible, like a fog no one could dispel. Drifter felt the faint pulse of the Black Cube beneath his fingers, like a second heartbeat. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the object was pulling him—and everyone around it—toward something far darker than they could comprehend.
The room fell silent again. The Grandmasters’ projections exchanged glances, each processing the weight of Drifter’s revelations.
Finally, Grandmaster Ragnar spoke, his voice skeptical but tinged with something else—an undercurrent of unease.
"An outrageous claim. This is the first I’ve heard of someone crossing time. There hasn’t been magic like that since the ancient era. If this Cube is truly ancient, we would have known about it by now."
He turned to the other Grandmasters, seeking validation.
Grandmaster Lysander shook his head slightly in response.
"No, Ragnar. But that doesn’t rule out the possibility. There may still be things beyond our understanding."
The heavy silence lingered as each Grandmaster weighed the implications of what had been revealed.
Then, Grandmaster Mina stepped forward slightly, her gaze sharp and calculating. Her voice was calm, though an undercurrent of curiosity—or perhaps anxiety—colored her tone.
"Let him continue his story."
Drifter hesitated briefly, the image of the mysterious storm-clad figure vividly etched in his mind, clawing at the edges of his consciousness.
"Before I arrived here... there was something," he began, his brow furrowing as he pushed forward, discomfort evident in his voice.
"A figure."
He paused, then continued, his tone heavy with unease.
"It wore lightning like armor—alive, like a storm given form. Its movements were precise, almost perfect. Every step seemed to twist the air around it, and the way it fought... it didn’t feel like it belonged to this world."
He stopped again, his hand unconsciously brushing the Black Cube, seeking comfort.
"It wielded two blades, brimming with energy that transformed anything they touched. Even its shields weren’t mere defenses—they moved as extensions of its will, almost as if it could see every strike before it came."
He exhaled slowly, the weight of the memory pressing down on him.
"But it didn’t come for us—it came for this."
His voice dropped to a whisper, his gaze fixed on the Black Cube. His words lingered in the air, a warning impossible to ignore.
The room was steeped in tension. Grandmaster Lysander’s calm demeanor remained unshaken, though the lines on his face deepened. He had faced countless battles and crises, but this felt... different. Drifter’s presence was like a fragment of an ancient puzzle that didn’t quite fit the present.
Grandmaster Mina broke the silence, her voice sharp and urgent.
"Do you know what happened to the First Grandmaster before you came here?"
Her eyes, as piercing as ever, locked onto Drifter, as though waiting for a revelation that might piece their fractured reality back together. Drifter hesitated, the weight of the question pressing down on him like a physical force.
"I’m sorry... I didn’t see her."
The simple answer rippled through the room like a shockwave. Grandmaster Ragnar’s expression darkened immediately, his silver eyes narrowing as if searching for flaws in Drifter’s every word.
The tension in the room grew colder, broken only by the faint hum of ancient runes etched into the stone. Grandmaster Mina’s gaze grew sharper, her face stern, as the shadow of Paxluma’s fall loomed heavily over the room, haunting every thought and decision.
Grandmaster Ragnar’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and filled with disbelief.
"What makes you so sure that thing hasn’t already taken control of you?"
His fingers twitched slightly, the air around him rippling faintly with restrained energy as he gestured toward the Black Cube. His eyes gleamed with suspicion.
"An object like that... it must be cursed."
Drifter stood tall, though the faint tension in his posture betrayed his effort to remain composed. He met Ragnar’s gaze without flinching, his voice calm despite the unspoken turmoil within.
"If that were true, Grandmaster... wouldn’t you have already felt it?"
He let the words hang in the air, giving them time to sink in before continuing. His tone remained steady, but there was an unmistakable firmness in his words.
"I’m still standing here, in control. That alone should tell you enough."
The room sank once more into an awkward silence. Friedrich glanced between Ragnar and Drifter, his mind racing, his instincts on full alert. The weight of every decision pressed down on him, the future of their world hanging by a thread connected to something far darker than they had anticipated.
Drifter stepped forward, his voice low but urgent.
"Please... let me lead a team to Paxluma. We need to know what’s happening there."
The Grandmasters exchanged uneasy glances. The tension in the room grew heavier, the air colder, laden with uncertainty. At last, Grandmaster Lysander spoke, his voice deep, burdened with history and loss.
"We’ve tried, Drifter. Teams were sent to Paxluma after the operation... none of them came back."
He paused, and the room seemed to hold its breath. His gaze grew distant, reflecting on those who had been lost—those who had failed.
"The Abyssal Breach there—it’s still active. A doorway to... something beyond our comprehension."
The mention of Paxluma sent a ripple of unease through everyone present. Each word seemed to conjure bitter memories of a war that had never truly ended.
Grandmaster Mina’s expression softened, the pain of losing the teams evident in her eyes, like an open wound that time could not heal.
"We sent our best. Every single one... lost. Too many have died seeking the truth. We can’t afford to lose more."
Her voice was taut, like a thread stretched too far, ready to snap.
Drifter stepped closer, his voice steady, carrying a quiet but unshakable conviction.
"Then let me go. Alone."
The weight in the room grew heavier still. Silence blanketed them like a storm cloud, filled with words left unsaid.
"I know the risks. If this Cube truly is the key to sealing the final Abyssal Breach, then my life is insignificant compared to saving all of Vesteria."
Grandmaster Ragnar folded his arms, his silver eyes gleaming with doubt. Trust was not easily earned from him, and Drifter’s resolve only deepened the storm within him. His skepticism remained—growing, if anything. Meanwhile, Grandmaster Mina seemed lost in thought, her gaze distant, haunted by memories that refused to stay buried.
At last, Grandmaster Amisha spoke, her voice calm yet carrying an edge of hidden meaning. The shadows around her shifted slightly, restless.
"He’s made up his mind."
Her words carried weight, as though each syllable added another layer to the already suffocating atmosphere. The shadows at her feet stirred as if mirroring her internal conflict.
"Perhaps granting his request isn’t entirely reckless. We might uncover something—something we’ve missed."
For the first time, Drifter felt a glimmer of hope. His shoulders straightened slightly, relief flickering across his face, like a breath of fresh air after being submerged for too long. But the moment was fleeting.
Grandmaster Lysander’s voice cut through the air, sharp as a stone breaking still water.
"Too risky, Amisha. He’s one of us, even if he’s from the past."
He paused, his eyes narrowing as if the weight of the world rested in those small, silent moments.
"Sending him to Paxluma would be sending him to his death. I cannot condone it. We should study the Cube first, uncover its purpose—and destroy it if it’s cursed."
Grandmaster Mina nodded in agreement, her gaze unwavering.
"The Cube should be kept under strict guard here at the academy. Our best artifact researchers can focus on unraveling its secrets."
She paused briefly, her tone shifting to one of pragmatism, measured and calculated.
"Amisha, send Chimia and her team to investigate ruins worldwide and gather clues. Their expertise in tracking artifacts is unmatched."
Grandmaster Amisha nodded, her voice agreeing, though her movements carried an air of caution.
“That works for me. Chimia will get results.”
Grandmaster Ragnar interrupted once again, his tone sharp and decisive, his suspicion dripping from every word.
“I object to this. There’s one thing I know for sure—destroy the Cube now! That thing will bring doom to us all.”
Grandmaster Mina’s eyes narrowed, her doubt plain to see, her voice cutting through with an undeniable challenge.
“Do you truly believe an artifact of this nature can simply be destroyed, Ragnar?”
A tense silence fell over the room. Mina’s question lingered, creating an unmistakable challenge. Ragnar stood tall, his eyes blazing with fury, his unyielding determination shaking the room like a tremor.
"Let him prove he hasn’t already been corrupted—destroy the Cube, Drifter, or I will destroy you!"
The silence that followed was suffocating, the room devoid of movement as if time itself had stopped. Ragnar’s challenge hung in the air like a storm cloud ready to strike, threatening with untamed power.
Drifter stood firm, his expression hardening, his body rigid. The challenge had come sharp and direct, like a blow to his chest. His hand tightened around the Black Cube, his grip unyielding—as though the object was both his lifeline and the test he could not escape.
The tension was unbearable, as if the very air had thickened. At last, Grandmaster Amisha shattered the silence with a sharp, protective tone, like the crack of glass fracturing.
"Ragnar, that’s going too far. He’s just returned from a nightmare none of us can even comprehend."
But Lysander’s voice carried the most weight, calm yet authoritative, like an anchor holding steady in a storm.
"Amisha is right. Let him rest, Ragnar. We’ll discuss this again later."
Before Ragnar could respond, Drifter stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
"No, Grandmaster. I’ll prove it now."
In a single motion, Drifter summoned Exaltare, his gray blade glowing with a bright blue light. Without hesitation, he raised it high and brought it down hard on the Black Cube. The sound of the strike reverberated through the room, but the Cube remained unscathed.
Drifter stood unmoving, his gaze fixed on the Cube, his grip steady despite the failure of his attempt.
"Again!"
In an instant, a dozen glowing swords appeared around him, each pulsing with crackling energy. They descended rapidly, raining down on the Cube in a relentless barrage. Yet the Cube held firm, defying every strike, every ounce of power hurled at it.
The silence was suffocating as Grandmaster Ragnar crossed his arms, his expression still doubtful. Though the skepticism lingered in his eyes, there was a flicker of reluctant acceptance.
"There’s no other choice. We’ll proceed with this plan."
Grandmaster Lysander’s voice carried the weight of authority, each word final, like a gavel putting an end to the debate.
"Then it is decided. The Cube will remain at the academy under heavy guard. Drifter, you will stay here. Friedrich, ensure the artifact’s security."
Drifter nodded, his voice barely a whisper amidst the deepening quiet.
"Understood, Grandmaster."
Friedrich’s response came quickly, firm but carrying a weight of its own.
“It will be done.”
The room fell silent once more as the glowing Evocyte projections of the Grandmasters began to fade, their figures dissolving into shimmering light. Drifter stood motionless, the Black Cube pulsating faintly in his hands, its presence heavy in the air. When the chamber doors closed behind them, the unresolved questions lingered like a shadow, leaving the fate of Paxluma locked away in the echoes of the past.
[Location: Grandmasters' Chamber – Varde Sky Fortress, Headquarters of the Evocaier Order]
Perched high above the clouds of Verudia, the Varde Sky Fortress floated majestically. The colossal structure towered amidst the heavens, its golden domes reflecting the sunlight in a brilliant display. Suspended bridges connected circular platforms in an intricate web of breathtaking architecture. Interspersed throughout were lush green gardens, dotted like jewels upon a sprawling carpet of clouds, lending life to the fortress’s imposing form.
At the heart of the fortress stood the Grandmasters' Chamber, a bastion of authority and strategy. The constant hum of countless skyships passing by outside seeped through the thick walls, a familiar symphony of power and vigilance.
Inside, Grandmaster Lysander sat at his seat, his shoulders slightly slouched under an invisible weight. His long fingers absently fiddled with the Lumina Core on his wrist, betraying a rare unease. After a moment of hesitation, he activated a special sequence on the Core.
The air before him shimmered, and the image of Luna Sabriel appeared as a projection. Her ice-blue eyes glimmered with a sharpness capable of cutting through even the darkest fog. Her every movement reflected an unshakable discipline, like a perfectly forged blade.
"You’ve spoken to him? This is about the Cube, isn’t it?"
The golden aura that typically surrounded Lysander seemed dimmed, as though reflecting the doubt gnawing at his heart. His voice, low and almost a whisper, carried a weight of concern.
"Tell me, Luna. Is it the same Cube as before?"
Luna Sabriel received the question with a calm that only came from weathering countless storms. Yet a faint tension flickered across her face, hardening her expression.
"I’m not sure. Its appearance has changed, but..." She paused, choosing her words carefully.
"He can hear the whispers. And only him."
Lysander narrowed his eyes, his thoughts churning as he studied the faintly glowing runes etched into the chamber walls. Their light flickered as though mirroring his uncertainty.
"But when I spoke to him... he seemed ordinary. Are you certain?"
Luna inhaled deeply, hesitating for a moment before steadying herself. She touched her Lumina Core, her usually steadfast demeanor wavering briefly before regaining its composure.
"It always starts small. Whispers that feel like your own thoughts. Until one day you realize..."
Her gaze sharpened, her tone dropping.
"The whispers grow louder, Lysander. They always do."
The room fell into a heavy silence. Lysander felt the crushing weight of what Luna implied.
"So... Drifter isn’t even aware yet."
Luna Sabriel’s piercing eyes bore into him as she responded with unflinching certainty.
"Not yet. But the time may be close."
Lysander straightened, his expression grim and resolute.
"We’ll investigate the Cube. I’m counting on you. Chimia has already been dispatched to search ruins for clues that might connect to it."
He paused, his gaze locking with Luna’s.
"Luna... watch him. If the whispers grow stronger, you must stop him. Before it’s too late."
Her reply came cold and resolute, leaving no room for doubt.
"If it comes to that, Grandmaster, there will be no other choice."
The tension lingered in the room as Luna’s projection faded, leaving Lysander alone with the crushing weight of their uncertain future.
[Location: Grand Hall – Verm Evocaier Academy, Late Afternoon]
Friedrich’s voice rang out, calm yet commanding, each word carrying a weight that could not be ignored.
"Go ahead. Luna is waiting outside. She’ll show you to your quarters."
Drifter nodded, trying to shake off the heaviness that clung to him like a shroud.
"Understood. Thank you." His voice was quiet, nearly swallowed by the vast stillness of the Grand Hall.
As he stepped outside, the evening air brushed against his skin—warm, yet tinged with a faint chill. Luna Sabriel stood waiting, her back straight, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the horizon. There was no relaxation in her posture, no room for error in her stance. Her jet-black hair cascaded smoothly over her shoulders, a stark contrast to her ice-blue eyes that seemed to pierce straight into his soul. She stood like a statue of frost, imbued with an unyielding discipline that bordered on unnatural.
Luna turned to face him, her movement fluid but commanding. She extended two items that glimmered softly in the evening light.
"Here," she said coolly, her voice sharp as an icy wind.
"Your new Lumina Core... and your identification card."
Drifter stared at the items warily, as though they were riddles he couldn’t yet solve. The Lumina Core in his hand felt small, light, almost unnervingly perfect. Its surface was smooth, nearly slick, a far cry from the worn and scarred Core he had carried through countless battles. A holographic interface lit up at his touch, numbers and symbols spinning too quickly for him to comprehend. This world spoke a language he no longer understood.
The other item, the Vytros Seal, felt cold and alien. The crystal card reflected the evening’s light, projecting a spinning hologram of his own face. The eyes in the image stared back at him—empty, digital, and yet meaningful in a way he couldn’t explain. It was him... and yet not him.
"Your Lumina Core is synced with your identification," Luna explained, breaking his thoughts.
"Keep the card as a backup."
Drifter nodded slowly.
"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice nearly drowned out by the evening wind. He avoided her gaze; something in her stance—so firm, so unyielding—made him feel smaller. The tension hung heavy in the air, unspoken but tangible.
The silence broke at last as Luna locked her gaze onto him, her voice cold but resolute.
"The Grandmasters have ordered the Black Cube to be investigated. Hand it over to me."
The Cube in his hand pulsed strongly, almost defiantly, as if rejecting the thought of separation. Its energy surged through him, warm and alive, like a part of himself. But orders were orders. Reluctantly, he loosened his grip and let the Cube pass into Luna’s hands.
As soon as it left him, an emptiness engulfed him, as though a piece of his soul had been ripped away. The whispers vanished, replaced by a silence too stark to endure. The world felt colder, quieter. He tried to draw a breath, but the air felt thinner, less real.
Luna examined the Cube carefully, her brow furrowing slightly.
"Why... isn’t it glowing anymore?"
Drifter froze, his heart pounding. The Cube, once brimming with energy, now sat inert, a lifeless object devoid of the vibrant pulses it once radiated.
"What does this mean?" Drifter’s voice trembled with confusion as his hand reached out instinctively, as though to reclaim what had been taken.
Luna scrutinized the Cube for a long moment, her expression unreadable. At last, she spoke, her voice soft yet firm.
"Perhaps... it only responds to you."
The words sent a chill through him. The Cube had chosen him—or perhaps he had become bound to it in a way he didn’t yet understand. What did it mean? And why now?
"So... what should I do now?" he asked quietly, his voice barely audible over the breeze.
Luna stepped closer, her presence cold and intimidating like an impending winter storm.
"For now, you are free to explore the academy. This is your home now—learn, train, and find your place here."
Her tone softened slightly, though the authority never left it.
"But you won’t return to Paxluma. Not without the Grandmasters’ permission. It’s too dangerous. Too many have died there already."
The name struck him like a blow to the chest. Paxluma. The memories surged back unbidden—screams, faces lost, battles unfinished.
"Understood," he replied, his voice tinged with resignation.
Without another word, Luna turned sharply and began walking toward the Residential Complex. Drifter followed silently, his steps heavy, his mind burdened with questions. Was this his home now? Or merely a prison he didn’t yet comprehend?
When they arrived, Luna activated the lights. The room was modern, fully equipped with amenities, yet it felt too foreign to be called home. Strange devices surrounded him—Magisterial Consoles, holographic screens, and other unfamiliar technology that spoke in languages he couldn’t decipher. Luna turned to him, her voice cold but carrying a faint hint of understanding.
"If you have trouble figuring anything out, contact me or Friedrich. Any questions?"
Drifter shook his head slowly.
"No. Thank you, Luna."
She nodded and walked out with measured steps, leaving the room. The door closed behind her, leaving Drifter alone in the spacious, unfamiliar quarters.
He stood there for a long time, unsure where to begin.