Ika dashed toward the usual cafeteria table where her group typically gathered, her footsteps quick and purposeful. She clutched a stack of parchment tightly, excitement evident in her every move. When she arrived, she slowed down, her earlier eagerness dimming slightly as she noticed how unusually quiet the table was. Marge was seated there with Martin, the two chatting idly while the other seats remained empty.

“Have you guys seen the ranking board yet?” Ika asked, her eyes wide with anticipation as she reached the table.

Marge shook her head quickly, a nervous look crossing her face. “Not yet. The board’s still too packed,” she admitted. “I’m not about to get shoved around like last year. Hans and I could barely breathe, let alone see the rankings.”

Ika grinned, leaning in closer. “Well, you don’t have to. I checked it for you.”

Marge stiffened, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. “And?”

Ika’s grin widened. “You’re first!”

Marge shot to her feet, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What?! You’re joking.”

“I’m not!” Ika laughed. “Go look if you don’t believe me!”

Marge sat back down, her expression shifting from shock to an almost shy gleam of pride. “First? Really?” she murmured, her voice a little softer. “What about Hans? And Flo?”

“Hans is second!” Ika exclaimed. “His ranking jumped from seventh! And Flo’s third—Your whole team dominated the top spots!”

Marge blinked, stunned, before a bright smile broke across her face. “That’s… incredible. I never thought…” She trailed off, shaking her head in disbelief. “First place. Hans and Flo right behind me. This feels unreal.”

Martin leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a satisfied grin. “Not that surprising,” he said confidently. “You guys pulled off a five-star mission. That’s practically unheard of for second years.”

Marge glanced at him, her smile widening. “I guess you’re right. It’s just… wow.”

Martin turned his gaze to Ika. “What about you? Where’d you land?”

Ika’s grin didn’t falter. “Sixth! The Londona mission really gave me a boost.”

Martin’s grin grew broader. “Sixth? That’s amazing! I’m not gonna lie—I’m proud of you. I saw how banged up you were when you got back from Londona. You earned every bit of it.”

“Thanks, Martin,” Ika said warmly.

From across the cafeteria, Rem approached the group, her footsteps quiet but purposeful. Her blue eyes swept over the familiar faces at the table before she offered a small, reserved smile. “Congratulations,” she said softly as she neared, her tone warm despite her typically stoic demeanor. Sliding into the empty seat beside Martin, she nodded at Marge.

Marge couldn’t suppress the gleam in her eyes, a smug grin tugging at her lips. “Thanks, Rem,” she replied, unable to hide her excitement. “So... what about you? What’s your ranking this year?”

Rem hesitated for a moment, her shoulders stiffening slightly before she spoke. “I’m fifth.”

The table fell silent for a beat, the disappointment on Rem’s face evident despite her attempt to mask it. Last year, she had held the top spot with quiet pride, and now the shift in her ranking was noticeable.

Marge’s initial smugness softened as she saw Rem’s expression. “Fifth?” she repeated, her tone shifting to something more understanding. “That’s still impressive, Rem.”

Rem offered a faint smile, though her shoulders remained tense. “Thanks, Marge,” she said quietly. “I guess the academy’s ranking system has its own logic. It’s not just about missions—it’s something else we can’t quite figure out.”

Martin nodded in agreement. “I wouldn’t dwell on it too much. Rankings don’t define skill. Fifth place, first place—it’s all the same when it comes to what you’ve done out there.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Rem’s lips. “Thanks, Martin,” she said quietly.

Ika quickly chimed in, her voice bright and reassuring. “Yeah, like Martin said earlier, rankings don’t define skill. We all know you gave it your all in Londona, and honestly, you carried us through some tough spots.”

Rem’s expression softened further, the weight of her earlier disappointment easing slightly. “Thanks,” she said again, her voice more sincere this time.

Marge gave her a small, encouraging smile. “You’ve set the bar high for all of us over the years, Rem. Fifth or not, you’re still the person to beat.”

Rem’s lips twitched into a subtle smirk, her competitive spirit peeking through. “Careful, Marge,” she teased lightly. “I might just take that top spot back next year.”

"If Rem's fifth," Marge began, leaning forward slightly, "who’s fourth?”

“Lorenzo,” Ika answered, glancing at Marge. “He’ll probably be surprised to see you all beat him this year, especially if he knows Hans is the second.” Ika giggled.

Rem’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of his name. “What is with that guy anyway?” she asked, her tone tinged with irritation. “He’s so unfriendly. What’s it even like being on the same team as him?” Her gaze flicked between Ika and Martin expectantly.

The two exchanged glances before Martin shrugged. “Not much to say, honestly. He’s a closed book. Other than going on missions together, we don’t know anything about him.”

Ika nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he doesn’t talk much, and he always seems to keep his distance. But his combat skills?” She whistled low. “They’re on another level—practically monstrous.”

“Surprisingly, though,” Martin added, leaning back in his seat, “He’s helping Chan and Wanda right now. I saw him yesterday. He was packing up with them for a mission.”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Wait, what?” Ika blinked, clearly taken aback. “Lorenzo? Helping someone?”

“Apparently, yeah. They’re gathering extra points because they didn’t meet the minimum to advance to the third year,” Martin explained. “The academy gave them a last chance since they’re only short a few points.”

Rem tilted her head, a mix of intrigue and disbelief crossing her face. “That’s… unexpected. He doesn’t seem like the type to go out of his way for anyone.”

Marge smirked faintly as she set down her drink. “You know, Rem, you were kind of like Lorenzo until a few months ago,” she teased, her tone light but pointed.

Since the Londona mission, the group had noticed subtle changes in Rem. She joined them more often now, her usual guarded attitude softening over time. Ika and Flo, especially, seemed to draw her out of her shell, the three of them even sporting matching hairpins—a small but significant gesture that marked their growing bond.

The others stifled their laughter as Rem flushed slightly, though she quickly composed herself. “Fair point,” she admitted with a small shrug, her fingers idly brushing the edge of her hairpin. “At least I have friends now.”

Martin grinned. “Maybe Lorenzo just needs a mission like Londona to snap him out of it. Worked wonders for someone else we know.”

Rem gave him a sharp look, though the faint smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Careful, Martin. You might regret saying that.”

The group chuckled, the conversation shifting to lighter topics, but a faint curiosity lingered in the air. What was Lorenzo like, really? And why would someone so distant go out of his way to help others now? For all his skill and mystery, Lorenzo remained an enigma none of them could fully unravel.

“So, where’s Flo?” Ika asked, glancing around as she realized the absence of her fiery-haired friend. “It’s weird for the table to be this empty.”

Marge glanced up from her cup of tea, her expression half amused. “You’ll have to get used to it,” she said. “She’s got a boyfriend now.”

The table went quiet for a moment, shocked by the revelation. There was no denying Flo’s beauty, and plenty of seniors and underclassmen alike had pursued her. But the question on everyone’s mind was the same: Who’s the lucky one?

“Ron Keller,” Marge answered, reading their thoughts. “Final year, red hair, cocky as hell. I heard he got an offer from the Order of Titan Slayers.”

Martin chuckled. “Fitting, isn’t it? Both strong, both redheads. No wonder he won her over.”

The conversation shifted naturally, and Ika turned to Marge again. “What about Hans? It’s not like him to miss lunch with us.”

Marge shook her head, a teasing glint in her eye. “Hans has been pretty preoccupied lately… with our senior, Jun’de.”

The girls exchanged knowing looks before bursting into giggles. “Do you think something’s going on between them?” Ika asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Nothing’s confirmed yet,” Marge replied, smirking, “but they’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

Then Ika let out a wistful sigh. “So jealous… I wish my fiancé were here too.”

The group fell silent, stunned. Rem tilted her head, curiosity piqued. “Wait… what?” she asked.

Ika’s face turned red, but she smiled shyly. “I got engaged last summer,” she admitted. “My fiancé’s back home. He’s not a ring-bearer, though. We’ve known each other for a long time.”

“What’s he like?” Martin asked, leaning in with interest.

Ika’s smile turned bittersweet. “He’s kind, patient, and… well, he doesn’t like me being in danger. But he knows how much this means to me, so he’s supportive in his own way.” She glanced at the table, her tone softening. “I just hope he understands why I’m here.”

The group shared a warm, quiet moment before the conversation moved on, the table filled with laughter and teasing once again.

——

In the stark contrast of vibrant and full of life ambience of cafeteria, an oppressive silence loomed over the academy’s boardroom. The rectangular table was filled with solemn board members, and at its center sat the young King Chris, his youthful face marred by tension.

Neil, standing at the far end of the room, held a dossier in his hands, its contents heavy with grim tidings. He began his report, his voice steady but laced with unease. “Your Majesty, in the past two years, there have been six deaths—six students lost. This is unprecedented in the academy’s history.”

Chris sighed deeply, running a hand through his golden hair before leaning forward, his elbows on the table. His voice was quiet but firm. “Any updates on the suspect? Or what we’ve learned about the ritual?”

Professor Rebecca, seated to Neil’s left, cleared her throat and spoke with an air of urgency. “Based on the findings, it’s clear the killings are tied to a seal-breaking ritual. The symbols found at the sacrificial sites confirm it. Someone has infiltrated the academy, targeting students, and performing these rites to weaken the chains binding the titans. After further analysis, I’m convinced the symbols and artifacts are connected to the southern tribes’ practices.”

The room stirred uneasily. The southern tribes were known for their forbidden worship of false gods—titans—and their rituals were shrouded in secrecy and fear.

Master Khan, the grizzled head of combat training, leaned forward, his face grim. “The culprit is meticulous. After the first four deaths on academy grounds, they’ve avoided direct attacks here. The last two victims were lured outside, on missions.”

Chris clenched his jaw, frustration evident. His duties as king had left him little time to read the dossier in detail, and now the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him.

Rena, standing near the king’s seat, spoke next. “Master Khan is right. Reports indicate someone is tampering with the mission board. The last two victims were third-year students assigned to a supposed four-star mission—only to be brutally slain by a greater titan. The academy cross-checks mission difficulties, but somehow these have escalated without explanation.” She opened the dossier and flipped to a page showing photographs. “On their belongings, we found these.”

The board members leaned forward as Rena placed the photos on the table. They depicted a crude doll made of hay, wrapped tightly with red string.

Cleric Freyja, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, her voice low and measured. “A Doll of Arae. A southern artifact imbued with curse energy. All the caster needs is a personal belonging of the target to activate the curse.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as the implications settled. Rebecca’s voice broke it. “It would explain the orbs and hay found at the first two sacrificial sites. The remnants must’ve come from broken Arae dolls.”

“Whoever this is,” Freyja added grimly, “is close to achieving their goal.”

Lord Vincent, usually a quiet presence, spoke next. “The chain binding the titans has already begun to weaken, Your Majesty. Patrols around the area have been increased, but it’s only a temporary solution.”

Neil scanned the dossier once more before addressing the room. “If we examine the last few missions where greater titans appeared, it’s clear they’re targeting specific students—top-ranked, ambitious, and powerful enough to serve as sacrifices.”

The grim truth hung in the air like a storm cloud. Chris finally stood, his voice rising with urgency. “We cannot afford to lose more students—or worse, to allow this ritual to succeed. Halt all titan-related missions immediately. Let the Order handle them.”

Master Khan hesitated. “What about the groups still out on missions? Some students are gathering extra points for advancement. If we pull back too late—”

Chris cut him off, turning to Rena. “Send reinforcements from the Order at once. Those still in the field are in grave danger, especially if the culprit is hunting more sacrifices. They must be protected.”

Rena nodded firmly, already making notes. “I’ll dispatch them immediately, Your Majesty.”

The tension in the room remained, but the decision was made. The board members exchanged uneasy glances, knowing the stakes had never been higher. Outside, the sun continued to shine on the academy, but the shadow of the titans’ chains—and the one working to break them—loomed ever closer.

——

Meanwhile, in the shadowed recesses of the academy, far removed from the bustling warmth of its heart, the student dormitories stood cloaked in an eerie stillness. The moonlight, pale and cold, streamed through narrow, frost-kissed windows, painting jagged streaks across the rough stone floors. The air carried an unnatural chill, as if the very walls bore witness to something unspeakable.

In a dimly lit, seldom-visited room, a sinister tableau awaited discovery. Dominating the corner of the room stood an ornate mirror, its once-pristine surface now etched with faint, hairline cracks. The mirror's frame bore carvings of ancient runes, symbols tied to the lore of the titans—marks that time and caution had long buried in obscurity. Near it rested a modest wooden table, upon which lay an unsettling collection: several hay dolls, bound tightly with red string and adorned with polished orbs. Their craftsmanship was meticulous, almost reverent, as though the creator had poured intention and ritual into their making.

Beside the dolls, a sheet of parchment lay on the table, its edges frayed and yellowed with age. Scrawled in uneven handwriting, a list of names stood out against the paper: Leonardus Lanark, Stanley Godwill, Rayca Chang, Adittya Roughly, Karen William, Natallia Smith, Wanda Heimsdale, Chan Lam

All but the last two names were crossed out, their lines harsh and deliberate, as if etched with finality. The unmarked names—Wanda Heimsdale and Chan Lam—stood out ominously, untouched yet laden with an unspoken threat.

The room itself was heavy with a malevolent energy, the kind that prickled the skin and whispered of danger. Though the mirror stood still, it emanated an unnerving hum, its energy alive, watching. Waiting. It seemed to pull at the edges of reality, a predator biding its time. The dormitory remained unaware of this dark presence, the rest of the academy blissfully ignorant of the silent menace festering within its walls.

In the foggy, bone-chilling expanse of Griswold's Hollow, Lorenzo sneezed violently, his breath condensing in the damp air. His nose twitched irritably. Someone must be talking about me, he thought with mild annoyance, brushing a hand against his chilled face.

Ahead of him stood two figures, his companions for this mission: Wanda, her shoulder-length dark hair tucked haphazardly under a washed-out denim jacket and a faded blue witchy hat, and Chan, his fiery red hair spiked into sharp angles, his feathery jacket swaying with each step. Their colorful appearances were a stark contrast to the ash-strewn desolation of Griswold's Hollow, where skeletal, petrified trees loomed like sentinels in the ever-present fog.

Unbeknownst to them, nestled deep within their travel bags, lay a disturbing connection to the dark energy brewing far away in the academy—a single hay doll. The doll of Arae. Its presence, hidden and yet deliberate, carried the same ominous aura as the marred mirror and its companions.

The three students were blissfully unaware of the threads being woven around them, tying their fates to forces far darker and more ancient than they could imagine.