A week had passed since the fateful entrance mission, yet the academy still bore the heavy silence of grief. The tragedy had shaken everyone, reminding even the most eager students of the very real dangers lurking beyond the academy walls. Yet, the rigorous schedule continued, with classes and training sessions structured like clockwork to forge young minds and bodies into resilient warriors. For the first-year students, adjusting to life at the academy meant a strict regimen, rooming in dormitories that offered just a small, private space for each individual—a haven amid the demands of their new lives.
Rem lay motionless in her bed, the morning sunlight filtering through her small dorm window. She had barely slept, haunted by memories of Stanley and Leonardus. A heavy sense of guilt weighed on her chest; if only they had stayed together, if only they had fought as a team, she thought, maybe Stanley and Leonardus would still be here.
“It was my fault”, she thought, clenching her fists beneath the covers. “I should have done more…”
Just then, a soft knock broke her from her trance, pulling her back to the present.
“Rem? You in there?” came Ika’s voice from the other side of the door. Her voice was gentle but persistent.
Rem took a deep breath, forcing herself out of bed. She knew Ika was worried, and though every part of her wanted to stay hidden away, she reminded herself why she was here. This academy represented a dream she couldn’t abandon—not now, not after everything. She dragged herself to the door and opened it, greeting Ika with a tired smile.
The two had grown close since their encounter with the boar titan, sharing an unspoken bond over the harrowing experience. But sometimes, Rem wondered if Ika’s kindness was more out of pity. The thought gnawed at her, adding to the weight already bearing down on her shoulders.
“Hey, you ready?” Ika asked, her expression softening with relief as she saw Rem up and dressed.
“Yeah,” Rem replied, though her voice was weary. “Let’s get this over with.”
——
The two friends joined the stream of students heading towards the training grounds. Today was another class with Master Khan, a revered figure whose classes had quickly become the most physically grueling of their schedule. Master Khan, a tall man with a sharp gaze and a rugged scar tracing down his cheek, was not one for kindness in training.
“Alright, listen up!” Master Khan’s voice cut through the murmurs of the gathered students. “Today, we’re starting with twenty laps around the academy grounds. I want everyone back here, no slacking. Understood?”
A collective groan echoed from the students, but Master Khan silenced them with a steely glare. “You want to become warriors, you need to train like it. Now go!”
Rem fell into pace beside Ika as they started their laps, their breaths soon growing heavy. Despite her fatigue, Rem found herself focused on her breathing, the steady rhythm guiding her steps. As they rounded each corner, the academy grounds came alive in the early morning light, their grand stone structures and sprawling fields a reminder of why they were here.
When the last lap was complete, the students collapsed into small groups, catching their breath. Some sat on the grass, others leaned against the wooden rails around the grounds, rubbing sore muscles.
Master Khan’s voice rang out again. “Not done yet! Now it’s time for exhibition matches. I want to see what you’ve got. Strength means nothing without control, so don’t embarrass yourselves.”
He scanned the crowd, his eyes settling on Lorenzo, who stood with a confident grin, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Lorenzo, you’re up first. See how many you can take down today.”
Lorenzo’s grin widened as he nodded. “Yes, sir!” He stepped into the center of the training circle, already looking for a suitable challenger.
Martin leaned casually against the railing, his gaze following Lorenzo as he entered the arena. “See that? Small as he is, he fights like he’s been doing this since birth. Must be the tough life they live down south—shapes them into fighters. They’re practically raised for the battlefield over there.”
Beside him, Marge’s eyes drifted to Hans, who was watching quietly from across the arena. Hans had the broad-shouldered frame of a warrior, but his performance in the ring had been disappointing, with each loss adding to the quiet whispers that trailed him. Marge smirked, glancing back at Martin. “Then what’s Hans’ excuse? He’s from the south too?” she remarked. “Guess he missed out on that ‘born fighter’ trait.”
The contrast between the two couldn’t be more obvious, and Marge’s comment hung in the air, half a jest but with a hint of truth. Lorenzo was the embodiment of their homeland’s grit and strength, while Hans seemed overshadowed, still wrestling with his own sense of purpose.
Lorenzo’s first opponent, a taller boy named Calvin, stepped forward with an eager smile. “Think you can handle me?”
Lorenzo laughed, adjusting his stance. “I think you’ll be on the ground before you know it.”
And within seconds, Lorenzo’s prediction came true. He moved with uncanny speed, dodging Calvin’s strikes effortlessly and landing a solid hit to his opponent’s shoulder, sending him stumbling backward. The students cheered, and Calvin groaned as he picked himself up, rubbing his shoulder.
“Who’s next?” Lorenzo asked, a glint in his eye as he turned to face the crowd.
Master Khan, impressed, nodded approvingly. “Good work, Lorenzo. Next Match! Flo and Andrez, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Flo stepped forward, her striking presence instantly commanding attention. Tall and strong, her auburn hair fell in a braid over her shoulder, and she radiated a quiet confidence. Her opponent, Andrez, a boy twice her size, smirked as he stepped into the ring, seemingly unbothered by her reputation.
“You sure about this?” he teased. “Wouldn’t want to hurt you.”
Flo rolled her eyes, her tone calm and deadly. “I was going to ask the same thing.”
The match was over almost as soon as it began. Flo moved with a force that surprised even her classmates. She caught her opponent off guard, ducking under his punch and landing a powerful kick to his side. He stumbled, but before he could recover, she struck again, sending him sprawling to the ground. Without a single bead of sweat, she offered him a hand up, her expression serene.
From the sidelines, Ika muttered to Rem, “She’s unbelievable. Makes you wonder how she’s that strong and still so... graceful.”
Rem nodded, watching with a mixture of admiration and determination. “It’s no wonder Master Khan likes her. She’s everything we’re supposed to be.”
Lorenzo’s and Flo's winning streak continued, each victory solidifying their reputation. But Master Khan’s gaze drifted back to the crowd, searching for new potential. His eyes landed on Rem.
“Rem,” he called, his voice carrying an unexpected weight. “Ready to test yourself?”
Rem swallowed, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. She stepped into the ring, feeling the eyes of her peers on her. Her mind flashed back to the forest, to Stanley and Leonardus. She hadn’t been able to protect them, but here, in this ring, she could prove to herself that she was capable.
Her opponent, Cherry was lean but quick, darting forward with surprising speed. Rem dodged, her movements uncertain at first, but as the adrenaline surged, she found her footing. With a burst of courage, she struck, landing a hit that sent her opponent back a step.
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“Nice one, Rem!” Ika cheered from the sidelines, clapping her hands.
Rem felt a spark of pride. She may not have the raw power of Flo or the skill of Lorenzo, but she was learning. Each punch, each dodge—it was all part of the journey, one that she wasn’t going to give up on.
After combat training, Master Khan dismissed them for a short break before their next class: Science. Rem sat beside Ika, breathing heavily but feeling more alive than she had in days.
——
As the students filed into the cafeteria for their break, the familiar hum of chatter filled the room. The first-year students tended to gather around the long wooden benches near the center, forming groups as they settled into the routine of academy life. Ika turned to Rem as they entered, her eyes soft with concern.
"Are you up for joining us for lunch, Rem?" Ika asked gently, a slight hopeful smile on her face.
Rem shook her head, offering a polite but tired smile. "Thanks, Ika, but I would like some quiet moment before next class begins.”
Ika nodded in understanding, watching as Rem wandered to a quieter corner, away from the lively conversations and laughter that filled the cafeteria. She knew Rem was still struggling, carrying the weight of her lost teammates alone.
At the main table, a group of six first-years had already gathered. Marge, her usual confident self, sat with her teammates Hans and Flo. Across from them, Martin, Lorenzo, and Ika filled the remaining seats, their trays piled with food as they chatted.
Hans sighed loudly, slumping over his tray. "Ugh, Master Khan’s class is killing me. I can barely keep up! Flo, how do you make it look so easy?”
Flo smirked, her expression half amused, half prideful. "Hans, it’s all about practice. And maybe a little talent," she added with a wink, flexing her arm playfully. Her athletic build and natural strength had quickly earned her a reputation, and no one doubted that Master Khan had taken notice of her skills.
The rest chuckled as Hans rolled his eyes. Martin leaned over, nudging him. "You can’t just rely on luck in Khan’s class, Hans. You need grit. And maybe extra time on the morning drills?”
Hans groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Easy for you all to say," he mumbled, though he couldn’t help but laugh along.
Turning to Ika, Flo lowered her voice a bit, glancing over toward where Rem had gone to sit alone. "How’s Rem holding up?”
Ika sighed softly. "She’s getting better, but… honestly, none of us really know what she’s feeling. Losing teammates that early—it’s been hard for her. I just hope she’s okay.”
A quiet understanding passed through the group as they thought of Rem. The deaths of Stanley and Leonardus had cast a shadow over their class, reducing their number to 22.
Just then, the lively buzz of the cafeteria fell into a hush as a striking figure passed by their table. Heads turned, conversations paused, and even the most distracted students couldn’t help but notice her.
"Look," Marge whispered, leaning toward the group, her voice tinged with awe. "That’s Ellie Camberwell. They call her the Valkyrie.”
All eyes followed as Ellie walked past their table, her short silver hair catching the light and framing a face both fair and strong. She had a strikingly athletic build, her movements exuding quiet confidence. Word had already spread among the first-years about her reputation. In nearly every class, especially combat and strategy, her name came up—her prowess had almost taken on a legendary status.
"Ellie’s the best in the academy," Marge continued in a hushed tone. "They say her ring technically transforms her into a diamond warrior.”
Ellie paused mid-step, glancing over at the first-years with a small, friendly smile. She offered them a brief nod, her gaze lingering a moment on each face before she turned and headed out of the cafeteria.
As Ellie exited, her figure lingering in their minds, Hans broke the silence, his voice subdued. "Do you think... we could ever be like that?" His usual swagger was gone, replaced with a quiet admiration.
Marge gave a slight nod, her expression thoughtful. “If she can do it, why can’t we? She started just like us, didn’t she?”
Martin crossed his arms, watching the spot where Ellie had disappeared. "It’s not just about wanting it," he said, a fierce determination flashing in his eyes. "It’s about pushing past every limit, every single day. If we give everything we’ve got… maybe one day people will look at us the same way.”
Lorenzo, who had been silent, finally chimed in with a smirk. “Guess that means fewer hours in the cafeteria for some of you.”
They chuckled, the camaraderie lifting the intensity of the moment, but in each of their expressions, there was a shared resolve. Seeing Ellie had lit a spark—if someone from this academy could achieve such power, then so could they. This wasn’t just about surviving the academy anymore. It was about aiming for greatness.
The bell rang, signaling the transition to the second subject of the day: Science. The students gathered in the circular, dome-shaped lecture hall, where rows of seats spiraled around a central platform. Professor Rebecca stood at the center. Her eyes scanned the room, pausing briefly to nod at familiar faces. Today’s lecture promised to be a deep dive into the Elysian’s life cycle—foundational knowledge for any aspiring scholar or warrior.
As the students settled, the lights in the hall dimmed, drawing their attention to a slowly rotating hologram of a humanoid figure projected above Professor Rebecca. The image shimmered, and as she began speaking, the intricate details of the figure became clear: a crystalline structure embedded inside its chest, pulsing softly with a steady glow.
“Today,” Professor Rebecca began, her voice soft but resonant, “we’ll cover the essence of what makes us, the Elysian race both unique and enduring. Known as the ‘almost eternal race,’ Elysians are remarkable beings with lifespans that stretch across millennia. We are, as far as we know, the only beings in Elysion with a fully humanoid appearance that close to the picture of Gaea.”
The holographic figure’s chest glowed brighter, and a close-up of the core appeared—a radiant, jewel-like substance nestled within. "At the heart of every Elysian lies their core," she explained, her gaze unwavering. “This core is not merely an organ, but a source of both life and vitality. It grants us our near-immortality, sustaining them across countless centuries.”
Martin leaned forward, captivated by the image. Though he’d heard about the core before, seeing the anatomy laid out in such detail was awe-inspiring. Professor Rebecca continued, guiding them through the unique stages of Elysian life.
“Unlike other races, Elysians are not constrained by age in the conventional sense,” she said. “Our existence is divided into phases, each as distinct as the seasons.”
With a wave of her hand, the hologram shifted, illustrating a young Elysian child. “From birth until the age of fifteen, Elysians age much as other beings do—rapidly, progressing through childhood and adolescence.” The hologram sped through a depiction of growth, transforming the child into a young adult.
"At sixteen, we enter the blooming phase,” Professor Rebecca continued, her voice taking on a reverent tone. “This stage, often considered our prime, is when we begin to mature. For some, blooming lasts a mere thousand years, while for others, it can extend across two millennia. During this phase, Elysians experience virtually no visible aging, allowing us to retain the vitality of youth for what seems an eternity.”
As she spoke, the image of the Elysian morphed into that of a serene adult, a faint glow surrounding their figure. The students stared in silence, each pondering the weight of so many years spent in the peak of health and strength.
“Next,” Professor Rebecca continued, “comes the ripening phase. This period, which lasts approximately one to two centuries, is when Elysians begin to show the first signs of age. Wrinkles emerge, the body begins to slow, and for the first time, we will experience the passage of time.”
The hologram aged slowly, subtle lines appearing on its face, and its movements softened. Several students, including Martin, shifted uncomfortably in their seats as they watched. The cycle of life, so familiar yet so foreign, stirred memories of loved ones who had aged, weakened, and ultimately passed on.
Professor Rebecca’s gaze softened as she reached the final stage. “And finally, the withering phase. This is the end of an Elysian’s journey. Our body, once vibrant and full of life, begins to decay, our energy fades, and we prepare for our final journey to the Heart of Gaea.” She paused, allowing the words to settle. “In this stage, Elysians return to the land. It is their way of reuniting with their creator, Gaea, as they become one with the earth.”
As the hologram faded, leaving only a small, pulsating light symbolizing the core returning to the land, the room remained silent. Martin’s eyes glistened, a tear slipping down his cheek as he recalled his late grandfather. Though he had been serene in his final days, there was an undeniable pain in watching someone so beloved prepare for their last journey.
Marge, seated beside him, blinked rapidly, her jaw set as she held back her own tears. Other students glanced down, their faces shadowed with similar expressions of grief or remembrance.
Rebecca took note of their emotions, offering a soft smile. "I know this may be difficult," she said gently. "We’ve all lost someone, or perhaps we fear that loss in the future. But remember, in the Elysian way, returning to Gaea is not an end—it is simply a new beginning, a gift of life back to the world they cherished.”
The students sat quietly, absorbing the weight of her words. Professor Rebecca’s expression grew somber as she continued. “That is the natural cycle for Elysians, yes, but not everyone is fortunate enough to complete it. In an ideal world, each Elysian would reach the withering phase and walk their path to Gaea, returning peacefully to the land. But in this age of conflict—especially with the Titan Wars—far too many Elysians lose their lives prematurely, their souls stranded, unable to return home. So,” she paused, scanning the room, “what happens to their core and soul when they fall before their time?”
The students looked at one another, shifting uneasily. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the soft hum of the holographic projector. Finally, Hans raised his hand, his voice quiet but steady. “They remain lost—temporarily—within the land,” he answered, “until a ritual called the Sundering Rite is performed. A soul-freeing ritual.”
Professor Rebecca nodded approvingly, her gaze warm. “Correct, Hans. The Sundering Rite allows lost souls to finally rest. And who,” she continued, “is responsible for performing this rite?”
Another hand went up—this time, Ika’s. “The clerics,” she answered. “Or, in Serenara, where I come from, it’s the task of the Priests of Gaea.” Professor Rebecca’s eyes fell on Ika, taking in her attire—a traditional ensemble of red and white ceremonial clothes from the eastern region, with two small golden bells tied to the hem.
Professor Rebecca smiled approvingly. “Very good, Ika. Serenara is indeed a unique case. The Sundering Rite is usually widely performed by Holy Clerics, but in Serenara and some other region, it’s the Priests of Gaea who guide lost souls to rest.” She looked at her students, her expression softening. “But regardless of who performs the ritual, its core purpose remains the same.”
The professor turned back to the hologram, gesturing, and the image shifted to a depiction of a sacred site. The scene showed holy clerics, gathered in prayer, their voices lifted in unison. “The Sundering Rite is not a simple ceremony,” she continued. “It is a deeply sacred process, one that requires great reverence and spiritual energy. Holy words are chanted, calling upon Gaea to welcome the lost souls. The lingering fragments of the souls are drawn into a circle of light.”
The hologram now displayed ethereal, glowing wisps—the lost souls—slowly merging together into an orb of light as the clerics and priests chanted. “At the end of the rite, the souls finally return to the earth. Often, the very ground they rest upon flourishes; a garden of flowers blooms, each blossom representing a soul that has found peace.”
Martin watched the image, his gaze softening as he imagined how beautiful the gardens must be. To think that from tragedy could spring such serenity—a field of flowers, each one honoring a life cut short.
Hans, still looking thoughtful, raised his hand again. “Professor,” he asked, “what happens if the souls… if they aren’t found? If they’re lost in a place where the clerics can’t reach them?”
Professor Rebecca sighed, her eyes clouded with a touch of sadness. “Those souls may remain restless,” she said. “In time, their energy can become distorted, even dangerous. This is why the Sundering Rite is so crucial, and why clerics and priests are often called upon after battles. They are not only bringing peace to the departed but also ensuring that the world itself is not haunted by the grief and pain left behind.”
A solemn hush fell over the class as Professor Rebecca’s words settled in.