It was a quiet evening at the Academy of Velandor, but the tension in the air was anything but calm. A large crowd of students and faculty members had gathered around the front courtyard, their murmurs and whispers barely audible over the voice of a distraught woman. She stood face-to-face with the vice principal, her tears streaming as she yelled at him.

"This whole academy is useless!" she shouted, her voice breaking with anger and sorrow. "Not one person here was attentive enough to notice that my son is missing! How could this happen in a place meant to protect and nurture its students?"

Her cries grew louder, more emotional with every word. "It's been two days- TWO DAYS-since I last saw him! What if he hasn't eaten anything? What if-" her voice caught in her throat, "What if something horrible has happened?!"

The woman's desperation turned to fury as she continued, "When I find the monster who took my child, I swear I'll cut off his hands and legs and feed them to my dog! He'll regret ever laying a finger on my son!"

She clutched her chest as if trying to hold herself together, her voice trembling with grief. "Is he even alive? Oh, lord, please... have mercy."

The academy authorities stood in awkward silence, unable to provide the frantic woman with any answers. They exchanged nervous glances, their hands clasped in shame, knowing any attempt to explain would only fuel her anger further. Her cries echoed through the courtyard, sharp and filled with anguish, as her words weighed heavy on the gathered crowd.

Suddenly, the sound of galloping hooves drew everyone's attention. A bullock cart appeared at the main gate, its wheels creaking as it slowed down. The watchman, after a brief glance, opened the gate, letting the cart enter the academy grounds.

The woman's eyes locked onto the cart as it approached. Her breath hitched the moment she saw her son, Arion, seated in the back. The cart stopped near the gathering, and Arion dismounted, his movements sluggish and his face a portrait of weariness.

Without hesitation, the woman ran to him, throwing her arms around him in a desperate hug. Her cries turned into sobs, muffled against his shoulder. After a few moments, she pulled back, her trembling hands cupping his face.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice cracking as her teary eyes scanned his swollen, tear-streaked face.

Arion, his expression stoic and distant, nodded. His bloodshot eyes stared blankly past her. "Yeah... nothing happened to me," he muttered, his voice flat. "Don’t cry."

Despite his reassurances, he made no effort to return her embrace. His stance was stiff, his emotions locked away as if he didn’t want to acknowledge her concern.

His mother, still holding his face, asked softly, "Where have you been all this time? You could’ve at least informed me before leaving if you were on your own."

Arion’s voice remained low and detached as he replied, "I wanted to see where Zar was going, so I started chasing him. And... I saw him fall off a cliff with his horse. He’s... he must be dead by now."

His mother’s eyes widened in shock. "He must be what?" she asked, her voice trembling with disbelief.

Before Arion could respond, a loud voice cut through the tension. It was Cyrus, one of the academy’s teachers and a close friend of Zar. "What did you just say!?" he demanded, his tone sharp and filled with anger.

Arion, his expression darkening, raised his voice in response. "YES, HE IS DEAD! DON’T MAKE ME SAY THIS AGAIN!"

Gasps rippled through the gathered crowd. A heavy silence followed, punctuated only by the faint sound of suppressed sobs. The weight of Arion’s words settled heavily on the onlookers.

In the midst of the chaos, a clerk discreetly approached the vice principal, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Sir, we still haven’t received any updates from Draven’s group."

The vice principal furrowed his brow. "Draven who?" he whispered back.

"The one selected as an intern to monitor the protesters in Valtheris, remember?" the clerk clarified.

The vice principal waved him off impatiently. "I don’t know. This isn’t the time for that. We’ll discuss it later. You may leave for now."

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

The clerk nodded and stepped back, leaving the vice principal to wrestle with the growing unease that had enveloped the academy.

Arion turned away from the crowd and began walking toward the washroom, his steps steady but heavy. Almost every pair of eyes in the courtyard followed him, filled with a mix of confusion, shock, and sorrow.

As he was leaving, Cyrus’s voice rang out, sharp and demanding. "Where are you going now? Tell us everything that happened!" His tone carried unmistakable anger and desperation.

Arion didn’t even flinch. He ignored the call completely, not sparing a glance or slowing his stride.

Another teacher, standing nearby, gently placed a hand on Cyrus’s shoulder and said, "He’s just a kid. Don’t raise your voice at him. He’s probably traumatized too... after all, he was Zar’s favorite student."

Cyrus clenched his fists, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to suppress his frustration. After a moment, the words seemed to sink in. He stepped back, letting out a shaky breath. Then, unable to hold back any longer, he buried his face in his hands and began to cry, his muffled sobs cutting through the otherwise tense silence.

The crowd began to disperse, each person leaving slowly, their faces pale and heavy with shock as they tried to process the sudden, grim news of Zar's death. The academy grounds gradually emptied, and the once-chaotic scene turned eerily quiet.

After freshening up in the washroom, Arion emerged, wiping his face with a towel. His face looked less swollen now, though the exhaustion and frustration still clung to him.

“Arion!” A familiar voice called out. Kade sprinted toward him, relief written all over his face.

Arion managed a faint smile. “I knew you wouldn’t leave without seeing me.”

The two began walking together through the quiet campus, the tension easing just slightly.

“Goddamn it, Arion. You scared the entire academy,” Kade said, his tone half-scolding, half-concerned. “What took you two days to come back?”

Arion sighed, his expression darkening. “Zar was right about Umbraxis. It still existed. Probably not anymore—not after what I just saw.”

Kade stopped in his tracks. “Wait, what? You’re saying all that stuff from the book is real?”

“Yeah,” Arion replied curtly, his voice low. “But don’t tell anyone about it. This stays between us.”

“I don’t get it. What exactly happened? Explain it to me.”

“It’s a long story,” Arion said, his tone signaling he didn’t want to talk further. “I’ll tell you another time.”

Before Kade could push further, a voice called out from nearby.

“There he is!”

Both Arion and Kade froze, turning to see a group of high schoolers standing a few feet away. An older boy stepped forward, his expression twisted with anger.

“I knew it,” the boy said, his voice shaking with barely contained fury. “You’re the reason Zar’s gone!”

Arion’s expression hardened. He stared blankly at the boy, saying nothing.

“You hated him, didn’t you? Always badmouthing him, acting like you’re better than him. You set him up—this is all your fault!”

Arion’s jaw tightened. “This is none of your business. Stay out of it.” His voice was quiet but firm.

“What was that? Speak up!” the boy snapped, taking a step closer.

Arion’s frustration boiled over. His voice erupted, filled with raw anger. “I said GET LOST!”

As the words left his mouth, he slammed his foot into the ground, and a burst of flame erupted around him. The ground cracked beneath him, the heat radiating outward.

The boy flinched, his bravado crumbling. His friends pulled him back, and he hesitated before muttering, “You’ll pay for this someday. Just wait.”

With that, the group turned and left, glancing back nervously as they retreated. Kade stood rooted in place, staring at Arion in disbelief.

Kade tried to comfort him, his voice soft but steady. “It’s okay, Arion. Don’t listen to them. Everyone—well, at least I—know it wasn’t your fault.”

He reached out to place a hand on Arion’s shoulder but instantly pulled back, flinching as the residual heat from Arion’s fire technique scorched his palm. “Damn, you’re still burning hot! Turn off your magic!” Kade exclaimed, shaking his hand to cool the burn.

Arion exhaled deeply, the faint heat radiating from his body fading away. “Sorry,” he muttered, his tone subdued.

The two found a quiet spot nearby and sat down, trying to collect themselves. The tension in the air lingered, unspoken yet heavy.

After a moment, Kade broke the silence. “This feels... so sudden. Zar was such an important part of our lives. I can’t help but wonder—who’s going to take his place? Who’ll carry the weight of his responsibilities now?”

Arion listened without looking up, his face conflicted. After a brief pause, he finally spoke, his voice low and uncertain. “I... I don’t think it’s that big of a deal. At least now, no one can say a teacher was responsible for my talent or success when I grow up.”

Kade turned to him, his expression shifting to one of concern. He opened his mouth to speak but then hesitated, deciding to stay silent. The words hung in the air between them, an awkward and uneasy quiet settling over the scene.

Arion’s mother called out to him from across the courtyard, her voice cutting through the evening air. “Arion, come on! We need to leave—it’s already dark!”

He turned to Kade, extending his hand. “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow. Take care.”

Kade grasped his hand firmly and gave him a reassuring nod. “Don’t worry about it too much. Let’s just hope things get better from here.”

With a faint smile, Arion released the handshake and jogged toward his waiting mother. As he approached her, the two turned and disappeared into the dimly lit path, leaving the academy behind for the night.

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In the desolate ruins of Valtheris, where shattered shelters and broken structures stood as silent witnesses to a recent conflict, Zar staggered forward, each step unsteady. His body bore the aftermath of devastation-skin scorched and burned, now an unnatural shade of violet. Blood seeped from open wounds, mixing with the charred patches that covered him. He clutched his left bicep tightly, his hand trembling with the effort to keep moving.

Through ragged breaths, he muttered to himself, "That potion I mixed with the particles... it slowed the worst effects. Without it, the particles would've reached my brain instantly. My skull would've exploded right then and there."

He grimaced, his expression twisting in agony. "Even so, the pain... it's unbearable. It's like my brain is being force-fed something that could kill me at any moment."

As Zar walked, he noticed the gruesome sight of dismembered bodies scattered across the ground-brutally stabbed corpses, a horrific testament to the violence that had unfolded. His gaze shifted, and his heart sank as he recognized a familiar figure among the dead. It was Draven, the very man assigned to prevent the protesters from reaching Velandor. A spear had pierced Draven's chest, and his jaw was torn open, a brutal sign of the savage treatment he had endured.

"No... No, no, no. This can't be. How could he die? He was strong enough to escape, this doesn't make sense!" Zar muttered to himself, his voice thick with disbelief and mounting panic. His eyes darted around frantically, searching for any sign of hope, but the silence that followed was deafening.

Suddenly, a voice rang out from the silence, "Varnok, someone's still alive!" One of the tribe members, clad in bloodstained armor, shouted as a group of them appeared, mounted on horses and massive elephants, weapons gleaming with venomous intent. Their presence was menacing, and they were clearly on a bloodthirsty rampage, slaughtering anyone they encountered.

As the tribe members closed in on him, Zar's heart pounded in his chest. He could barely stand, let alone fight. "Please, no," he thought desperately. "What do I do now? I can't run in this state, and if I try to fight... I'll be dead for sure." His body ached with the weight of the curse, and the overwhelming sense of helplessness threatened to swallow him whole.