The door to Thalric Valeheart’s private chamber closed behind them with a muted thud, sealing the space in a heavy stillness. The room was neither ornate nor luxurious. Instead, it was immaculate, lined with shelves of crystal tablets, disciplined notes, and intricate instruments designed to measure essence flow with absolute precision.Ronan stood respectfully at the center while Thalric walked past him, activating a crystalline projector embedded into the wall.“There is something you must see before we proceed any further,” Thalric said, his tone as cold and controlled as ever.A beam of light spread across the room as recorded text, diagrams, and fluctuating energy signatures manifested above the projector. Ronan recognized some of them immediately: data from his duel with Tristan Blackthorne.“This is an internal report from the Academy Council,” Thalric stated.Ronan’s eyes narrowed slightly as graphs charting his essence flow appeared—uncomfortably precise readings, far more de

Ronan Crowne returned to the Crowne Estate late in the evening, exhaustion tugging faintly at his limbs. Yet the moment he stepped into his private cultivation chamber, the familiar hum of the pod greeted him, a quiet reminder that here, at least, the world felt quieter than the academy.He entered the pod, let the door seal, and sat cross-legged in the hollow center.For several seconds, nothing happened.Then—A sharp chime resonated through the chamber.Ronan recognized it instantly.The Will of Arken.Bright sigils shimmered around him in a slow, deliberate rotation.[Your actions have altered destiny.][The timeline has shifted.]Ronan inhaled deeply.[Be warned: individuals who were trustworthy in the original timeline may not act the same in this one.][Paths have diverged. Loyalties may change.]His expression tensed. He had expected deviation… but not to this extent.Then came the tasks—stern, immovable.[Task update:]—Lower Lucien Cross’s Luck to Grade D.—Uncover the hidde

Morning light seeped weakly through the narrow windows of Elder Stoneclaw’s quarters. Lucien Cross arrived earlier than usual, steps steady despite the turmoil that had plagued him the night before.He opened the door quietly.Elder Stoneclaw was—unsurprisingly—still slumped on the sofa, a half-empty bottle in hand. His breath was laced heavily with alcohol, but unlike the previous days, there was an empty dinner bowl beside him.Lucien’s eyes narrowed.‘He ate something’, he thought.‘That means he’s not entirely hopeless today.’A small, practical calculation flickered in his mind.If Stoneclaw could eat, then Stoneclaw could drink more.If Stoneclaw drank more… perhaps his guard would slip further.Lucien rolled his sleeves and began cleaning again.He swept the floor, wiped dust from shelves, folded discarded robes, aired out the room, and finally returned to the kitchenette, where he prepared another simple meal and a restorative soup, something mild enough for a drunk to tolerat

Aveline arrived at Elder Stoneclaw’s residence under the dim shimmer of late evening wards, her steps unhurried, her expression perfectly composed. The lacquered box in her hand glowed faintly beneath the lanterns—its contents more dangerous than its elegant exterior suggested.She knocked once.No response.She knocked again.This time she heard movement—slow, heavy, but steady enough to betray that the elder was not quite as far gone as he often appeared.The door opened.Stoneclaw stared at her with bleary yet strangely lucid eyes, holding a half-empty bottle. His posture was slouched but not collapsed—more like a man pretending to be worse off than he was.“Aveline,” he grunted. “I haven’t had a guest in years. And I do not want one.”Aveline bowed gracefully, the perfect image of courtesy.“My apologies for disturbing your rest, Elder,” she said softly. “I came only to offer a small gift.”Stoneclaw eyed the box suspiciously. “A gift?”“Yes,” she replied, lifting it slightly. “A

The next morning, Thalara Academy did not feel the same.The buildings were identical, the training grounds unchanged, the sky washed in the same pale blue light of Arken’s early hours. But the atmosphere had shifted—charged, curious, edged with something Ronan Crowne could only describe as weight.As he walked through the central plaza, conversations softened. Heads turned. Some students outright stared. Others pretended not to, only to glance again the moment he passed.He ignored it.He had more pressing concerns than gossip.Still, the words found him.“He really came in a Crowne flying car yesterday,” someone whispered near the fountain.“I heard he had dinner with Minister Dorrian himself.”“And with Selene. Alone.”“Not alone, idiot. Family dinner.”“Still counts. Do you think they’re—”“Engaged? Some say that already.”And beneath the softer rumors, darker ones lingered:“They say his family is hiding something.”“A relic.”“Maybe the Scroll of Heavens.”“If that’s true… no wo