The bone-chilling cold slowly ebbed away as the crimson light from the single eye on the cursed book's cover died out. In the hidden basement behind the Forbidden Sector's shelves, the sudden silence felt far heavier than the magical blast that preceded it. The dust that had been swirling frantically began to settle, coating the cracked stone altar in a fine layer of gray. Vann blinked repeatedly, forcing his glowing crimson pupils to fade back to a deep pitch-black before Freya could notice. His heart was racing, not out of fear for the book itself, but because of the horrific prophecy he had seen—a vision of him cradling Freya’s lifeless body. The sight had been far too vivid, an exact mirror of the nightmare that had haunted him every night since his reincarnation. "Vann..." Freya’s voice was trembling. She was still gripping Vann’s hand so tightly her knuckles were white. Her sea-blue eyes stared blankly at the now-dark altar. "What... w

The morning air at Aethelgard Academy usually smelled of crisp dew and the scent of freshly baked wheat bread wafting from the central kitchens. But at seven o'clock sharp that morning, something entirely different was creeping through the corridors toward the main dining hall. It was an aroma so intoxicating it made one's stomach growl, yet it carried a bone-chilling sensation that prickled the back of the neck, as if Death itself were whipping up breakfast behind those doors. Vann stood in a corner of the communal kitchen provided for students, his hands moving with uncanny precision. Before him, a prime cut of lamb sizzled on a heavy cast-iron skillet. His jet-black eyes were fixed on the meat with a level of concentration usually reserved for high-level destruction spells, though he was merely trying to find the perfect balance of cumin and black pepper. Remember, Vann. Freya said demons are powerless against grilled lamb seasoned with ple

The sky above Aethelgard Academy had lost its vibrant luster. As they ventured further from the safety of the castle's towering walls, the horizon bled into a stifling, pale gray. The Forbidden Forest, a jagged boundary between civilization and the lawless wild, loomed before the second-year students like a line of ancient giants watching their prey. Centennial Ironwood trees clawed at the heavens with gnarled, twisted branches, as if trying to ensnare the passing clouds. Vann adjusted his rucksack, his fingers occasionally brushing the hilt of the wooden practice sword at his hip. His ink-black eyes scanned the dense thickets with a sharpness no other student possessed. To him, this forest was more than just a site for field practice; it was a playground he had razed to the ground in his previous life. He knew every scent of the soil, every whisper of the wind, and every danger lurking behind the mist. "You look awfully serious, Vann. Are you

The Forbidden Forest was no longer a mere site for a harrowing field exercise; it had transformed into a gargantuan maw, ready to swallow anyone who dared venture deeper. A frigid gray mist now slithered between the Ironwood trees, carrying the metallic tang of blood and the sharp, suffocating stench of sulfur. In the distance, the fading shrieks of fleeing goblins still echoed, creating a symphony of terror that made the students' skin crawl. Vann walked at the very back of the line, his shoulders slightly slumped, playing the part of an exhausted and shaken teenager. However, beneath his eyelids, his dark pupils pulsed with a hidden intensity. His senses, honed over centuries as a lord of darkness, caught something that had escaped both Professor Mordred's watch and Freya's sharp instincts. The ground beneath his feet was not merely still. There was a rhythmic pulse, faint but massive. It was a presence far more ancient and bloodthirsty than

The moonlight draped over the Aethelgard Academy gardens in a cold, silver shroud, as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath to witness what would unfold beneath the ancient linden tree. A soft breeze carried the sweet scent of blooming flowers, but beneath the fragrance, Vann detected something far sharper—the metallic tang of ozone from the sacred mana beginning to pool in the air. Vann stepped slowly across the dew-slicked grass. Each footfall felt heavy, weighed down not by the physical exhaustion of the battle in the Forbidden Forest, but by the burden of secrets that burned like embers in his chest. Ahead of him stood the figure who had haunted his dreams across two lifetimes. Freya van Aethelgard. She stood with her back to him, her golden hair shimmering under the moon and cascading over her tense shoulders. She wasn't wearing her silver armor tonight, only a simple academy cloak, yet