Star-shaped paper lanterns dangled low along the main thoroughfare of the Aethelgard Commercial District, casting a golden-orange glow that shimmered across the cobblestones, still slick from the afternoon rain. The air was a symphony of enticing scents: the sweetness of candied apples, the savory aroma of spiced grilled sausages, and the warm, woody fragrance of cinnamon wafting from the drink stalls. Thousands of revelers milled about, their laughter and song filling the night—a night when the veil between the mortal realm and the celestial wonders was said to be at its thinnest. Yet, amidst the vibrant swirl of celebration, Vann felt like the most conspicuous anomaly in existence. He walked with a wooden gait, shoulders tense and head tucked low beneath the hood of his deep blue cloak. Every time he reflexively parted his lips to take a breath, a blinding beam of white light spilled from his mouth, illuminating the pavement before him like a magical flashlight lodged in his throa

The fine sawdust from the puppet stand Vann had just leveled still hung in the air, caught in the light of lanterns that now swayed violently in a sudden, biting wind. The echoes of Freya’s laughter had died away, replaced by a suffocating silence. On the deserted stone bridge, Vann stood frozen. His heart hammered against his ribs—not with the fluttering nerves of a teenager on a date, but with the frantic rhythm of an internal alarm screaming of imminent danger. That smell. It was the pungent scent of pure sulfur laced with the metallic, cloying stench of magically preserved blood. This wasn’t a festival scent. It was an aroma dragged straight from the Abyss, the darkest reaches of the underworld. "Vann... what is that?" Freya whispered. She didn't wait for a reply. With a fluid, practiced motion, she reached beneath the folds of her blue dress and drew a concealed silver dagger. Her blue eyes narrowed as she stared toward the town square, w

A heavy, chilling silence hung over Aethelgard Square, as if time itself had been flash-frozen by a high-tier ice spell. The sugary scent of candied apples and cotton candy that had filled the air just moments ago was now buried under the pungent stench of sulfur and black vapor seeping from the cracks in the cobblestones. Amidst the chaos, dozens of black-robed figures remained prostrate, their foreheads pressed against the cold stone in a display of ultimate reverence for a young man whose face still pulsed with an unnatural silver light. Vann felt every eye in the city fixed upon him. It was pure horror. The looks usually reserved for a savior had shifted into the kind of stare one gave a monster being unmasked. But what hurt Vann most was Freya, standing a few yards behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know she was gripping her dagger so hard her knuckles were white, ready to plunge silver into his back if he uttered a single command to the zealots at

The sharp tang of burning beeswax and the stifling, earthy aroma of a thousand ancient parchment scrolls washed over Vann as he crossed the threshold of the massive oak doors into Professor Mordred’s study. The room bore little resemblance to a typical faculty office; it felt more like the laboratory of an alchemist obsessed with the macabre. Pale twilight filtered through narrow stained-glass windows, illuminating dancing dust motes, while the corners of the room remained swallowed by shadows that seemed to pulse with a life of their own. Vann steadied his breathing, fighting to still his racing heart. He smoothed out his academy uniform, which was still slightly disheveled from the chaos of the previous night’s Star Festival. Before him sat Professor Mordred, perched behind a desk cluttered with stacks of books bound in human skin and the skulls of magical beasts whose eye sockets still flickered with a faint, dying light. "Sit down, Vann,"

The sky above Aethelgard Academy’s main courtyard had never looked so radiant, yet to Vann, the scorching sunlight felt like an interrogation lamp stripping away every secret he possessed. In the center of the grounds, a magnificent arching gate of pure silver stood firm, pulsing with a constant, pale blue mana glow. This was the Projection Gate—the entrance to the artificial dimension where the Final Exams were held. Thousands of students had gathered, their collective chatter filling the air like a swarming hive of bees. However, the moment the final three names were announced through the magical loudspeakers, a sudden silence fell, heavy and suffocating. "Team 44: Kael van Hestia, Freya van Aethelgard, and... Vann." Vann could feel thousands of eyes boring into his back. Whispers began to crawl through the crowd like snakes. Everyone knew about the festival incident—the snap of a finger that had obliterated the Goblin King and the way Vann’s face had briefly glowed with a myster