The forest edge was quiet at dawn. Seraphina arrived first, as she always did. The clearing was familiar—a private training ground the Aurelion family had used for generations. Far from the Academy’s prying eyes. Far from anyone who might witness what happened here. She stretched, her muscles warm from the walk. The morning air was cold, crisp, carrying the scent of pine and earth. She heard Marcus before she saw him. Her brother emerged from the treeline, his golden hair catching the first light of dawn. He moved with the confidence of someone who had never doubted his place in the world. The Aurelion crest gleamed on his collar. His gold star—A-rank—was pinned precisely. He stopped a few paces away, studying her. Something in his expression made her uneasy. “You’re early,” he said. “So are you.” They faced each other in silence. Marcus spoke first. “You’ve changed.” Seraphina’s expression didn’t flicker. “What do you mean?” “I don’t know.” He tilted his head, his eyes

“You’re an utter disappointment!” Aren’s voice was cold. Cutting. Each word a blade. “A stain to the Hero King’s bloodline. You are weak!” Marcus stood before him—armor cracked, blood dripping from his lips, his body broken. The golden armor that was supposed to be the will of a hero, indestructible to physical attacks, hung in shattered pieces around him. But he was still standing. “The title of the weakest hero belongs to you!” Marcus’s hands clenched. His teeth ground together. But he was powerless. “Even with your Hero’s Mark,” Aren said, “you know deep down your sister is superior!” That was the last nerve. Something inside Marcus snapped. His aura flared. Not the controlled, divine pressure of the Hero’s Mark—something raw. Something desperate. Something that had been buried deep inside him, clawing its way to the surface. His armor reformed—brighter, stronger, the cracks sealing shut. His wounds healed—the blood vanishing, the bruises fading. His eyes, already bloo

The announcement came during morning assembly. Students filled the Great Auditorium, their voices a low hum of curiosity. Rumors had been circulating for days—something about a competition, something about the upperclassmen. But no one knew the details. Headmaster Vex stood at the dais, his expression unreadable. “I have an announcement,” he said, his voice carrying through the hall. “In one week, the Academy will hold a joint competition between the first-year and second-year classes.” A murmur ran through the crowd. “The purpose of this competition is to give our first-year students experience battling opponents with an additional year of training. It will also serve as a practical examination of both years’ progress.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “Seven participants will be selected from each year. Selection is based on class performance and recent events. The competition format will be one-on-one elimination matches. Each first-year will be matched ag

Two days had passed in the real world. Inside the Simple Domain, Seraphina had trained for one hundred and forty days. Aren stood across from her in the training clearing, his expression calm. “How does it feel to be a hundred and forty days older instead of just two?” Seraphina frowned. “A woman’s age isn’t something to joke about.” But then she smiled. She clenched her fist—and felt the power surge through her. Strength. Speed. Mana density. Everything had changed. She was stronger than ever. Surely stronger than her brother at his peak. “So,” Aren said, “how about a friendly spar to test your confidence?” Seraphina’s frown faltered. She remembered the incident three days into their training. A mistake in casting. An explosion of her own mana. She had drained herself completely—and according to her own estimates, the mana she had released would have been at least hundred megatons of mana TNT. Enough to destroy everything within a thirty-kilometer radius. Aren ha

The message came at midnight. A shadow detached from the wall of Aren’s dormitory, forming words in the air: It’s time. The community is ready. —V Aren read it once, then burned it with a flicker of magic. Cael was asleep. He didn’t stir as Aren rose, dressed, and slipped out into the night. Veyra was waiting at the safehouse. She knelt briefly as he entered, then rose. “The elders have been informed that someone important is coming. They don’t know who.” She paused. “Some are skeptical. Others are hopeful. All of them are afraid.” “Lead the way.” She nodded and turned toward a passage Aren hadn’t seen before—a narrow tunnel behind a false wall. They descended. The tunnel went deeper than the safehouse. Deeper than anything Aren had seen in the city above. The air grew colder. The walls pressed closer. The only light came from Veyra’s shadow magic—faint wisps of darkness that glowed with an inner luminescence. Then the tunnel opened. Aren stopped. The cavern stretched b