Hellebore: Winter Falls on the Vaulted Sky

"You're a liar, Sarissa! You told me I could scout Will if he made it to the Tower!"

"Please control yourself, Elfaria-sama. You're no longer a child—"

"The only reason I waited this long was because you forbade me to scout him while he was still in school!" Elfaria's voice trembled. "I thought you—and the whole faction—said it would be fine if he proved he was qualified!"

"It wasn't my decision," Sarissa replied coolly. "It was the Upper Institute."

"…You mean Kreutz?"

"Yes. He claimed that if it came down to it, he wouldn't oppose the Academy's ruling. But he—" she lifted two fingers in a mocking air quote, "'has his doubts about letting a lowly Sword into a faction… and won't approve of any attempts to scout him.'"

Elfaria's breath hitched. "Hmm… mind if I pop over to the Upper Institute? I'm going to freeze the place solid."

"I do mind." Sarissa's tone sharpened. "Please calm down. If Will can demonstrate his competence during the Bloom, I have Kreutz's word—you can scout him."

"I don't trust that guy—"

"The Tower is nothing if not meritocratic," Sarissa interrupted. "If you play favorites, it won't endear Will Serfort to anyone. If anything, it'll put a target on his back. He's an outlier. He needs to convince the whole Tower to acknowledge him."

"But—"

"I'll pull some strings with Clairie and the other factions in the meantime to make sure he's yours… unless you're afraid he won't be able to prove himself?"

"Of course not!" Elfaria barked. "No one's better than Will… he'll definitely make it through this!"

That conversation from just this morning echoed in Elfaria's skull, raw and fresh.

Sarissa stood dutifully behind her throne now, silent, unreadable.

Elfaria's eyes dropped to the ceremonial floor, to him—the boy who made her heart race—standing alone beside the other Colorless.

He didn't look confused like the others, puzzled over why they hadn't been granted a Color.

What made her chest tighten was that he didn't look anything at all.

No disbelief. No sadness. Just calm, casual acceptance.

As if this was normal.

Because for Will Serfort, this had always been the norm—being shunned, being rejected.

Albis Vina chewed her lip and glanced aside, avoiding his gaze again.

At least look angry or sad… you have the right, Elfaria thought.

Her fingers curled into her sleeves.

W–why are you smiling at me… in that same understanding way as always?

As the Colored—Lihanna, Colette, Sion, Wignall, and the other Blessed—joined their factions at the stands or floating platforms, Clairie rose into the air once more atop her broom.

Hovering above the crowd, the witchy arbiter tapped her wand to her throat like a mic. Her voice rang out, magically amplified, echoing across the ceremonial hall like thunder over glass.

"The Colored are distinguished as Blessed, even amongst high mages. Be proud. You'll come to understand—joining a faction is no small feat."

She smiled brightly, spinning lazily in the air. "I pray that each and every one of you reaches the Tower's distant heights!"

Applause thundered from all directions.

Then Clairie turned toward the other group still standing motionless below—the Colorless.

They remained on the cold white floor, waiting.

Waiting for someone to explain why the cheers seemed to bypass them entirely.

Had they done something wrong?

Made a mistake? Committed a sin?

Some unspoken faux pas they weren't even aware of?

If that was the case, surely someone would tell them. They'd fix it. Give them a chance to repent.

They wanted to belong.

But no explanation came.

Because it wasn't a mistake.

Their only crime... was being lackluster.

Clairie's grin sharpened. Her eyes glinted behind the curtain of blonde hair, and for a moment, the playful witch no longer looked friendly.

"And now… those of you who have advanced to the Tower, but have still not been Blessed—you are Colorless."

Will crossed his arms in silence.

So in other words… The Worthless.

Clairie's voice rang even louder, now tinged with finality.

"Only those belonging to a faction may climb the Tower. No others may proceed beyond this point."

Murmurs broke out from the Colorless. Confused. Bitter. Scared.

"So the nobles' whispers were true…"

"If you can't join a faction, you're stuck here forever! First floor slaves—doing grunt work just to keep the Tower running!"

"All while the Blessed float higher, standing on our backs!"

Julius stood beside Will, fists clenched at his sides, eyes downcast but voice hard.

"So this is where the glorious Mercedes Caulis got her nickname…" He spat. "The Graveyard of Wands."

Will exhaled slowly through his nose.

For the first time, he was starting to understand Edward Serfence.

He just wished it hadn't taken this to get there.

Just as the thirty-five-strong crowd of failures prepared to begin their silent walk of shame—back through the marble doors, back to the world that had already written them off—Clairie raised a finger.

"However," she said, her voice slicing clean through the despair. "Seeing as you've made it to the Tower… via the most orthodox, albeit arduous, path at that…"

A breeze that wasn't there lifted her long hair as she turned in the air, arms stretched wide like a magician before a grand reveal.

"We offer you… another chance!"

The Colorless froze mid-step.

Clairie pointed downward to the enormous pillar that rose from the center of the hall and pierced the ceiling like a divine spear. Its top vanished into the shadows far above.

"And this brings us to the main event of today's ceremony!"

Zshhh.

Out of the pillar, drifting forth like sand and smoke made solid, came a group of golems.

They were massive—hulking constructs of stone and earth, shaped like knights dragged from the pages of a grim fairytale. Their limbs moved with heavy clunks, and giant shields were affixed to their forearms like slabs of carved granite.

Their armor didn't cover them. It was them.

Thump.

The stone guardians marched forward in slow, echoing steps. The sheer weight of their presence sent tremors through the floor.

Some of the Colorless flinched. Others instinctively stepped back.

One boy stumbled as he gasped, terror plain on his face.

"S-she must be kidding! What are those monsters?!"

Clairie twirled once midair, arms behind her back now, voice laced with wicked amusement.

"If you couldn't prove your worth before," she said sweetly, "then this is your moment to shine!"

She held her hand high like a referee poised at the starting line.

"It's either now or never. Bloom, my lovely little flowers!"

Then her hand fell like a blade.

"There's only one rule in this Tower," she declared. "And that is—prove your worth."

A heartbeat passed.

"Let the first Bloom… begin!"

Julius crouched low, yanking his wand from his sleeve as his teeth ground together.

"Dammit!!!"

I'm the heir of House Reinburg! Why the hell do I have to perform like some… some street magician for their amusement?!

Elsewhere, Sion's lackeys—Lyril Marze and Gordon Baret—weren't faring any better.

"J-just a minute!" Lyril stammered, panicked. "This is happening too fast!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, come on, ma'am!" Gordon flailed, backing away.

But Clairie only hummed to herself, a carefree tune dancing past her lips.

"Your task is quite simple," she said, floating lazily above the chaos. "Defeat these bad boys however you like. Finish 'em with elegance or without—just show the factions what you've got ♪."

Without warning, the lead golem pounced at Lyril.

It threw a hammering punch with the sharp edge of its shielded arm.

Boom!

A deep crater ruptured beneath them as the golem's strike cracked the floor—stone said to be impervious to most magic and force—like dried clay.

Lyril barely dodged.

But the pressure behind the blow sent him flying, skidding backward across the stone until he landed on his butt in a graceless sprawl.

His heart thudded wildly in his ears. Humiliation and fear twisted in equal measure.

"Any way we like, huh…" he muttered.

Clicking his tongue with a bitter twist of his lips, Lyril raised his wand.

Four magic circles flickered into existence around the golem.

From each, a burst of fire surged forth, launching without incantation—targeting the small joints beneath its neck, the only visible weak point.

The golem didn't move.

Perhaps it was slow.

Perhaps it was arrogant.

Or perhaps... it just wasn't smart enough to care.

The fire struck dead-on.

And then—

Fshhh…

The flames fizzled out on impact. No explosion. No burning. Not even a scorch mark.

They were simply snuffed out, the way flame vanishes in a void. The same way the mage slayers had extinguished magic.

"?!" Lyril froze, pupils dilating.

Magic… doesn't work on them?!

Up in the stands, Kreutz pushed up his glasses in a slow, bored gesture.

He began speaking, uninvited.

"Zoctonia. That's what we call them—monsters produced by the Tower to act as guardians of the first floor."

"Judging by the strength of even a single specimen, it would be worth about thirty credits… equivalent to monsters you'd find on the middle-to-lower dungeon floors."

Dozens of Colorless turned to him, eyes wide.

He ignored them.

"Don't be arrogant just because of your Terminalia performance," he went on, voice as dry as old parchment. "If those invaders had even reached these halls, they wouldn't be celebrating—just dying. Humiliated, like you are now."

His words sank in like hooks.

They froze.

The golems lunged again.

"Do you really think that little of us?" Kreutz sneered. "That just because you scrambled together enough credits after six pathetic years, you deserve to stand beside us?"

"We, who never even thought twice about becoming High Mages?"

His voice dropped to a cutting murmur.

"Don't mock us with your hubris."

"These Zoctonia deflect any perfunctory attempts at spellwork. If you can't even handle them…"

He smiled faintly.

"…forget joining a faction. You're not even worthy of that Colorless garb."

Psh!

The moment Kreutz finished speaking, the sharp sound of something being skewered echoed through the hall.

All eyes turned.

Julius stood firm, wand raised, as a jagged spike of ice erupted from the floor before him—impaling a zoctonia clean through the chest.

It writhed for only a second before going limp, the ice shard pinning it mid-motion like a statue.

The message was clear.

Not everyone here was incompetent.

"Hrrrgh…!" Julius exhaled heavily, sweat trickling down his chin.

But before he could bask in the victory, a rush of air and a sudden presence behind him made his eyes widen.

He turned his head.

Another zoctonia was already upon him—shield arm raised high, swinging down with the intent to flatten him like a fly beneath a boot.

He couldn't react in time.

The shield slammed down hard against his back.

Crack!

But instead of flesh and bone erupting into a mess of blood—

Julius shattered into jagged pieces of ice.

The zoctonia paused, confused.

Ars Weiss.

The sound echoed like a whisper of magic.

Then came more confusion, as multiple Juliuses suddenly surrounded the golem from behind, wands drawn.

They moved in unison, circling like wolves.

The one crushed before had been a clone.

Maybe they all were.

And far behind the fight, safe and untouched, stood the real Julius—perfectly composed, cape unruffled, hair undisturbed.

He extended his wand without haste, his voice low and precise.

"Glace Itier."

Boom!

Spikes of ice erupted from beneath the zoctonia's feet—then from within its body itself.

It exploded in an instant, reduced to rocky fragments swallowed by a swirling mist of frost.

Sarissa Alfeld adjusted her glasses, unable to hide a flicker of genuine surprise.

This was far more than she'd expected from a recent graduate.

"He killed two Zoctonia… just like that."

The Ice Faction adjutant cast a sidelong glance toward her Vander as she continued, her voice laced with restrained praise.

"His control over that spell has improved a lot since the Grand Magic Festival. I didn't think anyone could refine your clone technique to that level."

But Albis Vina wasn't listening.

She sat curled on her throne, chin resting on her knees, her posture languid, sulking.

Whether she was unimpressed or just annoyed, it wasn't clear.

Only one thing—or rather, one boy—seemed to hold her attention now.

From the Wind Faction's elevated stage, Arvin stood behind an empty chair alongside Monica. He gave a faint nod of approval.

"That one's in a class of his own. If we recruited him, we could put him to work immediately."

Similar murmurs echoed across the Dark Faction.

Behind their shadowed robes, confusion flitted across their expressions.

"With talent like that, why hasn't he been scouted already? The boy's clearly exceptional…"

"Maybe he's a late bloomer?" one offered.

Another shook their head slowly. "No. I remember that one. He put on quite the 'show' at the last festival."

"Then why…?"

Hearing the murmurs from above, Julius couldn't help but glance upward with an anxious, hopeful smile.

That's right! I'm a genius!

I can use clone magic, I'm good-looking, and Highborn! You'd have to be blind to lump me in with this riffraff! I deserve to be scouted!

His gaze drifted toward the Ice Faction's platform.

I'm radiant… a prodigy… Please, Ice Maiden… look at me!

Elfaria felt his eyes on her.

And in response, she snorted—then turned her head deliberately away.

She didn't even acknowledge him.

Didn't offer a first glance, let alone a second.

"Hmph."

Julius froze in place.

His smile cracked, and he reached toward her helplessly.

Aaaaargh! Whyyyyy?!

W-was it the Grand Magic Festival?! Is it because I insulted that No-Talent?! Is she mad I bullied him?!

He cursed under his breath.

Dammit, Julius!!! Even though tt's been six years—you should've remembered how close they were! If you really wanted to be her successor, you should've cozied up to him from the start!!!

Up in the Earth Faction's stone-carved stand, the three elders sighed in slow succession.

"What a pity… Albis Vina never lets go of a grudge."

"Children don't see the bigger picture. If only…"

"If only he weren't an ice user, I'd scout him on the spot."

He didn't even need to be an earth user. Just… anything but ice.

Lately, in the field of magecraft, ice mages had stolen the spotlight from their earth counterparts.

Though their constructs weren't as sturdy or enduring, the sheer beauty of ice sculpture had eclipsed earthwork in nearly every discipline.

More than one Earth-aligned artisan had been quietly put out of business.

Their resentment was understandable.

But perhaps… the elders were the ones failing to see the bigger picture.

Down below, Julius looked like he was about to cry.

Back on the Wind Faction stage, Arvin let out a low, amused laugh.

"Ha ha ha… that kid is certainly unlucky."

Beside him, Monica didn't bother looking his way. Her voice came quiet and cool.

"Are you going to recruit him? The Chief gave you permission to scout on his behalf."

Arvin shook his head.

"We are the Wind Faction. Unless Lord Yuno makes the call himself, I will only scout wind wages."

Monica clicked her tongue.

"You haven't even done that."

Every other faction had at least one new recruit by now.

Only the Wind Faction remained empty.

Arvin sighed and turned his eyes toward the Elf Faction's platform—specifically, to the green-haired boy standing nervously behind Elleaf Canaan.

"The one I was interested in already had an owner," he said smoothly.

A lie, expertly delivered without a hitch.

Monica finally turned to him. Her sneer was sharp enough to cut stone.

"What did you expect? The elves stick to themselves."

Unbothered, Arvin flashed a bright smile.

"Yet we have one."

Monica said nothing.

But her eyes narrowed, boring into him with unsettling stillness.

She didn't need to speak.

Arvin… I want a new pet.

He understood.

And he had no choice but to play along.

Still smiling, he suppressed a sigh and cast a glance at the remaining Colorless still struggling below.

I just hope you don't have any inner demons for this bitch to prey on.

Without hesitation, he raised his wand and pointed it toward a head of forest-green hair.

Boom!

A beam of light burst down from the sky, striking Emma Clever.

Gasps followed as her drab Gloria was transformed into Solphis Neamhain's traditional Wind Faction uniform, emerald and silver threads fluttering in the magical uplift.

Emma was stunned—then overjoyed—as levitation magic lifted her gently up toward her new platform.

She beamed with childlike glee.

And Arvin's guilt twisted deeper in his chest.

You shouldn't be thankful, little Emma… not at all.

But no one could hear that thought. No one but him.

Above them all, Clairie zoomed across the air on her broom, voice magnified through her wand.

"Oooh! What do we have here?! A surprise upset perhaps? The first winner of the Bloom is—Emma! Now who's going to be next?!"

The remaining Colorless watched Emma rise in envy, hearts burning as yet another opportunity slipped through their fingers.

But aside from Julius's earlier outburst, none of them showed any real promise.

Or rather—someone else had started drawing attention for an entirely different reason.

Their heads turned in unison.

All eyes fell on him.

Will knelt beneath a zoctonia, perfectly still.

Since the Bloom had begun, he hadn't struck once. Hadn't drawn blood. Hadn't even swung his sword.

He simply dodged—sidestepped attacks, weaved around charges, quietly running in wide arcs, making no real attempt to engage.

Julius couldn't understand why he was so tense… and before he could think better of it, the words tumbled out of his mouth.

"What are you doing, Flunkee?! Are you just going to keep running away like some coward—"

He froze.

Slapped a hand over his mouth, face flushing with horror.

Dammit, Julius, you idiot! She's still watching!!

And she was.

Elfaria twirled a lock of icy blue hair between her fingers, a faint blush on her cheeks.

"Wrong," she murmured. "He's not running. He's…"

Colette grinned beside Rose, practically leaning over the edge of her seat.

"He's observing!"

Down on the field, Will slid his glasses into his coat pocket and pulled down the goggles over his eyes.

He tapped the Carbuncle perched on his shoulder.

"Mrow?"

"Don't try to help me, Kiki," he said softly.

"Mrow!"

Without protest, the Carbuncle hopped off and bounded into the stands.

It landed gracefully on the railing just beside Colette, who gave it a cheerful wave.

Crack.

Will rolled his wrist and leveled his sword at the approaching Zoctonia, the blade angled low.

I saw that face, Elfie. You were saying, "I'm sorry I couldn't scout you."

But the one who should be sorry… is me.

For putting you through so much. For making you wait all this time.

Just for the sake of a promise only I barely remember.

So… smile for me.

And watch—as I make it to you on my own two feet.

Vroom!

The magical swordsman kicked up a gust of wind as he launched low across the floor, rushing straight at the Zoctonia.

It slammed its shield down to crush him—but he was already gone.

A flash of steel, a blur of motion—he shot upward like a rocket and cleaved through the construct cleanly at its torso.

"Ahhh!"

He didn't even glance back.

Behind him, stone crumbled into dust as he continued his charge.

"He's fast," Sarissa breathed, genuinely impressed.

"No," came an unexpected correction.

Filvis Challia—Paradise's number one introvert—spoke softly from the hovering platform on the opposite end, standing just left of Ellenor.

The Tower's top close-quarters combat specialist, an enigma among mages and elves alike, gave a calm, precise observation.

"It's not just speed. It's…"

"…his weight," Lefiya finished, eyes shut beside her.

Logwell, blindfolded and composed as ever, tilted his head.

"He predicted the golem's movement," he said. "Slipped through the gap in its wingspan perfectly."

Guilford's eyes widened.

"He's already learned their attack pattern?! And put it into practice masterfully on his first try? In so little time—how?!"

Below, Will sidestepped a sweeping blow and countered with a perfect, mirrored strike.

Cleave!

Another Zoctonia split down the middle, stone crashing apart behind him.

Maybe these things have tougher scales… but compared to the Dinobori, Devander, and Shishō…

They're so slow, they might as well be standing still.

Their movements were rigid, predictable.

Adaptability? Limited.

Programmed, not born.

Not a trace of Ki flowed through them—being lifeless constructs—but that didn't matter.

Will had always been able to read his enemies, alive or not, ever since the first time he picked up a blade.

Paired with self-reinforced Ki, a perfectly flexible, weightless Gloria, and a sword that sliced through armor like a hot knife through butter—he didn't even break a sweat.

Honestly, he felt a little embarrassed about hesitating earlier.

Old habits made him stalk his prey before striking.

But for mechanical cannon fodder like this?

Compared to the monsters he'd faced in recent weeks…

This wasn't even a challenge.

Zsh.

Zsh.

Eyes snapped toward the stone pillar as more Zoctonia began to emerge.

Julius's expression went blank.

"They're still coming?!"

Gritting his teeth, he gripped his right elbow with his left hand like a man bracing to fire a rocket launcher. He pointed his wand forward.

"Glace Itier!"

The spell fired—same incantation, but this time, his magic reserves were running low.

Instead of a towering ice spike erupting from the ground, jagged shards burst forth like thrown knives, targeting two incoming Zoctonia.

One was caught off-guard, instantly impaled and frozen over.

But the second raised its shoulder plate just in time—deflecting the attack upward, sending the ice careening high and behind it.

Julius's heart stopped.

His eyes tracked the rogue shards—right toward the last person he wanted to hit.

"Shit! It's going into the—"

Vrm!

A burst of wind shot past him.

Will.

He glanced back with a grin mid-sprint.

"Mind if I borrow that, Julius?"

Julius blinked. "Borrow?"

Shing!

Before he could fully process what that meant, Will leapt high into the air in a clean, arcing jump.

Everyone's heads tilted upward as he shot down like a bolt—then landed perfectly, upright, on the edge of the Ice Faction's platform railing.

His body came between Elfaria and the chaos.

She blinked.

Her heart skipped.

For a breathless moment, her vision was filled only with him.

Her cheeks flushed pink as her fingers twitched.

She fought the sudden, overpowering urge to reach out and touch him.

Because for the first time in six years…

He was finally in arm's reach.

In reach of her real self.

Boom!

The stray ice shard struck the flat of Will's blade, erupting into a miniature avalanche of snow and mist.

Julius might have panicked—if not for the confident smile he caught on Elfaria's face.

Then the mist cleared.

Will stood tall, untouched, cape fluttering behind him as his sword shimmered—now encased in layered ice.

"Fully Charged: Glauss Wis."

Like a program booting for the first time, he spoke the words that surged into his mind—without hesitation, without doubt.

The calm tone, the casual rhythm of it, paired with that solemn, focused gaze sent a chill down Julius's spine.

And not just his.

Without breaking stride, Will stepped off the platform.

For a moment, it seemed as though he were walking down invisible stairs—defying gravity as he descended the side of the bleachers.

Then, in a flash, he crouched low—

—and launched himself like a missile toward the newly spawned wave of Zoctonia.

"Will…" Elfaria's eyes shimmered.

The magical swordsman swept his blade wide.

"Load Burst: Glauss Mill."

A soundless pressure rippled outward.

And just like Julius once had—but now on a much larger scale—all the golems erupted into chunks of shattered stone and iced rubble.

Frozen, impaled, and annihilated mid-motion.

Will landed soundlessly, his Wist blade reverting to its normal form with a low hum.

The Venders might have expected something of the sort…

But the rest—including the oldest elders of the Earth Faction—leapt to their feet, jaws slack in stunned disbelief.

"What just happened?!"

"A blizzard—and a sword strike?! Is that even magic?!"

"Wait… is that the Wis that saved the day at the Terminalia?!"

From the shadowed hallway behind the Dark Faction's seats, a figure stood unnoticed.

Pitch-black eyes. Long obsidian hair.

Arms crossed.

Expression unreadable.

He stared, unimpressed.

Then snorted softly and turned away, vanishing as quietly as he'd come.

"Don't start smiling yet, Serfort…" he muttered.

"No crowd is more particular—or more prone to rejection—than the one you perform for today."

"I thought I taught you better than that."

Clairie cracked a bemused smile.

"Aww… he took out all the Zoctonia. What are we supposed to do now?"

Before she could even react, a magic circle flared beneath Will's feet.

A pillar of light shot down from above, illuminating him like a spotlight.

He snapped his eyes upward—and locked gazes with Elfaria.

She was smiling.

Proud. Affectionate.

And he couldn't help but return it.

"A blessing from Albis Vina," she declared. "I choose you for the Ice Faction."

But his Gloria didn't transform.

Not immediately.

Because she wasn't the only one.

She had competition.

Beam.

Beam.

Beam.

Beam.

Four more beams of light crashed down, each from a different direction.

Fire. Earth. Dark. Wind.

Thunder and Fairy aside, every remaining faction had cast their blessing.

The arena buzzed with stunned silence.

Monica narrowed her eyes and whispered under her breath.

"I thought you only scouted wind mages."

Arvin chuckled—a real one this time.

"With the Wis, he can be a wind mage. Or any mage, really."

He folded his arms, watching the chaos unfold below.

"Besides… I can't let a prospect that good slip away, can I?"

Monica gave a slight nod.

She didn't care how she got him—just that she did.

He'd make a wonderful puppet.

Arvin caught the look in her eye, though she didn't notice the narrowing of his own.

It'd be too suspicious if I didn't at least make a bid for him.

Maybe I can even use him to deal with them…

Behind Kreutz, his assistant Charles leaned in, whispering over the older man's shoulder.

"Blessed by five factions—and he's not even a Multos?! That's… unbelievable."

"This has to be a first in Tower history."

"..."

Meanwhile, Will stood frozen, flustered and overwhelmed.

He tried not to look at the stares—not just from his fellow Colorless, but even from the newly Colored… all filled with envy.

His eyes turned upward again.

Clairie hovered above, smiling like a cat who just tossed a mouse into a room full of nobles.

"You've been blessed by multiple factions," she sang into her wand.

"As such… you get to choose."

Her smile widened.

"Just who would you like to join, Will Serfort?"

The boy didn't even hesitate.

Okay—maybe he did hesitate a bit, when he caught a glance out of the corner of his eye.

A certain head of orange hair stared at him from across the hall.

But even so, he turned back—to her.

The one who had waited for him all this time.

He and Elfaria shared a look. Bright, warm… and impossibly full of everything unsaid.

His lips parted.

"I—"

"Wait."

A cold voice cut across the room, silencing him mid-word.

Everyone turned.

Kreutz Harlon adjusted his glasses, his gaze cool and clinical as it landed on Will. Neither disdainful nor angry—just measured.

"This spell of his is not fit to be called magic."

Will didn't flinch.

Didn't even blink.

Of course…

He let out a quiet sigh as the Director of the Upper Institute continued.

"In light of your feats during the Terminalia, we allowed you honorary admittance to the Tower at Caldron's request. I permitted that, and I'm still willing to."

"But?" Will asked flatly.

Kreutz's voice sharpened. "But I must question whether you're qualified to join one of our illustrious factions."

Elfaria shot to her feet.

Her glare was pure venom, drilling invisible daggers into the Paramount's back.

"Were you not watching, Kreutz? He cast a spell."

Kreutz turned calmly to face her.

Not flinching. Not yielding.

Because technically, the semantics were on his side.

"Indeed I was, Lady Elfaria. And that is precisely why I made such a claim."

"You—!"

"What you call 'casting' was nothing more than appropriation," he interrupted. "Robbery and repurposing of another mage's spell—no original construct of his own."

Will blinked.

…Honestly, he couldn't even argue with that.

Kreutz raised his gloved hands, as if appealing to the entire chamber for reason.

"He's no mage. Not in the true sense of the word. When all's said and done… he's nothing but a boorish, unrefined warrior."

Will scratched his cheek, looking vaguely sheepish.

I think I'm a little refined…

Unable to hear Will's thoughts, the Paramount let out an exaggerated sigh and face-palmed with theatrical regret.

"He's no better than a dwarf. I shudder to think what scorn we'd bring upon ourselves by allowing that to ascend the tower."

Will frowned.

The tower's still standing because of the dwarves' sacrifices during the invasion…

He was just about to give the man a piece of his mind when Elleaf Canaan clicked her tongue sharply from her seat.

"Enough with the sophistries. Just make your point."

Kreutz held back a smile, grateful for the interruption—especially since it came before Albis Vina could open her mouth.

He pointed toward the arena floor.

"It's quite simple, Lady Ellenor."

Sst.

He snapped his fingers.

"If the boy has even an ounce of what it takes to be a wand… then let him prove it."

Boom!

Vmm!

Boom!

Vmm!

Boom!

Vmm!

Beams of light slammed down from the ceiling around the stone pillar, making the entire floor quake.

Magic circles lit up beneath the surface—and from them, new summons burst forth.

But these weren't stone-plated knights.

No—these were towering, serpentine eels made of churning water. Liquid bodies coiled with impossible tension, glinting with a few jewel-like ornaments near their jaws and along their heads.

Whump.

Their tails cracked against the ground like whips, baring watery fangs at the so-called No-Talent.

And this time, there would be no mistaking the test.

Will's eyes widened.

Unlike the Zoctonia… these feel alive?

From his pedestal, Kreutz casually pointed his wand at one of the beasts.

"These are magical creatures known as Wors Ooze—recently developed to keep the dwarves in check."

Will's frown deepened.

Keep them in check...? Just how far are you willing to go to oppress them?

How much longer will you plot against those who have nothing, until you're finally satisfied?!

They fought beside us! Aren't they your allies?! Aren't we all supposed to be on the same side?!

But Kreutz couldn't hear his thoughts.

Even if he could, he wouldn't care. At most, he'd laugh—amused by the boy's naïveté.

"Now, watch," the Paramount said.

"Crysto Wreath."

A simple jet of water surged from his wand—barely more than a squirt. It was underwhelming. A third-year student at the academy could manage better.

Yet it lanced clean through one of the creatures' torsos.

Fsshh!

The Wors Ooze collapsed instantly, its serpentine form dissolving into a steaming puddle of mist and melted slime.

Will raised an eyebrow.

That weak?

Kreutz caught the look and answered as if reading his mind.

"As you can see, they disintegrate when struck by even the most basic spell. But…" He paused.

"Their gelatinous exterior is only susceptible to magic."

There was pride in his voice now. Cold. Measured.

"Mage slayers?"

He chuckled softly.

"Well—call these sword slayers."

"Even if they ever revolted, they'd pose no threat to us mages. Only to the magicless... the liabilities… the burdens… the useless."

Suddenly, the remaining Wors Ooze lunged—mouth wide as it snapped down toward Will.

The swordsman backflipped, barely evading it, his blade slicing through the creature's torso mid-air.

Shhhk!

But the moment he landed, the cleaved section wiggled... and seamlessly reattached.

Will's eyes narrowed. Sweat trickled down his cheek.

Just like the Balkar during the All-Student Praxis... Completely impervious to physical attacks!

This one wasn't a Magebane though—just a Swordbane. Maybe that made it even more dangerous.

Kreutz scoffed from above, arms folded.

"Were you not listening? That prized blade of yours holds no advantage here."

His lip curled.

"We took extra care to render those barbarians' Moria silver useless."

"Those savages will never again raise their heads in front of a wand."

Will ground his teeth, fists clenched.

Would it kill you to speak like a decent person?!

In the crowd, Elfaria watched with bated breath, hope flickering in her eyes like a small, stubborn flame.

Hope he didn't want to disappoint.

Cariott, seated with hands folded in his lap, let his ever-present crescent-moon smile wane slightly into something closer to a frown.

"Showmanship aside, Kreutz makes a fair point. It can't hurt to see the boy fight at least one battle."

He tapped the armrest of his chair lightly.

"Moreover… as a Magia Vander, I must agree. A sword who aims to be a wand must, at the very least, meet the baseline expectations of one."

"Casting a spell."

His voice grew cold, matter-of-fact.

"If he can't manage even that… then it makes little sense to allow him to climb the tower at all."

"He may as well stay here. Tending to crops."

"On call for the rare moment he's actually needed."

Just like the dwarves.

Will clenched his jaw as the serpent gave chase, its aqueous body slithering across the floor like a liquid predator.

But in this hunt, the prey was superior in every way—except for one.

He lacked the means to land a fatal blow.

Like a venomous insect—too small to crush, too fast to catch.

"Grr! Slashing at it won't get me anywhere! That's just wasting stamina!"

He darted around it, changing angles, trying a different approach. This time he launched toward its back.

Guardians and summons always have a core… If I can just find it—

"Your naïveté is truly astounding," Kreutz muttered from above, almost bored.

Will's blade pierced into the creature's center—and struck something.

A solid lump nestled inside the gooey mass. The core!

But instead of cracking… nothing happened.

Gloop.

The serpent trembled for a second—then stabilized, perfectly unharmed.

Kreutz's voice reached Will again, closer now, like a whisper in his ear.

Cold. Mocking. Unforgiving.

"We gave it a gelatinous body. What makes you think we wouldn't give it a gelatinous core, as well?"

"?!"

Will's eyes widened, stunned.

That moment of visible shock sparked something in Kreutz—a reverse scale touched, pride inflamed.

The Director snarled with venomous satisfaction.

"Don't underestimate the Tower! We are the pinnacle of all magic!"

He hadn't forgotten the humiliation of the Terminalia.

Too many High Mages had been overshadowed—outshone by academy students and even dwarves.

Rumors had spread like wildfire.

Maybe the Tower isn't as grand as we thought.

Maybe the academy can teach us more than the vaunted Upper Institute.

Kreutz had heard every whisper.

And now, through Will Serfort, he would put all those doubts to rest.

The Tower had been the dream of all mages for five hundred years.

And under his watch… it would remain untouchable.

Unquestioned.

Unchallenged.

Bzzt!

"Agh?!"

Will's muscles tensed as arcs of lightning danced across the creature's gooey body, shocking him through the hilt of his sword.

It can shoot electricity?!

Zssh!

He gritted his teeth and yanked with all his strength, finally freeing the blade and leaping back—though not fast enough to avoid a mild current that zipped through him.

His limbs buzzed, fingers tingling. Just enough to numb his senses.

Hovering high above on her broom, Clairie let out a long whistle, sweat trickling from her temple.

"A stun attack for suppressing dwarves…? Nice to see your creations are as vicious and thorough as ever, Kreutz."

"…"

The Paramount didn't answer. His eyes weren't on her.

They were fixed past Will—on two boys at the edge of the ceremonial floor.

Lyril and Gordon.

The two seemed to be caught in a hushed debate, resolve building behind their anxious expressions.

Kreutz frowned. He didn't need a rebellion—not now.

Without a word, he raised his wand and cast another spell.

Boom!

A cannon-like surge of water blasted the ground between them, sending rubble flying and knocking them flat.

The shock left them pale, trembling.

Kreutz sneered coldly.

"Stay out of this. Your audition has already ended."

"This is a trial to judge the heretic. He will face it alone. Don't get any funny ideas."

The boys collapsed to their knees, legs giving out completely.

Frozen.

Helpless.

Intimidated into silence.

As Will glanced over his shoulder, Lyril and Gordon quickly lowered their heads—too ashamed to meet his eyes.

They'd finally summoned the courage to set their pride and egos aside to help him. To repay him.

But one threat was all it took to erase their resolve completely.

Even so, Will couldn't be angry. If anything, he felt a strange warmth settle in his chest.

They tried… and that was enough to move him.

But his mind was also battling with another internal dilemma.

A heretic?

Is that what I am?

The serpent lunged again, but Will didn't move.

The chaos dulled into silence as his thoughts spiraled inward.

Heretic…

The word echoed in his skull. It wasn't an insult or condemnation that rose—it was something else.

Heretic…

A nonconformist.

A renegade.

An apostate.

A sword who dares to dream of becoming a wand.

And has the potential to pull it off as well.

The one and only.

Heretic.

He couldn't explain why… but he liked the sound of it.

The Wors Ooze let out a screech and dove for him again.

"Raghh!"

Will lifted his blade.

A sudden chill ran through the hilt—cold enough to bite skin, though the sword itself hadn't changed at all. No glow. No surge. No fanfare.

Yet he felt it.

Something was different.

And so, he swung.

Cleave.

Nearly scoffing, Kreutz raised his hand to snap his fingers, prepared to end the trial and spare the boy's life.

But he stopped.

His hand hovered in mid-air.

His breath caught.

And the hall… went silent.

Because before their eyes, the serpent collapsed—steam rising as its body melted into a puddle of mist and water.

Just like Kreutz's spell had done.

No one spoke.

Because Will Serfort had just done the impossible.

Again.

For a moment, silence lingered.

Colette, Sion, and the others were about to erupt into cheers.

But Kreutz struck first.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

The Paramount's roar cracked through the hall like thunder. Everyone flinched, turning toward him in alarm.

His ghost-pale skin looked even more deathly under the glow of the chamber lights, made starker by the shadowed blackness flooding his features.

But his eyes—his eyes were fixed solely on Will.

The boy stiffened.

For the first time in ages… he felt genuine fear.

Not from Kreutz's strength, whatever it was.

But because the man looked like an utter psychopath.

A dangerous, unraveling madman.

Will swallowed hard and answered meekly.

"I-I just did what you said… I beat the Ooze with magic—"

"DON'T FUCK WITH ME!" Kreutz thundered. "You didn't emit a single drop of mana!"

Elfaria had heard enough.

She shot to her feet, fury erupting from her lips as she screamed across the chamber.

"Enough with your pathetic excuses, Kreutz! Will fulfilled your requirement! Now revoke your veto and let the ceremony proceed!"

She turned to Will, her voice softening as she offered him a radiant smile.

"Will Serfort, you may now choose your—"

"Not so fast, Elfaria."

She froze.

Everyone turned.

Another voice had entered the fray. Calm, cold… and cutting.

And all eyes snapped to the source of the interruption.

Cariott Wiseman met their stares without blinking.

"Kreutz wasn't lying. The boy didn't emit a single trace of mana in that strike."

Elfaria's expression darkened. Her jaw clenched.

"This farce has gone on long enough, Cariott—"

"It's no farce," interrupted the Proxy of Masterias Noah, calm as ever. His eyes drifted across the chamber.

"Perhaps I'm just getting old," he mused. "Did anyone here sense even a flicker of magic in that attack?"

No one raised their hand.

No one dared lie beneath the sweep of his gaze.

Cariott smiled again.

"Of course, it's possible he somehow masked the magical signature completely… contained it so well that even we Vander couldn't detect it."

He opened his eyes at last—dark crimson pupils gleaming like polished garnets—as they fixed on Elfaria.

"But if that's the case, it makes him another kind of dangerous altogether."

The weight of his words hung heavy.

"One that would make me… very inclined to send this boy to one of our labs. For a thorough dissection of all his secrets." His voice remained polite. Chillingly so. "Is that what you want?"

Elfaria froze.

Then a pulse of ice burst from her body, flash-freezing the air around her in a jagged wave.

Boom.

"You dare?!"

Boom!

But her ice never reached the walls.

At that exact moment, a surge of flame countered it—melting the cold, pushing back with equal force.

The room's temperature stayed miraculously stable.

Yet the sheer mana radiating from both Vander cracked the air.

Only Zeo, Ellenor, Logwell, and Lefiya remained unfazed.

Everyone else trembled under the pressure.

Cariott chuckled softly.

"I do, in fact, dare." He turned with a gracious hand. "Now… would you allow Kreutz to finish his argument?"

Elfaria clenched her fist, fury tinting her vision red.

It's him again.

The bastard who tore me away from Will…

Who dragged me to this cursed tower…

And now he dares threaten to harm him?

My Will?!

I'll kill him.

KILL HIM!

"Elfaria-sama…" Sarissa whispered nervously at her side. The woman's meek voice barely carried, but it echoed in Elfaria's ears like a warning bell.

Albis Vina exhaled slowly, closing her eyes to rein in the storm inside her chest.

Then, in one fluid motion, she sat back down and crossed her legs, regal and cold.

She fixed Kreutz with a frozen stare.

"Proceed."

Calm. Composed.

Like a queen granting permission to a worm who had offended her.

Kreutz said nothing.

But he knew.

He was now walking on very thin ice.

Kreutz Harlon shivered slightly, but quickly composed himself with a deep breath.

"I have two hypotheses. First—my creation was not as immune to Moria-silver as I believed. Perhaps it merely possesses a high resistance."

He glanced around the hall, as if daring anyone to challenge him.

"If that proves to be the case… then it would be my personal failure. And regardless of my current objections, I will allow Will Serfort to receive a blessing."

Elfaria raised a brow, unimpressed. "And the second?"

Kreutz lifted a second finger.

"Residual mana from Julius Reinburg's spell may have lingered on the Heretic's blade. It's possible that, at just the right angle and moment, those lingering traces were what dissolved the Ooze."

Elfaria crossed her arms.

"And how exactly do you intend to prove either of these ridiculous theories?"

Kreutz offered a tight smile.

"Quite simply."

Snap.

A sharp gesture, and a beam of light summoned another Wors Ooze before Will.

Unlike the others, this one remained still—coiled, docile, and asleep.

"I've ordered this one to remain dormant. It poses no threat. He may strike it however and whenever he chooses. If he destroys it, I will rescind all opposition to his ascent."

Elfaria narrowed her eyes. "And how do I know this isn't some elaborate trap?"

Kreutz calmly adjusted his glasses.

"I may be many things, Lady Elfaria… but I am not so pitiful as to resort to that."

"..."

Elfaria didn't answer Kreutz. Her eyes weren't on him—but on Will.

The boy slowly came out of his daze and gave a small nod.

He could feel it—Kreutz's sincerity through his ki.

The man wasn't lying.

It was that same sincerity, warped as it was, that made Will agree to this extra trial in the first place.

All of Kreutz's words had been cruel, yes—but beneath the arrogance, Will could sense it: the belief that only someone who could wield magic deserved to be Colored.

And that if Will proved himself… Kreutz, as much as he hated it, wouldn't stand in the way.

It was a twisted logic—but not one Will could bring himself to argue against.

Elfaria sighed quietly, sinking back into her seat.

"…Proceed."

Will swallowed the lump in his throat and stepped forward toward the slumbering serpent. He ignored the weight of all the eyes on him.

Alright, Will… just remember that feeling.

Whoosh.

He swung his blade down toward the core—

And blinked.

It was gone.

That cold, crystallizing power he had felt before… gone, without a trace.

He stiffened. His grip tightened, but he didn't retreat.

Whoosh.

Another strike. Still nothing.

The creature slumbered peacefully, unbothered.

From the seats above, he felt the mood begin to shift.

Where once there was awe… now came doubt.

Gritting his teeth, he swung again.

Whoosh.

And again.

Whoosh.

And again.

Whoosh.

But no matter how desperately he willed it—no matter how much heart, strength, or longing he put into each cut…

Nothing happened.

Sweat trailed down his chin.

Please… please… whatever that power was, come back! Just once more!

But there was only silence.

Across the arena, the light in Elfaria's eyes began to dim.

Will felt it.

That subtle shift in her ki.

That pain.

It broke something in him.

He had failed her.

Again.

His shoulders slumped. His sword hung low.

And for the first time since the Bloom began—

Will Serfort… gave up.

Snap.

With a flick of his fingers, Kreutz dismissed the Ooze. It vanished in a blink of mist and water.

He stepped forward.

"It seems my hypothesis was correct. From beginning to end, he relied on the lingering power of a wand—proving, definitively, that he cannot cast a spell of his own. And as such, he is unqualified to join a faction."

Will's eyes burned. He bit back the tears welling at the corners.

Kreutz, finally free to deliver the speech he had prepared, spread his arms grandly.

"I hereby propose he remain Colorless—and that his name be placed within the lowest tier of the Upper Institute."

He raised a single gloved finger.

"That being said… the Wis ability he wields was enough to defeat a Devander and even a Grand Duke, if the reports are to be believed. It would not be an exaggeration to call such a power… miraculous."

The hall filled with startled murmurs. A few voices even nodded in agreement.

Kreutz allowed himself a victorious smile.

"I assure you, we will uncover the truth behind this phenomenon—and share its secrets with the magical world."

From across the stage, Cariott let out a dry chuckle, folding his hands in his lap.

"So… you planned to make him a guinea pig all along. How very like you, Kreutz."

But Kreutz's grin only widened as the Wand of Fire continued.

"Frankly, I don't care who claims him—if one of you can unlock the mysteries of the fifth element and harness it, then by all means, take him."

He leaned forward slightly, voice smooth.

"But…"

He turned to look across the chamber.

"…I don't think any of you will succeed so easily."

Kreutz followed his gaze.

And then he paled.

Elfaria Albis Serfort sat perfectly still—face like carved ice, fury boiling just beneath the surface.

She was going to erupt once again.

Cariott let out a tired sigh and raised a hand.

"I won't have you sulking like a petulant child, Elfaria."

She didn't even glance at him.

Magic surged through her veins, crackling just beneath her skin—ready to lash out at the next person who so much as glanced at Will with ill intent.

"Elfie…" Will whispered, his voice cracking, eyes misting over.

And then—

"All this bitching's getting on my nerves, losers."

The tension shattered in an instant.

Zeo Thorzeus Reinbolt spat loudly over the edge of his platform, grinning like a wild dog.

"We're having another Bloom soon anyway. Save your drama for that."

"Huh?" Will blinked, finally remembering that Clairie Serah had called this the First Bloom.

Right on cue, the announcer swooped lazily back into view, lounging sideways on her broom with a smile.

"Technically, the Bloom's supposed to be semiannual… but with all the empty slots from Terminalia…" she paused, twirling her wand, "and the suspicious tides we've been picking up lately, we need replacements. Fast."

She twirled again, her voice light, almost playful.

"So, one week from today—we're doing this all over again."

Will froze.

Clairie didn't stop.

"As survivors of that disaster, you've been named the Generation of Disquiet. The magical world is putting its faith—no, its future—in your hands."

She let out a sweet, airy hum.

"To be blunt: we're dumping our problems, our fears, and our failures onto your shoulders. So don't screw it up, kiddies ♪!"

Then her tone softened—subtly, genuinely—as her gaze found just one person.

"And of course… that includes you, Will Serfort."

Will's throat caught as Clairie turned to face Cariott in silence.

Surprisingly, it was Incindia Barham who spoke first.

"No objections on my part."

"What? Lord Cariott?!" Kreutz barked, disbelief painting his features.

I thought we were of the same mind!

The Vander silenced him with a single raised hand.

"The Tower has but one rule—'prove your worth.' Not even Lord Aaron defies that, much less I."

He cast Kreutz a long look.

"All High Mages are entitled to a fair trial. I trust you won't interfere again, Paramount?"

Tch.

Kreutz clicked his tongue, irritation seething under his breath. His cape flared behind him as he turned.

"What a waste of time."

He cast Will one last venomous glance before storming off, Charles scrambling after him.

Cariott gave a small, satisfied nod.

"All of us Vandar made it this far by honoring that rule. We will reconvene in one week."

Clairie beamed and flashed a quiet peace sign toward Sarissa.

Ta-dah.

The Ice Faction adjutant bowed her head repeatedly, whispering with relief, "Thank you…"

From her seat, Ellenor Ljos Alf sighed dramatically.

"So is this farce finally over?"

For once, Zeo agreed. He sneered, arms folded.

"What a whole lot of nothing."

Without a word, Lefiya and Filvis raised their hands.

Whoosh.

The floating stages began drifting back to their respective towers, the great hall gradually clearing as each faction withdrew.

As her platform faded into the shadowy height, Elfaria stared tearfully at that boy below.

"Will…"

And that single word made his chest clench with guilt and longing all over again.

Soon, only the Colorless remained.

The failures, left behind in the vast and echoing ceremonial hall.

Julius was the first to find his voice.

"W-wait—another test? And did she say one week—?"

Thump.

He froze, as did the others, when a single pair of footsteps passed by.

Will was already walking toward the door.

Startled, Julius reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

"W-where are you going, Flunkee?!"

Will turned, a bit confused.

"To get something to eat… then study. Maybe train a bit. I'm starving."

He looked sheepish. Almost apologetic.

Which somehow made Julius even more dumbfounded.

"S-starving?! Studying?! A-aren't you furious?!" He flailed his arms. "They just schemed against you in broad daylight! How can you be so—so calm?!"

Will paused.

His expression shifted.

And then, with a slight tremble in his voice, he forced a crooked smile.

"Yeah… but crying won't change anything. I'm used to it anyway."

Gently, he pried Julius' hand off his shoulder and turned away again.

"See you around. I'll be at the crepe stand or the library if you want to meet up."

Julius, along with the rest, could only gape as Will pushed the doors open and stepped out.

Outside, he glanced up at the illusionary sky.

A soft sigh escaped him as his gaze lowered to the blade in his hand.

"What was that cold feeling… and why did it vanish?"

His voice turned quiet.

"Why now, of all times?"

...Mister Donnan. Did you make me a faulty sword?

His eyes shifted down to the gem embedded in its guard—a small, magenta oval.

His brow furrowed.

Is it this thing's fault?

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Finn suddenly paused, frowning as he dug a finger into his ear.

Huh? Is someone talking behind my back?

Psh.

Clicking his tongue, he shook his head and flashed a disarming smile once more. With a casual knock, he rapped again on the wooden door in front of him.

Rap. Rap.

...Creak.

The door creaked open to reveal Asta, standing tall and glaring down at the dwarven guide with clear annoyance.

Finn's grin widened.

"Did you make your decision, Big Guy?"

Asta's face darkened at the mockery in his tone. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose before muttering, "Give us five minutes."

Finn raised both hands with a wink.

"Take as much as you need. I'll wait right here."

Bam!

The door slammed shut in his face.

Finn blinked, lips twitching as his smile faltered.

"Charming."

Inside, Asta didn't break stride, heading straight for the living room.

Noelle sat at a small desk, quickly scribbling a letter. Several bags were packed nearby—luggage filled with valuables and whatever essentials they could bring.

Asta exhaled through his nose and rubbed the ring on his left hand, nestled beside his wedding band.

Vrmm!

A gentle hum filled the room as a pale blue light flickered from the gem. Runic symbols spiraled outward, forming a box of ethereal energy. The luggage shimmered and vanished into motes of light, sucked into the ring's dimensional storage.

He turned to his wife.

"Come on, Noelle. It's time."

She didn't look up.

"One sec!" she snapped, still scribbling with urgency.

Asta winced.

"Sorry."

He turned to the baby in the corner, seated in a high-backed chair and watching Noelle with wide, curious eyes.

A smile crept onto Asta's face.

He bent down, making an exaggeratedly goofy expression.

"You ready, Nigel? To go out there and take the world by storm with Mama and Dada?"

Nigel blinked. Then, as if on cue, he laughed and threw his pudgy arms in the air.

"Bah-un!"

Grinning, Asta scooped the seven-month-old into his arms and held him close.

They both turned to Noelle just as she slid her letter into an envelope and held it out toward the black bird perched nearby.

"Take this to Vanessa."

Nero didn't move for a second—then raised one wing in a slow, exaggerated salute. She plucked the letter with her beak and flapped lazily out the window.

Noelle watched her go, then let out a long sigh.

Her eyes wandered slowly across the room, lingering on the walls, the bookshelves, the memories. Then she reached out and clasped Asta's free hand.

"I'm ready. Let's go."

Asta nodded.

Outside, Finn leaned against the railing, gazing up just in time to spot Nero streaking through the sky.

She gave him a sideways glance—half-lidded and unimpressed—before tilting westward, toward Terallis.

Finn's gaze followed her trail, a glint of interest sparking behind his eyes.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Hands in his pockets, Zeo walked toward his private dwelling, trailed by his adjutant, Guildford Zurgas.

"..." Unable to restrain his silence any longer, the blonde-haired aide-de-camp parted his lips.

"That was unexpected?"

"What was, Guil?" Zeo asked casually, without turning around.

"That you didn't give Will Ser— I mean, that boy, your blessing. I thought you favored his type, Lord Zeo."

Zeo stopped dead in his tracks, then spun around with a feral grin.

"Hmph. Idiot, guess you still haven't figured me out."

He clamped a hand down on Guilford's head, ruffling his hair like he was speaking to a child.

He wasn't, but Guilford couldn't help flushing slightly, embarrassed.

Zeo chuckled as he stepped back, hands sliding back into his pockets.

"When a guy has to claw his way up from rock bottom, that makes him way more interesting."

He bared his fangs.

"And way tougher. That goes without saying."

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Author's Notes:

[1] Holy shit, that was one long chapter.

[2] If you'd like to chat, discuss the story, or hang out, feel free to join the Discord: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar