Newfear

Midnight – Arcadia, Dreamcrown

The black car came to a halt before the outer gates of the old royal palace, where the former queen had once resided before the revolution. The palace stood like a dying entity, its walls eroded, its fences barely holding together, as if time had gnawed away at its grandeur until only a faded specter of its past glory remained. The night was thick, and the mist crept like a cold liquid, swallowing the ground.

The servant stepped out first, silently opening the door with practiced precision. Then, Lorian emerged. Her steps were steady, deliberate, as if she wasn't merely walking upon stone but treading upon memories etched into the very fabric of this place. She didn't glance around, didn't hesitate... she simply advanced toward the stone staircase leading to the inner gate, while her servant followed cautiously behind, as if afraid of disturbing something unseen.

Upon entering, the palace was silent except for the echo of her footsteps as she ascended to the second floor, taking the left corridor. The walls bore the weight of a bygone era... faded paintings, dust-covered furniture, as though the palace itself refused to be forgotten. She walked forward until she reached the old throne hall, a room long regarded as the graveyard of kings' dreams.

She stood at the entrance, about to turn toward the right passage, but suddenly… she stopped.

Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she inhaled the cold, stale air thick with the scent of decay. Then, slowly… she tilted her head to the left.

There it was.

The throne.

The very throne that was said to have been destroyed, shattered beneath the weight of the revolution, reduced to nothing by Raymond Vanheim centuries ago. And yet, it stood there, as though mocking time itself, as if it had defied death and returned to roar once more.

It was deformed... its edges chipped, some of its parts missing, while others had been crudely reassembled and welded together. It resembled a monstrous relic, resurrected from oblivion, waiting impatiently for the heir worthy of claiming it… or simply to bring forth chaos once again.

Lorian took a step forward, staring at the throne as if she could hear its whispers slithering through her mind, telling tales of lost greatness, unfulfilled promises, and a curse that had never truly lifted.

Then, in a voice barely more than a whisper, she spoke... perhaps to herself, perhaps to something unseen.

Lorian: "It is near…"

She kept her gaze fixed upon it, her expression unreadable.

Lorian: "The dream of my ancient ancestors… the heir.

It will come true… soon."

Moments of silence stretched, as if the entire hall had swallowed time itself. Then, she remained standing in front of the throne, silent. Her hands were clasped for a moment, but slowly, she loosened her fingers and extended her hand forward.

The notebook she had been holding appeared.

"Newfear."

The title was engraved on its dark cover, as if the words were etched into the fabric of time itself. It looked old, but not worn… as if the pages inside carried more than just words, as if they bore an invisible weight... one that could be felt but not seen.

Lorian stared at it for a few seconds, as if trying to see beyond the title, searching for something that only existed in her mind. Her fingers slowly traced over the cover, stopping at the edge, where the leather had slightly frayed from repeated use.

Then, without a word, she opened to the first page.

There was no introduction, no welcome message, no explanation.

Just… one name.

"Newfear."

The engraving repeated before her, like a distant echo of something that had been waiting to be read again. She stared at it in silence, as if the letters were pulsating beneath her gaze, carrying with them a lost legacy of a past that had not entirely faded.

She continued to stare at it in silence, as if the letters were pulsating before her, carrying the weight of centuries of anticipation. She didn't blink, didn't move; she only felt the word echoing in the depths of her mind, like a resonance of something that had always been there... waiting for her.

While Lorian was immersed in deep contemplation, her gaze fixed on the word engraved on the cover of the notebook, her mind descended into an internal struggle. Thoughts raced in her head, each one heavier than the last, and every word seemed to carry a symbolism greater than anything before it. It felt as though time had stopped, and everything around her faded into a fog, except for that word, glowing in the dark before her eyes.

The notebook in her hand bore the weight of a long history; a history she was now bound to face, with no way to escape. There was something about that word, "Newfear," that connected it strangely to everything that had happened in her life so far, as if it was part of a destiny she could not avoid. Now, that word made her feel as if she was facing both herself and the history she could never outrun.

In that moment of deep silence, where everything around her faded into a haze of profound thought, the quiet voice of her servant interrupted.

"Your Grace?"

His voice was weak, as if he feared disturbing the tranquility that surrounded her, but it was like the soft rain tapping on a window during a storm. Lorian didn't move right away, remaining where she stood, as though in another world, her eyes still locked on the book as if she were trying to decipher the future between its pages.

She did not respond at first; instead, she remained lost in thought, her eyes fixed on the book in her hand as if she hadn't heard anything he said. Her mind was trapped in a whirlwind, each thought larger than the last, intertwining and battling within her. The voice calling her felt like a distant echo, swallowed by the fog of her thoughts. Everything around her became still, shrouded in the shadows of deep silence, as if time itself had come to a halt.

In a long moment of silence, Lorian remained immersed in her thoughts, as if time itself had stopped around her. Her servant's voice echoed in her ears, but she didn't respond immediately. She stayed in place, her eyes still fixed on the book, as if searching for an answer hidden within its pages... an answer she had been seeking for a long time.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, she parted her lips and spoke, her voice quiet but filled with confidence and resolve:

Lorian: "Arcadia... will rise again."

Her words were a promise, as if she were speaking to herself more than to anyone else.

"Duchess Nightover?"

He called her again, and something in the way her servant said that name finally brought her back to reality.

She slowly lifted her gaze and looked at the servant. Her voice was calm, yet there was an air of mystery in her tone.

"Yes?" she said in a voice that wasn't quiet, but carried a wearied depth, as if she already knew the answer coming would be pivotal to the course of events.

Her servant, who had been watching her facial expression, could not hide the look of concern in his eyes.

"They are waiting for you."

Yet Lorian was still lost in thought, her mind returning to the word that echoed in her head.

Lorian gazed at it, then slowly closed the notebook, as if she had seen enough.

There was no need to read further.

Because she already knew… that every word inside was true.

She took a deep breath, as if trying to absorb the weight of the moment, then finally turned and walked toward the door at the corner of the hall, where five silhouettes awaited her inside.

And as the door opened, the notebook vanished beneath her coat, as if it had never been there at all.

without another glance, she turned away and resumed her path.

She reached the wooden door at the far-right corner of the hall. Standing before it for a brief moment, she didn't knock... she simply exhaled. The servant extended his hand and opened it carefully…

Inside, the round table awaited.

Five figures sat in dim light, their silhouettes blending into the shadows, their faces obscured, as if they were mere specters lurking beyond the fragile veil between reality and illusion.

She did not speak.

Nor did they.

Only silent glances were exchanged... glances that needed no words.

Then, the door slowly closed… letting darkness consume everything once again.

Three Days Later…

The golden rays of the sun filtered through the high windows of the luxurious car where Nott sat in the back seat. The vehicle glided smoothly along the paved road, flanked by dense forests with towering pine trees stretching into the sky. Nott felt a mixture of tension and excitement as he headed toward Steelheart Academy... for the first time.

The car took a final turn, revealing a breathtaking white gate adorned with intricate golden details that gleamed under the sunlight as if radiating a light of its own. The car slowed to a halt before the gate, and the driver turned to Nott, speaking in a calm yet firm voice:

Driver: "This is Noah. He is responsible for the list of authorized students. Show him your card, and he'll let you in."

Nott stepped out of the car, masking his inner anxiety with confident strides. He approached Noah, a dark-skinned man dressed in a black uniform that exuded strict professionalism.

Noah: "Your card?"

Nott retrieved the card from his inner pocket and handed it to Noah. He noticed how Noah's eyes shifted from the card to his face in sudden surprise.

Noah: "[A recommendation… from the President!?] Very well, you may enter. Good luck, sir."

Retrieving his card, Nott proceeded toward the gate, which Noah opened with a seamless mechanism. As he stepped inside, a vast courtyard spread out before him, leading to an enormous circular building that gleamed with bold architectural design. The exterior was covered in a reflective metallic material that shimmered under the sunlight, making it appear almost alive. Towering pillars adorned with intricate engravings stood tall, as if narrating ancient tales of the organization's power.

A sudden announcement echoed from the speakers scattered throughout the courtyard. The voice was firm and clear.

"All registered applicants for the organization, please proceed here immediately."

The message repeated three times, each repetition reinforcing the gravity of the moment. The voice directed them toward the rear of the main building, where shadows flickered under the scattered light.

The applicants began moving toward the source of the call, and Nott followed with cautious steps. They passed through the grand entrance of the massive circular structure, only to find themselves in a narrow hallway shrouded in darkness. The walls, coated in a concrete-like material, absorbed the dim lighting from concealed fixtures in the corners, deepening the enigmatic atmosphere. Each footstep echoed, as if awakening forgotten spirits.

As Nott advanced, the murmurs and movements of others became clearer, their voices whispering stories of those who had walked this path before. The air grew warmer, his pulse quickened, and inside him, fear and anticipation wrestled for dominance.

At last, he emerged from the corridor into a vast white arena stretching out like an open battlefield. The space was clearly designed for combat, with a central open area surrounded by towering stands filled with spectators. Lights hovered above the ring, amplifying the tension in the air. The excited murmurs of the crowd filled the space, their eager eyes locked onto the center stage, as if they had witnessed life-and-death struggles unfold countless times before.

Above the arena, a massive screen illuminated the scene with vibrant colors, displaying images and information hinting at an upcoming showdown. Nott stood still, absorbing the moment, his anticipation mingling with unease.

His gaze dropped to the card in his hand... number 37 was clearly imprinted on it. A rush of adrenaline coursed through him as he scanned the stands for his designated seat. He moved toward it and sat down, bracing for what would come next.

Suddenly, a powerful voice boomed across the arena.

"Attention, new applicants! I am the Head of Heart Academy, Marvelous."

All eyes turned swiftly to the ring, where a middle-aged man stood atop a small platform. He had a broad frame, golden-blond hair falling over the sides of his face, and piercing green eyes radiating confidence. His white suit, adorned with gold and black stripes, added to his commanding presence.

With a slight smile and a nod, Marvelous spoke.

Marvelous: "Ahem… I'll begin with a brief explanation of the test."

On the massive screen above the arena, animated diagrams appeared, meticulously illustrating the details of the trial.

Marvelous continued with enthusiasm: "To win this test, there is only one way... Win every battle, reach the finals, and secure first place.

You are free to do anything in combat... there are no rules or restrictions, except for one: do not kill each other. Stay within the designated zone. If any part of your body crosses the boundary, you will be immediately disqualified, and your opponent will claim victory. Defeat is determined when a participant surrenders."

He paused briefly, allowing the weight of his words to settle over the crowd before adding in a commanding tone:

Marvelous: "Opponents will be selected randomly. Now… let's begin!"

A wave of cheers erupted from the stands, reflecting the rising excitement.

One of the spectators, seated in chair number 792, turned to the person beside him.

792: "Hey, did you hear that? It looks like the aurora will appear tonight! And apparently, it'll be right above us at the peak of the mountain!"

Another person responded in surprise: "What? Really? That explains why Noctis chose such an isolated location."

The conversation was cut short when Marvelous called out the first competitors:

Marvelous: "For the first match, we have number 82 versus 192."

Their images appeared on the massive screen.

Marvelous: "Step into the ring now."

Both competitors advanced and climbed onto the stage, while a murmur of discontent spread through the crowd.

648: "Ugh, this is going to be boring. I didn't expect Noctis' entrance test to be this plain and unimpressive."

Nott listened carefully, noticing that most of the audience shared the same sentiment. Disappointment was evident on their faces.

Marvelous scanned the stands, his gaze settling on the unimpressed expressions of the applicants.

Marvelous: "[Hah… What a bunch of fools.]"

The match began, and the two competitors exchanged blows and kicks. The battle continued until number 82 managed to overpower his opponent, bringing him down decisively.

Marvelous raised the victor's hand, declaring his win. However, murmurs of dissatisfaction spread among the spectators.

"Is this really the great Noctis organization, feared and revered everywhere?"

"I've been dreaming of joining them my whole life… and this is it?"

The crowd fell silent, though the expressions of disappointment remained.

986: "Man, shut up. Who cares if the test is easy? In the end, we'll still get to join the organization!"

987: "Oh, you're right!"

Marvelous continued announcing more matchups, and hours of relentless battles passed. Among the competitors, a few stood out... strong, promising individuals who seemed different from the rest.

As time wore on, the battles grew more brutal. Many participants suffered injuries, some were knocked unconscious, while others withdrew in fear. Blood stained the arena floor, and the once-thrilled crowd began to realize the ruthless reality of Noctis.

After 82 matches, night fell, and the arena lights illuminated the stage and stands.

Many applicants abandoned their opportunity, unwilling to take part after witnessing the merciless nature of the battles.

Marvelous: "Now, number 22 versus 277... step forward immediately."

The screen displayed the images of both fighters.

Suddenly, a voice from the crowd, belonging to number 389, shouted in disbelief.

"W-W-Wait… isn't that…?"

390 responded anxiously, "What's wrong?"

389 was in shock after seeing contestant number 22 on the screen.

389: "I... I... It's... It's... It's Stray!!!"

The name "Stray" echoed through the stands and across the arena. Everyone's expressions turned pale and stunned. Some watched the screen with excitement, while others observed curiously.

Their gazes shifted toward a person who stood up from his seat and walked toward the ring. He was smoking a cigar, looking strong and mysterious. His face was pale, with sharp, harsh features and a light beard covering his chin and cheeks. His eyes were a faded gray, and his dark brown hair was relatively long, reaching his chin, appearing unkempt.

He wore a long black coat adorned with golden edges and intricate details, slightly open to reveal a black battle vest. A wide-brimmed black hat, resembling those worn by outlaws, sat on his head, with cigarettes attached to a small brown strap on the front of the hat.

As Stray stood, a tense silence swept over the Stands. The air seemed to thicken with each movement he made, as if the very atmosphere bent to his presence. Those around him instinctively stepped back, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and awe. Even the hardened veterans in the room, accustomed to danger, couldn't mask the unease that radiated from them. His mere stance, calm yet powerful, commanded the space, and every heartbeat seemed to pulse in sync with the weight of his intent.

Steel Hotel – Inside the Office

Meanwhile, in the sleek, dimly lit office, Lorian sat in her chair, her eyes focused on the rows of monitors above her desk. The soft hum of the machines blended with the silence of the room, punctuating the seriousness of the moment. The screens flickered with real-time footage, showing Stray's every move with an almost unnerving clarity. Her expression remained unreadable, but her eyes darted with a cold intensity, tracking each development.

Her subordinate, standing firmly at the edge of the room, looked at her directly without hesitation. His expression was stern, and his voice was strong and confident as he asked in a sharp tone, "Should we be concerned about this?"

His eyes were filled with focus, and he seemed fully aware of the potential consequences of any developments.

Lorian's gaze never wavered from the screen. She remained unfazed, though the faintest tightening of her jaw suggested that the situation was not as simple as it seemed.

Lorian replied, "No, 'Kane' is close by. Contact him and tell him to intervene if necessary. Also, Landon, any movement from Joker?"

Landon responded, "No, he's still at the hotel. He's been quiet since yesterday."

Lorian smirked, "This is an unmissable opportunity."

She fixed her gaze on Nott, studying him intently.

Lorian: "I'll see his skills with my own eyes, and then I'll decide whether he's capable of handling this mission."

Suddenly, a commotion erupted outside the room.

Lorian: "What's that?"

Landon: "I'll check it out."

Landon walked over and opened the door, where he saw a security guard talking to a young woman with long brown hair, shaded with black, and brown eyes. She wore a long brown coat over a white shirt with a black tie.

Beside her was her partner, a young man with short, messy incendiary hair and brown eyes, wearing a light green jacket over a white shirt.

The woman snapped, "What do you mean we're not allowed in?!"

Her partner replied, "He means we can't go inside."

The woman glared at him, "I know that, you idiot! … And you, security guard, I'm a prosecutor! Do you dare to obstruct the law?!"

Amidst the commotion, the door suddenly swung open, and Landon stepped out, taking two strides forward. He cast a quick glance at the chaos around him before speaking sharply.

Landon: "What's going on here?!"

Security Guard, Turn around quickly: "S-Sir! I sincerely apologize, but this woman is persistent. She claims to be from the prosecution office and insists on seeing the boss."

Landon sighs, then puts his hands in his pockets and steps toward the woman.

Landon: "…You troublesome girl, we don't run civilian operations here, so leave quietly."

The woman pulled out an ID to confirm her position.

Woman: "I am a prosecutor, so please, I want to meet the Boss here. If you don't cooperate, I'll have you arrested for obstructing justice."

Landon: "Do you even have-..."

Before he could finish his sentence, a voice from inside the office interrupted him.

Lorian: "Let her in... She can enter."

The woman gave a faint smile, then swiftly stepped into the room, passing Landon without stopping. The air in the room grew heavier for a moment.

The woman's partner attempted to step forward, but Landon immediately stopped him, saying firmly:

Landon: "No, no, my friend... You'll stay here with our companion."

Landon grabbed the woman's partner by the arm firmly and signaled to the guard to keep a close watch on him. The partner hesitated between resisting and surrendering, his eyes following the woman as she advanced inside. Landon shut the door behind him with a muffled sound, sealing the room entirely.

The woman walked confidently toward Lorian, standing firmly before her, maintaining that enigmatic smile on her lips.

Natalie: "My name is Natalie Harper."

The room was silent, as if the very breaths had frozen in the air. Every movement, every whisper, was charged with tension. Natalie took another step towards Lorian, her eyes locked on hers, filled with defiance, her mouth speaking words that everyone expected but no one was ready for.

Natalie, in a cold and steady tone: "I'm here to investigate your business operations."

The tension in the room visibly intensified, as even the air itself seemed heavier than usual. Step by step, Natalie drew closer, the distance between them shrinking until it almost disappeared.

Natalie: "Ms. Lorian, you are accused of committing illegal crimes, including... premeditated murder!..."

The challenge in Natalie's eyes didn't fade; it only grew with every word she spoke. As each second passed, the other sounds in the room began to fade, leaving everything shrouded in a fog, confined to this pivotal moment.