A soft clinking echoed across the dozens of lab tables filling the Work Hall of the Department of Runes, Constructs, and Forgeworks. Flashes of silvery-blue light appeared and vanished in waves, dancing atop the surfaces of metal and crystal. Half-formed runes glowed gently in the vast domed space, creating the illusion of stars blooming in an eternal academic night.
In the farthest corner, nearly hidden from anyone's view, sat a student named *Julian Everhart*—the alias of Demian Bentley—hunched over his worktable. His hands moved swiftly, almost too swiftly for a new student, etching complex patterns onto a metal-crystal card that was now heating up from the friction and his spiritual energy.
But his face was far from focused.
A restless tension shimmered in his eyes.
"Why hasn't it… appeared yet?" he thought. "I know I'm strong enough. My mystic energy is already on par with the second evolution phase. But my second phase characteristic still refuses to emerge. It's like… something is sealing the path."
He bit his lip, annoyed.
The Explosion rune he was carving began to tremble, unstable—too deep, too fast. Mystic energy surged from his body uncontrollably. The card sparked blue, nearly detonating in his hands.
Then—
"Feel your spiritual power deeper… deeper than merely releasing it."
That voice… was heavy. Deep. Flat and emotionless, like stone rolling at the bottom of an ancient lake. Not Michael—his watcher angel. Not his inner voice. This… was something else.
Demian quickly looked around.
Every student was busy. None looked his way.
His hand trembled. Goosebumps rose on his skin.
"Don't release… Feel it. Sink into it."
---
Dusk hung heavy as Demian sat cross-legged on his bed. He closed his eyes. Exhaled slowly. Following the command of the mysterious voice that still echoed within him.
He dove into himself—into the ever-flowing stream of spiritual power. This time, not to release it. Not to shape or control it.
But to sink.
Then—
ZzzZZZTTTT!!!
A burst of mystic energy pulsed silently from his body, shaking the air around him. Silver-white light erupted from within, crackling through the dorm. The walls trembled. Windows rattled. Several books flew from their shelves.
Atop the Aetherthorn Spiritual Observatory Tower, the Academy President opened his eyes from meditation.
He stood.
Facing west.
"What was that…?" he whispered.
Demian's consciousness was now being dragged—ripped from his body—tossed into a space with no direction, no boundaries, no time.
Around him—white. Not ordinary white. A blinding, painful white that distorted depth and perception.
And above him…
Eyes.
Hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of spiral-irised eyes, slowly spinning in silence. All fixated on him. Unblinking.
Demian stood. His body felt heavy, as if this dimension rejected his presence. In the distance stood a massive stone gate, towering sky-high. He walked toward it, but each step only pushed the gate farther away.
"This… isn't a dream," he muttered. "It's real."
He gritted his teeth.
"Michael! This your doing?!"
A sleepy, annoyed voice replied from the depths of his subconscious.
"I'm asleep, idiot. Haven't said a word to you all day."
"…If it's not you… then who?"
"Someone… or something… that's been watching you for a long time."
Demian froze. Fear and fury collided inside him.
"If this is an illusion… then I'll fight it with an even stronger illusion."
His hands ignited. Ancient runes along his arms glowed. He struck the white floor of that dimension—but only pain answered him. This place couldn't be broken so easily.
Then, he realized the answer.
If walking won't do… maybe I must go beyond walking.
He inhaled, activating every ancient rune he'd mastered, letting his body dissolve into the spiritual shadows he conjured. His figure became a streaking shadow, trailing silver light from his eyes.
The dimension cracked.
The sky of eyes split open.
When he finally touched the ground before the gate—
BOOOM!
A blinding light exploded.
He was back in his body.
---
The Academy President arrived at the dormitory. The door swung open via spiritual authority. He found Demian's body sitting still on the bed. His eyes were open—but vacant.
"No soul…" he murmured.
He touched Demian's forehead, entering his spiritual realm.
What he found: mist, darkness, and a voice.
"Leave!".
In an instant, the President was expelled from Demian's spiritual world, gasping. His face pale. His body trembling.
"That voice… it threw me out? Me—at sixth phase…"
Then Demian's eyes slowly opened.
Silver light danced in his irises.
Slasssh!— The President backed away.
"Huff… I nearly went mad…" he muttered, rising slowly, stepping onto the dorm balcony.
A bird flew past the twilight sky.
And Demian's body… vanished.
Not ordinary teleportation.
His shadow merged with the pillar. Moved fluidly—like a dancer.
The President squinted, watching from afar.
"…A shadow. Dimensional mobility… not teleportation magic. This is…"
Demian laughed quietly—a voice echoing through space.
"Shadow Dancer. I'll call it that."
---
That night, a knock sounded at the dorm door.
Knock-Knock! —
Demian opened it.
No one was there.
Only a crumpled letter.
"Your friend is being held in the southernmost room near the sea. If you don't want him harmed, come quickly!"
The handwriting was slanted. Awful. Too theatrical to be serious, but enough to raise Demian's eyebrow.
"Tch. Disgusting."
In an instant, he vanished into the shadows. Slipping through like dark wind.
Becoming one with the night.
"Shadow Dancer!".
At the cliffside of the academy, he spotted a woman sitting by the sea. Long blonde hair, blue robes bearing the sigil of the Church of the Deep Sea. Her face was hidden.
"You wrote that letter? Your writing is awful! Turns out you're just another Sebastian fangirl. You crocodile woman!"
The woman didn't turn.
"Idiot."
From atop a tower, the Academy President watching from afar merely shook his head, holding back laughter.
"My nephew… always makes the night more entertaining."
---
The next morning, Demian found that Sebastian had already bathed. When he asked, Sebastian gave no reply.
Demian grumbled. "What a weirdo!"
After bathing himself, Demian looked around the dorm to find Sebastian gone. Annoyed, he set off to class.
In the classroom, Edmund Smith, head of the department, began to speak:
"In this mystical world, not everyone must become a knight or a priest. Inventors. Engineers. Designers. These are professions that will lead humanity forward."
Then he gave a task:
"Design a weapon blueprint based on your unique characteristics. Don't copy. Don't plagiarize. Find your identity."
Demian thought. He couldn't use Leonard's rune cards. He needed something new.
Something that was truly his.
Shoes. Mobility Shadow Sea.
He began carving.
Combining Shadow Dancer runes and Deep Sea runes.
Something that should be impossible.
But he could do it.
Because of the 'backdoor'.
Crackkk!—
The runes merged. The shoes were complete.
Edmund watched.
"What's its mobility?"
"Can walk on water."
Edmund nodded, then suddenly recalled something.
"…You're from the Blazing Sun Church. But you can use Deep Sea runes?"
Demian sighed, then lied with a blank face.
"I was born with the blessing of the Deep Sea, but never realized it… When I turned ten, I chose the Church of the Blazing Sun—so I ended up with two church characteristics."
Edmund stared sharply at him, thinking silently: "Damn you, Leonard. Where did you find this kid?!"
"Don't show that power to anyone. The world isn't ready for anomalies like you."
Demian nodded.
"Understood."
---
The afternoon sky over Aetherthorn hung in a grayish hue, casting a golden-orange glow on the rooftops, veiled by a thin mist drifting from the northern valley. Leaves from the old ash trees in the central courtyard shivered gently in the breeze, which carried the faint scent of rune oil and ancient books from the underground library.
Demian Bentley walked through the iron-tiled corridor, his black coat draped over one shoulder. The day had been spent buried in rune experiments under the ever-watchful eyes of Edmund Smith, and now—with ink-stained fingers—he wanted nothing more than to return to his dorm and take a long, hot bath.
But his steps halted.
A crowd had gathered near the Main Announcement Board, like a flock of ravens pecking at the scent of news. The air buzzed with excitement, and whispers of speculation danced through the hall.
"A tournament? Is this real?"
"Two departments going head-to-head… could this be like the incident twenty years ago?"
Demian narrowed his eyes. He slipped between students, glancing at the board now filled with thick parchment sheets stamped with Aetherthorn's official seal. His eyes caught the main headline:
---
Official Aetherthorn Tournament Announcement
To foster collaboration and assess combat readiness between divisions, an interdepartmental tournament will be held between:
•The Department of Runes, Constructs, and Forgeworks
•The Department of Mysticsme
Top participants will be selected to represent Aetherthorn in the Grand Inter-Academy Tournament.
---
Demian raised an eyebrow, a small grin curling at the edge of his lips.
"A tournament, huh? A perfect chance to stand out… If I perform well, it'll be easier to earn people's trust for my secret organization. Spotlight brings credibility."
But as his gaze moved toward the final section of the announcement, the smile disappeared.
"…representatives for the Grand Inter-Academy Tournament? What?! This... this will draw too much attention from the Celestial Church."
His hand clenched the edge of the noticeboard. His gaze darkened, calculating.
"If I shine too brightly, Leonard and his enforcers might start paying closer attention. They'll definitely be watching the Grand Tournament. But if I don't enter… I lose a golden opportunity."
With a deep sigh, he turned away, leaving the buzzing crowd behind him.
Dusk deepened into indigo as Demian ascended the dormitory's second floor. He opened his room door casually, tossing his shoes to the side of the bed.
Creak!—
But the moment the door swung open, he was greeted with an unexpected sight.
Sebastian stood near the window, mid-change. His hair was still damp, his upper body bare, and only a pair of pants covering him. His eyes widened as he noticed Demian.
"GET OUT!!!"
The shriek echoed so sharply it nearly shattered the glass. Birds outside the window took flight in panic. Demian, utterly stunned, stumbled backward with hands raised.
"Alright, ALRIGHT! Gods, calm down!" he muttered, slamming the door shut.
Standing outside, Demian rubbed his ears, scowling up at the cracked ceiling of the hallway.
"Why the hell did he scream so loud? And... that voice… It didn't even sound like him. Too high-pitched, almost..."
Ten minutes passed. The door creaked open again.
"You can come in now." Sebastian's voice had returned to its usual tone.
Demian stepped inside with a frown, frustration still clinging to him like static.
"Hey, why the hell did you scream so loud, huh?! I nearly went deaf!"
Sebastian turned quickly, his face tense.
"I... I was just surprised, alright?!"
Demian raised an eyebrow. "Hah. You're gonna drive me insane… I'm taking a bath."
He stormed into the bathroom, steam already rising, leaving Sebastian sitting stiffly on the edge of his bed.
After the Bath—
Warm steam still clung to his skin as Demian exited the bathroom, his hair dripping slightly, wearing a plain black shirt and light pants. He rubbed his head with a towel, glancing at Sebastian, who was now tidying up his bed.
"Hey, Sebastian."
"Hm?"
"That academy president… is he your father?"
Sebastian paused for a second, then answered while fixing the folds of his blanket.
"No. He's my uncle. I've never known who my biological father is."
Demian stopped rubbing his hair, curiosity flaring.
"But... you have a godfather?"
Sebastian nodded. "Yeah."
Demian squinted. "Does he have the Thaloré surname too?"
Sebastian turned and gave a faint smile.
"Yeah. That's right."
"Thaloré... an ancient noble bloodline. Could he be a direct descendant of one of the bloodlines protected by the gods?"* Demian thought.
Then Sebastian added, with a glint in his eyes and a tone of playful challenge:
"By the way, you're entering the tournament, right?"
Demian let out a soft scoff. "Of course."
Sebastian grinned wide.
"Good. Because I plan on defeating you. In front of everyone. Oh—and I've already asked Arianne Velmora to join too."
Demian went silent for a second, then smiled with eyes that glimmered like steel.
"Then we'll make this stage ours."
Sebastian chuckled, and for a brief moment, the room felt calm—like the stillness before a storm. Both of them knew this tournament wasn't just a game.
It was the beginning of something far, far greater.
---