The stone gates of Arcania Adventurer's Academy creaked open as Rayan and the others stepped through. Towering marble spires loomed over them, carved with sigils that shimmered faintly in the morning light. The air buzzed—not just with magical currents, but with the energy of hundreds of new students converging on the academy grounds, each of them a dreamer, a fighter, or something in between.
"This place is insane," Tonio muttered, craning his neck up at a flying platform that carried what looked like a floating garden. "I think I just saw a griffin tending vegetables."
Cezar kept close to the group, nose buried in the folded map they were given at the entrance. "Dormitory's to the west wing. Orientation's in twenty minutes at the Celestial Amphitheater. No time to get lost."
Yeon, of course, was already posing.
"Gaze upon me, ye masses," he declared, arms spread wide, cloak fluttering behind him despite there being no wind. "Your Dark Lord has arrived!"
A group of senior students passing by raised eyebrows. One of them scoffed. "Freshmen."
Rayan chuckled, adjusting the katana strapped to his back. Its presence was still strange—warm at times, cold at others—but ever silent. He hadn't heard the pulse again since the night he found it. Still, its weight was more comforting than cumbersome now.
The next morning, sunlight crept into their dormitory through tall windows. Birds chirped in the distance as the academy's bells chimed softly, signaling the start of the day.
Rayan stirred in his bed, groaning as he rolled off and immediately hit the floor with a thud.
"Ow... great start," he muttered, rubbing his head.
Tonio was already up, brushing his teeth while humming a tune. "Rise and shine, clumsy hero."
Yeon posed dramatically in the mirror, holding a toothbrush like a dagger. "Even my dental hygiene is stylish."
Cezar emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, steam drifting behind him. "Five-minute rule, guys. Don't hog the water."
Rayan stumbled into the bathroom and began brushing his teeth, managing to spill paste on his shirt in the process. "Seriously?" he grumbled. "This shirt was clean."
After cleaning up and a brief, awkward shower (he slipped twice but thankfully didn't break anything), Rayan returned dressed in the academy's uniform—dark navy coat with silver embroidery, matching trousers, and a simple undershirt. His katana rested gently against his back, like it belonged there.
They regrouped in their room, looking fresh and alert (well, mostly).
"You look like a storm cloud in a uniform," Tonio said, grinning at Rayan.
"You smell like vines and soap," Rayan shot back.
"I take that as a compliment."
Together, they made their way to their first official class: Combat Theory in the East Tower. The halls were crowded, enchanted bulletin boards floated by showing announcements and class rosters. Other students greeted each other, some with nervous smiles, others with practiced confidence.
In the lecture hall, Professor Havick stood at the front—a burly man with a missing eye and a glowing sword strapped to his back.
"Welcome to Combat Theory," he bellowed. "This class will separate the posers from the survivors. I don't care about your lineage, your magical bloodline, or how many slimes you've soloed. I care if you can think while dodging a fireball."
He waved a hand, and an illusion of a battlefield formed midair.
"Today's lesson: Tactics under pressure. You'll be working in groups. And yes, I will be attacking you with simulated spells. Don't cry."
The next hour was chaos—dodging illusions, identifying traps, and strategizing fast. Rayan's group barely made it through, mostly due to Cezar's quick thinking and Tonio shielding them with summoned vines.
Yeon tried to solo a dragon illusion.
He got eaten.
"Tragic," he said from inside the dragon's illusionary mouth. "Tell my story."
After Combat Theory, the group explored the academy more—visiting the enchanted library, the beast stables (where Tonio immediately bonded with a giant leafy chameleon), and the elemental practice fields.
While walking back, Rayan paused near the dueling circle. A pair of older students were sparring—one wielding dual daggers, the other casting fire spells without incantation.
He watched closely, hand on the hilt of his katana.
"You thinking of challenging someone already?" Cezar asked.
"No," Rayan replied. "Just... studying. That kind of coordination—that's what I want."
Cezar smirked. "You'll get there. But maybe don't start with people who've been here for years.
Later that night, as Rayan lay in bed, the room quiet except for the occasional rustling of papers or the distant murmur of the academy's nightly bustle, his dreams shifted. He was standing in a dark battlefield, his katana drawn, the faint light of distant fires casting shadows across the ground. The blade hummed, and in his dream, he felt its presence grow stronger, its power awakening as if it had been waiting for him.
A pulse.
He sat up.
The blade shimmered faintly.
He placed a hand on it—and a whisper echoed in his mind.
"I have awakened."
Rayan's eyes snapped open. His heart raced. The katana—he could feel it now. The blade was alive, calling to him.
"Others are watching. They remember you, even if you don't remember yourself."
He didn't know what that meant. But he knew one thing.
Arcania was more than a school.
It was the key to everything.
And their journey was just beginning.
Outside, on a nearby rooftop, a cloaked figure stood motionless, its form barely distinguishable from the night itself. The wind ignored it, as if the figure were a part of the shadow, a stain in the darkness. Crimson eyes gleamed, faintly at first, before flaring with an unnatural intensity.
Suddenly, a screeching noise tore through the air—a distorted, jarring sound, like a television set desperately trying to connect to a signal, but failing miserably. The static was harsh and grating, scraping against the air like nails on glass.
"Found you..." The voice grated, stretched unnaturally long, as though the figure was savoring each word, drawing them out like poison. It was the screeching sound of something hungry, waiting. The air around it seemed to shiver, as if the very atmosphere were recoiling from the malice that oozed from the figure.
The crimson eyes burned brighter, now not just glowing, but flickering with an insatiable hunger. The figure tilted its head slightly, a grotesque imitation of curiosity. Every movement of its shadowy form seemed wrong, like it was only half-real, caught in a constant state of flickering in and out of existence.
"Let's see how long you last this time, Rayan..." The final words bled out, as if the figure had taken pleasure in each syllable, dripping with an awful satisfaction. The screeching sound continued to reverberate in the air, now mixing with a low, feral growl, as if the figure was drawing out its thirst for blood from the very depths of the night.
The shadow around the figure stretched unnaturally, twisting like serpents hungry for their next victim. They crept closer, closer to the walls of the dormitory, as though they themselves hungered for the warmth of life within.
And then, just as abruptly, the figure vanished. The screeching noise cut off mid-sentence, leaving only the hollow echo of the sound behind. But the presence of the figure, that suffocating, oppressive feeling, lingered in the air.
A chill crept down Rayan's spine, even though he lay unaware in his bed. The feeling was one he couldn't shake—a heavy, suffocating dread, as if something was watching, waiting... and it wasn't going to stop until it had what it wanted.
To be Continued...