Time moved strangely in that lounge. Each minute felt stretched thin, like glass about to crack.
Riku sat with his arms crossed, eyes trained on the floor.
The others in the room didn't seem bothered. The spiky red-haired girl was halfway through a nap, boots still up on the table. The silver-haired boy kept flipping through his book with a kind of elegant boredom, like he'd mastered the art of pretending the world didn't exist. The twins had started playing some kind of quiet finger game, tapping out codes or maybe just annoying each other.
Only Daz, the boy who greeted him, looked vaguely interested in anything. He glanced Riku's way now and then with a casual grin, like he knew something Riku didn't. Which, to be fair, was probably true.
The door opened.
Every head turned.
A man stepped inside, dressed in a long, pale gown. The fabric shimmered slightly in the low light—white, but not quite white.
"Follow me." He said.
The students stood without a word, one by one peeling away from their seats like shadows at dawn. Riku moved last, trailing behind the group, letting his eyes wander the halls they entered.
The academy was quieter here. The man led them through corridors too wide to be practical.
"What even is this place?" Riku muttered under his breath.
Daz, walking just beside him, snickered.
"Looks like a place ghosts go to do paperwork."
Riku glanced sideways. "Hey… what about you? You have a Pass too, right?"
Daz nodded, his grin turning impish.
"Who are you?"
The boy's eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Wouldn't you like to know."
Riku frowned. "I would, actually."
Daz chuckled but didn't answer. Just gave him a playful wink and walked a little faster.
Riku watched him go, something uneasy stirring in his gut. People didn't usually dodge questions unless the answer mattered. With that Riku made a mental note and stay out of trouble with the other children with the passes.
Eventually, they reached a wide set of doors—ornate, carved from darkwood and inlaid with veins of blue metal that shimmered like rivers. Without a word, the robed man pushed them open.
Light spilled out and a great hall opened before them.
...
..
.
The hall was cathedral-like—vast and arched, with ceilings high enough to lose sight of. The floor was polished stone, dark and smooth like black water, reflecting the light above in a dreamlike shimmer.
Hundreds of seats were arranged in semicircular rows around a high podium. The front rows—clearly reserved—were already half-filled with students, all wearing the same wide-eyed expression of awe.
Riku felt it in his teeth.
"Damn," Daz murmured beside him. "They don't hold back."
The man in the white robe gestured them forward, and one of the academy staff led their group down to the very front row.
'Front row seats?' Riku thought. 'Great. Nothing like being on display.'
He took his seat at the far left, folding his arms again, eyes scanning the room.
There were hundreds of students in the hall—maybe more. There was every kind of face here. Young nobles with crests sewn proudly into their collars. Hardened-looking teens with leather straps and dust-stained boots. Scholars already flipping through notebooks. And fighters whose fingers never left the hilts of their weapons.
Riku didn't recognize anyone.
Not that he expected to.
A subtle chime echoed through the chamber. The chandeliers dimmed slightly, and a figure ascended the podium at the center of the hall.
He was tall, angular, with long black hair tied at the nape and streaked with gray. He wore no robe—only a fitted vest of charcoal and silver, with the insignia of the Academy embroidered across his chest: a dragon twisting around a sword.
When he spoke, his voice echoed with clarity, as if the room itself carried his words.
"Welcome," the man said, "to the Imperial Sage Academy."
The hall fell silent. Even the students whispering in the back hushed themselves.
"My name is Headmaster Varos." He placed both hands on the podium, gaze sweeping over the crowd. "Today marks the beginning of your journey here—one that will shape not just your lives, but the world's future. The Sage Empire stands upon the brilliance of our scholars, the strength of our warriors, and the discipline of our minds. Every generation, we gather the best among you, and we train you to do what others cannot."
A pause. Then, more softly:
"You are not here by accident."
Riku felt the weight of those words settle on him like a stone. He glanced at Daz, who, for once, was watching intently.
"You were chosen. Whether through examination, sponsorship, or divine recommendation—each of you has earned your place."
Some students visibly straightened in their seats. Others looked uncomfortable.
Riku didn't move. He didn't feel like he earned anything. He was smuggled in like contraband.
"I will be brief," Varos continued. "This Academy exists because of one man's vision. A man who sought to give humanity a weapon not of war, but of balance. A form of power that required thought as much as instinct. Intelligence over destruction. That man was Hane Lucaris."
Riku froze.
His eyes flicked upward so fast it hurt.
Hane?
The Headmaster didn't wait for the name to sink in.
"Hane Lucaris was the mind behind the very art you are here to master: Sage Art."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Heads turned, names whispered. Even a few gasps.
Rage Art and Sage Art… two opposite ends of a spectrum.
Two brothers.
Two paths.
He sank further into his seat, the world tilting under him.
The Headmaster went on, "Sage Art draws from the world's unseen patterns—the natural logic beneath chaos. What you learn here will not simply change how you fight. It will change how you think."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"Tomorrow, student rankings will be held. These assessments are designed to establish initial positioning within the Academy. They are not final. You may rise. You may fall. What matters is that you grow."
Another quiet wave of murmurs.
"For tonight," he said finally, "you will be shown to your dormitories. Take this time to rest. Tomorrow, your journey begins."
A sharp, resonant chime rang through the air once more. The speech was over.
Staff and student guides filed into the room, calling out names, directing clusters of students out through side doors. Groups formed quickly—pairs and trios naturally falling into rhythm.
Riku stood, his mind still caught on that name.
Hane Lucaris.
He didn't even know the man. But now the connection between Rage Art and Sage Art felt even more tangled.