The wind gently brushed the ancient stones of the central courtyard of the Academy of Aeloria. An open-air amphitheater, carved into white rock, overlooked the vast surrounding plains. Hundreds of students, freshly sorted into the Nova and Orion classes, had gathered there, their eyes fixed on the circular platform at the summit.
And then, he appeared.
Althir. The Archmage.
His mere presence commanded silence. A cloak of deep fabric, lined with silver, trailed behind him like a living shadow. His golden eyes swept across the crowd with the precision of an eagle, as if reading every heart laid bare before him.
"You now stand at the threshold of what may become... the greatest adventure of your life."
His voice, deep and calm, carried a gentleness—yet pulsed with overwhelming authority.
"I founded this Academy with one conviction: genius is not a gift. It is a flame. Dormant in all of you. But only those who learn to kindle it fully will become more than just a name in a history book. Here, we do not train students. We forge exceptional mages."
A shiver ran through the crowd. Some students straightened up. Others exchanged anxious glances.
"Your future will be decided here. Your choices. Your efforts. Your failures... and your victories. From this moment on, nothing is guaranteed. Whether you are Nova or Orion... only magic will judge you."
Then, without another word, he turned and vanished—like a breath of wind, swallowed by the shadows.
Another man stepped onto the platform.
His black hair, slightly tousled and shoulder-length, framed a pale, impassive face. His dark eyes scanned the assembly with chilling clarity, as if piercing through to their very intentions. Around his neck, a silver chain held an oval medallion that caught the light—subtle, but unmistakably present.
"Alright. For those who don't know me yet: I'm Calem. Head of physical and martial disciplines. Homeroom instructor of Orion Class."
His voice was sharp, precise.
"But don't get it twisted. I'll teach anyone who has the guts to keep up."
He let his gaze sweep across the sea of faces.
"This Academy is split into two classes. Nova—selected for their exceptional potential during the Rite of Revelation. And Orion—who must prove themselves, every single day. But nothing here is fixed. Nova or Orion, you will be judged not by where you came from… but by what you become."
Some Nova students stifled laughter.
"You'll attend common classes, participate in trials and demonstrations. Sometimes you'll fight together. Other times… against each other. So learn to observe. To understand."
He raised his hand.
Seven figures stepped forward behind him, standing in a line.
"Here are the Seven Mentors. Your guides along the diverse paths of magic."
He introduced them, one by one:
Maestra Velya, grand mistress of elemental Arches—gentle voice, unshakable will.
Kaelorn, towering and intense—master of fire, lightning, and the art of dueling.
Sérën, ethereal and enigmatic—mistress of illusion, time, and mental flows.
Nox Leir, dark and unsettling—specialist in enchantments and curses.
Calem, himself—combat, physical Arches, and discipline.
Sylvain, lab-stained coat, eyes like wild stars—genius of alchemy and scientific magic.
Éthera, shrouded in a silver veil—wielder of unclassifiable, untamed power.
Shortly after, the students were guided toward the training fields.
The demonstrations had just begun, and already the sky bloomed with magic. In a vast natural amphitheater open to the winds of Aeloria, spells exploded in all directions. The elegant precision of Nova clashed with the raw, uncertain attempts of Orion.
A low rumble stirred the air.
Suddenly, a wall of flames erupted in front of a group of Orion students. Heat surged toward them, forcing them to recoil. The fire twisted and roared, forming a blazing curtain.
— Wall of Fire.
At the center of the arena stood Zarek, hand lowered, a smirk playing on his lips.
"I thought you'd at least dodge something this basic. But I guess… that's asking too much."
Some Orion students clenched their jaws. Others lowered their heads.
"He's insane," one Orion muttered.
"He'll get off with a warning. Again," said another bitterly.
From the Nova section, laughter echoed.
"Zarek and his drama..."
"He acts like scaring Orion makes him a god."
"He just wants to climb the ranks. As if that's all that matters."
A hush fell.
A single student stepped forward.
Menma.
He quietly approached a nearby Orion and picked up a training spear resting by his feet. His expression was calm, but something in his stride—tense, deliberate—gave it weight.
"Menma? What the hell is he doing?" whispered an Orion.
"He's going to get wrecked..."
Menma didn't reply. A faint glow shimmered along the spear—an Amplification. Subtle. Focused. Then he hurled it with force.
It whistled through the air.
And embedded itself in the ground—right at Zarek's feet.
Zarek jumped.
Slowly, he turned.
Menma stood still, expressionless.
"Stop bothering us. No one cares about your life."
A murmur rippled through the arena.
"He… what?!"
"An Orion… just challenged Zarek?"
"That's suicide."
Zarek stepped forward slowly, a crooked smile spreading on his face. Red magic sparked to life around his body.
"You. You spoke to me? An Orion worm? You dare raise your voice?"
He lifted his hand, fingers crackling.
Then—
A hand landed on his shoulder.
"Keep threatening people… and I'll kill you."
Zarek turned.
Ryoma. Nova class. Cold. Silent. Storm-born. The only one Zarek never tried to intimidate.
They stared at each other.
Zarek eventually laughed, shaking his head.
"Still stalking me, Ryoma?"
He turned away.
Then spat on Menma.
"You're not even worth breaking."
And walked off.
Menma didn't move.
The spit slid down his cheek. Warm. Bitter.
He didn't wipe it immediately. He let it fall. As if to feel it. As if to etch the moment into his memory.
Then slowly, he wiped it away with the back of his arm.
His eyes never left Zarek's.
No fear. No flinch.
But hatred.
Not the loud, burning kind. Not blind rage.
A cold hatred. Heavy. Focused.
The kind that wakes you at dawn every day. That drives you to train until your limbs give out. That forces you to repeat, over and over, a spell everyone else laughs at.
The kind of hatred that refuses to kneel. That turns humiliation into fuel.
He knew what they saw: a failure. A mistake. An Orion who should've never been here.
Maybe I am a failure… for now.
Maybe I'll never be a hero. Maybe I have no talent. No praise waiting for me.
But I won't walk with my head down.
I'm not trash.
He didn't need to say it. He didn't need to shout.
Zarek spat. Menma stood tall.
And in that loaded silence, Menma made a vow.
I'll surpass you. Not to prove anything to the world.
But so that when you finally look at me again…
You'll understand you woke the wrong dog.
At a distance, Ayame watched with her arms crossed, brow slightly furrowed.
"Interesting..." she murmured, mostly to herself.
An Orion who doesn't flinch.
She looked away. But the spark had caught.
Elsewhere, Calem observed, wind brushing the edge of his coat. His expression unreadable. He adjusted his gloves.
A glimmer had returned to his eyes—one he hadn't felt in years.
As the students dispersed, Calem quietly approached.
Hands clasped behind his back, he stopped before Menma.
"You."
Menma turned.
"Tomorrow. At dawn. Training Ground Three."
A pause.
"This isn't a punishment… or an order."
"But if you have even a spark of ambition—"
He adjusted his glasses.
"—then come ready to suffer. And to grow."
📜 [ANNEX – CURRENT ACADEMY RANKINGS]Posted weekly on the central board.
Top 5 Student Mages – Week 1:
Masaru Kisaragi (Nova) – Divine Light Arche
Ayame Miyazono (Nova) – Flux Rewriting
Sayako Tsujiki (Nova) – Spiritual Ice Arche
Ryoma Kyozen (Nova) – Lightning Arche
Zarek Ignys (Nova) – Fire Arche
Menma does not appear…yet.