The wind in the square slowly quieted, leaving behind only the lingering hum of Ether energy rippling through the air like ribbons of light.
Elior stood still for a long moment, his eyes following the silver-white cloak of Headmaster Solomon as it faded into the halo of light at the highest dais.
That name…
Solomon.
The syllables struck a low, resonant chord inside his mind, sending a cold shiver down his spine.
Lucen touched his shoulder lightly.
"Hey. You all right? Still dizzy?"
Elior shook his head, his voice barely audible amid the soft murmur of students around them.
"Lucen, Alice… do you two know who that headmaster is?"
Alice—still breathing a little heavily after the skirmish with Varzek—looked up.
Her pale hair, fine as mist, trembled faintly in the flow of Ether.
She spoke, her tone low but distant:
"My mother once told me about him. They say Solomon has been headmaster of Astra for a thousand years."
Lucen let out a soft whistle.
"A thousand years? He looks… rather alive for that."
"No one knows which side he belongs to," Alice went on. "He serves neither the Angelic Court nor the Infernal Legion. He only watches. People call him Solomon the All-Seeing Eye."
"The All-Seeing Eye?" Elior echoed.
Alice nodded.
"Yes. His power is said to be the ability to perceive every frequency of existence. That means he can see through everything—light, darkness, even the layers of reality themselves."
Lucen tilted his head, trying not to laugh.
"So… if I'm thinking something stupid, he can see that too?"
Alice shot him a look.
"You don't need to think it—your face already says it all."
Lucen chuckled, but Elior didn't.
His gaze was still fixed on the empty dais where Solomon had stood—his image burned into memory like a living portrait:
A tall, slender man wrapped in a silver-white cloak, its hems glowing with faint runes woven of light.
A neatly curved moustache framed his lips, in the style of the ancient scholars.
A monocle—only one lens—rested over his left eye; from time to time, he adjusted it with a delicate touch. People whispered that it was his weapon, allowing him to see near, far, or beyond at will.
Under the Ether light, the lens caught a glint—a small shining point, like a third eye opening.
"Actually…" Alice murmured, "my mother said he's very kind. Everyone who meets him likes him. But somehow, I feel there's something… unreadable about him."
Lucen cleared his throat, half-joking, half-serious.
"Maybe it's because he's reading us instead."
Alice frowned; her hand pressed against her side, where Varzek's dark lightning had grazed her earlier.
"Ow. That demon hit harder than I expected."
Lucen leaned closer.
"Don't worry. If he starts spouting that 'The world survives because of darkness' nonsense again, I'll tell him to retake Philosophy 101."
Alice let out a small laugh, though the pain still tightened her face.
The laughter faded quickly when, from the dais, Solomon raised his right hand.
On his finger, the black ring glowed with a faint silver halo.
The air itself seemed to freeze.
From the four corners of the square, the ground split apart, and four massive gates rose into view—each breathing, trembling with its own color:
The first gate, silver-blue, carved with ancient symbols: House of the Wise.
The second, radiant gold, etched with open wings: House of Angels.
The third, a shimmering violet-black, deep as an abyss: House of Demons.
The last, soft as mist, its surface alive with shifting eyes: House of Prophets.
Solomon lowered his hand; his voice rolled across the plaza—warm, yet resonant enough to make every cell bow in instinctive reverence:
"Before you stand four paths.
There is no right or wrong—only the place that truly understands who you are."
Elior swallowed hard.
Around him, murmurs rose.
A cluster of tiny fae darted toward the Gate of Prophets, leaving trails of starlight.
Young demons in black cloaks strode proudly into the Gate of Demons.
Several demigods, heads held high, entered the Gate of the Wise.
Lucen turned to Elior.
"Which one will you pick? Alice and I are going Angel House, obviously. It's bright and beautiful—matches my hair perfectly."
Alice raised an eyebrow.
"You're choosing based on hair color?"
Lucen grinned.
"Of course. I want it to glow in the graduation portrait."
Elior smiled faintly, but his eyes returned to the two remaining gates—light and shadow.
Then, a voice, faint and distant, whispered in his mind:
"If you cease to believe that light is light… will it still shine?"
A tremor rippled through him.
He looked toward the dark gate—the one Varzek had vanished through.
Something within him stirred, urging him to follow, as if the darkness itself were calling his name.
Lucen's hand landed on his shoulder.
"Hey! Don't overthink it. The gates are closing soon!"
Elior blinked, drawing a deep breath.
At last—he stepped toward the Gate of Angels.
The moment his foot crossed the golden threshold, the gate resonated with a faint chime, like a faraway bell.
A warm current swept over him, enveloping his body.
Lucen and Alice smiled beside him.
In the distance, the Gate of the Wise sealed behind its last students.
The Gate of Demons roared as it devoured the final few who entered.
The Gate of Prophets dissolved into mist—and was gone.
Finally, the Gate of Angels closed, its golden light fading, leaving the square empty and still.
From the dais, Headmaster Solomon looked around, a faint smile curving his lips.
He adjusted his single-lensed glasses, and his voice rolled across the silence—deep, yet gentle as twilight:
"Then it is the light that has chosen you."
But Elior alone heard another echo within his mind:
"Or perhaps… you have chosen the light, to hide from your own darkness."
He shuddered.
And upon the dais, the light in Solomon's eyes flickered—
reflecting a shadowed figure deep within his gaze.