Dawn brushed Astra not with gold, but with a thin silver light — like the breath of the sky itself. Elior opened his eyes as the Ether chimes rang from afar, the soft hum trembling through the white-stone walls.
He sat up, heart still carrying the strange rhythm of the night — an echo beating from somewhere deep beneath the floating isle.
The Astra Core… calling to him?
Elior shook his head, pushing the thought away. Today was not a day for distractions. Today was the first day of class. And the first class was with Remiel.
Father.
Teacher.
His life's greatest secret.
He dressed in his uniform — a silver-white robe embroidered with faint script like lines of living light — and stepped into the hall.
Lucen leaned on the rail, yawning. Alice stood beside him, hair tied, sharp and alert like someone who had already finished three textbooks.
"Let's go," Alice said.
Lucen waved weakly. "If I die from studying too early, write on my gravestone: He hated mornings, but fate forced him to attend class."
"We're studying magic," Alice replied dryly. "Not running laps at six in the morning. Show some dignity."
"Studying is running," Lucen muttered. "Running from exams."
Elior laughed softly. The sound chased away some of the shadow clinging to his thoughts.
They descended the stone steps, crossing the crystal-paved courtyard — where morning light pooled on the ground like liquid gold. Students drifted in small clusters, their voices a low hum in the cool air.
At the edge of the second ring, the scenery shifted. Academic towers rose ahead on a higher terrace, domes etched with sigils of Ether disciplines. Between them and the third ring lay a broad field — the spell training grounds.
There, a few students were already conjuring light; one stray fire orb sputtered and burst, making a nearby professor's nose wrinkle in irritation.
Alice pointed forward.
"Across the training grounds. Then the gate."
Lucen blinked. "We're just… walking in?"
"What other way is there?" Alice shrugged.
So they walked across the practice field. A beam of Ether shot past Elior's ear; he tilted aside instinctively. Nearby, a girl struggled to form a light shield, face scrunched like she was negotiating with the energy itself.
At the gate of the third ring, two guards stood clad in Ether armor — mist-bright plating woven like dawn frost.
One guard eyed them.
"First Soul Arts class with Professor Remiel," Alice said smoothly, before Lucen could speak.
The guard nodded, as if the sentence itself carried authority. The gate opened — silent as a held breath.
Lucen whispered as they passed,
"Speaking like you belong really is a spell."
Alice replied simply,
"At Astra, confidence is your first magic."
Elior said nothing, but as he stepped through the gate, something brushed his mind — a scanning touch, cold and ancient.
He shivered.
Was the Core recognizing every step he took deeper into Astra?
Soul Arts HallThe Soul Arts classroom sat in the tallest lecture spire — its doors carved with a ring of light and faint wings. Inside, crescent-tiered seats faced a central stone dais that glowed dimly like a still pool.
The room was cold, hushed. Almost no whispers. Everyone knew this class was not like the others.
Lucen sat, whispering,
"Feels like they're about to dig into my brain."
"Into your soul, actually," Alice corrected.
Lucen nodded solemnly. "That's much worse. Thanks."
Elior didn't reply. His gaze lingered on the upper row — where Varzek sat, eyes briefly meeting theirs. Not hostile like yesterday, but cold… watchful, as if he too sensed something larger moving beneath the surface.
A quiet wind flowed through the room.
Not real wind — presence.
Light gathered on the dais.
Professor Remiel appeared — not with the loud flare of a teleport spell, but as if he had always been there, and the world had only just chosen to perceive him. His silver wings folded behind him, shedding morning-mist light.
His eyes passed across the class, touching each soul as though reading them in a single heartbeat.
When those eyes met Elior's — his heart stumbled.
Not from fear — but from recognition unspoken between two souls who must not know each other.
"Welcome," Remiel said, his voice deep as stone chimes echoing in a valley. "Today, you begin learning the only thing no one can take from you…"
He lifted his staff.
"…yet the thing you most often lose yourself."
A sigil spiraled up from the dais — not sound, not light, but sensation, brushing each student's soul like a fingertip on memory.
Several inhaled sharply.
Remiel's tone softened, sharp as Ether cutting granite:
"Today, we do not study magic."
"We study ourselves."
Elior swallowed. In his chest, a thin thread of light pulsed — answering something ancient and unseen.
And in the shadowed corner of the room, a surveillance crystal flickered faintly, shifting colors for a heartbeat.
As though something else — something deeper — was watching them too.
The Core never sleeps.