The Soul Studies hall was so still that time itself seemed to forget how to move. Marble beneath their feet reflected Ether like the surface of a cosmic lake untouched by wind. Tiered seats curved toward a pale stone lectern, where motes of light floated — starlit dust caught before the first dawn ever rose.
Remiel descended the steps. He did not hurry; he did not raise his scepter. He merely sat — and the silence he carried was command enough to bow heads.
"Open Elementary Soul Theory — Structure and Reincarnation Cycle of the Essence," he said, voice soft as breath yet resonant as a bell inside bone.
Pages rustled. Elf students sat upright, mortals kept cautious silence, demons lounged with lazy smirks.
"Who has completed the reading?"
Alice stood instantly — precise, born of habit and heritage. A few elves followed. Humans and demigods lowered their heads.
From the demon row came a low whistle.
Remiel closed the book.
"I have not read it either."
A stunned pause. A muffled What—? died in throats.
"We do not learn souls from paper," he said. "Souls are not born in books. They are born in truth."
A chuckle escaped somewhere. Lucen whispered,
"Finally, a teacher who understands students."
Alice shot him a glare sharp enough to grade exams.
"And you will cry during finals."
Remiel lifted a hand, and silence fell like the universe before the Big Bang.
"What is a soul?"
Alice answered first.
"A soul is composed of soul particles — the subtle units of being."
"Correct. And their origin?"
Alice froze. Breath in the room stopped.
Remiel raised his scepter. There was no burst, no sound — only memory sliding into every mind.
A lone point of light appeared inside each student's thoughts — solitary in primordial void, pulsing like the first heartbeat existence ever knew.
"In the beginning, there were not many souls."
The light split — a river cracking open into countless radiant streams.
"There was One. The First Will. The Source."
A pulse — and light scattered into myriad shards: angels, demons, mortals, beasts, elves — all life awakening.
"They did not arise from nothing," Remiel said.
"They were the fragments of the Creator — the Primordial Mind. Creation was not made. It was divided."
A chill crawled through every spine. Elior felt gravity thicken.
"When fragments drifted far enough… they forgot their origin. So they could learn how to return."
Remiel's scepter touched the ground.
"A soul is not born to be understood."
His eyes met Elior's.
"A soul is born to remember what it once was."
He tapped the floor. "Class dismissed. Elior, stay."
Footsteps faded. The door closed. Ether drifted like dust caught between decisions.
"There exists knowledge," Remiel murmured, staring through the vaulted window at a violet sky, "that, if touched too early, shatters unready souls."
A blade of condensed law sliced the air.
Seraphiel descended — not gentle, but like a war herald from the beginning of order.
Black titan armor, gold trim, mirrored visor hiding eyes once burned and remade by light.
"Remiel," he said, tone sharp enough to make laws stand at attention,
"You speak forbidden truth."
"I speak what is real," Remiel replied, unmoving.
"They are not ready. They must obey before they understand."
Remiel rested a calm hand on Elior's shoulder — so still the light itself held breath.
"Some souls are born to submit."
He turned slightly.
"Some are born to see."
Seraphiel's helm angled toward Elior. The boy felt his very essence peeled back — lifetimes examined like pages.
"He carries primordial echo," Seraphiel declared.
"He should not awaken."
Remiel smiled — the kind of smile belonging to one who knows a greater law.
"Precisely why he must."
Light quivered on Seraphiel's armor — the tremor of principle challenged.
"The world needs no more who remember the origin."
"The origin chose him."
A rip in radiance — and Seraphiel was gone.
Elior swallowed. "Master… you just defied a Seraph?"
"Not defied," Remiel breathed — ancient, weighted like the weariness of birthing stars.
"They preserve order."
He touched his heart.
"I preserve memory of light."
His voice lowered, a secret spoken to destiny.
"Some souls learn."
"Some obey."
"And some… are born to remember they were once the first light."
Something ancient tapped inside Elior's chest — slow, bright, terrifying.
The room felt like an abandoned chapel. Runes flickered silver overhead as Remiel rose, and even shadows straightened beneath his presence.
Elior sat rigid, heart fighting his ribs.
"…Father, why are you here?"
It slipped out before thought could catch it.
Remiel turned. His gold eyes neither scolded nor softened; they reflected Elior like sunlight in a mirror — impossible to hide from, impossible to rely upon.
"Here," he said, voice traveling down a corridor older than stone, "you call me professor."
Elior flushed. "Y-yes, professor."
A warm hand on his shoulder — not flame, but light that could heal… or burn if held too tightly.
"Seraphiel and I investigate a secret. You will not interfere."
The words sealed like a ward.
Elior thought of the spy-bug he'd planted. Fear crawled his spine.
"I understand."
"No," Remiel whispered. "You will. When the door opens — it will not close again."
Light around him shifted like dawn preparing to wake.
"Elior," he said softly — father, not teacher, speaking.
"I am proud of you. And I love you. Wherever you walk."
Light folded around him. He vanished without spark, leaving only faint ozone and lingering warmth.
Elior held his chest — unsure if the ache was hunger for truth… or dread of knowing.
What are they hunting? And is it hunting me too?
He exhaled and pushed open the door.
Lucen jumped upright.
"Well? What'd he say? You look like you met the Arch Council."
"Nothing," Elior lied. "Errands."
Lucen snorted. "Celestial errands? Like 'hold my sun for a second'?"
Elior only managed a thin smile.
Morning mist clung to the halls; silver air carried moss and dawn iron. Night was retreating — day running to catch it.
Lucen nudged him.
"Wanna sneak off campus? Last time almost killed us, but hey— good memories."
"You plan to walk through the celestial barrier?"
"Nope!" Lucen beamed. "This time Alice casts the spell. Safe. Ish."
Alice emerged, arms full of books, expression of someone witnessing toddlers about to touch lightning.
"I don't know what idiocy you two conspired," she sighed, "but if we get expelled because of that fool, I will haunt— I mean, report you."
And yet, moments later, she placed her book down, wrist turning, runes forming.
"We return before the third bell. And do not look directly at any god on the way."
Lucen clapped. "See? Perfect plan!"
Elior smiled — truly, for the first time that morning.
Remiel's warmth lingered in him like a quiet sunrise.
But today — they were simply students plotting to escape a floating academy to… try a new ice cream flavor below.
And as all tales born from secrets begin,
wind at Astra's gate trembled —
as though something already knew they were coming.