The Golden Hall shimmered as though a ceremony were still underway, despite only a few students wandering through. Light poured from the crystal dome above, cascading like liquid sunlight onto marble polished so brilliantly that anyone glancing down would see… three children clearly about to skip class.
Lucen nudged Elior with his elbow.
"See? Destiny is waving. Even the Light supports us."
The dome immediately dimmed by a shade.
Alice shot him a glare.
"No. It's judging us."
At once, the dome darkened further.
"See?" Alice hissed.
Lucen cleared his throat and looked solemnly up at the ceiling, as if delivering a speech to the heavens.
"We were only going to get ice cream."
A timid shaft of silver light flickered down, as if to say: Very well. Proceed, and suffer.
They moved toward the grand doors that led to the sky bridge.
Beyond lay an endless stretch of sapphire air, drifting spires of living quarters like fragments of a dream, and—closer—an ancient rune gate breathing in slow pulses. Sentinels patrolled in measured steps, energy spears gleaming with quiet authority.
Alice pressed her palm to the door and opened a narrow gap.
Lucen whispered, trembling with excitement,
"So… plan? Fight our way out? Turn invisible? Dig a tunnel?"
Alice did not spare him a look.
"Fly."
Lucen nearly choked.
"Fly? Fly?! Since when do you know how to fly?"
"Not fly," Alice corrected calmly. "Telekinesis. Ether displacement of mass."
"We haven't even learned first-year spells yet!"
"My mother taught me," she replied, as though this were a trivial footnote in life. "I studied the rest."
Lucen turned to Elior, horrified as though discovering his roommate was secretly a dragon wearing socks.
"And you? Any spells?"
Elior froze. Something tightened in his chest — a door in his memory rattling against its lock.
"…No. No one ever taught me."
Alice glanced over — not pity, but a sharp flicker of thought.
"Fine." She raised her hand.
Frost curled across the floor, forming a silver sheet beneath their feet. Elior stepped on it and felt as though he were standing atop a winter lake.
"Do not drop anyone," she murmured like reciting a dangerous oath.
Lucen clutched Elior's shoulder, voice very small.
"I trust you. In part. A very small part."
Alice closed her eyes. Air tightened. Ether swirled like a silent wind.
"Telekinesis."
The ice surged upward. The three shot into the air, wind whipping their hair, hearts left somewhere below. The walls of Astra shrank beneath them — the rune-covered bastion dwindling to a mere halo of light.
"This is brilliant!" Lucen shouted. "We're free! Ice cream, here we—"
Thud.
Not thunder. Not wind.
A cosmic slap.
They hit an invisible plane — thin as glass, ancient as warning. The ice shuddered violently. They flipped backward, falling like particularly ungraceful autumn leaves.
"WAAAA—!"
Elior squeezed his eyes shut. Not falling — being rejected by the world.
A shield bloomed beneath them, clear as frozen breath. The landing was soft enough… yet humiliating enough to bruise ego more than bone.
They lay tangled in disaster form. Sentinels rushed forward, spears flaring.
And then a shadow appeared atop the wall — as if history itself had taken shape.
A towering figure stood there, beard like mountain frost, hair bound beneath a horned helm of iron. His armor was heavy rune-etched steel, and upon his back rested a greatsword large enough to silence storms.
Not a professor.
Not an officer.
But the last remnant of a legend.
The Sky Warden.
It was whispered that one hundred and eight Ether Knights had surrendered their souls to raise the Holy Wall that encircled Astra. And when their names faded into myth, only one remained — alone in the northern watchtower, where the wind never slept.
He regarded the three children as one might regard kittens attempting to steal the crown jewels.
His voice rolled like stone down a mountainside:
"And what, precisely, do you think you are doing?"
Lucen squeaked, face pale as milk.
"…going… to get ice cream?"
Silence — grave, ceremonial silence. The runes on his armor shifted hue, cooling to a frost-blue meant only for those about to face terrible consequences.
Alice exhaled like someone signing her last will.
"We are doomed."
Elior heard only his own heartbeat — loud, hammer-steady. Not from the fall.
From the sense that someone had caught him.
And watched.
The giant leaped down — no spell, no flourish. Just gravity bowing politely as he landed.
"The shield I raised was not meant for children attempting escape by flight."
He gestured to the guards.
"They will accompany me. I vouch for them."
Lucen blinked.
"You… protected us?"
The man's eyes paused — iron softening for a fraction.
"No one asked me to. I am simply… lonely. And you looked like people to speak to."
Elior stared — something aching and warm stirring within.
"Come."
His cloak of metal chimed like ancient bells.
"My name is Hrodgar. Last Sky Warden."
Lucen whispered, awed and terrified,
"That name sounds like dragons would stand at attention when hearing it…"
Hrodgar rested a gauntleted hand on his greatsword.
"They do."
The blade hummed — pleased, alive.
Elior shivered. Alice swallowed.
And so, none of them ran.
They followed the final guardian of the Holy Wall, walking along the wind-struck battlements toward the lonely northern tower — the place he called home.
To the place where a legend had chosen them as companions.