The Northern Road — Nova
The rain had finally stopped.
What lingered now was silence — heavy and uneasy, broken only by the soft crunch of boots on wet earth.
Nova moved through the mist like a ghost, cloak drawn tight, the faint glow of lightning still flickering beneath his skin. Every step felt heavier than the last. He hadn't slept in two days — not since the resonance with Sorra.
Each time he closed his eyes, he heard her heartbeat.
Each time he breathed, he could still feel the fire she'd unleashed.
She's alive. But she's not safe.
The road curved north, tracing the edge of a ravine that shimmered with faint blue veins of mana. It was the ancient trade route to Silvercrest, long abandoned since the wars. Perfect for travelers who didn't want to be seen.
Nova's hand brushed the hilt of his blade. The runes along its edge pulsed faintly — not warning, not threat, just presence.
Almost… comfort.
The last Forge-Wrought's words still haunted him.
"They are coming."
Who?
What?
And why did they all seem to call for Grey?
He stopped at the ridge's edge, looking down into the valley below.
Ruins. Old watchtowers. Scars of war that time never healed.
He exhaled through his mask.
"Whatever's waiting ahead," he murmured,
"I'll be ready this time."
He wasn't lying to himself.
He couldn't afford to.
That night, beneath the cold gleam of the twin moons, Nova began shaping new power. He knelt at the edge of the ravine and closed his eyes, calling on Total Creation.
Lightning hummed through his veins.
"Silent Step… Healing Magic… Triple Strike…"
He repeated their names quietly, letting their essence fill the air.
"I'll need more."
He raised his palm — sparks coiling into geometric rings.
"Skill Creation: Silent Step — perfected. Healing Magic — stable. Triple Strike — reinforced."
Energy rippled outward.
The earth trembled.
And then the runes burned into his palm — absorbed, permanent.
He opened his eyes.
"I'm ready."
But the wind whispered back something he didn't expect.
Faint words — almost a voice.
Are you?
Silvercrest Academy — Sorra
Light filtered through cracked glass, soft and gold against the pale sheets of the infirmary bed. For the first time in days, Sorra felt the quiet ache of her body — the dull exhaustion that came after losing control.
She blinked awake.
Bandages wrapped her forearms. Her uniform was gone, replaced with linen robes. A faint trace of smoke clung to her hair.
"You're finally awake," came a voice nearby.
Nico sat in a chair by her bedside, his arm in a sling, his expression torn between relief and anger.
"You've been out for three days," he said softly. "Half the Academy's in ruins, Sorra."
Her heart dropped. "The envoy—?"
"Gone." He looked down. "But not before leaving a message for the Headmaster."
Sorra pushed herself up, wincing. "What did they say?"
Nico hesitated.
"They said the Crown will be sending another delegation… and this time, they won't be asking nicely."
The air between them went still.
Outside, through the cracked window, the world seemed deceptively calm — students walking, laughter echoing faintly. But beneath it, Sorra could feel it: the hum of fear, the whispers that followed her name.
Phoenix Flame. Grey Blood.
Her hands trembled. She clenched them tight.
"I didn't mean to destroy the courtyard," she whispered. "I couldn't control it."
Nico reached out, placing a hand gently on hers.
"You didn't lose control," he said. "You survived."
She looked up, meeting his eyes — and for a moment, the walls between them softened.
Then the door creaked open.
Headmaster Verden stepped in, his long silver coat trailing behind him. His gaze was calm, but his voice carried the weight of authority.
"Miss Grey," he said, "you've made quite an impression."
Sorra bowed her head. "I didn't—"
"I'm not here to scold you," Verden interrupted. "But you need to understand — your display of power has changed everything. The Crown now sees you as an asset. Which means they'll stop at nothing to bring you under their command."
He paused, then added quietly:
"Just like your brother."
Sorra's eyes snapped up. "What do you mean?"
Verden studied her for a long moment.
"The Crown has been tracking unusual mana spikes along the northern border. One of them matches your signature almost exactly."
Her heart skipped a beat.
Nova.
"Where?" she demanded.
Verden smiled faintly. "That… depends on how much you're willing to defy the Crown."
The Northern Road — Night
Nova was already moving again.
The road had turned from dirt to stone, the air colder, sharper. He could see the distant lights of a city now — faint gold sparks on the horizon.
Silvercrest.
As he descended into the valley, the lightning around his hand dimmed — replaced by a low, thrumming heat in his chest. He didn't need sight to know.
Sorra was there.
And she was in danger.
He quickened his pace, disappearing into the mist.
The wind carried faint voices — whispers not of memory, but of warning.
"Grey returns…"
"The Flame stirs…"
"The Forger's blood must not awaken."
Nova ignored them all.
He had a sister to find.