The Academy lived by its own rhythm.
Every morning began the same way—the ringing of a bell, soft light through the white glass windows, and the muffled hum of voices in the corridors.
Sai had gotten used to it faster than he thought.
He woke before dawn, washed with icy water, fastened his belt, and hid the revolver in his waistband—bringing weapons onto the grounds was against the rules, but he took it anyway. Not for protection. Just… couldn't leave it.
Lars always grumbled when Sai woke him up early.
"What are you, military? Or are ghosts chasing you?"
"Maybe the second one," Sai would reply, pulling on his jacket and smiling faintly.
First lesson—algebra and applied arithmetic.
The classroom shone with white light.
The instructor, a tall man with a metal insert in one eye, drew equations on the board, connecting them to magical symbols.
"Force flow formulas are the foundation," he said. "Without the ability to calculate mana stability, you won't even be able to use basic artifacts.
Remember: discipline in numbers is discipline in thought."
Sai took neat notes, not looking away.
Numbers, lines, magical coefficients—it all seemed almost beautiful.
He didn't shine, but he grasped the material quickly.
Lars sat beside him, quietly dozing off at the desk instead.
Sai nudged him with an elbow.
"Are you even listening?"
"I don't kill monsters with math," he mumbled, eyes still closed. "I just hit them."
The instructor turned, his gaze piercing Lars like a knife.
"Mr. Grey, if you think strength replaces intellect—you've already lost."
The class chuckled quietly, and Sai lowered his eyes to his notebook, trying not to smile.
---
After classes, students streamed into the cafeteria.
The air smelled of bread, meat, and hot soup.
Sai took a tray, chose simple food, and was heading towards a window when someone bumped into him.
The dishes wobbled, but he managed to steady them.
A girl stood before him.
Hair black as pitch, and… white eyes.
Just like his.
They both froze.
"Oops, sorry…" she said quickly, stepping back slightly. "I wasn't looking where I was going."
"It's fine," he replied calmly, but something inside him seemed to stir.
He looked at her, trying to remember—why did she seem familiar?
She was a bit older, probably from another year.
Her gaze was calm, strong.
"First year?" she asked.
"Yes. You?"
"Second." She smiled, a light, almost weightless smile. "I'm Naira."
Sai frowned slightly. The name echoed in the depths of his consciousness, as if he'd heard it before.
"Sai," he replied.
"Nice to meet you, Sai." She tilted her head and walked on.
He remained standing, watching her go.
The same eyes… he thought. White. For some reason, that feels important.
---
After lunch, they had practical training—mana exercises.
A large hall, divided into sections, the air thick with the smell of energy and sweat.
Each was given a standard set of crystals to enhance mana flow.
The instructor, a woman in a dark uniform, explained sternly:
"Control. Above all—control.
Those who cannot control their energy have already lost."
Sai concentrated.
Slowly brought his palm to the crystal.
The mana flow stirred, a thin thread stretching from his body into the stone.
The crystal glowed, but not steadily—in flashes.
As if something was interfering.
A quiet sound echoed deep within—like a hammer clicking.
He froze.
The revolver.
He felt a slight warmth at his belt.
"Everything alright, Sai?" the instructor asked.
"Yes, just… seems like flow overload," he answered quickly.
The crystal suddenly flared brighter, and for a second, his shadow—his own—quivered, as if alive.
He immediately cut off the mana.
The instructor merely nodded. "Not bad. Learn to control your breathing, and the flow will be cleaner."
He bowed and stepped aside, his heart pounding.
Why is the revolver reacting to mana?..
He touched the holster. The metal was slightly warm, as if something was stirring inside.
---
In the evening, back in their room, Lars glanced at Sai:
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Maybe I live with one," he replied, nodding towards the revolver.
"Still on about that toy? Listen, if it starts talking—throw it out the window immediately."
Sai smirked, but his gaze remained troubled.
He felt—the revolver was waiting for something.
Waiting for a moment to awaken.
---
Night fell quietly.
Sai was awake again.
He took out the revolver, laid it on his palm.
The metal glowed with a soft, almost imperceptible black radiance.
In the silence, a faint, almost tender sound was heard—like a breath.
He whispered:
"What are you?.."
And for a moment, barely noticeable, a tiny glimmer flickered in the air before him—a shadow contracting into a form.
As if something had stirred inside the weapon.
Small horns. The outline of wings.
But before he could blink—it was gone.
He sat for a long time, looking at the revolver, until sleep finally softened his consciousness.
A little longer, a quiet whisper sounded in the darkness.
Soon I will appear… Master.
———
Sleep came suddenly, as if he'd been pulled into darkness.
He stood in the middle of a familiar yard—the old house, the roof covered in vines, the well by the wall, the smell of woodsmoke.
Grandpa's house.
Sai inhaled, and for a moment, his heart filled with warmth.
'I'm back…' he thought.
He could hear the creak of old floorboards, a door slamming somewhere.
"Grandpa?" he called softly. "It's me."
No answer.
He slowly walked deeper into the house.
The air grew heavier with each step.
And suddenly… the smell of smoke hit him in the hallway.
He froze.
In the kitchen—smoke. Crackling. And… blood.
Grandpa lay on the floor.
His eyes were open, but lifeless.
On his chest—the mark of claws.
Beside him, like a mockery, lay a mug, still full of unfinished tea.
"N-no…" Sai exhaled, rushing forward. "No!"
He dropped to his knees, shook Grandpa's shoulder, but the body was cold.
Outside, thunder rumbled, and from under the floor came the scent of something alive.
The shadows began to move.
"Don't you dare!" Sai shouted. "Don't come near him!"
But the shadows crept closer, merging into the outline of something monstrous—part beast, part human.
A familiar voice came from the darkness—muffled, distorted:
You knew… you couldn't protect anyone.
"Shut up!" Sai yelled. "Shut up!"
He grabbed the revolver, fired—and woke up.
---
Cold sweat drenched his temples.
He sat on the bed, breathing ragged, hands trembling.
The room was quiet, only the even breathing of the sleeping Lars audible.
Sai quickly got up, pressed his palms to his face.
Nausea rose in his chest—he really felt like he might vomit.
He grabbed a glass of water, took a sip, but the trembling didn't stop.
Just a dream… only a dream, he told himself. He's alive. He's alive.
But his heart didn't believe it.
The dream was too real—the smell, the light, the touch of cold skin.
He looked at the clock—it was around four in the morning.
The Academy was silent, only the wind rustling somewhere beyond the walls.
"Alright," he whispered. "I'll just get some air."
He quietly left the room, trying not to wake Lars.
The corridor was empty, the lamps burning dimly.
He walked barefoot on the cold floor, feeling his heart tremble.
Outside—the pre-dawn half-light.
The park behind the Academy, surrounded by a high fence, was asleep.
Trees rustled quietly, and mist lay over the lake.
Sai sat down on a bench, inhaled the damp air.
A bird sang somewhere far away.
Everything around was calm, as if the world hadn't yet woken up.
He closed his eyes, trying to push away the images from the dream.
"Why him?" he whispered. "Why do I have to see this?"
No answer. Only the wind swaying the branches.
He took the revolver from his belt, laid it on his knees.
The metal felt slightly warm.
"If he dies… I…"
He didn't finish.
A light pulse echoed inside—a brief response.
As if the weapon had heard him.
Sai looked up at the sky.
The clouds were slowly parting, and the first light appeared on the horizon.
He said quietly:
"Live, Grandpa… please. Just a little longer."
---
When he returned to the room, the sky had already turned grey.
He washed up, changed, and began gathering his books, notebook, pens—everything for the morning classes.
His hands moved mechanically, but his thoughts were far away.
He looked at the revolver lying in its holster.
"I won't let anyone die," he said quietly. "Not again."
Outside the window, the sun rose.