Far away, in the heart of the empire, the Aaron Academy towered above the sprawling city like a citadel of power. Its spires pierced the clouds, shimmering with enchanted runes that pulsed faintly in the fading light.
Crystalline windows reflected the hues of the setting sun, casting prismatic patterns across polished stone courtyards.
Arcane glyphs hovered lazily above the walkways, warding off intruders and mapping flows of magic like invisible rivers. The academy was a fortress of knowledge and authority, a place where the strongest and most brilliant wielders of magic honed their skills under the watchful eyes of masters—and where legends were born and tested.
And at the very top, in the highest tower where only the headmaster was permitted to step, lay a chamber drenched in deep violet luminescence. The air hummed with old magic, the kind that whispered in forgotten languages if one listened too long.
In the center of the room sat a man.
Or something close to one.
He lounged in a throne-like chair carved from obsidian and white crystal, its edges etched with runes that glowed faintly beneath his fingertips. The chair wasn't furniture—it was a conduit, a crown, a declaration.
His hair, long and silver-white, fell like liquid moonlight over his shoulders. Not a strand out of place. His skin was pale, almost luminous, as though magic itself threaded through his veins instead of blood. And his eyes—deep, unsettling crimson—glowed faintly in the dim light, half-lidded but alert, carrying the weight of someone who had seen empires rise, fall, and beg at his feet.
There was something ancient about him. Something unreadable. The way the shadows bent subtly toward him, the way the mana in the room thickened around his presence, the way the air seemed to wait for him to breathe.
His aura radiated a silent command:
**Power obeys him.
Secrets follow him.
And fate refuses to look him in the eye.**
For a long while he sat, motionless, lost in whatever labyrinth of thoughts only he could navigate.
Then—
A spark.
The crystal Kael had buried in dust and memory flickered to life.
Across the room, on a pedestal of white stone, a shard of enchanted crystal pulsed once—bright, desperate, unmistakable. The man's crimson eyes snapped open, glowing brighter for an instant.
There was no fear.
No surprise.
Just a slow, thoughtful narrowing of his gaze.
"Hm."
His voice was calm, rich, and old—like velvet woven through smoke.
"After all these years… you call me."
He rose with unhurried grace, his cloak trailing behind him like a shifting shadow. The runes in the room brightened as though recognizing a sovereign returning to his throne.
He didn't know why the son who despised him would invoke the crystal.
He didn't know what storm awaited him at the other end.
But he stepped forward anyway.
Not out of love.
Not out of duty.
But because when something summons him, the consequences are never small.
And tonight, fate flickered again.
Light. Blinding, violent, hungry light.
It flared so suddenly as Kael dropped the crystal
Clink—
Clink—
CRACK.
The crystal hit the ground, splintering like glass under pressure. But instead of dying, the glow surged outward, flooding the entire basement with harsh, white radiance.
Kael staggered back, shielding his eyes.
Lines of light crawled across the floor like living veins.
Runes. Old, ancient, forbidden. More complex than anything Kael had ever studied.
They spiraled outward from the shattered crystal, widening into a perfect circle that pulsed with a deep, resonant hum. The air grew thick, charged, humming with raw power that made Kael's bones tremble.
The floor shook.
The runes brightened.
And then—
He appeared.
A figure stepped out of the radiance as if the light had shaped itself into a man.
Silver-white hair draped down like molten moonlight.
Crimson eyes opened slowly, glinting like sharpened rubies.
A cloak of shadow and starlight billowed behind him, untouched by gravity.
Cold. Majestic. Ancient.
And absolutely uninvited.
He looked around with the calm curiosity of someone entering a room he already owned.
His gaze settled on Kael.
And the corner of his mouth lifted.
Not a smile.
A judgment.
"Well," he said, voice smooth as ice and twice as cutting,
"tell me, Kael… did you finally lose?"
Kael's jaw clenched, but he didn't speak.
The man took a single step forward. The runes dimmed in deference.
"Or," he continued softly, almost amused,
"have you discarded the last shreds of your honor?"
His crimson eyes glowed brighter.
"You swore you'd never call me."
Another step.
"That you'd never need me."
He tilted his head, studying Kael with elegant disdain.
"And yet here you stand."
His voice lowered, silk wrapping around a blade.
"Summoning the man you vowed to never resemble."
A faint pause.
Then, with perfect, merciless composure:
"Tell me, Kael…
What broken state have you fallen to
that you'd crawl back to me for help?"
The basement was bathed in unearthly light. Every shadow quivered, every breath of air shimmered. Kael's hands were trembling, sweat beading on his forehead, and the shattered crystal's fragments still glowed faintly on the stone floor. The interlocking runes hummed with a resonance that made his chest tighten.
"Kael," Arthur said again, voice slicing through the thick hum of magic. "Why… why have you summoned me?" His crimson eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest crease of surprise flickering in them—but it vanished instantly, replaced by the imperious calm of someone used to commanding worlds.
A single, measured step brought Arthur closer. He tilted his head as the echo of Ray's screams rippled up from the house—shards of pain and desperation spread through the air. The faintest flicker of something—recognition?—passed over his features.
"…That sound," Arthur said softly, voice unusually quiet. "That is… a child?"
Kael's throat tightened as he heardthe scream. Every word felt like sand catching in his lungs, but he forced them out. "It's… it's Ray. My son. He—he's… dying. Soul deterioration. There's… no one else." His voice cracked, brittle as thin ice.
Kael's hands clenched, white-knuckled. "My son. Ray. Please… please help him. I—" His voice broke entirely, the weight of helplessness finally spilling out. "I beg you. This is the only thing I ask of you. Save him. I don't care what you demand, what you need. Just… save him."
Kael swallowed hard. "Yes. No games. No pride. I—I have failed everything else. This is all that matters. Please, I don't have anyone else. Just… help him."
Arthur's lips curved—not into a smile, not fully, but the hint of one touched the edge of his composure. The violet runes pulsing beneath his feet seemed to shimmer, acknowledging the gravity of the plea.