The murmurs of curious students reached even the tallest spire of the castle, where the Office of the High Enchantress was located. The High Enchantress's white and silver dress shimmered with glitters as she stood before the grand window of her chamber. An arched wall of enchanted glass that overlooked the entire school grounds below.
She silently observed as students gathered in the courtyard, some laughing, others whispering, their voices carried by the wind. Despite it being the first day of the academic season, the air was already filled with noise, mystery, and the weight of unanswered questions.
Behind her, the door opened and a knight approached, bowing respectfully.
"High Enchantress, Professor Clint is outside," the knight said, his voice filled with respect as he stood firmly still.
She didn't turn her head. Her voice, calm but laced with command, echoed in the chamber.
"Let him in."
The heavy doors opened, and Professor Clint stepped into the chamber. He bowed low before the ruler of the Celestial Castle. "Greetings, High Enchantress. You called for me."
The High Enchantress turned, and when their eyes met, there was a subtle flicker in her gaze—not of fear, but of memory. A memory of the Ninth Elites laughing with her after every mission. Then, her attention was drawn to the scar that slashed across his cheek—a deep mark left not by man, but by the Black Tiger, one of the Legendary Creatures locked inside the Cursed Forest.
The Black Tiger had already been forgotten by the new generation, dismissed as nothing more than a legend found only in books. But for the High Enchantress, Professor Clint, and anyone who had witnessed its power—it was all too real.
"It's beautiful!"
The High Enchantress thought. Professor Clint gritted his teeth when he saw where the High Enchantress's eyes were looking... at his scar.
"This scar is the proof that I survived that damn'd Cursed Forest alone," he thought angrily.
The scar on his face was proof that he had survived the Cursed Forest—a mark no other human had lived to wear. The High Enchantress coughed lightly, as if clearing her thoughts, then moved toward her ornate chair and sat behind the crystal-carved desk at the heart of the chamber.
"I have never forbidden you from teaching about the Cursed Forest," she began, her voice smooth and even. "I know that knowledge will be vital when future Elites are sent into that place. But I will not allow your lessons to distract my students from their cultivating and training here at Celestial Castle."
Her words were firm but reasonable. The voice of both a mother and a ruler.
Professor Clint stood still, his arms folded behind his back, listening with quiet respect. He understood what she truly meant, "Teach them but don't awaken their curiosity too much."
"I understand where you're coming from, High Enchantress," he said. "But as a former Elite… I believe they must know the true danger that the Cursed Forest holds."
The High Enchantress remained silent, her hands folded before her as she studied his expression.
He continued, "The forest is alive... Cursed... and... and..."
Suddenly, he stopped speaking.
His body trembled. He reached for his neck, as though something invisible had seized him. His breathing turned rapid and shallow. A cold sweat broke across his forehead. Dark tendrils of energy coiled around his feet, and beneath him, a dark magic formation began to glow. One that wasn't cast by him.
The High Enchantress immediately stood.
"That's exactly why I told you to limit what you reveal," she said, her voice no longer calm but edged with urgency. "There is information within you that should never be triggered!"
With a swift motion of her hand, she summoned several glowing dispel magic circles, casting them in quick succession to suppress the cursed formation activating around him. The room pulsed with divine energy as her magic collided with the dark force clinging to his soul.
Professor Clint gasped violently, collapsing to one knee as the magic formation receded. His clenched fists trembled and his breath ragged.
He had survived the Cursed Forest but not without a cost.
The forest had spared him… but in return, it cursed him.
It took his freedom to speak, to forget, to remember, to warn others of what truly happened there. The truth about his fallen comrades—The Ninth Elites—was sealed within his mind, guarded by the very darkness that kept him alive.
"This should be a lesson to you, Professor Clint," the High Enchantress warned, her voice low with concern and warning. "Some truths are bound by more than fear. They are bound by curse."
Still kneeling, Professor Clint bowed his head.
"I understand."
***
PROFESSOR CLINT slammed the door behind him as he entered his room, the force of it echoing through the silent hallway. His footsteps were heavy, thudding against the floor like an anchor pulling him down. He dropped into his chair with a loud thump, the weight of his exhaustion and memories crashing down all at once.
He reached for his neck, his fingers brushing across the skin—normal, unmarked. There was nothing strange there. Nothing visible. Yet, deep inside, he knew. Everything would change the moment he uttered the words Cursed Forest and beyond.
The memories remained vivid, unblurred even after all these years. The black tiger—its blazing, golden eyes—burned into his mind like a brand. He could still feel the way it chased him, the echo of its roar reverberating through the fog-drenched trees.
Three years had passed since that doomed expedition. He was the only one who returned. The sole survivor. And yet, not a single night passed without the haunted faces of his fallen comrades visiting him in his sleep. They smiled, laughed, screamed... vanished.
Clint never understood why he was spared. Why the black tiger chose to let him live. The last thing he remembered was falling off a cliff. He could still recall the cold rush of air around him as he plummeted, and just before he lost consciousness, he looked up. High above, standing on the edge, were two shapes. One was the black tiger, its luminous golden eyes like burning torches in the moonlight. But it wasn't the beast that paralyzed his soul.
It was the figure beside it.
A silhouette is unmoving, emotionless, almost ethereal. Its eyes… two different colors—blood red and icy blue—pierced through him like daggers. The gaze was not of a man, nor a beast. It was something else. Something that made every part of him scream.
Danger. Danger! Stay away!
The figure gently stroked the black tiger's head, and it obeyed. The way the creature leaned into the figure's hand, its calmness. Clint was sure that the figure was more dangerous than the beast itself. Then, before he could do anything, darkness consumed him.
When he awoke, he found himself outside the forest, face torn by claw marks. The pain was sharp, but not fatal. He was lucky or so they said. Clint never doubted the black tiger had done it. It was the only creature he encountered during his desperate escape.
A passing merchant found him bleeding and delirious near the forest's edge. He tried to explain what had happened, but the moment he spoke about the Cursed Forest, the dark magic within him stirred. Symbols—forgotten and forbidden—flickered briefly in the air. That was the first time he realized something had changed inside him.
Now, back in the stillness of his room, he exhaled a deep, shaking breath. He closed his eyes, and like a cruel trick of the mind, their faces returned.
The Ninth Elites. His comrades. His friends.
"After we're done here, let's resign as Elites and enjoy life to the fullest!" one of them laughed, a voice full of excitement and full of dreams.
"Of course! We'll travel the world with no missions, no restrictions.. Just freedom!!" another had added, eyes sparkling with hope.
They were proud. Confident. Invincible.
And yet, they never made it out.
If I had been stronger that time... Clint thought bitterly. I could have saved them...
Guilt coiled tightly in his chest like a serpent, squeezing without mercy. Pain surged alongside it—a pain that came not from wounds, but from remembrance. The guilt of surviving. The agony of leaving them behind and not even being able to retrieve their bodies.
They were more than soldiers. They were his family.
And now. Yes, he survived, but he was alone, trapped in a nightmare he couldn't escape.
***
LUNA had escaped from her Cultivating Lesson, her heart pounding with both guilt and excitement. She knew she wasn't allowed to skip class, especially one as essential as cultivation, but the urge to see the Elites in training was too strong to resist. She wanted to learn how to fight. Not just in theory, but in action. Even if no one would teach her, even if she couldn't join them, just watching was enough.
She slipped quietly into the vast Training Ground, her footsteps soft against the polished stone floor. The arena was massive—a grand, open facility where duels and physical combat lessons were usually held. On one side of the ground were rows of elevated benches, designed for spectators. She chose the farthest seat, where she could remain unnoticed.
At the center of the field, students were already deep in training. The energy in the air was electric. The sound of clashing weapons, grunts of focus, and the sharp calls of commands echoed throughout. Leading them was Trainer Herco, a stern and powerful figure known for his unrelenting methods. He was the nephew of Aunti Hurieya, and his reputation in physical combat was legendary.
Luna's wide, moonlike eyes scanned the field with awe.
She watched as Pierro with his ruby eyes glinting under the sun, swung his sword with calculated grace. His movements were precise—not just strength, but form and control. Each strike cut through the air as if it were slicing through an invisible opponent. The wooden training dummy in front of him bore the marks of his relentless attacks.
Not far from him was Hierra, her olive green eyes sharp with focus. She wielded a whip crafted from the roots of an ancient tree, and with every strike against the ground, the earth trembled faintly. Her form was elegant yet fierce, each motion flowing like water but hitting like lightning.
Theara stood with unwavering composure. She held a bow crafted from coral reef and bound together with seaweed—a unique weapon shaped by the ocean's power. Her posture was straight, her eyes narrowed as she pulled the string back. Her arrow flew with a silent swiftness, embedding itself perfectly in the center of her wooden target.
On the opposite side, Raon was rhythmically throwing daggers at various targets. His aim was deadly accurate—each dagger hit the exact spot he aimed for. His face, as always, was unreadable, but the intensity in his medallion-colored eyes was unmistakable.
Meanwhile, Theo sat cross-legged on the ground, his sapphire eyes closed, his breathing calm and measured. He wasn't moving like the others, instead, he was meditating, sharpening his senses, connecting with the rhythm of battle in a different way. It was a discipline often overlooked, but Luna could feel its depth. Theo wasn't resting—he was preparing.
Luna's heart swelled as she observed them. These were the Elites—her friends, classmates and at the same time, warriors she admired deeply. They weren't just gifted, they were determined, powerful and disciplined. She wanted so badly to be like them—to fight monsters, to protect the world, to be more than the soft-hearted girl everyone underestimated.
But her power… it wasn't meant for battle. It wasn't fire, wind, or water. It was something else. Something gentler.
Still, that didn't stop her.
Even if she couldn't use her powers like them, she would train. Even if she couldn't join their ranks, she would learn. And if they wouldn't teach her—she would teach herself.
With clenched fists and burning resolve, Luna continued to watch, memorizing every stance, every movement, every strike.
Later, when the moon replaced the sun, and the grounds were empty and quiet… She would practice it all.
Alone but determined.
To be continued...