Far from the Academy, a deathly stillness draped over the corridors of the ancient Valerian Manor, where no sound rose above the wind whispering against the massive stone windows. In her room, which was devoid of any excessive luxury, Elena Valerian stood before a full-length mirror, drowned in her own silence.
Elena was not merely a noble girl; she was a warrior project, meticulously refined. Her warm, wheat-colored hair cascaded over her shoulders like waves of pure gold, its softness contrasting sharply with the coldness of her blue eyes—eyes that resembled the clarity of the sky just before a storm. They held not a shred of hesitation, only a sharp, disciplined intelligence. Her features were delicate: a straight nose and lips drawn with perpetual seriousness. Her skin was clear but possessed a military pallor, a testament to long hours of training under the moonlight.
She brushed her hair aside to reveal the tattoo etched at the nape of her neck: two crossed swords of dark ink with a hollow-eyed human skull centered between them. It was the crest of House Valerian, and it pulsed slowly, synchronized with her heartbeat.
The thread of her thoughts was severed by the sound of heavy, rhythmic footsteps—steps she knew well. The heavy wooden door swung open to reveal General Barcas Valerian, her father and the Lord of the House.
He was a man whose face bore the scars of countless battles, his eyes carrying the same stern blue glint inherited by his daughter. He had a relatively light blonde beard and a scar running across his right eye. Dressed in his formal military uniform, the same mark—the crossed swords and the skull—stood out on his exposed right hand, though his was larger, darker, and seemed carved deep into the flesh.
Elena stopped combing her hair and stood with a straight back, offering a brief military nod.
"Elena," Barcas said, "Dusk Academy opens its gates today. Are you prepared to carry the weight of this mark?"
Elena looked directly into her father's eyes without blinking. "I was born prepared, Father."
The General approached and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder—the ultimate expression of affection in their household. "Always remember, we are Sworn Nobles. We are the wall that protects the clan. In the Academy, you will find nothing but arrogance and conspiracies. Do not be swept away by the trivialities of the Pure-Bloods; make them realize that true power lies in discipline, not just inherited mana."
He paused for a moment, his tone sharpening. "Hold the family name high. I want everyone who sees our emblem in those halls to tremble. Do you grasp the magnitude of this responsibility?"
"I do, completely," Elena replied. "The Valerian name will return only at the vanguard of the elite. I will make my presence there a message: House Valerian is the backbone of this clan."
Barcas gave a faint, almost invisible smile. "That is my daughter. Now, dress and depart. The carriage is waiting."
After her father bid her farewell and left, Elena turned toward the clothes laid carefully on her bed. It was no ordinary outfit; it was the official Academy tunic in charcoal black, crafted from a fabric resistant to light magic and treacherous stabs, adorned with silver buttons. The collar was relatively high, decorated with fine silver thread. She donned fitted trousers that allowed for freedom of movement and polished black leather boots that were flawless.
She fastened her tunic buttons one by one. Picking up a short scarf in her family's deep blue, she wrapped it loosely around her neck, then gave the mirror one final look. She no longer saw a girl; she saw a warrior carrying the legacy of generations.
She exited her room, heading toward the main hall where the scent of military incense filled the air. The servants stood in formation, heads bowed, none daring to meet her gaze. She walked among them with measured steps.
Outside the manor, a black armored carriage waited, flanked by four knights in combat gear. Elena boarded the carriage, closed the door behind her, and commanded the driver: "Let us go."
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The carriage carrying Adrian and Niko arrived at the Grand Outer Plaza of "Dusk Academy." The plaza was a massive rift between two worlds; on the right side, gilded noble carriages lined up alongside knights draped in silk. On the left, where Adrian stood, the gate was a chaotic throng of enrollees, servants, and soldiers, amidst thick dust and the suffocating scent of mana.
Igor disembarked first, adjusting his heavy leather coat. He gazed up at the academy's colossal walls, which looked like a mountain of black bone swallowing the sky. He then turned to Adrian and Niko, who were silently observing the gate.
"Stop staring as if you've never seen a wall before," Igor said in a casual yet sharp tone, spitting on the dry earth. "Look at that gate... it swallows the weak and spits them out as ash."
Igor stepped closer to Adrian, placing a hand on his shoulder with enough force to nearly crush the bone. He lowered his voice to drown out the noise of passing carriages:
"Listen to me, Adrian—and you too, Niko. We are in the open now. From this moment on, I am not your master who lashes you in the cellar. I am 'Igor Vanit,' the man who adopted you to forge monsters that protect his interests. Any mistake you make reflects on me, and I swear I will bury you alive before I let that happen."
Adrian looked into Igor's eyes and saw a terrifying sincerity. Igor wasn't giving heroic speeches; he was providing the rules of survival.
They walked toward the lateral "Blade Gate," where guards in heavy armor bearing the Academy crest stood watch. One guard asked in a raspy voice while inspecting the recommendation papers: "Family Vanit? Two 'Blades'—sons of the Adopted caste?"
"Yes," Igor replied coldly, sliding a small bag of coins under the table.
"Ensure they are registered in the 'Dusk Dormitory'."
The guard laughed mockingly as he stamped the papers. "Dusk Dormitory?
You're throwing them into hell, Vanit. But since you've paid, so be it."
Igor turned to Adrian and Niko one last time before departing. His features were as harsh as ever, but his voice carried a final warning: "Do not start a fight you cannot finish. And if you decide to kill, leave no one behind to tell the tale. The Academy does not care who dies, as long as they are not nobles.
Adrian... do not let the 'Darkness' within you out unless you intend to annihilate the person entirely. Leave not a single shred of evidence."
Igor paused for a moment, then roughly adjusted Adrian's shirt collar and added: "Now, go. Hold my head high—not out of love for me, but so I don't have to tear the 'Vanit' tattoo off your dead skins."
Igor walked away without looking back, leaving Adrian and Niko before the massive iron gate that began to open with a terrifying groan. Adrian inhaled the cold air, thick with ancient mana, and looked at Niko, who was clutching his small bag tightly.
"Are you ready?
" Niko asked in a low voice.
Adrian answered as he took his first step inside the Academy grounds, his indifferent eyes slowly shifting into a dark, icy glint: "I am ready for death... and I am ready for what is worse than death."
At that moment, Elena Valerian's luxurious carriage passed beside them. Elena caught a glimpse of Adrian and Niko; Adrian didn't notice her presence. She glanced at him, then ignored him, stepping down to begin her own registration.
Adrian ignored Elena, and he and Niko advanced toward the stone registration desk. Behind it stood a pale-faced official with sunken eyes, looking as though he hadn't slept for centuries. The atmosphere around them was charged; guards were shouting, new students were grumbling, and a hum of mana resonated from the Academy's enchanted stones.
"Names?" the official asked without looking up.
"Adrian Vanit... and Niko Vanit," Adrian replied in a toneless voice.
The official stopped writing for a moment and slowly raised his gaze to scan Adrian's face. Adrian's frozen features and icy eyes suggested something unsettling—something that didn't belong to the typical "Adopted" students who usually trembled with fear on their first day.
"Family Vanit... yes, Lord Igor paid the fees in full," the official said, pulling out two rusty copper keys attached to cloth patches bearing the room number. "Room 404, 'Dusk Dormitory.' Move along; there are thousands behind you."
After receiving the keys, they didn't head toward damp cellars as Niko had expected. Instead, they walked through wide corridors paved with polished black marble that reflected their faces like a pool of water.
The walls were decorated with golden engravings chronicling the history of the Dark Clan, illuminated by spheres of "Calm Mana" hanging from the high ceilings.
These spheres cast a faint, eerie light that inspired more dread than comfort. They noticed a medium-sized mana sphere, about the size of a palm, positioned in every corridor; Adrian ignored them and kept walking.
They entered the "Dusk Dormitory" area. The elegance here was no less than that of the upper wings, but it was a cold, desolate luxury. The doors were crafted from magic-reinforced ebony, and the corridors were so silent that the echo of their footsteps sounded like drumbeats in a deserted temple.
Adrian opened door number 404 to find a spacious room for two. It wasn't just a room; it was a miniature suite combining luxury with military austerity. The beds were covered in heavy velvet silk, there were study desks made of Dusk Stone, and a massive floor-to-ceiling window overlooked the "Internal Training Grounds," which glowed with mana from below.
Adrian tossed his bag onto the bed near the window and looked at his reflection in the glass. The place was suspiciously comfortable—a space designed to make you forget you were in a war camp, intended to lower your defenses before you were crushed.
"Even the furniture here makes you feel like you're being watched," Niko said, feeling the cool silk. "Igor was right; this place swallows you with its beauty before its strength."
Adrian didn't respond; he remained focused on the plaza below. Across the building, he saw the lights of the female wings, where Elena Valerian and her kind resided.
Adrian sat on the edge of the bed and said, "Let's rest. Tomorrow will not be easy or soft beneath our feet."
At that moment, the Academy's massive bell tolled, its deep sound announcing the end of registration. A voice began to emanate from the previously mentioned mana spheres:
"Welcome, first-year students. This is Professor Jordan. Today is a day of rest. Tomorrow at 9:00 AM, the qualification exams will begin to determine your rankings. Attendance is mandatory; anyone who is late will be expelled. I repeat, everyone must attend. That is all."
Niko looked at Adrian and said, "It looks like tomorrow is going to be a long day."