The skies above Astralis Academy were clear that day, but the wind carried a chill. A quiet reminder that not all storms are loud.
Soren walked with steady steps, his long mantle fluttering behind him like a silent flag. It draped over his shoulders, concealing the space where his arm once was—an admiral-like cloak, fastened high to avoid drawing attention. But the very act of hiding made him stand out even more.
People watched as he passed.
What Soren hadn't realized was that their stares weren't out of pity, nor judgment. They weren't gawking at his missing arm, or his shut eyes.
They were watching a legend in the making.
A crippled instructor, stripped of power, who returned from the shadows having slain an S-Rank villain—the Crimson Apostle.
A man who had stood trial not for personal gain, but for protecting the only family he had left.
No one knew who started the rumors. But within the sprawling Academy walls, one name had taken on a new weight: Soren Noctis. Whispers spoke of a tragic hero. Of someone walking a path carved by misfortune and fate, yet refusing to crumble.
And now, as his mantle billowed and his closed eyes faced forward with grim resolve, that image only grew stronger.
But Soren, of course, paid none of it any mind.
His thoughts were elsewhere. On the one thing that mattered now.
He arrived at the gates of the Thalrune estate—an elegant mansion nestled within the residential sector of the Academy's sprawling grounds. Mirelle had given him directions after the trial, assuring him she'd informed the household in advance.
She wouldn't be there to accompany him—as she's busy herself.
Two guards stood at the wrought-iron gate.
Soren approached calmly.
"I'm here to see my sister," he said. "Lady Mirelle gave me permission to visit."
One of the guards blinked, momentarily stunned by the gravity Soren carried in his presence. His bearing, despite everything, was sharp. Composed.
"Ah, please wait a moment. I'll notify—"
"No need," came a smooth voice from within.
A man dressed in butler's attire stepped forward from the estate, bowing slightly with perfect manners.
"Lady Mirelle did inform us in advance. She mentioned a guest would be arriving today and requested we welcome him properly. Please, come in—Sir Soren."
The guard stepped aside at once, his tone shifting to one of newfound respect. "As you heard. Please go inside sir."
Soren gave a silent nod and followed the butler through the courtyard. Flowers lined the stone path, and warm sunlight filtered through the tree canopy above—making it easy to forget the world beyond these walls was on the verge of war.
They arrived at a guest room on the second floor.
The moment the door opened—
"Brother!"
Lyra's voice rang out as she rushed across the room, eyes wide, face lighting up. Her fragile body moved with urgency, despite the lingering weakness in her limbs.
Soren caught her in his good arm, holding her close, one hand gently stroking her back.
She was so light. So fragile.
Even running just a few steps like that seemed to take her breath away.
Just imagining her fleeing from Vellian before—hunted, terrified—made something twist painfully in Soren's chest. For the hundredth time, he silently thanked Lancer for killing that wretched man.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly, pulling back just enough to look at her. "Are you eating well here? You feel skinnier."
"Brother..." Lyra's voice trembled. "I'm fine now. I heard everything from Sister Mirelle. She said you were desperately looking for me… But they had to take you for questioning. She told me if things went well, you'd be released."
Soren nodded faintly. "Lady Mirelle said that?"
"Yes. Anyway, brother... where's Sis Ela? I really want to thank her for protecting me. I want to see her."
At that, Soren hesitated.
For a moment, he didn't know how to answer.
"She's injured," he said quietly.
"What?" Lyra gasped. "Where is she? I want to visit her!"
"You can't. Not yet," Soren said gently. "She's being treated elsewhere… But I promise, once she's fully recovered, I'll bring her to see you myself."
Lyra looked guilty, her brows furrowed. "Brother… Sis Ela's okay, right? You're not lying to me, are you?"
"I would never lie about something like this," Soren said, placing a hand over her head. "I'll bring her back to you—with a smile on her face."
He didn't say it out loud, but to him, it was a promise.
Not just to Lyra.
But to himself.
"I'll wait," Lyra said softly. "I miss her. She was so kind to me."
They sat in silence for a few moments before Soren spoke again.
"Lyra… I want you to stay here for a while."
She blinked. "Why? I want to go home with you, brother."
Soren shook his head.
"Not now. After what happened, it's safer for you to remain here. When I return to teaching, I'll be gone often. And with Elara not around either… You understand what I mean, don't you?"
"Will Sister Mirelle allow it?"
"I'll speak to her."
"Then… I'll listen to you, brother."
---
A woman of peerless beauty lay sprawled upon her silken bed.
Her delicate features were twisted in discomfort—eyebrows furrowed, lips slightly parted, as if caught in the grip of a nightmare. Beads of sweat glistened across her neck and collarbone, dampening her sheer nightdress and clinging to the curves beneath.
Yet somehow, the sight only heightened her allure. The vulnerable elegance of a queen haunted by visions.
Then—with a faint stir—her long lashes fluttered.
Violet eyes slowly opened, glimmering with the residue of something far beyond a dream.
Her head turned slightly, instinctively, sensing another presence within the room.
And there she was.
Standing beside the bed like a silver wraith, cloaked in holy regalia, her expression calm and unreadable.
Nora—High Priestess of the demon race.
And her dearest friend.
"You were trembling," Nora said softly, her silvery gaze steady. "Another unpleasant dream?"
Lilith sat up slowly, fingers brushing strands of sweat-matted hair behind her ear.
"Not a dream," she said. "A vision."
Nora's eyes narrowed.
Lilith's voice dropped as she recalled it. "I saw… a human. An occultist. Cloaked in shadows. And then… time itself slowed. Everything froze—as if the world was bound by some unseen command."
She paused, shivering slightly despite the warmth of the room.
"And then, a dragon," she whispered. "A beast of ancient blood. It roared, unleashed its fire… only for it to be devoured—swallowed whole by an abyss that should not exist."
Nora's breath caught. "That sounds like…"
Lilith nodded. "Yes. I'm certain of it. The Eye of Finality. My father's legacy."
The words struck like thunder.
Nora looked stunned. "But... the vision itself. How—?"
"I don't know," Lilith said. "But I think… I was able to glimpse through it because of our blood. My father must have left an imprint—some dormant link that let me peer through the veil."
Nora slowly exhaled. "That may be true. But what now? You can't leave the capital. Every upper echelons who power-hungry is sharpening their blades for your back. Not to mention… the humans. They've infested the Blackened Marsh like parasites, gathering strength under some foolish coalition. They'll attack soon."
"I know," Lilith said, eyes darkening. "But the vision wasn't clear. Fuzzy and incomplete, like seeing through fog. After all, it's through dream..."
She stood from the bed, reaching for a sheer robe and letting it fall over her shoulders, a whisper of silk over her lingerie.
"But I saw one final thing."
She walked slowly toward the grand window, gaze piercing beyond the glass.
The view overlooked the vast expanse of the demon realm. Sprawling spires, crimson skies, and lands not yet fully bent to her rule.
"A man," she said. "He will come here. Not of his own will, but because he has been ordered to. A pawn sent to aid the humans."
Nora's eyes widened. "Wait—Helping them? Doesn't that mean he's… a human? A human wields the sacred Ruin? The power of Lord Zeron?! That's laughable… how can that make sense! And if they will use it to turn againts us demon!"
"I thought so too," Lilith whispered. "Why would Father… entrust the greatest of our legacies… to a human?"
She didn't have an answer.
Only questions.
But beneath it all, one certainty remained.
Her voice turned cold. Certain.
"It doesn't matter who he is," she said. "Or what fate has chosen for him."
She placed her hand upon the glass, gazing out over the horizon.
"In the end, I'll reclaim what's mine. The Eye of Finality belongs to me—and me alone."