Two days passed quickly. On the morning of departure, Loyaid stood at the grand Floyen gate. He wore the ceremonial gray robes of a novice, lacking the family's flaming serpent insignia. His siblings were nowhere in sight. Only a steward accompanied him, holding the reins of a sky-horse-drawn carriage.
Inside the carriage, silence reigned.
He sealed his mana to avoid this, but the world refused to leave him alone. The ride to the Imperial Academy of Arcanum took half a day. The city skyline transformed into towering peaks and endless clouds. Floating citadels hovered across the skies, each a different academy tower—Fire, Water, Air, Earth, Light, Dark, Arcane, and Forbidden.
At the center stood the Main Spire, taller than anything else, piercing the heavens. It housed the central library, the headmasters' council, and the dueling grounds where history had been written and rewritten in blood and brilliance.
As the carriage landed, Loyaid stepped out and looked up. A sprawling campus of magic lay before him—its beauty undeniable. Yet to him, it was a cage.
Students poured in from noble families and prestigious bloodlines, and the courtyard buzzed with life. Loyaid walked alone through the stone paths. Some eyes glanced his way. Whispers followed.
"That's him."
"The Floyen failure."
"They say he has no magic. How is he even here?"
A voice suddenly interrupted his silence.
"Hey! You dropped your scroll."
He turned. A girl stood behind him, holding out a rolled parchment.
She was around his age—silver hair tied in a braid, sharp gray eyes, and robes marked with the insignia of the Dranheart family, one of the Empire's great houses of lightning mages.
"Thanks," Loyaid said, taking it.
She tilted her head. "You're Loyaid Floyen, right?"
He tensed slightly. "I am."
"I'm Celia Dranheart. Don't worry, I don't believe the rumors."
He raised a brow. "You should."
She grinned. "I prefer firsthand evidence."
Then she walked off. Loyaid watched her go, unsure whether to feel confused or relieved.
Orientation was held in the Grand Auditorium, where the students sat according to their house alignments. Fire mages in red. Water in blue. Earth in green. Light and Dark wore white and black, respectively. Arcane mages, who studied the nature of magic itself, wore gray and gold.
Loyaid… had no color. No house. No seat. He stood at the back, beside the staff.
Headmaster Vireon Elthar, an old elf with long silver hair and glowing eyes, addressed the assembly.
"This year, we welcome over a thousand gifted souls into our walls. You are the next generation of mages, warriors, scholars, and leaders. But magic alone does not make a master."
His eyes swept the room.
"Control. Purpose. Sacrifice. That is what defines a mage."
He paused. "Some among you are prodigies. Others, disappointments. But know this—power reveals itself when tested."
Loyaid felt a strange weight behind those words.
Chapter 5: The First Trial
On the second day, they were summoned to the Field of Wills, a dueling ground where new students were evaluated. Each was to cast a basic spell of their element before the instructors. It wasn't a test of strength—but of potential.
Loyaid watched from the outer ring. Celia stepped up first. A bolt of lightning arced from her palm, precise and elegant. Applause followed.
Airen Floyen stood nearby, smirking. "Let's see how the embarrassment does," he whispered, loud enough.
Loyaid stepped forward.
"Name?" the instructor asked.
"Loyaid Floyen."
The instructor blinked. "Ah… no element recorded. What will you be demonstrating?"
Loyaid stared at the circle. He felt the seal on his mana, like a chain in his blood.
"I won't be casting anything."
The instructor frowned. "Then why are you here?"
Loyaid said nothing.
The instructor sighed and waved him off. "Next!"
The crowd whispered, laughed.
Celia watched from the back, arms folded.
Later that night, in the dormitory courtyard, three students cornered him.
They were nobles from other houses. One had Earth magic, another Fire, and the third bore the mark of Wind.
"You think you're special?" the Earth mage spat. "Coming here with no magic and acting like you're better than us?"
Loyaid didn't speak.
The Fire mage lit a flame on his finger. "Let's teach him what happens to trash who take up a spot meant for real mages."
They stepped closer.
But before they could attack, a blast of lightning struck the ground between them, cracking the stones.
Celia stood at the edge of the courtyard, hands glowing.
"Touch him again," she said coldly, "and I'll show you how fast lightning cooks meat."
The trio backed off, grumbling.
Loyaid looked at her. "Why?"
Celia shrugged. "I hate cowards."
That night, Loyaid sat by his dorm window again, looking out at the floating towers. Stars blinked above the campus. He opened Sukasa's pendant again. No glow. But deep in his soul… something stirred.
He reached inward. Past the seal. Past the fear. To the ember buried beneath. And for a moment, just a flicker—a warmth. A light. Then a whisper.
"You're not alone, Max."
He gasped. The voice was not his.
Far from the human capital, deep in the Obsidian Spire of Nythe, the Demon King sat on a throne of bone and glass.
One of the commanders knelt before him. "The child survived," she said.
The Demon King's crimson eyes glowed. "He's begun to awaken."
The commander bowed her head. "Shall I eliminate him?"
The Demon King smiled. "No. Not yet."
He stood and turned toward the balcony, looking out at the darkened world below. "Let him grow."