The world blinked.
Michael opened his eyes to a familiar place.
Below him, the same glassy, ink-black water lay perfectly still, a mirror that refused to reflect. Above, black suns hung like holes punched through the sky, bleeding no light, just weight.
He drew one slow breath.
Before he could fully center himself, the floor of nothing swayed—
—and dropped.
Sight and sound snapped back with a soft clap. Stone underfoot. Voices. A wash of mana like ocean wind breaking across cliffs.
He stood in a plaza, but not the one he'd first arrived in.
Michael had returned to the academies' territory in the Land of Origin.
He wasn't alone.
"Castle 37…"
"That was him."
"Two Rank 3s—"
"Shut up, look—look."
Michael didn't care about the whispers. He was wondering what to do next when a pressure brushed his senses.
Rank 3.
His gaze lifted on instinct. A man stood near the edge of the plaza.
Michael didn't recognize the face.
But the man recognized him.
