Chapter 1001 - Practical Mid-terms
The late afternoon sun dipped low across the academy grounds, painting the cobbled walkways and high towers in deep gold. Students filtered into the central lecture amphitheater, filling the wide, semi-circular rows with the subdued buzz of conversation.
The air, though heavy with tension, carried a crackle of excitement too—the kind of tension that only came before major announcements.
At the podium stood Instructor Verren, stone-faced as always, accompanied by Vice-headmaster Amelia and Professor Eleanor, whose presence at any briefing was enough to make even the most casual cadet sit up straight.
The room dimmed slightly as the projector glyphs activated overhead, casting a faint silver glow across the crowd.
With a curt nod from Eleanor, Verren stepped forward, his voice slicing cleanly through the murmurs.
"Attention, cadets."
Silence descended.
"Today you will be briefed on the structure of your upcoming Practical Examination."
A pause, as a new glyph appeared—rotating symbols of squads, gates, and observation arrays.
"As you are aware, scouts from multiple guilds and affiliated organizations will be present. They will observe your performances from designated stations. They will not interfere. They will not coach. They will only watch."
The words "observe" and "watch" hung in the air like a heavy warning.
Julia, seated near the middle, whispered under her breath, "So basically, don't embarrass ourselves."
Ethan shot her a sharp look. "This time it's not just about passing. It's about who's watching when you do."
Verren continued, unbothered by the underlying current of unease building in the room.
"Unlike last semester's individual duels, this practical will focus on team operations and coordinated combat. You will not be graded purely on personal strength. You will be graded on adaptability, tactical cohesion, and battlefield decision-making as a unit."
The glyph shifted to show team formations, colored indicators flashing through simulations.
"You will compete in your pre-registered teams from the Team Operations and Unit Specialization course. Those who failed to register for teams prior to this point will be assigned provisionary units."
A small ripple of movement—some cadets sat up straighter, reassured; others shifted uncomfortably, realizing what was coming.
Julia leaned toward Lucas with a grin. "At least we picked early. No randoms for us."
Irina remained composed, fingers tapping lightly against her knee in thought.
Astron, seated in the row just behind her, remained perfectly still, watching the projected glyphs rotate without blinking.
Verren's gaze swept the room again.
"Each team will be deployed into controlled simulated zones. Some of these zones will mimic hostile environments—fortified terrain, high-mana distortion fields, partial blackout conditions. You will be given mission objectives at the start of each round: control, retrieval, extraction, or survival."
The word survival made a few cadets stiffen unconsciously.
Verren let that sit before adding,
"There will be no direct eliminations. If you are critically wounded or deemed incapacitated by the assessment array, you will be removed from the field immediately. Teams will be graded on completion efficiency, casualty management, and strategic clarity."
A murmur rippled through the room.
This was no simple exhibition.
This was a field simulation of real hunting operations.
"There will be five rounds total," Verren continued.
"Teams must complete at least three rounds successfully to pass. Special commendations will be awarded to teams that complete all five with minimal casualties."
At that, a few competitive sparks lit up across the room.
Jasmine leaned forward, whispering to Layla, "We're gonna have to be perfect. No room for heroics this time."
Layla nodded grimly. "Tight and clean. That's the only way."
Verren tapped his tablet once, bringing up a timer glyph.
"The first wave of practicals begins in three days. You have until then to solidify your strategies and prepare your equipment. There will be no changes to team rosters past tonight."
He stepped back.
Professor Amelia moved to the front, her voice softer but carrying a distinct firmness.
"Remember—this practical is not just about passing."
"It's about who notices you."
The scouts.
The guilds.
The opportunity—or the mistake—that could define their careers before they even graduated.
And finally, it was Eleanor who spoke last, her gaze sweeping across the assembled cadets like a silent blade.
"When you enter that field, act like you belong there. Or you will be remembered for the wrong reasons."
Her tone was cutting, final.
The room breathed as one, the weight of reality sinking into them like stone.
This wasn't just a practical anymore.
It was a proving ground.
Verren gave a single nod.
"Prepare yourselves. Dismissed."
The glyphs faded.
Chairs scraped quietly against stone as cadets began filing out—quieter than usual, with tighter postures, minds already racing toward tactics, supplies, and team drills.
******
As the mass of cadets began to spill out of the amphitheater, breaking into small, buzzing groups of their own, a natural pull brought Astron, Irina, Jasmine, Layla, and Sylvie together near the side corridor—away from the heavier foot traffic but close enough to still feel the charged energy lingering in the air.
Irina was the first to speak, unsurprisingly. She folded her arms across her chest, her fiery red hair catching the faint light as her golden eyes gleamed with sharp focus.
"Tch. Didn't expect this level of seriousness for a mid-term," she muttered, voice low but strong enough for the group to hear. "Guild scouts, five full rounds… they're basically throwing us into a real battlefield." She huffed, straightening her posture. "But it doesn't matter much anyway."
Jasmine, standing to her right, offered a crooked smile. "I mean, it's a bit more pressure, sure. But we've already got something most teams are scrambling for."
Layla nodded, resting a hand casually on her hip. "Yeah. We actually work together." She glanced at the others. "Most teams are either glued together at the last second or still arguing about who should lead."
Sylvie tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her voice calm as she added, "We've already built a foundation. Between the Kalthor's Method drills and the Tri-Layer Pressure formation practice… we know how to cover each other."
Irina smirked faintly at that, a rare glint of satisfaction flashing across her face. "Yeah. We're miles ahead of the average."
Astron, who had been silently observing as usual, gave a slight nod—an approval subtle enough that only those familiar with him would notice it.
Jasmine crossed her arms and rocked on her heels. "Still... this is gonna be rough. Five different types of objectives, changing environments. We can't just brute-force everything."
Layla gave a small chuckle. "Well, maybe not everything. But we've got enough flexibility to handle it."
Irina turned her head slightly, her fiery red hair catching the fading light filtering through the corridor windows. Her golden eyes locked onto Astron, a playful glint hidden behind their sharpness.
"And what about you, Mr. Silent Strategist?" she asked, her voice light but carrying a familiar edge of curiosity. "What's your grand opinion about all this?"
Astron met her gaze evenly, unfazed. He leaned back slightly, resting his hands casually in his jacket pockets. His voice, when it came, was as steady and grounded as ever.
"At the end of the day," he said calmly, "there's no need to overthink it."
The others blinked, surprised by how simply he phrased it.
Astron continued, his sharp purple eyes sweeping across the group. "An exam is an exam. You prepare. You show up. You do what you can. That's all there is to it." His tone remained neutral, almost matter-of-fact. "We go in, move the way we've trained, and adapt as needed."
Irina's lips curled into a smirk, a spark of amusement flickering across her face. She gave a small nod of approval. "Agreed," she said, her voice firmer now. "No point stressing about what-ifs. We're ready."
Jasmine let out a mock groan, throwing her hands up. "Ugh. You two are impossible sometimes. It's like you live in your own little world where nothing shakes you."
Layla snorted, crossing her arms. "Yeah. Must be nice being built out of pure confidence."
Sylvie, standing a little behind the others, said nothing. But her green eyes narrowed slightly, and she couldn't help but glare quietly at the two of them—Astron and Irina standing there, looking so sure, so steady.
A flicker of something stirred in her chest—something she didn't fully understand.
She quickly pushed the feeling down, smoothing her expression before anyone could notice.
They had a mission to focus on.
Personal feelings could wait.
"Whatever," Jasmine said, waving a hand dismissively. "As long as you two can back it up when we're knee-deep in trouble, I'm fine."
"We will," Irina said confidently, flashing a sharp grin.
Chapter 1002 - Practical Mid-terms (2)
The walls of Reina's office glowed faintly, the mana filaments in the ceiling dimmed to a muted, soothing pulse. The scent of cold paper and polished wood filled the room, and for a few precious minutes, Reina allowed herself the luxury of silence. Her fingers traced the rim of the untouched glass beside her, the remnants of her earlier indulgence forgotten.
Then—the comm-stone embedded in her desk pulsed, a low, deliberate vibration that resonated through the heavy wood.
An Anchor contact.
High priority.
Reina sighed under her breath, steeling herself. She pressed her palm lightly against the stone, and the holographic projection flared to life above the desk—crisp lines, minimal distortion. On the other side, a figure materialized: formal robes layered in deep gray and silver, the insignia of the Anchor Corps woven subtly across the collar. His face was half-shadowed by the encryption filters, but Reina recognized him immediately.
"Watcher Reina," the man said without preamble. His voice was clipped, official. "We need to discuss the recent developments."
Reina inclined her head slightly. "Of course. I assume this is about the activation event."
"It is. And the subsequent reclassification shifts," he said, his gaze narrowing. "We are conducting a reassessment of previously registered Adepts. Particularly those flagged under 'contingency compatibility.'"
Reina's expression didn't shift, but she knew where this was going. She waited.
The Anchor continued, his voice sharp. "Specifically—[Adept Astron]."
There it was.
"We noticed he is currently classified as inactive—dormant," the man said, consulting a secondary feed off-screen. "Due to his enrollment status at the Arcadia Hunter Academy. His previous assessments and predictive modeling marked him as exceptionally compatible. His age also places him within the critical bracket."
Reina let the silence stretch for a second longer before answering.
"That's correct," she said coolly. "He is presently inactive due to the Academy's current restrictions. Since the start of the new cycle, Arcadia tightened security—entrance and exit privileges are heavily monitored. No active deployment without internal authorization."
The Anchor frowned slightly. "Is there no method to bypass this limitation? His performance markers put him in the top tier for adaptive resonance. It would be a waste to leave such an asset unused during this critical stage."
Reina's lips quirked at that—humorless, but faintly amused.
"Under normal circumstances, perhaps there might have been ways to... encourage movement," she said. "But with the way the political pressure is mounting around the academies right now, it's delicate. Any direct extraction attempt would cause backlash we can't afford."
A beat.
"However," Reina continued, her voice more measured, "the situation is evolving."
She leaned back slightly in her chair, fingers steepled before her.
"The Academy is currently in the middle of mid-terms. And given the trajectory of the external pressure—especially now that the Association and Guilds are beginning to realize how the gates are selecting their entrants—there's little doubt."
She let the next words fall with the certainty of a knife:
"The Academy will be forced to loosen their restrictions. Sooner rather than later."
The Anchor studied her silently for a moment, processing the implications.
"So you're saying..." he prompted.
"I'm saying," Reina said, her voice like polished steel, "that once the cracks widen, we will have access. And when that happens—[Adept Astron] will be moved back into active status."
She allowed herself a small, tight smile.
"He won't stay asleep for long."
The projection flickered briefly as the Anchor acknowledged the transmission. "Understood. We will prepare a standby protocol in the meantime. If a window appears—notify us immediately."
Reina inclined her head once, the formalities complete.
The connection severed with a soft chime, leaving the office bathed once more in quiet, pulsing mana-light.
Then, she sat in silence for a long moment, her fingers resting lightly against the edge of her desk. The glow of the comm-stone had faded, but the weight of the conversation remained. Her thoughts drifted, sharp and focused—not just on protocols and contingency drafts, but on him.
Astron Natusalune.
Young, but not unproven. Unranked, but not unread. A ghost in the system who shouldn't exist by design—yet somehow fit too perfectly into what the world was becoming.
'He deserves to know,' Reina thought. 'He's not just a tool to be pulled from storage. He's still one of ours.'
Her fingers moved across the surface of the desk, tracing a command glyph in a clean stroke. A small circle blinked once—linked to Astron's Watch ID.
Connection initializing...
The mana screen shimmered for a breath, stabilizing. It didn't ring. No audio chime. Just a direct call routed through the Watchers' network encryption—quiet and immediate.
The image flickered once before stabilizing.
Astron's room appeared.
The feed showed clean lines and spartan design. A single light pulsed softly near his bed. The far wall glowed faintly with the arcane warding pattern the Academy issued for personal quarters.
And in the center of it all, Astron sat—his back against the wall, one leg pulled up, a thick textbook resting open beside him. His eyes flicked up at once as the call came through. Not surprised. Just… aware.
"Miss Reina," he said, setting the book aside without needing to ask who it was.
Reina studied him for a beat before speaking. He looked more worn than usual—perhaps from the weight of midterms, or perhaps from something deeper. His expression was calm, but his eyes held the quiet sharpness she always recognized. That readiness.
"I assume your exam season hasn't dulled your senses," she said smoothly.
"Depends on the subject," Astron replied, tone dry.
A small smile flickered at the corner of Reina's mouth. It vanished just as quickly.
"I contacted you," she said, voice returning to its usual precision, "because something has changed. Something important."
Astron's gaze sharpened.
"We've just received confirmation of global systemic fluctuation."
Astron tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing with the same sharp focus that had always reminded Reina of a blade just shy of drawing blood.
"Was that related to the change in mana-levels that happened yesterday?" he asked, his voice quiet—but certain.
Reina's lips curved, just faintly. Not in amusement, but in recognition.
Of course he'd noticed.
He could see it. Few others would've registered the fluctuations beneath the surface—let alone pinpoint them as unnatural. But Astron wasn't most people. Not with those eyes.
"Indeed," she said, her tone laced with approval. "You observed it."
He gave a small nod, but didn't posture. "I felt the deviation first. The leylines around the western district were… inconsistent. Flow patterns were misaligned with recorded behavior. So I looked."
Reina's smile lingered just a second longer before she grew serious again. "Then you already know more than most. But tell me—what did you see, Astron?"
He paused, searching his memory—not for emotion, but for detail. "Not a single point of origin. Just cascading variance. As if something changed the underlying tolerance for mana pressure itself. The fluctuations didn't spike—they inverted. Some cores even stabilized beyond their natural rhythm. I couldn't trace a trigger. Only the aftershock."
Reina nodded slowly, her expression unreadable.
"Good," she said. "Then you felt the echo. What you witnessed was the system's reaction. What you didn't see was the cause."
She leaned forward slightly, her voice lower now. Measured.
"The dungeons," she said, "are changing."
Astron didn't flinch. He simply listened.
Reina continued. "All across the domain—multiple guilds have reported anomalies. Gates appearing and stabilizing. And then refusing entry. No defense triggers. No breach protocols. They just… sit. Silent. Inert."
She let the silence hang, then drove it home.
"They are no longer opening for us."
Astron's brow furrowed, just slightly. "Not opening?"
Reina nodded once. "Not for older hunters. Not for elites. Not even for stage-10s or higher. The gates recognize them—then ignore them. We've thrown every protocol at them. Every theory. They behave like they're waiting."
Astron was still now, his posture tightening almost imperceptibly.
"And the ones that do open," Reina said, "they only open for cadets. For youth. Under twenty-one. Confirmed across multiple districts."
A beat.
Then Reina added, "You see why I called you."
And for a moment, the flicker of tension that passed across Astron's face was unmistakable.
"…They're choosing," he murmured.
"Yes," Reina replied. "And whether this is evolution or manipulation, it changes everything."
She folded her hands atop her desk, eyes locking with his.
"This is no longer about preparation, Astron. The world is being rewritten. The question is—who's going to walk through the door it opens?"
Chapter 1003 - Practical Mid-terms (3)
Reina's gaze softened—fractionally. Just enough for Astron to notice.
But then, she leaned back, the formal steel returning to her tone like a reflex.
"That's all for now. I'll forward the encrypted transcript of the fluctuations we recorded—review it when your schedule allows."
Astron gave a slight nod.
Reina's expression remained composed, but there was something behind it. A sliver of something quieter, not spoken aloud.
"And Astron?"
He paused. "Yes?"
"Do well on your exams," she said, tone light—but firm. "Your instructors are watching. And so am I."
A beat. Then, a dry smile ghosted across her lips.
"I expect results."
The connection blinked out before he could reply. The mana-screen dissolved into particles, fading back into the stillness of his room.
Silence returned.
Astron didn't move at first. His eyes lingered on the wall for a few seconds longer, watching the faint remnants of residual mana spiral through the air like embers left in reverse.
Then, slowly, he turned—his gaze shifting toward the arcane-etched wall opposite his desk.
Blank. Silent. Unchanging.
But not unseen.
His fingers hovered near the side of his eye for a breath, then dropped.
What does this mean?
He'd already sensed it.
Yesterday, just before midnight. The sky had shifted. Not in color, but in structure. The clouds had frozen mid-motion, and the thunder hadn't rumbled—it had curled, folding over itself like a looped frequency.
The leylines pulsed in reverse. The ambient mana began spiraling inward instead of outward.
He'd stared at the distortion for nearly thirty seconds—his [Eyes] active, locked on the deviation.
And it had almost broken him.
Not from pain. Not from pressure.
But from information.
He'd seen things—shapes, symbols, inverted echoes of runes that didn't belong to any modern system. Foreign anchors floating in the sky. Tethers that weren't connected to the land, but to something else entirely. Something distant.
At some point, the volume of raw data had overwhelmed him. His vision bled silver, and his perception twisted into noise.
He was forced to shut his [Eyes] off.
Just to remain grounded.
That should not have been possible.
Even when facing illusion domains, even under Reina's direct projection trials—he'd never been forced to disable his gift.
But last night…
It wasn't like looking at the world's secrets.
It was like the world was looking back.
Yet this was not the important thing.
He stared at the wall, unblinking.
Not because it held any answers.
But because it didn't.
Under twenty-one.
That was what Reina had said.
The gates are choosing based on age.
Not affinity. Not training. Not achievement. Just… youth.
His hands folded over his knees, fingers tapping once against the fabric of his pants.
Why?
The logic eluded him. In the framework of the natural world—of mana physics and system thresholds—there was no reason for dimensional access points to begin selecting based on such a human criterion. Age wasn't a construct of magic. It was biological. Arbitrary.
And yet, here it was.
The gates weren't opening for veterans, no matter their power.
Only for them.
This isn't how it happened in the game.
His eyes narrowed, the glow of recent mana data still faint in his pupils.
In Legacy of Shadows: The Hunter's Destiny, the event that shifted the world's balance came much later. Well past the academy arcs. Well past the awakening of personal Authorities.
It was the Descent of the Demon King.
A cataclysmic invasion from another realm. A point of origin descending upon the world like a corrupted sun, warping the mana system—not redirecting it. Not filtering who could enter gates.
It thickened the mana.
That was the canonical trigger.
Every leyline surged. Every zone outside major settlements became hostile. Dungeons spawned with greater frequency because of destabilized dimensional seams—not choice.
There was no selection mechanism.
No preference for age.
Just chaos.
This… this was different.
This feels… orchestrated.
He leaned back against the wall, his eyes drifting upward toward the ceiling—where a faint pulse of stabilized mana shimmered behind the room's protective enchantments.
Someone is choosing.
That was the only explanation.
And that someone wasn't part of the game's original script.
A systemic fluctuation? That could be attributed to engine divergence. Anomaly spawn rate spike? Possible early trigger due to butterfly effects. But selective access based on age?
That was new code.
New rules.
And that meant one thing above all:
Someone—or something—was rewriting the narrative.
Astron closed his eyes for a moment.
The world is being rewritten.
Those had been Reina's words.
He agreed with Reina.
The world was being rewritten.
And he had known it would be, ever since that night. The night he woke in this body—not just as someone who had transmigrated, but as someone who had merged.
The original Astron Natusalune wasn't erased. His memories weren't overwritten. They had become one. Layered. Interwoven. A soul from another world, fused with the instincts and scars of a boy bred in silence and shadows. It wasn't a possession. It wasn't a takeover. It was a convergence.
And because of that—because he bore both understanding and foundation—the world had no choice but to begin deviating.
Things were always bound to change.
Butterfly effects had already begun long ago. The first subtle divergences: conversations that hadn't occurred in the game, characters interacting in ways they weren't meant to, minor battles ending in silence instead of conflict. His mere presence, rational and watchful, was enough to tilt balance. Small deviations. Slight shifts.
But this—
This was not slight.
This was a fracture in the narrative's spine.
Gates filtering candidates. Age restrictions imposed by an unknown hand. And now mana itself—one of the constants of this world—bending not due to invasion or war, but due to preference.
His eyes opened again, and for a moment, they shimmered faintly violet.
This will affect the future.
He had studied the game's route like scripture. He had mapped every arc, flagged every event marker. He knew when factions rose and fell, when betrayals occurred, when world events tipped toward oblivion or salvation. Everything had structure. Everything had purpose.
But if the system began rewriting eligibility… then event chains would collapse.
Future bosses—those intended to be fought by veteran Hunters—might never spawn. Some artifacts, bound to open only for certain ages or bloodlines, might now awaken early… or remain sealed. Key characters could be thrown into different arcs—some gaining power before their turning point, others fading into irrelevance because the narrative that once carried them no longer had weight.
And what of the Protagonist?
Ethan's growth was anchored in struggle—crafted to bloom in a world of gradual tension. If the gates began choosing early—if the world accelerated before he had time to build his bonds, to face the right enemies, to awaken his Authority properly—then the whole structure might shatter.
Or worse…
Something new might take center stage.
Astron's hands rested on his knees again. He didn't tremble. He didn't flinch. But his breath slowed—methodical, deliberate.
I've been shaping events carefully. Steadily. Guiding things toward the breakpoint.
The moment everything shifted. The divergence point he intended to reach before too much changed. Before things spiraled into the unknown. He had spent months preparing—cultivating allies, observing threats, manipulating opportunities. A spider's web of plans, all set to trigger once the right catalyst arrived.
But now?
That web was trembling. Not breaking—not yet—but bending beneath pressure from an external hand.
If the world's logic was changing… then so too would the weight of every choice he made.
He narrowed his eyes.
There's still time.
The breakpoint wasn't here yet.
But it was closer.
Closer than he had accounted for.
And now, he would have to think sharper. Cut deeper into the threads of fate before they were rewritten by someone else's hand.
Chapter 1004 - Divine
Sylvie's boots made soft, rhythmic sounds against the polished stone path as she made her way across the academy grounds. The golden hues of the evening sun had faded into the pale silver of twilight, and the lamplights along the walkways flickered to life one by one, bathing the campus in a gentle, otherworldly glow.
She pulled her jacket tighter around herself as a cool breeze whispered past. Sunday evening… and she was heading toward the infirmary, not to rest, but to take yet another part of her examinations.
'The Healer practicals,' she reminded herself, exhaling softly.
Unlike the others who only had their theory and combat simulations, the Healer track students had an additional requirement—an applied practical test at the infirmary itself. Real patients, real injuries. No room for textbook-only knowledge. It made sense, of course. Healing wasn't something that could be learned solely from books. But still, the thought of it gnawed at her nerves.
Her fingers fiddled absently with the strap of her bag as she walked, her mind drifting back to the theory exams earlier that week—and the sour taste they left behind.
They hadn't gone well.
It wasn't that she hadn't studied. She had spent countless nights pouring over the textbooks, reviewing healing incantations, memorizing mana circulation diagrams. She had even practiced with Jasmine and Layla whenever she could.
And yet...
'They asked about topics we barely even touched on in lectures,' Sylvie thought with a grimace, her steps slowing slightly as she replayed the feeling of sitting in the cold examination hall, staring down at questions that seemed like they came from an entirely different course.
Advanced regenerative harmonics. Counteracting toxin mana residue. Deep vein mana stabilization techniques.
Of course, she had studied the basics of these topics. Everyone had. But the level of detail they wanted? The obscure case studies they expected them to cite?
'It was almost like they didn't want us to pass,' she thought bitterly.
Sylvie shook her head, forcing the thought away. No good dwelling on it now. What's done was done. All she could do now was focus on the practical—and ace it.
Just then, her steps grew steadier as she approached the infirmary doors, her hands relaxing slightly at her sides. The practical exam— that, at least, she could be confident about.
After all, her training hadn't been normal. Under Headmaster Jonathan's relentless instruction, she hadn't just learned to fight. She had learned to move with precision, to think faster, to weave her mana with far greater clarity. Combat was where the biggest changes were visible—but her healing had also advanced by leaps and bounds.
She could feel it even now, the way her [Enchantments] no longer wavered or sputtered, the way her mana threads slipped into injured tissues with subtle control instead of crude force. Her Restoration Glyphs, once prone to uneven output, were now clean, efficient, and, more importantly—stable.
'Healing is about belief,' Headmaster Jonathan had told her once, his voice low and unwavering. 'You must believe that you will succeed before your mana will obey you fully. Doubt is poison.'
Sylvie let out a slow, steady breath as she reminded herself of those words.
Yes. In terms of technique, she had improved. She knew she had.
But even as she reassured herself, her thoughts—unbidden, traitorous—drifted away from the exam ahead.
Toward Astron.
And Irina.
Her steps faltered for a heartbeat. She caught herself, tightening her grip on her bag again.
'Why am I thinking about this now?' she scolded herself silently, but the question was hollow.
Because the truth was simple: lately, no matter how hard she tried, she felt like she couldn't get closer to him at all.
Whenever she tried to talk to him, to catch a moment alone… Irina was there.
Not deliberately blocking her, not intentionally malicious—just... there. Always nearby. Always stepping in at the critical moments.
And Astron—he didn't seem to mind. If anything, he seemed almost comfortable around Irina now. Their interactions, once tinged with a strange tension, had shifted. They spoke easily. They understood each other's glances, their movements syncing naturally in sparring and strategy meetings.
Sylvie bit her lower lip as she pushed open the infirmary door, the scent of clean mana and herbal wards washing over her.
It wasn't that she hated Irina.
It wasn't even jealousy—at least, not entirely.
It was the slow, aching realization that the distance between her and Astron hadn't closed at all.
If anything… it had grown.
And that thought hurt far worse than she was willing to admit.
She tightened her hand into a small fist at her side.
'Focus. You have an exam to pass first,' she reminded herself, forcing her mind back to the task at hand.
****
The cool air of the infirmary pressed gently against Sylvie's skin as she sat quietly in the examination room, the faint hum of the mana wards a steady backdrop. The practical exam had been long, methodical—and surprisingly exhausting.
Yet she felt it in her core: she had done well.
Better than well.
Across from her, the supervising instructor—a tall man with silver-streaked hair and robes embroidered with the Academy's medical sigil—finished noting something on his tablet before lifting his gaze to meet hers. There was a rare softness in his sharp gray eyes, and then, to Sylvie's surprise, a small smile curved his lips.
"Well done, Sylvie Gracewind," he said, his voice warm but professional. "Truly well done."
Sylvie blinked, sitting a little straighter. "I—thank you," she said automatically, though the words felt small compared to the weight of his praise.
The instructor leaned back slightly, studying her with a thoughtful look. "When you first arrived here, you were too timid. Too cautious. Afraid to trust your own instincts."
He tapped the side of his tablet lightly, his smile deepening.
"But today? You took risks. Necessary ones. You didn't hesitate, you didn't second-guess—and more importantly, you didn't lose control."
He paused, nodding with clear approval. "That is the difference between a competent healer and a true one. You trusted yourself."
Sylvie's chest tightened with a strange warmth—a blend of pride and disbelief. She lowered her gaze for a moment, trying to steady the emotion rising within her.
Hearing those words… it felt real now. Tangible.
She wasn't just surviving anymore.
She was growing.
"Thank you, Instructor," she said again, her voice steadier this time.
The man chuckled lightly as he set his tablet aside. "You don't need to thank me. You earned it. Quite frankly…"
He glanced at the closed doors leading to the other treatment chambers.
"You've surpassed the others by a wide margin."
Sylvie's breath caught.
She had guessed it already.
Being the last student to perform had its advantages—and with her [First Lord's Authority] humming quietly at the edges of her senses, she had observed every healing session before hers. The fluctuations of mana, the rushed applications, the lack of stability under pressure—she had seen it all in excruciating detail.
The others were good, yes.
But none of them had been as fast, as stable, as precise as she had been.
Even without being told, Sylvie knew she had ranked first.
'Finally…' she thought, a quiet, trembling sense of triumph unfurling within her.
Finally, all those endless nights of training, the countless failures, the scars of doubt she carried—finally, it had all meant something.
She rose from her seat with quiet grace, bowing respectfully to the instructor.
"Thank you for the opportunity," she said simply.
He gave a nod of acknowledgment. "Keep walking this path, Sylvie. You're closer to mastery than you realize."
With those words still ringing in her ears, Sylvie stepped out of the examination room, the infirmary halls bathed in a soft golden light from the overhead mana-lamps.
Her bag slung over one shoulder, the cool evening air brushing her face as she left the building—
—for the first time in a long while, Sylvie Gracewind allowed herself a small, genuine smile.
"Ah…"
Just then she met with someone that she didn't expect….
Chapter 1005 - Divine (2)
The infirmary doors whispered shut behind Sylvie, the faint hum of the wards fading as she stepped onto the wide stone landing outside. Cool evening air kissed her cheeks, carrying with it the scent of fresh rain on old stone and the quiet, distant echoes of students sparring in the lower fields.
She exhaled, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
And then—
A figure leaning casually against the base of a lamppost caught her eye.
For a moment, her mind didn't register it. The evening light painted everything in hues of silver and gold, the breeze tugging at his cloak, making him look almost like part of the scenery.
But then he shifted—straightened—and she saw the unmistakable glint of yellow in his gaze.
Her breath hitched.
"…Brother?"
He smiled easily, as if they had agreed to meet here all along. His cloak bore an unfamiliar crest now—a half-risen sun over a distant horizon, stitched neatly onto his shoulder.
Solstice Dawn.
Sylvie's eyes flickered briefly to the emblem, confusion passing across her face, but she quickly masked it.
Leonard pushed off the lamppost with a casual grace, his hands slipping into his pockets. "Thought I might find you here."
His voice was light, familiar—but Sylvie didn't miss the way his eyes swept over her from head to toe, assessing. Not critically. Almost… proudly.
"You were watching?" she asked, folding her arms loosely over her bag, half defensive, half wary.
Leonard chuckled, a low, warm sound. "Not inside. I wouldn't interfere with an exam." He tilted his head slightly. "But yes. I was told the healers were being evaluated today. Thought I'd check on a certain little sister of mine."
Sylvie's lips twitched despite herself. "You could have just sent a message, you know."
Leonard shrugged. "Wouldn't have been the same." His gaze softened, the golden hue of his eyes catching the last edge of the sun's light. "Besides… I wanted to see it myself."
She hesitated—then asked, more quietly, "And?"
He grinned. "You were good. Better than good. You didn't panic, you didn't overreach, and you didn't waste a single drop of mana. Whoever's teaching you should get a bonus."
Sylvie looked away, hiding the faint color rising to her cheeks.
It shouldn't have mattered. She didn't need validation. She didn't need his validation.
And yet...
A small warmth settled somewhere beneath her ribs.
"Thank you," she said, softer than before.
Leonard walked forward a few steps, his boots silent against the worn stone, until he stood just a few feet from her. Not invading her space—but close enough that his presence filled the air between them.
"You've grown a lot," he said, almost to himself. "Stronger. Smarter. I'm proud of you."
Sylvie's chest tightened again at those words, and she cursed herself silently for how much they still meant to her.
She tried to focus on something else—anything else. "You're a scout now?" she asked, nodding lightly toward the crest on his cloak.
Leonard smiled, something sly flickering behind the easy expression. "For the time being. Solstice Dawn's running a few new recruitment circuits. I got assigned here." He glanced around, feigning casual interest. "Pretty convenient, huh?"
Sylvie didn't answer immediately.
A strange undercurrent ran beneath his words. An odd coincidence—or something more?
She studied him closely, but Leonard's mask didn't falter.
Not yet.
"Convenient," she agreed finally, her voice carefully neutral.
Leonard's smile widened just a fraction.
He knew she didn't fully believe him.
And that was fine.
There was still time.
He reached out and ruffled her hair lightly, in the same easy, affectionate way he used to when they were children.
Sylvie batted his hand away with a quiet huff, but the tension between them eased, just a little.
"Come on," Leonard said, turning back toward the main path. "You're free now, right? Let's grab a late dinner. My treat."
Sylvie hesitated only a moment before falling into step beside him.
*****
As they walked side by side, their footsteps weaving a steady rhythm along the stone path, Leonard's mind ticked quietly beneath his outward ease.
'She has awakened sooner than expected,' he mused, his golden eyes half-lidded in thought. 'And it seems someone else has noticed this too.'
There was no way—no possible way—that he, the one appointed directly by His Holiness, could have missed it.
The faint ripple he felt earlier at the infirmary wasn't coincidence. It wasn't imagination.
It was resonance.
Real. Tangible. Subtle enough that even seasoned mages might have missed it—but not him. Not someone trained to feel the quiet birth of power woven into blood and bone.
Of course, Leonard had always known.
From the moment he first laid eyes on her, when they were still just children fumbling through half-lit prayers and whispered lessons of faith, Leonard had known she was different.
Different—and chosen.
The fate she carried was not the fate of a mere healer or a scholar tucked safely away in the Academy's shadow.
It was heavier.
Older.
Drenched in threads of prophecy long woven before either of them were born.
He cast a sidelong glance at Sylvie, who was talking lightly about the infirmary staff—an innocent smile playing at her lips as she recounted how one of the older instructors had grumbled about "youth wasting their talents" while bandaging his own clumsily burned hand.
She was laughing softly, the sunlight catching in her hair, her expression unguarded for once.
And beneath that innocence, the pulse of something vast and half-sleeping stirred.
Leonard's smile remained easy, his posture relaxed—but inwardly, he exhaled in something closer to resignation than satisfaction.
'Well, since the agreement is nullified,' he thought, his steps slow and deliberate, 'I suppose it's better that she awakens soon.'
He turned his gaze forward again, past the flowering trees and rising arches of the Academy's central courtyard.
'We don't need to waste a talent like her after all.'
The old agreements—the ones that would have restrained her, shackled her future in chains of ritual and submission—were ashes now. Burned away by necessity.
She was no longer a trade good.
She was a potential weapon.
Just then, Sylvie's voice broke softly through the quiet between them, tinged with casual curiosity.
"Brother," she said, glancing sideways at him, "that symbol on your shoulder... what is it?"
Leonard slowed his steps slightly, as if remembering the existence of the crest only now.
He followed her gaze down to the half-sun emblem stitched neatly onto his cloak—the insignia of Solstice Dawn catching the fading light with a muted gleam.
"Ah, this..." he said, tapping the crest lightly with two fingers, his tone relaxed, almost offhand.
He offered her a lopsided smile, one that seemed perfectly natural—too natural.
"It's for my new job," he said simply. "I'm here as a scout now."
Sylvie's brows lifted slightly, a mix of intrigue and mild suspicion flashing across her face. "A scout?"
Leonard chuckled under his breath. "Not quite the hunter you imagined I'd become, huh?"
She shook her head lightly, still studying him. "I just didn't expect you to join a guild like... that."
"Solstice Dawn?" he prompted.
Sylvie nodded.
Leonard shrugged, as if it were the most ordinary decision in the world. "It's a newer guild. More specialized. We find talented cadets and guide them toward the right places. You know how it is—these days, everyone's desperate for new blood. Especially after the last few major incursions."
Sylvie's expression darkened a little at the mention of the incursions, but she said nothing.
Leonard continued easily, steering the conversation back toward lighter ground. "I guess you could say I'm one of the lucky ones. I get to travel, meet new talents, and... maybe even steal a few stars away before the bigger guilds grab them."