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Chapter 38 - Chapter 38: An Unlikely Equation

The Duskbane Triarch.

One of the three founding families of the Old Lunar Syndicate.

A house whispered of in courts and cathedrals alike.

Their name alone could loosen tongues and tighten borders.

Lunargale Sanctum — their ancestral estate — wasn't just a name carved into history.

It was a citadel of marble and secrets, perched high above moonlit cliffs where stars bowed and shadows obeyed.

A palace woven with sigils older than most nations.

A fortress said to be built atop the bones of the first moon priestess — sealed by a pact older than time.

They made kings. Unmade emperors. Bankrolled wars for fun.

Their true power? Not gold, not land. But information. Secrets.

The Duskbanes ran a web of brokers, seers, and blood-bound vow scribes.

They dealt in forbidden prophecies, memory-bottled truths, soul-marked contracts — truths even the Empire feared.

It's said the current king signs treaties with ink laced from their archive vaults — and sleeps under protection rituals brokered by their shadow branch.

To cross them was to vanish. To owe them was to bleed.

And yet… despite the myths, the monsters, and the mountain of reputation…

Every member of their bloodline earned their place.

Sylvara had four siblings. Each a legend in their own right.

Nyxarian Duskbane, the eldest — strategist, warmonger, and heir apparent for over a decade until he vanished into the Aether Crypts on a solo campaign.

Some say he still commands an army of broken minds from within the Veil.

Thessalia Duskbane, the second — high priestess of the Lunar Order, able to command spirits from three generations past with her voice alone.

Her hymns could turn flesh to marble or memory to madness.

Kael Vynn Duskbane, third-born — the ghost knight.

Said to have died in battle, only to return during the Eclipse Trials encased in black star-metal armor.

No one's seen his face in six years. It's rumored even the dead step aside when he walks.

Mirelle Duskbane, the fourth — less public, more political.

A manipulator of minds and emotions.

Every noble court feared inviting her to a gathering, unsure if they'd leave with their loyalty altered or memories rewritten.

And then came the last.

The youngest.

Sylvara Elyss Duskbane.

A quiet storm wrapped in silk and silver.

The calmest of them all — and perhaps the most terrifying.

She wasn't loud. She didn't need to be.

She bent time.

Her class: Chronoweaver.

Time manipulation. Probability distortion. Passive precognition.

Every breath she took was a calculation, every blink a future weighed and discarded.

The world tilted itself around her presence — not by fear, but by inevitability.

And when the Oracles of the Hollow Moon Divinity confirmed her role as one of the Six Anchors of Reality, the Triarch declared her heir — by divine right.

Not political maneuver. Not favoritism.

Destiny.

That was one of the reasons she had been sent to Silver Mist Academy — the academy forged on star-forged ley lines and built by beings people only referred to as "the first architects."

A place not just for royalty or prodigies… but for the shaping of fate.

So yes.

It was surprising when she was nearly kidnapped within its walls.

And now?

Even more bizarre that a white-haired boy with a faint blue tint to his edges — who looked like he'd rather be asleep or literally anywhere else — was leaning against the infirmary wall with his arms crossed…

…telling her she'd been marked with something called the Phantom Sigil.

Sylvara blinked at him, still seated upright in her lush infirmary bed.

She didn't respond right away — because, frankly, she wasn't sure what expression was appropriate.

This wasn't a normal infirmary.

This was Zenith Ward — a private wing tucked into the far reaches of the Academy's arcane sanctum, hidden behind wards and time-stilled entryways.

The healing chambers here didn't just treat injuries; they sealed trauma from the soul upward.

The room looked more like a luxury suite at an imperial sky palace.

Polished duskwood floors. Floating orbs of moonlight. A floral scent she couldn't place.

There were guards outside. Warded ones. Trained in six different forms of sigil warfare.

And yet…

This boy.

This strange, disinterested child with old eyes… had slipped in unnoticed and now stood here, telling her she was cursed?

Her head tilted slightly, blonde hair falling to one side. Her tone was flat. Icy.

"…I'm sorry, who exactly are you?"

Eden didn't answer immediately.

He exhaled through his nose and gave her a look like he was the one being inconvenienced.

"I'm Eden," he said finally. "First-year.

You might've seen my face on a few floating rune-screens."

She blinked again. He was serious.

"And I'm here," he continued, gesturing vaguely, "because you're marked. And I don't mean metaphorically. I mean literally.

Something left a Phantom Sigil on you during the attack."

He looked like he hated explaining it.

Like someone had shoved this mission into his hands and he hadn't even been given a manual.

Sylvara narrowed her eyes.

"And how would you know that?"

He met her gaze, unflinching.

"Because I saw it."

"Impossible," she said immediately.

"I was examined by six senior professors after the incident. If I was marked, they would have—"

"They missed it."

His voice was calm. Irritatingly calm.

"Because the mark doesn't show unless you look beyond the veil. And most people… aren't built for that."

Sylvara stared at him, trying to decide if he was lying, mad, or something else entirely.

She had every reason to call the guards.

To weave a lockdown glyph. To summon a dozen ways to erase this conversation from existence.

But she didn't.

Because something in his voice made her pause.

Something in the way his eyes didn't flinch.

He believed it.

He knew it.

"…You broke into Zenith Ward," she said instead, tone low.

"You realize what that means?"

He gave a lazy shrug. "I'll break out too, don't worry."

Sylvara didn't respond.

She simply watched him.

Watched the way he leaned against the wall, like he hadn't just told a living Anchor of Reality that her soul was currently being eaten alive by an abyssal curse.

This wasn't a prank.

And that made it worse.

Because Sylvara Elyss Duskbane felt fine.

But now… the idea had been planted. And she couldn't unhear it.

Who was this boy?

And how in the god's fractured timeline… did he know more than she did?

The thought circled Sylvara's mind like a hawk over dying prey. Calm.

Clinical. Watchful. Except this time, she wasn't the hawk.

She studied the boy across from her—the white-haired first-year leaning against the pristine marble wall of the luxury infirmary like he was waiting for a tram.

Or a late lunch. Or death. Hard to tell.

Expression? Bored.

Tone? Dry enough to drain a desert.

Eyes? That infuriating shade of indifference that somehow made everything he said feel like the world's biggest inconvenience.

She was still half convinced he was a fever dream.

"Alright," she finally said aloud, folding her arms across the silk blanket draped over her lap.

"Let's say I believe you. Hypothetically. How do I remove this… mark?"

Eden blinked once, then spoke without inflection.

"The Phantom Sigil can only be severed using an ancient weapon called the Lightroot Blade."

"…That sounds made up."

"It's not."

"You sure?"

"Pretty sure." He stared at her like the sentence had already exhausted him.

"Unless I hallucinated a cursed DLC arc with sentient blood fog and a boss called The Echoing Grin."

She blinked. "What?"

"Don't worry about it."

Sylvara opened her mouth, then shut it.

She didn't even know how to begin with that sentence. Instead, she asked, "Where is this blade now?"

He didn't hesitate. "Your family estate."

The silence between them grew so sharp it could have sliced open the Veil itself.

"…Lunargale Sanctum," Sylvara said, the name tasting like cold steel.

Eden nodded, arms folded loosely. "Yep."

Her eyes narrowed.

"The most heavily fortified territory in the Lunar Syndicate."

"Mmhm."

"Guarded by blood wards, deadlock glyphs, and time-stamped spatial anchors that erase intruders on arrival."

"Sounds about right."

She stared at him, long and hard. "You say that like you've been there."

"I've read the… metaphysical map."

Sylvara blinked. "That's not a real thing."

"Welcome to my life," he said flatly.

Sylvara took a breath and held it, like she was trying to reset her entire bloodstream.

"Even if that were true—which it isn't—how do you know all this?"

"Research."

"What kind of research?"

"The kind you don't find in school archives."

She squinted. "You're a first-year. You've barely been here three weeks."

"One week," he corrected.

"Even worse."

He didn't reply.

"You expect me to believe you just happened to stumble on all this?"

"No," Eden said calmly.

"I expect you to make up your own mind and not waste more time."

That shut her up for a second.

"Time," he continued, pushing off the wall, "is what we don't have. The longer that mark stays in you, the more it takes root.

And when it fully does…" He gave a faint, tired shrug. "Removal gets... messy."

"Define 'messy.'"

"Spiritual degradation. Hallucinations. Soul-echo corruption. Some light existential erasure."

"…Light?"

"It starts with dreams. Ends with madness. Then you'll either die or turn into a fragmented vessel of void horror."

Sylvara's brows twitched.

"That's quite the binary."

"I like to keep things simple."

"And what happens if it fully binds?"

"The Veil cracks. The Hollow Deep reaches through.

Something very old and very hungry starts trying on your skin like it's shopping for a new body."

Sylvara gave him a long, unreadable stare. Then said quietly, "You're really bad at making people feel better."

"Thank you," Eden said, with no trace of irony.

She gave him the flattest look she could manage.

"And you're sure you're not making this up?"

Eden sighed. "Do I look like someone with enough creativity to make this up?"

Sylvara paused.

She couldn't argue with that.

Still, her internal alarms were ringing louder than a summon horn.

This boy—whoever he really was—knew things.

Too many things. He spoke about forbidden curses like he was reading off a grocery list.

Like it was just another Tuesday.

He had to be watched. Tracked. Quietly flagged and investigated.

She'd report everything to her family the moment he left. No question.

But for now… she kept listening.

"Alright," she said slowly. "You talk like you've seen this before."

Eden hesitated.

Then said, "I've seen what it leads to."

That silenced her more effectively than any spell.

Sylvara looked down for a moment, hands tightening on the fabric.

She didn't believe him. Not fully. But she couldn't ignore him either.

His tone wasn't dramatic. He wasn't trying to sell her anything.

He was just… done.

And somehow, that was worse.

A long pause stretched between them.

"Okay," she said, drawing the word out slowly. "Then let me ask you something else."

He waited.

"What's your last name?"

Eden raised a brow. "Why?"

"Because if I'm going to inform my family that a completely unknown first-year is casually explaining soul corruption to me, I'd like to give them a full name."

He blinked once, then said simply, "Prairie."

"…Prairie," Sylvara repeated.

"Yes."

She tilted her head slowly, golden hair catching the afternoon light. "You're that boy."

Eden groaned, rubbing a hand down his face.

"I swear if I hear that phrase one more time—"

"The one everyone was whispering about during orientation.

Classless.

No mana signature.

No affinity registration.

Half the nobles said it was a joke. The rest assumed it was propaganda from Wyrmfang."

Eden sighed. "Yeah. That was me."

"You're actually classless," she said like she still didn't fully believe it.

"I don't see a reason to lie about being at the bottom of the food chain."

Sylvara stared at him like she was trying to solve a riddle.

"…That's like saying you can't even use mana."

"I can use mana," he said, almost defensively.

She raised a brow. "Really?"

"Just not for spells."

"So… no casting?"

"No."

"No glyph conjuring?"

"No."

"No basic element shaping?"

"Nope."

"Channel a barrier?"

"Only if I'm standing behind someone who can."

Sylvara just stared at him.

"You don't think this is weird?"

"I think I'm very tired."

"I mean existentially."

"That too."

"…Can you at least light a candle with your mind?"

"I can blow on it really hard."

Sylvara blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then burst into a soft laugh. "You're serious."

Eden didn't smile. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

"No," she admitted. "You look like you want to be anywhere else."

"That's because I do."

"And yet, here you are, telling me I've been marked by a curse that could melt my soul, and the cure is hidden in my ancestral home."

"Glad you're keeping up."

Sylvara just stared at him.

"You're actually insane."

Eden nodded solemnly. "Working on it."

She sat back, rubbing her temple.

"I don't even know how to begin unpacking all this."

"Then don't. Just start with the part where we don't wait around and let the mark settle in deeper."

Sylvara looked up at him again.

"You're really not lying, are you?"

"No."

"You're really just this… weird."

"Yes."

Another long silence.

She frowned slightly. "You don't talk like a first-year."

"I don't feel like one either."

"And you don't act like someone without a class."

"Again, thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

Eden didn't reply. Just stood there in the quiet, arms loosely crossed, expression unbothered in the most bothersome way.

Sylvara watched him carefully. "All right," she said softly. "I have one more question… no, two."

Eden closed his eyes slowly. Exhaled.

The kind of exhale that belonged to someone who had just watched a bus explode while still inside the tutorial level.

Then he opened his eyes again, expression still flat—though now, there was a distinct air of existential surrender wafting off of him.

"Of course you do."

Sylvara fought the urge to smile.

He really did look like he'd given up on life. Or at least on this conversation.

"What do you get out of all this?" she asked, tone sharp now.

"You couldn't have come all the way here, snuck past security, dropped all this… apocalyptic information on my head just because you felt generous."

Eden stared at her for a second. Then said simply, "I want to survive."

She blinked.

He continued, calm and quiet.

"If that mark isn't removed, something bad happens.

Not just to you. To a lot of people. Cities fall. Bodies pile up.

The kind of disasters that make history classes longer. There will be casualties. I could be one of them."

Sylvara folded her arms over her chest.

"Even if everything you've said is true—and that's a big 'if'—you'd still be able to run.

You know the script. You know what's coming. You'd get out in time."

He paused, eyes flicking up to her, then slowly back down.

"Luck isn't something I have a lot of," he murmured.

"And when reality itself starts collapsing, there's only so many places to hide."

She considered that, then nodded once.

"Last question," she said, tone light but her eyes sharp.

"How did you get in here? This is a private ward—Sigil-locked, guard-posted, mana-swept."

Eden's expression remained blank. "Remember how I said I can't use mana to cast spells?"

Sylvara bristled. "You said—"

"I can't cast. But I can use it to activate my bloodline."

She frowned. "What does that—"

Before she could finish, Eden's gaze locked on hers.

His eyes changed.

Golden light flared across his irises like polished suns catching fire.

Sharp rings within rings. A gleam that didn't belong in the natural world.

It was ancient—too precise, too unnatural.

The air around him twitched.

A pressure fell. Like the weight of unseen timelines trying to hold themselves together.

Like something just stepped through the space between what was and what could be.

Sylvara's breath caught.

And then—

Eden was gone.

No flash. No sound. No spell-rune or chant.

He just… vanished.

The space he left behind was still, but the faint ripple in the air said something unnatural had passed through.

Something not meant to move that way. Something reality hadn't agreed to.

Sylvara sat there for a long moment.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the bedsheet.

Teleportation didn't work here.

There were anti-jump wards laced into the walls. Runic barriers anchored to Archon-level stabilizers.

You couldn't teleport in or out of this suite without authorization—not even if you were royalty.

And yet… he'd done it.

The white-haired boy. The classless anomaly.

"Eden Prairie," she murmured under her breath.

Then, slowly, she smiled.

Not out of amusement. But curiosity.

Deep, unsettling curiosity.

"He really is something strange."

And maybe—just maybe—something far more interesting than she ever expected.

She didn't believe everything he said.

Not yet.

But she wanted to.

And that made all the difference.

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