Afternoon in Western Rosenthal - A Narrow Auction Hall—
The city of West Rosenthal hummed with distant train whistles and chattering crowds. Steam vents puffed near the sidewalks, and the scent of iron and oil mixed with roasted nuts from street vendors.
Demian, cloaked and hooded, stepped into a quiet auction house tucked between two antique stores. His cloak was tattered, his boots muddy from days in the forest. Despite this, his steps were sharp—driven by determination.
He approached the vendor behind a reinforced glass counter. The man, wearing a monocle glowing faintly with enchantment, raised an eyebrow.
"Looking for something specific?"
Demian nodded.
"A facial concealment artifact. High-grade. Must pass Phase IV detection."
The vendor stared for a moment, measuring the young man, then turned and pulled out a velvet case.
"This mask is mid-tier enchanted steel, layered with chameleon runes. Changes the bone structure visually, adds minor aura dissonance. It won't fool a bishop... but a Phase IV? Possible."
Demian counted a few pouches of gold, enough to buy food for a month.
He handed them over without hesitation.
Minutes later, he stepped outside wearing the mask. His face was now longer, his chin sharper, hair darkened. In the mirror reflection of a shop window, he was no longer Demian Bentley.
He was Julian Everhart.
---
Road to Aetherthorn Academy – Late Afternoon—
The sun hung low over the valley as Demian—now Julian—approached the gates of Aetherthorn Academy, nestled against the cliffs beyond Pelion Forest.
The academy spanned like a cathedral city: gothic towers with brass domes, floating platforms carrying students and cargo, and glass pipes running with glowing liquid ether along the walls. Aetherthorn was one of the two greatest academies in the world—an independent power that rivaled the nine churches.
At the front gate stood a guard clad in blue-lined armor. A faint shimmer surrounded him, and a symbol of controlled wind curled around his boots.
"State your name and reason."
"Julian Everhart,"Demian replied calmly. "Here to apply for the entrance trials."
The guard scanned him. No church insignia.
After a short pause, the guard nodded and handed him a brass token with a lion emblem.
"Straight ahead. Registration hall's to your right."
---
Registration Hall – Dusk—
Demian filled out a form in silence. The clerk barely looked up.
"Name?"
"Julian Everhart."
"age?"
A pause. His hand stopped.
"…10 years old."
The clerk blinked.
"Not Unusual—where is your Church emblem?"
"Ahh, I think I must've dropped it somewhere.", Demian had forgotten that he didn't possess a Church identification emblem.
"Very well, you will be tested inside."
Demian nodded. After handing the form in, he was led to a chamber deep within the academy walls.
---
Magic Element Affinity Chamber—
The chamber was empty except for a single statue in the center—humanoid, unarmed. Runes floated around it like silent, frozen smoke.
A magister wearing a white robe stood beside the testing device.
"Julian Everhart. Place your hand on the pedestal and will your energy into an attack—any form. We will record your elemental affinity."
Demian stepped forward. His palm touched the glowing pedestal.
His mind raced.
"I don't know my element. I never received divine blessing. This... this could expose me..."
He focused. Tried to feel something.
Suddenly, a flame sparked above his palm.
A fireball swirled into shape, uncontrollable, radiant—just like Leonard's.
FWOOM!!.
It shot forward and struck the statue, igniting it briefly in golden fire.
The magister stepped back, surprised.
"Fire affinity... highly refined. A resonance with solar essence? Are you... perhaps from the Church of the Blazing Sun?"
Demian blinked. His breath caught.
"Why did it come out like that…? That was the same as Master Leonard's flame..."
The magister raised a brow.
"You passed. Wait in the holding chamber. Results will be posted shortly."
---
Waiting Room – Evening—
Demian sat alone on a velvet bench. The marble walls glowed faintly, enchanted for ambiance. He kept his books close, heart uneasy.
"Why did I summon that flame? Was it residual energy from Master Leonard? Or… did the rune in me react to the trial?"
After nearly an hour, a bell rang.
"Julian Everhart. Proceed to Chamber 2 for interview."
He entered. Three instructors sat behind an obsidian desk. One of them, an older man with runed glasses, gestured him forward.
"State your full name, place of origin, and religious affiliation for record purposes."
Demian hesitated. He was too far in now. He couldn't say nothing.
"…Julian Everhart. Originally from Eastern provinces. And…"
He clenched his jaw. His eyes looked down.
"Church of the Blazing Sun."
The interviewers glanced at each other, intrigued.
"I see. You no longer bear its insignia. Are you… in exile?"
Demian gave a subtle nod.
"You could say that."
The interview ended quietly. They dismissed him with a polite nod.
As he left the room, he whispered under his breath:
"Forgive me, Master Leonard… but if I must wear your flame to survive—then I'll bear it, even if it burns me."
---
The night sky hung quietly above the old stone towers of Aetherthorn Academy. Moonlight cast soft beams over domed rooftops and stained-glass windows, outlining the elegant silhouette of the oldest magical institution in the western world. In a quiet corridor, the footsteps of Demian—now under the identity 'Julian Everhart'—echoed softly. In his hand, he held a deep blue academy uniform with gold trim and a small bronze key engraved with the number 004.
He had just passed the entrance trial and was officially a student.
The dormitory building stood tall, not far from the main hall, with aged stone walls and dried ivy clinging to them. The wooden stairs creaked faintly as Demian ascended to the second floor. Along the hallway, crystal lanterns glowed softly, casting a warm light across the silence.
At last, he found his door 004.
Click! —
The door opened slowly. Inside, the room was clean and simple—two beds on opposite sides, each with a small desk, a bookshelf, and a wardrobe. A high ceiling and large window overlooked the quiet academy garden.
Demian took a deep breath, dropped his belongings, and changed his clothes. He removed his torn, dirt-stained clothes from days spent wandering the forest. The academy uniform fit snugly—light yet layered, formal and refined. He stood for a moment, staring at his reflection in the window, slowly accepting his new identity.
Knock. Knock.
A knock at the door broke his thoughts.
When he opened it, a boy stood there—short blond hair, a strikingly pretty face, almost feminine, yet with a toned and fit build. He held a suitcase and looked at Demian with an expression that was more annoyed than friendly.
"What? Why are you staring like that?" his voice was high-pitched, almost sharp.
Demian didn't respond. He didn't know how to react. But the other boy's demeanor quickly sharpened.
"If you've got a problem with me, say it!" he snapped, suddenly *shoving* Demian aside with his shoulder.
Demian stumbled a step but quickly regained balance. He didn't like being treated like that. Without a word, he straightened and returned the glare.
"That was unnecessary," he said calmly.
Tension filled the air.
A light aura began to rise from both of them, like a thin mist only visible to those attuned to magic. The air felt heavier now.
"Let's take this outside," the boy challenged.
Demian didn't back down. He didn't look for trouble, but he wouldn't be pushed around either.
---
In the courtyard behind the dorms, damp grass and the chill night air set the scene.
Without warning, the boy charged first, throwing three quick punches—Demian dodged each one with smooth precision. The boy grew visibly frustrated.
"Stop dodging and fight me!"
Suddenly, moisture began to condense around him. Spiraling water formed into a sharp cone, surging forward like a spear.
"Wave Initiate," he murmured—his Phase 1 from the Church of the Deep Sea.
Demian rolled aside, avoiding the attack. At the same time, tiny flames began to ignite around him, floating in the air—hot, flickering, alive.
"Solar Spark," he whispered—his own Phase 1 characteristic from the Church of the Blazing Sun.
The fireballs shot forward, not to strike, but to distract. The boy raised his guard, momentarily thrown off.
That was all Demian needed.
Demian steadied himself, gathering mystical energy into his palm. Runes of light began to shimmer into existence, weaving themselves around his arm like ancient script awakened from slumber.
BAM!—
A solid punch landed in the boy's gut, lifting him slightly off the ground before he dropped to his knees, gasping, stunned and humiliated.
Demian stood over him, expression unreadable.
"You started it," he said quietly, then turned and walked back toward the dormitory, leaving the boy speechless in the dark.
---