That morning, Aetherthorn felt more alive than usual. The sun cast a warm glow over the towering obsidian spires, forming long shadows along the cobbled path leading to the central building of the Department of Runes, Constructs, and Forgeworks. Mechanical birds belonging to senior researchers fluttered through the air, emitting sharp metallic chirps that pierced the morning stillness.
Demian's footsteps echoed through the long corridor, slow but steady. His cloak fluttered lightly, and his eyes—always alert—gazed forward with careful calculation. Though his current identity was Julian Everhart, a first-year student from the Church of the Blazing Sun, Demian's mind never ceased spinning plan after plan.
Suddenly, another set of footsteps matched his rhythm.
A tall boy approached—reddish-brown skin, piercing black eyes. The emblem of the same Department hung on his collar, adorned with a small golden accent—signifying a second-year student.
"My name is Bashir Setepenre," he said cordially, though with a sharp undertone. "Second-year... from the Church of Penpath."
Demian immediately felt tension rise in his chest. The Church of Penpath was notorious for its espionage systems and underground information networks. They were seekers of truth—but often in ways that were... excessive. On guard, Demian replied with a faint smile.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Julian Everhart. First-year... from the Church of the Blazing Sun."
For a moment, Bashir's eyes narrowed, analyzing Demian's expression. He was the kind who suspected something purely on intuition. An overthinker, but skilled at spotting cracks.
"You seem uneasy, Julian," he said in an overly calm tone. "Is something wrong? I can help you."
Demian quickly adjusted his expression, trying to appear casual. "Ah, no need. I'm just a bit tired."
But deep inside, both had already begun to suspect the other.
"Why is he so curious?"
"Why did that first-year respond so quickly?"
They studied each other like chess players planning the fortieth move before the first piece was even touched. Tension simmered beneath their polite smiles.
Eventually, Demian chose to end the encounter.
"I have class with Dean Edmund. See you around, Senior."
Without waiting for a reply, he strode off, leaving Bashir standing still, watching his back with a serious expression. A small smile began to form at the corner of Bashir's lips.
Upon arriving at the classroom, Demian realized he was late. Yet no one commented. Everyone knew his reputation: the personal student of Edmund Smith.
The room was an open laboratory. Worktables were equipped with rune-engraving tools, raw metals, and etherium batteries. The smell of hot metal and ether steam hung in the air like a thin mist.
Demian had just pulled out his chair when Edmund's familiar deep voice echoed from the front.
"Julian Everhart."
Demian paused and looked up. The Dean stared at him from behind a protective glass pane, jotting something down on a rune board.
"Since you're late, you'll receive a minor punishment."
"You must defeat every first-year student in this class."
Every head turned toward him. A few gasped. Some even stifled nervous laughter.
Demian froze.
"W-What did he say?", he thought.
"This is madness. They all have their own crafted weapons. Some of those weapons can be wildly unstable. This is like tossing a bird into a lion's den."
But Demian knew refusing would only destroy the trust he had built. This was part of the path he had to walk—to build influence and reinforce his mask as Julian.
Aetherthorn Duel Arena—
A massive domed arena, its walls lined with impact-dampening runes and protective seals. The main platform stood two meters high, surrounded by stone bleachers typically used for internal tournaments.
Now, two figures stood on the arena. One of them was Demian.
Facing him, a burly student introduced himself loudly.
"My name is Garlan Thorne. Church of the God of War. Phase Two: Knight!"
Demian responded calmly, his breathing steady despite his racing heart.
"Julian Everhart. Church of the Blazing Sun. Phase Two: Bearer of Dawn."
Whispers broke out in the stands. Phase two in the first year? That was already impressive. But their focus quickly shifted as Demian raised his hands.
Two metal bracelets wrapped around his wrists. They looked like ordinary accessories… until runes began to glow.
With a low rumble, the bracelets extended, forming small cylindrical mechanisms on the backs of Demian's hands, then morphed into small cannons mounted on each wrist.
"That's… a semi-automatic rune weapon?! From bracelets?!"
Garlan drew a massive hammer layered with thick steel and shield runes. Their eyes locked—then the duel bell rang.
"Begin!"
A soft blast echoed from Demian's palms. The small cannons lit with pale blue light, firing etheric projectiles at Garlan, who raised his giant hammer as a shield.
BOOM!
The explosion struck the hammer, sending sparks flying across the arena. Garlan staggered half a step back, but remained unharmed. He grinned.
"If that's all, your weapon's only good for lighting candles," he taunted.
Demian said nothing. He spun and fired at the arena floor, cracking it and sending up a cloud of dust and debris.
"He's creating a visual obstruction?"
Garlan thought. But before he could finish the thought, two projectiles whizzed past his shoulder.
"Tch." Garlan blocked them with his hammer, then stomped the ground.
The earth cracked. Chain-like runes spread from under his feet, and with one leap, he soared into the air. His hammer vibrated and burst into red light—an explosive rune signature of the Church of the God of War.
"Falling Judgment!" Garlan shouted.
Demian saw the silhouette descending and moved sideways, but Garlan was too fast.
BOOOOOM!
The spot where Demian had stood erupted, leaving a shallow crater. The blast made some students shield their faces from wind and debris.
But from the side of the arena, a voice rang out:
"You missed."
Garlan turned—and his eyes widened. Demian stood atop a broken pillar, his body now glowing with golden light. On his shoulder, a new rune shimmered—one not seen before.
"Phase two activation," murmured a student in the stands.
Demian's aura changed. Where he once moved with agile precision, now his gaze was sharp like a blade at dawn. Bearer of Dawn—this was the second phase of the Church of the Blazing Sun.
"Your attack was powerful. But too noisy," Demian said softly.
His bracelets shifted again, the cylinders elongating into double barrels. A small energy crystal emerged from his pocket and slotted into the weapon's core.
"Mode: Solar Lance."
Suddenly, twin blasts erupted—not mere projectiles, but dense beams layered with golden runes, launching like spears of light.
Garlan raised his hammer once more to defend, but—
ZRAAANGG!
The fourth blast flung him backward. His hammer flew from his hands, embedding into the arena floor. His body stumbled, nearly falling off the platform.
Garlan stood shakily, stunned, breathing heavily. Parts of his robe were singed.
"Damn… you're not even using your full rune set, are you?"
Demian slowly lowered his weapon, the cannons shrinking back into metal bracelets.
"Still lots of unfinished parts in the project," he said quietly. "But this is enough for today."
The arena was silent. Then came the rising applause and murmurs of awe. Some students even rose from their seats.
Dean Edmund, observing from the upper balcony, smiled faintly and scribbled something in his notebook.
"Interesting. Very interesting. A modular rune weapon tailored for direct combat... and he's only in his first year."
Blood trickled from Garlan's temple, but he laughed softly.
"You're strong, Everhart. But next time, I'll crush you."
Demian merely nodded, then extended his hand.
"Wait for that day, and I'll make sure you fall again."
Garlan clasped his hand firmly, then stepped down from the arena, his steps heavy but proud. Applause thundered through the stands—partly in respect, partly in shock at Demian's dominance.
Among the spectators, Bashir Setepenre stood frozen. His golden eyes locked onto Demian.
"Wait… he said he's from the Church of the Blazing Sun, but those rune techniques are too… flexible. That weapon… it's not standard from any church."
Bashir furrowed his brow, arms crossed.
"Is he… an infiltrator? Or perhaps an experiment?" his mind wandered through a storm of suspicions. He was infamous for overthinking, and this moment poured fuel on that fire.
A student nudged Bashir.
"Hey, you know him? I heard you two talked this morning."
Bashir nodded slowly.
"Briefly. But now I really want to know… who exactly *is* Julian Everhart?"
"Good. First duel concluded. Julian Everhart, stay in the arena. You're not done."
Demian looked up, slightly puzzled.
"Am I going again, Dean?"
Edmund nodded.
"This is part of your weapon evaluation and its combat stability. Next opponent: Cerys Valemyr, Church of the Bright Moon."
Light footsteps echoed from the side stage. A silver-haired girl emerged, her violet eyes as sharp as the night fog. At her waist hung two crescent-shaped scythes forged from gray metal that shimmered faintly.
"I won't hold back. Ready?" said Cerys coldly.
Cerys Valemyr, first-year student from the Church of the Serene Moon, the Goddess of Night, was known for her fighting style that employed night-fog illusions and perception-distorting scythe magic.
Demian took a breath and reactivated his metal bracelets.
"Of course."
The second duel began.
Cerys moved like smoke. Her body flickered and vanished, reappearing behind Demian—a signature illusion technique of the Goddess of Night's followers. But this time, Demian didn't react the same way.
His eyes shimmered with a faint purple hue.
A subtle aura enveloped him. Not a rune. Not a technological aid... but a trait of his second phase: Shadow Dancer.
"Your illusions... don't work on one who has walked within the shadows."
This ability granted him true perception—the power to see through layers of visual manipulation and auditory distortion. The world seemed to slow. Cerys's illusion, once disorienting, now looked like a blurry reflection in Demian's vision.
Cerys struck from the right—her scythe aiming for his neck—but Demian had already anticipated it. He ducked with a fluid motion and countered with a short-range blast from his wrist cannon.
BOOM!
The projectile exploded behind Cerys—not to wound her, but to disrupt her rhythm. She staggered, and Demian used the moment to retreat and gain distance.
From above, he fired two more shots: one toward Cerys, and another at the floor in front of her.
BOOM! The blast created a burst of fog and debris. But Demian already knew: Cerys would veer left.
He launched himself in that direction—and sure enough, Cerys emerged from the haze!
Just as her scythe was about to slash, Demian activated his weapon's second mode: "Lockdown Chain."
Electric runes surged from his bracelet, snaking into the floor and forming runic chains that coiled around Cerys's legs.
"Trapped within the bounds of reality."
BZZZTTT!
Energy surged from the ground, and Cerys gasped softly, her body jolted by a mild shock—just enough to break her balance.
Demian leapt down and pointed his wrist cannon at her chest, speaking calmly:
"The next shot will drop you."
Cerys raised a hand, smiling faintly.
"You win, Everhart. Your second phase… it's far from ordinary."
Applause erupted again. In the stands, Bashir Setepenre watched from afar, his eyes blinking slowly.
"That's not a characteristic of the second phase of Blazing Sun 'Bearer of Dawn'... it's more like... something that lives between light and shadow."
His hand gripped his notebook tightly, and he wrote a single line:
"Julian Everhart is likely a bearer of an unusual phase. Further investigation required."