✦ One Year Later ✦
The Cafeteria — Afternoon
The cafeteria hummed with a different kind of energy.
Not noisy. Not rowdy. Just… alert.
Every table buzzed with the same conversation, no matter where you sat.
Taryn slid onto the bench beside Arlen, tray barely settled before blurting,
"You heard about the Trials?"
Arlen didn't look up from his sandwich.
"Yeah. Everyone's acting like it's the apocalypse."
"It is, Arlen. They're hosting the Faction Trials here. At our academy."
That made him pause.
"You're serious?"
"Dead serious," she said, voice lowered. "North courtyards are already being cleared out. Headmaster told the upper-years to 'represent the institution.'"
Arlen exhaled slowly.
"They're really bringing in outsiders?"
"Kael'mair. Isthol. Even some rogue enclaves. Not just scouts, either. Actual reps. From all seven factions."
He frowned. "That never happens together. Why now?"
"Politics," she muttered. "Always is. This year's Trials aren't just about finding recruits. They're about proving influence. Territory. Narrative."
"…So we're basically stage dressing for a faction power struggle."
Taryn smirked faintly.
"Not if you stand out. Doesn't matter if you're a first-year or nearly expelled—if someone important notices, doors open. Projects. Contracts. Apprenticeships."
Arlen rested his chin on his hand, staring at the half-eaten sandwich.
"Fantastic. So now we're competing for survival and audience applause."
She chuckled. "You always were dramatic."
He grunted. "No. You're just too calm."
Taryn leaned in, voice dropping further. "You want the real reason people are twitchy?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"There's a rumor. Vault theory."
Arlen sighed. "Here we go."
"I'm serious. It's old—real old. Supposedly there's something buried beneath the academy. A sealed vault. Pre-faction era. They say all seven factions used to be one—and that the vault only opens when all seven are present."
"Sure," Arlen muttered. "And the janitor's secretly a high mage."
Taryn ignored him.
"Ledgerhall sent archivists down into the lower halls last week. Umbravale's scout showed up three days early. Coincidence?"
"Definitely."
She smirked.
"Think what you want. Just… be aware. When all seven gather, things tend to break."
He gave her a long look.
"Are you done turning cafeteria gossip into apocalyptic lore?"
"Almost."
She paused, then stabbed a piece of synth-fruit thoughtfully.
"…But don't say I didn't warn you if the ground starts humming."
Arlen rolled his eyes.
Just then, a murmur swept through the far side of the hall. A group of first-years were gathered around a notice, wide-eyed and whispering.
"…What's that about?" Arlen asked.
"Disciplinary post, I think. Someone finally got flagged for absences."
"Only took half the year."
Taryn squinted. Then frowned.
"…It's addressed to Seren Vael."
Arlen froze.
"…Who?"
She looked at him like he'd grown a tail.
"You're kidding."
"Name's familiar but—no idea."
"Third-year. Dorm Epsilon. Got into a duel last semester. Lost control—badly. Then vanished. Some say he's been squatting in the East Tower Annex ever since."
"…That place is still standing?"
"Barely. Most think it's abandoned. But someone spotted him once. Said he didn't look the same."
"Creepy."
"Kind of sad, actually," Taryn said. "He was supposed to be a Northcrest pick, I think. Before everything went to shit."
East Tower Annex — That Evening
The hallway was silent. Always was.
Someone stood just inside the doorway of Dorm 9A, the creased notice held loosely between two fingers.
His silhouette cut a sharp outline—tall, lean, still, as if time had frozen around him.
Hair black with streaks of silver, face pale under the fractured ceiling light. Veins like silver-blue thread pulsed faintly beneath his skin, visible for just a second, then gone.
His eyes remained closed.
The silence stretched—undisturbed. Familiar.
Then—
A soft creak of wheels.
The janitor's cart rolled by, pushed by a hunched figure in a faded coat. Dust clung to his sleeves, his boots left faint streaks on the cracked floor.
But his eyes, when he looked up, were sharp. Too sharp for a man whose job was mopping silence.
"I didn't know you were still on the registry," he said.
Seren turned slightly, voice low.
"Guess they finally remembered I exist."
The janitor chuckled quietly, wiping dust from the cracked wall.
"Paperwork takes time."
He looked up, meeting Seren's gaze.
"The Annex holds more secrets than most care to admit. Not all ghosts here are dead."
Seren's voice was steady.
"I like the quiet."
The man studied him.
"You look different."
Seren said nothing.
"Still training?"
"Every day."
"Magic?"
"…No."
A pause hung between them.
The janitor leaned on his mop, eyes narrowing.
"You'll be expected to show your face soon — like everyone else here. With the Trials coming. The factions are watching. Representatives. Scouts. The whole world's eyes are on this place now."
Seren looked away.
"I'm not interested."
"It doesn't matter. If they notice you, they notice."
Seren's jaw tightened.
"They won't."
The janitor gave a soft hum, as if expecting the response.
"You always say that."
He started toward the door but stopped and glanced back.
"Oh—one more thing." His voice lowered, almost a whisper.
"There's a first-year. Weak. Scared. Reminds me of someone."
Seren's lips pressed into a thin line. He glanced away, voice low and rough.
"That kid's been lurking around like a lost shadow. Doesn't know when to quit—or maybe he just refuses to."
He shook his head, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes.
"If he keeps this up, he'll get himself hurt. Or worse."
"…Lio Fen."
"You know him?"
"He's been trailing me like a shadow. Probably thinks it's subtle."
"You don't like him?"
Seren's voice dropped. "No."
"He followed you once. Didn't even realize who you were."
"I don't owe them—or you—anything."
The janitor smirked faintly.
"Maybe not. But sometimes, even those who owe nothing still have debts to pay."
Silence stretched between them.
"If I train him, he'll bleed. He'll break. He'll learn to fall before he learns to rise."
The janitor's reply was calm.
"Then let him."
Seren's fists clenched at his sides.
"He might hate me."
"Let him fall. Some learn to stand that way. He might surprise you."
"They always do. At least most of them."
The janitor nodded slowly, then looked toward the shadowed ceiling.
"But soon, I won't be around much."
Seren's gaze sharpened.
"Why?"
The janitor sighed, voice grave.
"The Faction Trials are coming in a few months. The entire academy—representatives from all over the world—will descend here. Politics, power plays… chaos. I must prepare the school. It will be a storm."
He fixed Seren with a steady, piercing gaze.
"Train Lio Fen. Keep him alive until then."
Seren's fingers clenched the notice.
"Don't expect me to be easy again. I'll say that much."
The janitor smiled, faint but knowing.
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Then, with the quiet authority of a headmaster cloaked in shadows, he vanished into the dark corridor.
Seren was left alone, the cold quiet of the Annex pressing in—heavier now, like the calm before a storm.
After a long pause, Seren's voice broke the silence, low and dry:
"…Drama suits you. Guess I'll find out if it suits me too, Headmaster."