The corridors were quieter than expected. Afternoon light filtered through the arching crystal windows as Aevion walked with measured pace, Nyxara curled lazily around his shoulders, her pink eyes half-lidded in contentment. The scent of cooked meat still lingered faintly on his robes from the cafeteria, but his mind had already moved on.
He reached the doors of the Grandmaster's tower. Two guards, layered in silver-etched armor, stepped aside without a word. They didn't ask questions. They didn't need to.
Inside, the Grandmaster's study was exactly as he remembered: walls made of worven Nexis threads, floating relics spinning slowly in orbits of silent power, and at the center, a man seated behind an obsidian desk, eyes closed, fingers steepled.
"Aevion," Grandmaster Vael murmured, opening his eyes. "To what do I owe the visit?"
"I'd like a leave of absence," Aevion said without pause. "Two weeks. There's a place I need to go."
The Grandmaster leaned back, folding his arms, gaze sharpening. "The Celestial Realm."
Aevion said nothing, but the subtle tilt of his head confirmed it.
Vael exhaled. "So the rumors were true. You sealed the Library of the End."
A silence stretched between them, brittle and humming.
"You'll have your pass." Vael stood, retrieving a stamped sigil from a dimensional rift above his desk. But then—he paused. Held the sigil in hand.
"Aevion," he said, voice colder now, "before I hand this to you… I want something."
Aevion waited.
"I want a duel. Here. Now."
There was no smirk from Aevion, no arrogant tilt to his posture. Only quiet stillness.
"Why?" he asked.
The Grandmaster's gaze flickered toward the dragon around his shoulders. "Because that thing shouldn't belong to you."
Nyxara blinked slowly.
Aevion held out his hand. "Pass me the seal, or draw your blade."
Vael didn't hesitate. His coat split apart in a pulse of golden Nexis. Twin chains laced in divine glyphs spiraled into his grip, snapping into a weapon that shimmered between halberd and spear.
In the time it took to blink, the floor shattered. Aevion's feet skidded across the marble as the Grandmaster closed the distance with celestial velocity, spear lashing out in arcs of compressed force.
Aevion's hand lifted—not to block, but to mimic.
The spear's movement split across five directions. Aevion's clones—perfect, detailed reflections—appeared mid-step beside him. One raised a blade of frost. Another, a warhammer of lightning. A third grinned as it mirrored the Grandmaster's exact form, weapon and all.
The tower trembled.
Vael's spear spun, releasing a dome of chained light that vaporized three clones in a flash. Aevion remained, sliding under the blast, hand brushing the marble floor. At his touch, the ground erupted in blackened glass, bending the rules of substance.
"Copy complete," Aevion whispered.
A moment later, the very same dome of chained light emerged from his palm, this time twisted—corrupted with abyssal flame, darkness spiraling through divine geometry.
The Grandmaster leapt back, gauntlets flashing. "You're not meant to wield that."
"I don't need permission."
Another step—then two. Aevion's clones converged, each with different weapons formed from contrasting elements. Fire, water, wind, earth, void, celestial light, entropy, dream—he weaved them together into an orchestra of raw force. The air warped. Time bent slightly. Nyxara watched, unmoving, her expression unreadable.
Aevion launched forward, blade igniting with every element, fist drawn back for the final strike.
But just before it landed—a hand.
A single pale hand caught the space between destinies.
The clash froze.
A ripple tore through the room, halting time around them.
Standing there, dressed in a robe that looked more shadow than fabric, was a man whose face was half-forgotten by the world.
"Kireth," Aevion said flatly.
The Phantom didn't smile. His eyes were dust, his voice softer than wind.
"This ends now."
Vael gasped, falling to one knee. The aura alone crushed what pride remained.
"You challenged a student under your care," Kireth said without turning. "You knew the rules. You broke them."
The Grandmaster said nothing.
"Leave," Kireth said simply.
Vael looked once at Aevion, his expression unreadable. Then he vanished, a silent demotion echoing behind him.
Kireth tossed the sigil toward Aevion, who caught it mid-air.
Then, as if the scene hadn't happened, the Phantom vanished.
Nyxara yawned softly around his neck. Aevion looked down at her and gave a small nod.
"One step closer," he whispered.
And walked out.
The breeze in the eastern courtyard was silent, weightless. Aevion moved through it like a phantom, his steps steady, his eyes already set.
Yui stood beneath one of the great flowering trees, her long black hair catching in the wind like strands of ink. Across from her stood a tall figure cloaked in twilight-grey: Kireth, one of the 20 Great Phantoms.
Their conversation paused as Aevion approached.
Kireth gave a faint nod. "I won't repeat myself, Yui. You're needed."
"I know," she replied, calm and clear. She turned to Aevion. "I have to go. It's my role—nothing more."
Aevion didn't question it.
He simply inclined his head.
Kireth said nothing further. With a sharp motion, he turned, and space warped around him.
Yui gave Aevion one last glance—not farewell, not sentiment. Just a silent understanding.
Then she vanished with Kireth into the folds of dimensional wind.
Aevion stood for a moment in the quiet that followed.
He exhaled.
Then, with Nyxara curled silently around his shoulders, he vanished.
—
The stars had no names here.
There was no sky—only a thin veil of radiant dark curling outward in all directions. Time did not pass. Matter did not obey. Only forces of absolute concept moved here.
Aevion stood atop a pale stretch of reality dust, floating at the unreachable edge of all narratives.
Beyond him, there was nothing.
And then—something.
He raised his right hand.
With a single motion, he extended his pointer finger, drawing it calmly through the empty air before him.
The fabric of existence split without resistance.
No flash, no sound.
A gate opened—a perfect vertical seam glowing with light that bled colors unnamed. Beyond it, the air shimmered with harmonic tension. This was no real
m tied to time, space, or causality.
The Celestial Realm waited beyond.
Nyxara's eyes glowed softly. Aevion said nothing.
He stepped forward.