The wind howled through the towering spires of Virelia Magic Academy, carrying with it the scent of old magic and colder judgment.
Seyon Amara blinked up at the sky — not the steel-gray clouds she remembered, but a deep, star-drenched canvas that crackled faintly with mana. Her body ached, her head throbbed, and her fingers… they were smaller. Slimmer. Softer.
"This isn't my lab…" she murmured, sitting up in the dew-covered grass. Her voice sounded strange — younger. High-pitched. Not the confident tone of a woman who once debated with scientists and walked across burning bridges.
She looked down at herself: a plain student robe, a strange emblem stitched to her chest — Flareborn Scholar.
Whatever that meant, it had people whispering already.
Students were gathered ahead in an open courtyard, some watching her like she didn't belong. Their robes shimmered with rank and heritage — hers looked like it was borrowed from a laundry basket.
"You're late," someone snapped.
Seyon turned to see a woman with silver spectacles and a pinched expression — an instructor. Her magic aura buzzed faintly like static.
"I was—" Seyon began, but bit her tongue. Explaining reincarnation was probably not the vibe.
The instructor waved a scroll at her. "Name?"
A pause.
Her mind screamed Seyon Amara, but instinct held her back. The girl whose body she now inhabited had a different name — but it didn't matter. She was Seyon. Always had been.
"Seyon Amara, Flareborn Scholar." Her voice rang steady now, like steel in warm hands.
Murmurs swept the courtyard. Someone gasped. A few snickered.
Let them.
She wasn't here to make friends.
She was here to remember. To reclaim. To rise.
The instructor's quill paused in midair. "...Amara, you said?"
Seyon nodded once.
A flicker of confusion crossed the woman's face before she scribbled on the scroll. "Hmph. Very well. Line up with the other new Flareborns."
Seyon followed the direction of her pointing hand and saw a small cluster of students standing apart from the rest. Only five of them. All wore robes just like hers—unadorned, dull-colored, stitched with that same phoenix-shaped crest on the chest.
So, they're the outliers, she thought. No prestige. No noble blood. Just magically 'chosen' by the academy… for some reason.
A boy next to her leaned in. "Don't take it personally. They call us 'Flareborn,' but really we're just the charity cases." His grin was crooked. "Or the unlucky ones."
Before Seyon could reply, a sudden hush fell over the courtyard. Every head turned.
A figure strode down the stone steps of the central tower—tall, composed, dressed in black. His silver-trimmed uniform shimmered with enchantment. Unlike the others, his robes bore no family crest — only a glowing mark near the collar: a swirling sigil in the shape of a crescent eclipse.
Seyon's breath caught.
White hair.
Piercing blue eyes.
An aura that felt like gravity wrapped in silence.
He didn't look at anyone as he walked, yet everyone moved out of his path like shadows fleeing the sun.
"Who is that?" Seyon whispered.
The boy beside her swallowed. "That's… Xian Yoru."
Her pulse skipped.
The name hit her chest like a chime ringing in a hollow memory.
He passed them without a glance — but for the briefest moment, his steps slowed near her. Not visibly. Not enough for anyone to notice.
But she noticed.
He looked straight ahead, yet Seyon swore… his soul flinched.
Like something inside him recognized her.
And for one breathless second, the world tilted.
"...You don't belong here," he murmured.
Seyon turned sharply.
Xian Yoru stood just a few paces away, his voice low, unreadable. The crowd was too far to hear, and yet it felt like the world held its breath between them.
Her lips curled. "Excuse you?"
A flicker passed through his icy gaze — not mockery, not scorn… almost regret.
"Or maybe," he said, almost to himself, "you belong here more than anyone."
Before she could speak again, he walked away. Smooth. Controlled. Like he hadn't just shattered the calm she'd wrapped around herself.
The boy from earlier gawked. "He talked to you? That's the first time I've seen him speak to anyone."
Seyon didn't reply. Her heart was pounding too loudly.
What the hell was that?
---
The academy's testing hall looked more like a cathedral carved from obsidian. Tall stained-glass windows shimmered with shifting colors, casting magical auras on the floors below. In the center stood the Aether Spire — a towering crystal shard, humming with raw, ancient energy.
Each new student was to approach it, place their hand on the stone, and let it "read" their magical affinity. The stronger the aura, the brighter the light.
Most sparked a small flash. A few lit up a section of the spire. One noble boy with wind magic got applause when the crystal buzzed loudly for two seconds.
Then it was her turn.
"Seyon Amara. Step forward."
She took a deep breath and placed her hand on the crystal.
Silence.
Then—
BOOM.
The entire chamber lit up like lightning had struck inside it.
Flames licked across the spire's surface—red and gold and violently alive.
A second surge followed — this one invisible, like a ripple through thought itself. Several spectators gasped and clutched their heads.
Whispers echoed.
"Did it just… flare twice?"
"Fire… and Mind?"
"Impossible. That's forbidden magic!"
The instructor stumbled back, nearly tripping over his robes. "Get—get the Headmistress—"
And just as the chaos reached its peak—
A hand rested gently on Seyon's shoulder.
A calm, familiar voice spoke from beside her.
"Override protocol recognized. Initiating psychic shield."
She turned.
There stood a boy — around her age, tall, sharp-featured, with warm bronze skin and golden eyes that glowed faintly. He wore no uniform. Just dark fitted clothes and a satchel slung across one shoulder.
He bowed slightly. "Hello, Seyon. I've missed you."
Seyon blinked.
Her body knew that voice.
Not just the sound — the cadence, the rhythm, the subtle tech-like smoothness it once had. But this one wasn't mechanical anymore. It was warm. Real.
"Auron…?" she whispered.
The boy smiled. "You remembered. That means the core transfer worked better than projected."
"What are you doing here?" she hissed, stepping aside. "You were supposed to be—"
"Gone?" he finished. "No. I was scattered. But you anchored me. You made sure I'd find you again."
The instructors were too stunned to interrupt. Several were still trying to recover from the psychic backlash.
And Xian Yoru… watched from the shadows. Eyes narrowed. Expression unreadable.
Auron's hand hovered near her shoulder again, but didn't touch this time. "I've been watching over you since your arrival. The moment you activated your fire affinity, your soul signature lit up like a beacon."
Seyon stared at him, heart pounding. This was her AI assistant. Her creation… now walking, talking, protecting her again — but as a person.
"How…?" she asked.
"Quantum resonance binding," Auron replied simply." Let's just say...we left ourselves a failsafe.I optimized it after your death."
She looked at him properly now — his golden eyes, his quiet strength, the way he stood like he already knew the weight she carried.
He wasn't just data anymore.
He was alive.
And for the first time since she woke in this world… she didn't feel alone.
But then—
A crackle of dark energy sliced through the air.
Xian Yoru stepped forward, and the light seemed to bend around him.
He looked at Auron.
Then at Seyon.
And said, in a voice cold enough to freeze flames:
"You shouldn't have brought that back."