The sky over Highwarden Academy blazed like a fractured sun — molten gold bleeding through veils of mist, washing the spires and bridges in sacred light.
Bells tolled from distant towers, echoing across the courtyards as airships drifted above the horizon, their hulls gleaming with runic veins.
Among the streams of nobles and students dressed in silks and sigils, a single figure moved against the tide — carrying a bag patched in seven different fabrics, its seams lined with copper wiring and bits of scrap metal.
Janus.
His boots were worn, his coat oversized and soot-stained, his hair an untamed mess.
The bag on his back rattled faintly, as though filled with something that shouldn't move. Students whispered as he passed.
"Isn't that the mad one from Highwarden's lower district?".
"The one who blew up the east dorm last term?""They say he tried to power a clocktower using Veil conduits.""He nearly vaporized himself."
Above the murmurs, the morning assembly gathered in the grand hall.
At its center stood the Headmaster — a tall, weary man in deep blue robes streaked with light sigils that pulsed faintly as he spoke.
"Janus ," his voice rang through the hall like thunder restrained by patience.
"You have been suspended five times in two years. You have violated over forty-three academy protocols, destroyed an entire forge wing, and—" he sighed, "—nearly tore open a Veil fissure beneath the east tower."
Laughter rippled quietly through the noble students.
Headmaster Altharion gaze hardened. "This is your final chance, Janus.
You will either graduate with control… or you will never touch a forge, lab, or conduit under this academy's name again."
Janus only grinned. "Understood, sir. I'll try not to explode this time."
"Try harder," the Headmaster muttered.
Moments later, the academy's wide marble gates opened to the city below.
Highwarden itself stretched like a fairytale kingdom — towers braced by iron ribs, sunlight glinting off gear-linked bridges, banners bearing the sigil of the Dawn fluttering in the breeze.
Students flooded out toward the central courtyards.
Among them, Gareth Valven stood by the fountain with Cassiel, watching the scene unfold with idle curiosity.
"You think he'll actually last the week this time?" Cassiel asked, smirking.
Gareth didn't answer.
His eyes flicked toward the hill road where the sound of gears whined, a faint metallic hum rising above the chatter.
Then came the scream of twin propellers.
"MOVE!" someone shouted.
A blur of motion tore down the slope — Janus, strapped into a harness of spinning blades, a mad contraption coughing blue light from Veil-fused thrusters.
The students scattered as he shot through the air like a misfired cannon.
"It works!" he yelled triumphantly—then the device coughed once, choked on smoke, and died.
"—doesn't work."
He crashed in a spectacular heap, rolling across the cobblestones and slamming right at Gareth's boots. Steam hissed. Sparks danced. Silence followed.
Cassiel blinked. "You've got to be kidding me."
Janus groaned, eyes spinning, soot streaking his face. "Technically… I landed."
Gareth's lips curved faintly. He crouched and extended a hand.
"You good?"
Janus squinted up, dazed but still smiling that reckless, unbreakable smile. "Define good."
"Alive," Cassiel muttered.
Janus grasped Gareth's hand, pulling himself up, his bag still crackling faintly.
The crowd watched in equal parts awe and mockery.
"Still crazy, I see," someone whispered.
Janus brushed his sleeve, looked at Gareth, and said simply
"The Veil might bless the born, but I'll make my own wings."
Gareth tilted his head, watching the boy's contraption shimmer faintly — almost alive, almost resonating with the world's unseen current.
"Maybe," he said quietly. "Just don't fall again."
Janus grinned. "No promises."
"Isn't that the one who got suspended five times?"
"Blew up the east lab last year."
"They call him the 'Gearrat'—because he thinks he can build anything."
The laughter grew. Gareth ignored it, turning toward the towering arches of the Commoner's Hall.
No nobles here — just ambition, struggle, and the faint hum of dreams clashing like steel.
Janus followed, clutching the strap of his half-burnt bag, eyes fixed ahead.
"I won't disappoint him this time," he murmured under his breath.
From the upper terrace of the west tower, Headmaster Altharion watched the smoke disperse below.
His gray hair caught the wind like threads of silver flame, and his single uncovered eye followed the boy limping through the courtyard beside Gareth and Cassiel.
"Janus," he muttered, voice low and dry as stone. "The boy still courts disaster."
Professor Draeven Crowholt beside him frowned.
"You still allow him back, sir?"
Altharion gaze didn't waver. "
"Genius and ruin often share a spine. Let's see which breaks first."
Inside the Commoner's Hall, the crowd hadn't forgotten the crash.
A few benches creaked as students whispered, laughing behind their hands.
One boy — tall, sharp-featured, with a swagger born of insecurity — leaned back with a sneer.
"Guess his mother built those toys too," he said loudly. "Must've been trash, just like him."
The laughter that followed cut short when Janus stopped walking.
The air around him went utterly still.
He turned — slowly — and walked to the boy's desk, his boots echoing on the stone.
Then he gripped the front of the boy's collar, yanking him to his feet with mechanical precision.
"Say it again," Janus said softly.
The boy's smirk widened.
"So your the infamous Janus," he said loudly. The Headmaster's charity case."
He stood, the Veil pulsing faintly around him like the shimmer of heat on desert stone.
"Stage 1.3 — Veilheart. Affinity: Kinetic Resonance. I can shatter stone with a single shove."
A few students oohed quietly.
The boy smiled wider. "Tell me, mad inventor… what's your stage?"
Janus didn't look up. He was tightening a screw on the side of his device, muttering under his breath.
"I don't have one."
That drew laughter.The boy smirked, stepping closer.
"Of course you don't. People like you don't awaken. Maybe your mother didn't either—"
The sound of a chair scraping echoed.
Janus gripped the boy's collar harder, eyes blazing. "Say that again."
The class went silent. The golden Veil around the other student flared — a hum of pressure distorting the air.
Before the boy could react, Janus slammed a hidden switch on his wrist.
A burst of compressed steam hissed from the pack on his back — the twin propellers whirred to life for a split second.
The sudden force shot through his arm as his punch connected.
BOOM.
The impact sent the Veilborn teen flying backward, crashing into a desk that split under the shock. His golden aura shattered like glass.
Gasps erupted across the room.
Steam hissed from Janus's device, light flickering, the machine groaning under strain. He exhaled through a grin.
"Guess I just got promoted to Stage 'Who-cares.'"
From above, unseen through the tall glass panes, the Headmaster watched the chaos unfold.
His voice rumbled low to the professor beside him.
"The boy still courts disaster…" He sighed, almost amused. "But perhaps… this time, he'll learn to control it."
Janus shook out his hand, flexing his knuckles. "Guess I'll add assault before class to my list."
Silence clung to the hall like a held breath. Dust floated in the golden shafts of light cutting through the high windows.
Every eye was on Janus — some wide with awe, others with disbelief.
Steam still hissed faintly from his cracked device, the scent of burnt metal sharp in the air.
The blond boy lay sprawled across a shattered desk, motionless.
Cassiel muttered under his breath, "Well… that escalated."
Gareth didn't reply — he was watching Janus, expression unreadable.
Janus exhaled slowly, then reached up to shut off the flickering mechanism on his back.
The propellers whirred once more before dying down with a weak click.
He rubbed the back of his neck, then — to everyone's surprise — walked toward the fallen student.
"Hey," he said quietly, crouching beside him. "Guess I overdid it."
He checked the boy's pulse, then — with an awkward grunt — lifted him up, slinging him over his shoulder.
"Where… where are you going?" someone stammered.
Janus turned, his expression calm, almost tired. "To the infirmary. He's an idiot, not my enemy."
The class watched in stunned silence as he walked toward the door, boots echoing softly against the stone floor.
The steam from his broken machine trailed faintly behind him, leaving wisps in the air like smoke after a storm.
As he passed Gareth, their eyes met.
Gareth tilted his head slightly. "You didn't have to carry him."
Janus smirked faintly. "Maybe. But someone's got to fix what they break — even if it's not their fault."
Then he stepped out into the corridor, disappearing through the bright doorway.
From above, the Headmaster — still watching from the upper balcony — folded his hands behind his back, eyes narrowing.
"Still reckless," he murmured. "Still dangerous."
He paused, glancing toward Gareth in the crowd below.
"But there's something different this time… two sparks where there should be one."
He walked back to his dorm.
He then entered and took a sit and proceeded to open the dark portal.
The portal shimmered faintly behind him — a thin slit of shadowed light carved into the still air.
Gareth's fingers brushed its edge, feeling the familiar resistance of Umbrael's hidden realm pushing back against the world.
He whispered a command under his breath.
The air rippled.
From within the portal, the black book emerged — silent, pulsing faintly, its surface breathing with a rhythm that matched his own.
Gareth reached out and caught it carefully, the Mark along his arm already stirring as though recognizing an old enemy.
He exhaled slowly, the weight of the book solid in his hands.
The sigil on its cover — that same silver fissure, like a wound across endless night — seemed deeper now, whispering softly beneath the still air.
For a moment, he hesitated. Then he opened it.
The pages turned themselves, guided by an unseen wind.
Symbols crawled across parchment like living shadows, flickering and rearranging until they formed a single line — five words that burned brighter than fire, cutting through his vision like lightning.
THE ECLIPSE IS ALMOST HERE.
The words pulsed once. Twice. Then they vanished — but not from his mind.
They branded themselves behind his eyes, seared into the marrow of his thoughts.
The world went silent.
Gareth staggered back, clutching the table for balance as the Mark erupted in pain.
His breath hitched; the veins along his wrist darkened, spreading like black roots beneath the skin.
The library's light dimmed, lanterns flickering violently as the air itself seemed to warp.
Then came the sound — a low, distant ring, like the toll of a bell beneath the sea.
The memory hit him all at once.The black sun rising.The screams in Shalkeer.
The sky splitting open as light itself was devoured.
Gareth's pulse raced. His body trembled. His knees threatened to give.
The Mark burned through his flesh as Umbrael's voice whispered faintly within his mind, trembling with fear he'd never heard before:
"You were not meant to see this again…"
His teeth clenched. His breath came ragged. The entire world felt like it was collapsing inward — shadows reaching for him, light bending away.
He forced his eyes open. The book lay still, the page blank once more. But he could still feel the words, echoing inside him, alive and relentless.
"The… Eclipse," he whispered hoarsely.
Outside, the wind howled softly against the stained-glass windows of the library. The flame of a single lantern flickered — then died.
Gareth stood alone in the dark, the book clutched tight against his chest, trembling.
And somewhere, far beyond the academy walls, the faint pulse of something vast and ancient stirred — like an eye opening beneath the sun.