The gloom hung heavy, hidden in a fog that bubbled up from the banks of Valkarion's river. In the headmaster's chambers, Lucifer had remained in the faint radiance of a mana-lantern. Obsidian-black eyes with trace silver sparks still glimmered as five phantasms coalesced slowly within the circle of summoning.
A broken-ribs warrior and a rusted saber.
An archer with creaking bones like brittle wood when drawing his bow.
A hooded mage skeleton with crystals fitted in the eyeholes.
Two skeletal foot soldiers standing behind, as statues awaiting orders.
Lucifer nodded to himself.
"Primal," he growled, "but compliant."
He had spent the morning of drafting exact command glyphs and uncomplicated formation loyalty sigils. Useless and obsolete as the spells were, they were enough to grant life to the dead.
The Soul Page; that ghostly, drifting page kept aside exclusively for creatures of Aetherra brought to consciousness and the whole of Haven Cluster; throbbed alongside him like an obedient secretary. It was not necessary for casting, but it held data that was invaluable.
[Soul Page Holder: Lucifer Ashenford]
Race: ??? ( Half-elf Registered)
Age: Classified
Rank: Initiate
Path: Magus
Combat Affinity: Necromancy
Combat Class Skills:
[Soul Grasp] — Drain soul fragments from the recently dead.
[Bone Stitch] — Infuse life into low-quality skeletal objects.
[Grave Whisper] — Speak to lost souls in proximity.
Passive Ability:
[Soul Reservoir] — Stores 1 soul fragment per rank.
Undead Reservoir: 5/100
Magical Core: Stable — Initiate
Energy Mastery: Mid-Initiate
Scan: Available with Condition
He waved the Soul Page away with a thought. It was time.
---
Golden light streamed through Valkarion's towers the next morning. Lucifer walked with Seris down the immaculately stone-paved streets. Elven buildings merged elegantly with man-built fortifications, curves of living trees, statue of elemental beings, and crystal bridges that rippled with ethereal light.
"This is the east wing," Seris talked, pushing a lock of platinum-blonde hair away from her face. "We keep the mana beasts here. My gryphon is behind that tower."
Lucifer's lip curled up in disgust. He did not usually talk. But walking with her had a temporary peace.
But his mind wandered.
This is just like a prison disguised as a sanctuary.
—
The world of Aetherra that he currently dwelled in was a fragment of the whole. A broken world bordered by the poisonous ocean of Miasma; a magical energy that separated it from the rest of life Three powerful races occupied this world: human, elf, and dwarf. No demons, abyssals and divine beasts. Only vestiges of lost legacies trapped in the fog.
Out of all the world, there remained but two Saints.
One was Headmaster of Valkarion Academy, Lucifer's uncle, and modest lord of magical endeavors throughout this world of Aetherra.
The other was a myth whom few men had ever seen; Chief Zairos of the Vagrant Moon Tribe, the only free tribe that wandered beyond the Human Kingdom's reach. They said Zairos once traversed the miasma unscathed.
"Lucifer!" a voice snapped in the here and now, breaking his daydream in mid-air.
A red-robed youth came to the courtyard first. Tall, sneering eyes and a sword on his belt. The moment he caught sight of Seris standing beside Lucifer, his face twisted.
It was Rayne Ardorn, third-year prodigy, first prince of the Human Kingdom of Eryndor.
"Seris," he addressed with a too- stiff bow, "I didn't expect to find you with. this one."
Seris's eyebrow flew up. "He's my fiance."
"That doesn't answer my question," Rayne said, his hand hanging over the hilt of his sword. "There's a dueling platform at the rear of the amphitheater. You lad, I challenge you."
Lucifer blinked, expressionless on his face.
And then he grinned.
It was weak. Cold. Almost polite.
"Very well," he said.
Seris sighed. "You two really?"
But Lucifer was already moving towards him.
By the time they reached the dueling platform, dusk had arrived. The sky flared orange, and the Academy bells began to ring in the distance.
Rayne looked over his shoulder. "You'll regret this, sick boy."
Lucifer stood silent, shadows curling at his feet.
He didn't reply.
But his hand—