In the quietest halls of the Blue Ocean dormitory—home of students from the Alima Union—Zephyrus Astram sat hidden behind silken curtains. Servants came and went like shadows, reporting on matters he orchestrated from behind the veil. One such servant delivered word of a task completed: a rare weapon had been placed before Connor McCloud, and though startled, the mercenary had eventually accepted it.
Only after the servant's departure did Zephyrus emerge. Before him stretched a massive wall map, a web of names and threads, carefully drawn by his own hand. At first, the name Connor McCloud had been cast aside, insignificant and isolated. Yet now, new lines connected that once-lonely name to figures of weight—Principal Parcaso, Myael Astaroth, and even the famed instructor Master Muscle. With slow precision, Zephyrus drew another thread—one linking himself directly to Connor.
The mercenary boy was no longer a mere rumor. He had faced Myael and endured. His endurance, judgment, and ability to withstand the princess's full force defied reason. Most disturbing of all, he had silenced the power of her enchanted demon blade—an act beyond comprehension. For Myael, it had sparked curiosity. For Zephyrus, it bred fear. A force unknown could never be controlled. And so, Zephyrus shifted his approach. If dominance could not be secured, then perhaps equality would suffice. On the map, beside Connor's name, he wrote two words: Friend—temporary.
Far away, Connor himself stared at the gift box left in his quarters. Within lay the same dwarven-forged blade he had seen in the weapon hall, along with a note. Its words, written in an archaic dialect of the Alima Union, spoke of friendship and equality. The weapon was no chain, but a token. Connor felt uneasy, yet he admitted—better friendship than enmity.
Days passed in swift rhythm, until March 5th arrived. On that day, the Academy hosted a special class—a full simulation against weakened Meteors, the monstrous beings that plagued the world. Unlike their routine drills, this training gathered three entire groups of students into the vast coliseum where the opening ceremony had once been held. Empty seats loomed overhead, yet the pressure was the same as that first day.
Rumors buzzed in the shadows. Some whispered that Connor had tampered with the princess's sword during the opening duel, that only through trickery had he won. None knew the truth—that the Regressor's hidden runes had twisted fate itself.
Their instructor for the day was Professor Garoa Breeden, a flamboyant man dressed like a jester. Yet beside him stood something that silenced laughter: a cage containing a Meteor, its black fur bristling, its tail aflame with violet fire.
Meteors were creatures that mimicked earthly beasts but carried with them crystalline cores of power. The rank of each could be judged by the number and shape of glowing purple nodes embedded within their bodies. This one bore none—likely a ninth-rank or lower. Still, its presence sent unease rippling through the gathered students.
The professor explained in theatrical gestures. The flames upon a Meteor's body revealed its vitality. As long as the violet fire burned, the beast lived. Snuff the flame, and it perished. His words were punctuated by demonstrations—prodding the beast with his staff, forcing it to snarl, then silencing it with precision strikes.
The lesson soon turned to practice. Students were asked if any had slain a Meteor before. Silence spread through the groups—until one hand rose. Connor's. His history as a mercenary had given him such experience, though among nobles and scholars, it made him stand apart. All eyes turned to him, even Myael's, who watched with a smile that betrayed hidden amusement.
Dragged into the spotlight once more, Connor was armed and placed before the cage. His instincts awakened immediately, sharpened by countless battles. He could feel the beast's intent before the bars even opened.
The moment the cage swung wide, the Meteor lunged, jaws gaping for his leg. Connor's body moved without hesitation. He lowered his stance, his blade flashing in a clean arc. With a single thrust, the steel pierced the beast's throat. Its final cry was cut short, violet flames flickering out as it collapsed lifeless at his feet.
The coliseum fell silent. To the others, it was their first true glimpse of a Meteor slain in one strike. To Connor, it was simply another battle, no different from the countless fights of his mercenary past.
But unseen threads continued to weave around him. Zephyrus, Myael, the principal, the professors—one by one, they added their lines to his story. And whether Connor wished it or not, his name grew heavier with each passing day.