The air was heavy with silence. The lecture hall still smelled of parchment and dust, but Raphael no longer heard Reines' voice, no longer saw the gilded uniforms of the students around him.
There was only the voice within.
Cielux.
"Master Raphael Arzenon," Cielux spoke gently, yet the sound reverberated in his very bones.
"You hesitate because you believe this power is not yours. But you are mistaken. I am not a tool you picked up by chance. I am bound to your soul. My existence… is your existence."
The words pierced deep. His chest felt tight, breath shallow. For so long, he had thought of Cielux as something external, a fragment of miracle tethered to him by mistake. A loan he had no right to touch.
But if she was right…
Then this power isn't foreign. It isn't borrowed.
It's me.
The Spark
His lips trembled into the faintest smile.
"…All this time… I thought I was an impostor. Pretending. Hiding behind an accident of fate. But no—this is who I am. Raphael Arzenon, fused with the Moon's shadow itself."
The words felt like steel being forged in fire. Unyielding. Real.
For the first time, he wasn't running from himself.
He lifted his head, eyes narrowing. So what if my circuits are weak? So what if they sneer at me? That was the Raphael they knew. The one who doubted. That Raphael ends today.
The Vow
"Cielux," he whispered within, his tone steady now.
"Begin the analysis. All of them. Every last one."
"Understood," the crystalline voice answered.
And then it began.
The Transformation
The lecture hall around him glimmered with unseen light.
One by one, the proud heirs of mage families were stripped bare before him. Their crests, their circuits, their secrets — all unfolded like fragile manuscripts in the Moon's light.
"Subject: Ashbourne lineage. Crest: Flame Resonance. Integration complete."
A surge of warmth. His circuits sparked like kindling catching flame.
"Subject: Lyden family. Circuit resonance tuning. Integration complete."
A sharp clarity spread through his veins, his pulse in perfect rhythm with magic itself.
"Subject: Renval school. Structural reassembly craft. Integration complete."
A third wave. His chest rose and fell heavily, a faint shiver running down his spine.
Each integration left him changed. Not a thief. Not a parasite. But something more. Something whole.
The Realization
Their whispers still lingered in his ears.
"Worthless."
"Pathetic."
"He'll collapse before the starting line."
But this time, the words didn't wound him. They dissolved into nothing.
His hand tightened into a fist.
No more. I won't be defined by their measure. I won't crawl in the shadows they leave behind. If the Root is the path magi throw themselves into, then fine—let them. But I'll walk a path that belongs to me.
A quiet laugh slipped from his lips. Not mocking, not arrogant—just certain.
"…Yes. This is me. This is my beginning."
Cielux's voice resonated like a vow.
"You have accepted yourself. From this moment on, we move as one."
The Silent Witness
From the front of the room, Reines El-Melloi's gaze brushed over him.
Her sharp eyes lingered for a heartbeat longer than usual.
The boy's posture hadn't shifted much. His head was bowed, his bangs still shadowing his face. Yet something in the atmosphere around him… had changed.
Her lips curved into the faintest smile.
"…Interesting."
Closing
The hall carried on, students unaware of what had just been born among them.
But Raphael Arzenon sat in silence, eyes lowered, his mind blazing.
No longer the weakest.
No longer "worthless."
In the stillness, a single truth crystallized:
He was not borrowing power.
He was not pretending.
He was Raphael Arzenon, bearer of the Moon's Shadow.
And this was only the beginning.
The world felt… small.
That was the first thought Raphael Arzenon had when he returned to the academy routine.
The lecture halls still smelled faintly of dust and ink. The students still whispered behind him, eyes full of arrogance inherited from ancient lineages. The corridors were the same corridors, the rules the same suffocating rules.
And yet—
(…Everything looks different now.)
Their voices, their contempt, their titles. All of it had shrunk to the size of a toy theater.
Every magus, every spell, every family Crest.
Books. Open books. Their formulas fluttered before his eyes as clearly as if Cielux herself had peeled them apart and laid them bare.
He raised his hand, testing. A spark of flame, a shard of crystal, a skeletal hand reaching from a conjured shadow—each one emerged precisely as he willed it. Not hollow, not an imitation.
They held. They were real.
(This isn't Gradation Air. This isn't counterfeit. These are truths… reconstructed by me.)
His lips curved faintly, though no one saw.
Whispers followed him everywhere.
"Did you see him during Reines' lecture? Muttering to himself like a lunatic."
"Tch. He probably snapped under the pressure. Rank 5 circuits can't handle Crest-level discussions."
"Or maybe he was mocking her. People like him don't know their place."
It was inevitable.
Three students blocked his path after class—robes embroidered with gilded sigils, faces sharp with hereditary pride.
The leader, Julius Ashbourne, sneered. His family's Crest was infamous for flame thaumaturgy that had reduced rivals to ashes.
"You. Arzenon. You think your little outburst went unnoticed? Whispering, twitching, grinning like a mad dog in the middle of lecture? You disgrace the Clock Tower with your… existence."
Raphael tilted his head. "So what is it you want?"
"A duel," Julius spat. "Formalized. In the practice chamber. Before everyone. I'll end your farce here and now."
Gasps. Murmurs. Duels meant humiliation, reputation broken beyond repair. For someone like Raphael, it should have been suicide.
Yet Raphael only nodded. Calm. Almost bored.
His answer unnerved them more than any insult could have.
"…Fine." He smiled faintly. "Then I'll give you a reason to stop laughing."
The Duel – Baptism Begins
The practice chamber shimmered with bounded fields, sealing the battlefield. Rows of students and instructors gathered, the air thick with hunger for spectacle.
Reines sat above, chin propped on her hand, a faint smirk hidden behind elegant composure.
The rules: incapacitation or surrender. Nothing more.
Julius raised his hand, the Crest on his arm glowing like molten veins.
"Burn."
A wave of flame roared forward, a miniature inferno shaped to kill in one strike. The crowd expected Raphael to be consumed instantly.
Instead—
(…Analyze.)
Within his mind, crystalline whispers rang. Cielux's voice.
Formula disassembled, deconstructed, reassembled.
Raphael raised his arm.
A mirrored glyph flared. A wall of flame identical in structure swallowed Julius' attack whole. Not imitation. Not fragile. A flawless recreation.
The audience froze.
(It held. It didn't collapse. Projection… perfected.)
"W-What—?!" Julius stumbled, panic sharpening his voice.
But Raphael was already moving. A crystalline spear of flame bloomed in his hand, reshaped through Renval geometric matrices, refracted into razor-sharp prisms. The air rang like breaking glass as it shot forward.
Julius barely deflected it, sparks hissing across the arena floor.
Shock spread through the crowd like a ripple.
"Impossible… projection shouldn't—"
"He's… overwriting the formula itself?"
Reines covered her mouth with her hand, eyes glimmering. So… you reveal your fangs at last, Arzenon.
Spell after spell hurled at him. Firestorms, scorching lances, blazing whips.
Raphael stood calm, each new assault another page in a book. He read, understood, and rewrote.
Flames collapsed into crystalline blades.
Infernos reshaped into flowing chains.
Every formula bent, rewritten, polished into a more elegant form.
And as he worked, words slipped from his lips—quiet, almost clinical, but audible in the silence of the hall.
"Projection… was always scorned. They called it imitation. A hollow counterfeit. A mistake."
Another spell dissolved into his hand, transfigured.
"But this is not theft. Not mockery. This is my soul. A system of reconstruction, perfected through analysis. Projection… reborn as truth."
His eyes gleamed—not arrogance, but joy, quiet and dangerous.
The whispers rose into stunned silence.
Julius, cornered, unleashed his Crest's ultimate formula. A towering serpent of flame coiled, its maw opening to devour Raphael whole.
Raphael only raised his hand.
"—Overwrite."
The serpent flickered. The formula collapsed, rewritten mid-air into a crystalline dragon of flame. Its jaws snapped shut, crushing Julius' construct before turning back upon its maker.
Julius collapsed in defeat, his Crest burning hot and hollow. His own magecraft—outshone by a "copy."
The duel was over.
Raphael stood in the center, circuits blazing like constellations across his body. His chest rose and fell with slow breaths, his voice quiet in his mind.
(This is who I am now. No longer their equal. No longer their shadow. I am the Moon's Shadow. And from this point on… they will never look down on me again.)
The chamber emptied in murmurs of disbelief, fear, and awe.
From above, Reines' gaze lingered. Her whisper was soft, for herself alone:
"…You're dangerous. Just the kind the Clock Tower both fears… and breeds."
But in the deeper shadows of the chamber, something else stirred. A figure cloaked in darkness, eyes glowing faintly crimson. A Dead Apostle agent, drawn by the display of a power that should not exist.
"Interesting," it murmured. "A shadow of the Moon…"
Raphael walked alone down the corridor, the world hushed around him.
Cielux's voice rang like a bell of glass.
"Master, with this step, you have declared yourself. The world will notice. The question is… are you ready for what notices back?"
His hand clenched tight. A smirk ghosted his lips.
"…Let them."
The Moon's Shadow had taken his first step into the world.