Morning rose over Avalon Academy with a heavy yet lucid light. The sun filtered between the sacred towers, casting golden lines across the stone floors, while the seals shimmered faintly, as if shedding the weight of the night. Everything was in its place.
Too calm.
Too orderly.
Asmodeus was awake.
In truth, he had never slept.
His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but what he saw was not stone. The blood in the forest, the darkness of the night, the moment Aeris had held his wrist—all of it overlapped in his mind. The pressure in his chest had not faded; it had become clearer. The darkness was silent, but it had not withdrawn.
It was waiting.
"This isn't good," he murmured.
He rose from his bed and pressed a hand to his chest. His heartbeat was faster than normal, yet steady. It wasn't spiraling out of control. That unsettled him even more, because this feeling was not a threat he recognized.
It was something else.
When he stepped into the courtyard, students had already begun to gather. Some whispered about the duels from the previous day; others debated whether they had felt Lancelot's presence during the night. No one truly knew what had happened.
They were not meant to know.
That was how Avalon worked.
It protected itself through silence.
Asmodeus moved through the crowd, instinctively searching for Aeris. He found her near the sacred statues, standing alone as she fastened her sword to her belt. Her movements were calm—but now Asmodeus could see it clearly.
Her calm was not passivity.
It was deliberate balance.
He approached her.
"Are you alright?" he asked; his voice came out lower than he intended.
Aeris looked up. In the morning light, her pink eyes seemed almost translucent.
"I'm fine," she said. "You?"
Asmodeus shrugged.
"I don't know."
Aeris didn't respond, but she didn't look away either. It was the first open pause between them. No secrets. No threats. Just the shared understanding that they had felt the same disturbance.
Then the stone platform at the center of the courtyard trembled.
Silence spread.
Students stepped back. Instructors straightened. The sacred seals burned brighter. Everyone knew what was coming.
Lancelot.
The strongest of the Knights of the Round Table, Head of Avalon Academy, appeared at the center of the platform. He wore no armor. No weapon was visible. His presence alone carried enough weight.
"Last night," Lancelot said—his voice neither loud nor soft, yet reaching every corner of the courtyard—"Avalon's borders were tested."
A ripple passed through the crowd. Whispers began—but when Lancelot raised his hand, they died instantly.
"The academy was not harmed. The seals were not broken. The students were not endangered. That is what matters."
But Lancelot knew this was not the end.
He paused. His gaze swept across the gathered students. Asmodeus felt it linger on him for a brief moment. Aeris noticed it as well.
"Understand this," Lancelot continued. "Avalon is sacred. And everything sacred is tested."
The seals on the platform flared once.
"From this day forward," he said, "a special training process will begin for certain students."
Breaths were held.
"This is not a punishment. Nor is it a privilege. It is a trial."
Lancelot's gaze locked directly onto Asmodeus.
"Asmodeus."
The courtyard froze.
"And Aeris."
Aeris inclined her head slightly. She was neither surprised nor afraid. It was as if she had expected this.
"You two," Lancelot said, "will undergo the Trial of Balance."
Whispers erupted, but Lancelot ignored them.
"This trial is not about power. Not about how hard you strike, nor how dark or how holy you are."
He stepped forward.
"It is about how well you restrain yourselves."
Asmodeus felt the pressure in his chest tighten once more.
He looked at Aeris. She was already looking at him. The exchange lasted only a moment, but both understood the same truth:
This trial was not only for the academy.
It was for them.
When they were led to the training grounds, the atmosphere shifted. High stone walls. Sacred symbols carved deep into the surface. Silent guards stationed at every corner. No one shouted here. No one rushed.
Lancelot left them alone.
Not entirely—but the academy itself was watching.
"What do we do?" Asmodeus asked.
Aeris did not draw her sword.
"We don't fight," she said.
The answer caught Asmodeus off guard.
"Then what?"
Aeris took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them without touching him.
"We stand."
"That's the trial?"
"No," Aeris replied. "That's the preparation."
She closed her eyes.
Asmodeus clenched his teeth.
Aeris opened her eyes. Her gaze was steady.
"We will pass it together."
The words echoed in Asmodeus's chest.
He took a deep breath.
And for the first time, he realized something:
Aeris's presence did not silence the darkness.
It calmed it.
He felt something toward Aeris—an emotion he could not understand.
Far above, at the highest point of the sacred towers, Lancelot watched them. He stood alone, yet his expression carried something rarely seen upon his face.
Concern.
"I hope they are ready."
Suddenly, Lancelot descended from above.
"Stop the trial. All students inside—now!"
For the first time, he was seen in such panic. Lancelot's knights immediately ushered the students indoors.
At that very moment—
the first crack in destiny quietly began to widen—
without mercy,
without waiting.
The sacred walls had been breached.