The Academy was a symphony of arrogance. Everywhere Cian looked, he saw the children of the elite practicing their "divine" gifts. To the teachers, these students were the future of humanity. To Cian, they were a collection of walking anatomical charts, their veins and arteries pulsing with a vitality he was destined to extinguish.
Part I: The Clinical Observation
Cian—under the alias 'Ian'—sat in the back of the combat theory arena. His grey commoner uniform made him invisible in a sea of gold-trimmed noble robes. He held his slate in his lap, but he wasn't taking notes on the lecture. He was watching Julian van Astra.
Julian was sparring with an upperclassman. His SS-Rank [Sword of the Sun] flared with every swing, leaving trails of molten light in the air. He was magnificent—a perfect specimen of martial breeding.
'Subclavian artery is exposed when he performs the third sun-flare,' Cian noted mentally, his eyes tracking the boy with the cold detachment of a coroner. 'His mana heart is robust, but he relies too much on the outward burst. If I phase a needle into his left ventricle during the decompression phase, his own blood pressure will cause a total cardiac rupture.'
The self-hatred he had carried for five years simmered beneath the surface. He hated Julian for his ignorance. He hated that Julian could breathe the air of this Academy while Kaelen and Elara were frozen in a dark dimension, waiting for a life that might never return.
Suddenly, the duel ended. Julian, panting and triumphant, looked toward the stands. His eyes scanned the commoner section, lingering for a fraction of a second on Cian. Julian's brow furrowed. He felt a chill—a sudden, sharp drop in the ambient mana that shouldn't be possible in a room full of sun-mages.
Cian looked down at his slate, scribbling a meaningless diagram.
[...Kill... him... now... Master...] the Void whispered, its voice vibrating in his shattered throat. [...His... sun... is... annoying... Let... us... snuff... it...]
Not yet, Cian thought, his fingers tightening on the chalk until it turned to dust. The Dragon Heart first. If I die before I get it, the Duke and the Emperor win. I will not let them win twice.
As he left the arena, he passed Lyra van Astra. She was surrounded by a gaggle of admirers, her ice-blue hair shimmering. She didn't look at him, but as he phased slightly to avoid bumping into her shoulder, she shivered.
"Did the temperature just drop?" she murmured, rubbing her arms.
Cian didn't stop. He was a shadow passing through a world of light, a ghost counting the heartbeats of the condemned.
Part II: The Saintess's Gambit
In the Holy Spire overlooking the Academy, Evelina was no longer the serene icon of the Church. She had dismissed her attendants, locking the doors with a seal that even an S-rank priest couldn't break.
Her eyes were bloodshot, her silver hair tangled. She had spent the last forty-eight hours forcing her [Chronos-Tear] ability to find the specific "Ian" she had seen in her vision.
"He's hiding his rank," she muttered, tracing a map of the Academy dorms with a trembling finger. "He's mimicking a C-rank pulse. It's clever. It's so like him. He always was the smartest person in the room."
She knew the Academy's security was S-rank. She knew the Headmaster, an SSS-rank Archmage, would detect any unusual mana signatures. But Cian wasn't using mana. He was using the absence of it.
"I have to find him before he touches the Dragon Heart," she whispered. "If he takes it, the alarm will trigger the Imperial Purge. They'll kill everyone in the commoner dorms just to find him. I can't let him be the cause of another massacre."
Evelina stood up, her robes swirling around her. She didn't have much time. The Weaver's threads were tightening. She could feel the "Fixed Point" of the Academy Gala approaching—the night Cian was destined to strike.
She took a small, ivory dagger and sliced her palm. The blood didn't fall; it hovered, glowing with a violet hue. "By the blood of the Saintess, show me the Ghost."
The blood shifted, forming a series of coordinates.
Library. Section 4. Restricted Alchemy.
Part III: The Encounter
The Library was silent, the smell of old parchment and enchanted ink thick in the air. Cian was deep in the restricted section, his body partially phased so the magical sensors wouldn't register his weight on the floorboards.
He was looking for the architectural blueprints of the Vault.
Clack.
The sound of a heel on stone.
Cian froze. He didn't turn around. He let his hand drift toward the scalpel hidden in his sleeve.
"You're taller than I remembered," a voice whispered.
It was a voice he hadn't heard in five years, yet it resonated in his soul like a death knell. He turned slowly.
Evelina stood at the end of the aisle. She wasn't wearing her ceremonial robes, but a simple cloak. Her eyes were filled with a terrifying mix of relief and profound sorrow.
Cian stared at her, his face a mask of cold indifference. He didn't reach for his slate. He simply looked at her, his eyes two dark voids.
"Cian," she breathed, taking a step forward. "I know it's you. I know what you did to the Viscount. Please... don't do this. Not like this."
Cian's hand gripped the scalpel. He didn't have a voice to tell her to leave. He didn't have a voice to ask how she knew. Instead, he simply pulsed his Ex-rank aura for a micro-second—a warning that felt like the cold hand of death brushing against her heart.
Evelina flinched, but she didn't run. "I've seen the end, Cian! I've seen the world burn because of your vengeance! If you take the Heart tonight, you'll trigger the very thing you're trying to prevent!"
Cian moved. In the blink of an eye, he was in front of her, the scalpel pressed against the soft skin of her throat. He was translucent, a flickering specter of a boy.
He leaned in, his ruined throat letting out a dry, rasping hiss—the only sound he could make. It wasn't a word, but she understood.
'Stay. Away.'
"I can't," Evelina sobbed, even as the blade drew a thin line of blood on her neck. "I'm the only one who remembers you, Cian. I'm the only one who knows you're not a monster. Please... let me help you. The Vault isn't guarded by men. It's guarded by a Soul-Eater."
Cian's eyes narrowed. He didn't lower the blade, but he didn't press it further.
The Saintess and the Ghost stood in the shadows of the library, two beings trapped outside of time, while the world above them continued to celebrate the golden age that was about to end in blood