Yamin and Rayan sat in the canteen as Rayan's gaze drifted across the room. Lost in thought, he barely noticed Yamin staring back at him. Rayan's deep black eyes stood out against his fair skin and dark, cropped hair. Though his frame was fit, there was a lingering tension in his posture, a silent anxiety that hinted at something deeper than just the social divide of the academy.
Rayan offered a playful smirk. "Is there something on my face?"
Yamin chuckled, shaking his head. Just then, Arham slammed a hand onto Rayan's shoulder from behind. Rayan jumped, startled, before relaxing into a relieved smile upon seeing Arham.
As Arham pulled up a chair, Yamin leaned in with a curious frown. "Tell me, who do you think is the oldest person here? Everyone looks so young."
Rayan glanced around the room. "They say the 'Blessings' stop the aging process. But it doesn't affect everyone the same way."
Arham stared into his glass. He brought it to his nose, inhaling the scent of the juice before taking a slow sip. Setting the glass down, he wiped his lip with the back of his hand.
"The Principal looks old, sure, but our Summoning teacher… you can tell he's seen decades pass. The Principal only looks middle-aged because of his Blessing. Without it, he'd probably be centuries old."
Yamin's brow furrowed, lost in thought. Arham noticed the shift in his mood and quickly changed the subject.
"You never told us, Yamin what were you looking for in the library all night? You were in such a hurry."
Yamin blinked, taken aback. "How did you know I was in a hurry?"
Arham locked eyes with him, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I saw you heading toward the library last night. It was strange, a new student wandering out so late. I called out to you, but you didn't even look back."
Yamin's eyes widened. "Oh, that was you? I thought it was just someone random, so I didn't bother responding."
Rayan stood up to grab their food. As he walked away, Arham leaned in closer to Yamin, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Be honest. Are you trying to learn some secret magic? Maybe some ancient technique to get back at Nabil?"
Yamin burst into laughter. "What are you talking about? Why would I be studying ancient magic?"
Arham slumped back in his chair, looking deflated. "You were buried under a mountain of history books. I just figured you were hunting for something forgotten."
Rayan returned with their meal. He looked at their expressions and let out a wry chuckle. "What's the matter? Why does he look so disappointed?"
Yamin laughed, "He thinks I was in the library digging up forbidden spells."
Rayan's voice turned serious. "It's possible. Everyone here is obsessed with competing for power and control."
Rayan's stern tone killed Yamin's amusement. "Rayan, you too? I was just checking a few things, I had some doubts..."
Suddenly, conversations died one by one as the metallic clang of armored boots echoed through the hall. A tall guard, clad in iron armor and clutching a spear, marched into the canteen. The room went deathly silent. The guard scanned the tables, his voice booming with authority.
"Back to your duties, everyone. There is no trouble here, we are just delivering letters for some of the students."
As the guard exited, the canteen slowly filled with the sound of chatter once again. Yamin stood up abruptly. "I'll be back."
As Yamin disappeared, Arham started to follow him, but Rayan slammed his hand onto the table, stopping him cold. Arham froze, looking at Rayan, then back at Yamin's retreating figure. He let out a long, frustrated sigh and sat back down. Rayan leaned in, his voice low and icy.
"What did you pick up?"
Arham waited until Yamin disappeared beyond the doorway. He snatched a piece of meat from Rayan's plate and took a slow, deliberate bite, a mocking smirk playing on his face.
"Enough to know more than you ever could. You didn't do anything but get beaten up, 'Big Brother'."
Arham's voice dripped with disdain. Rayan glanced sideways, eyes narrowing. "Focus on your assigned role, Arham. Don't break character. I know exactly what I'm doing."
Arham chewed slowly, his eyes glinting. "That's why the Shadow Guard from Father came to get an update, isn't it?"
Rayan sat up straighter, his tone sharpening. "Don't talk with your mouth full, Arham."
Arham just offered a smug, silent smile. Rayan scanned the room, his eyes cold and cautious, before finally turning his attention back to his meal.
Yamin headed straight for the office where the mail was processed. Inside, the room felt suffocating, filled with towering cabinets and thousands of scattered papers. The air smelled thick with dust and old parchment. Behind a desk sat a man with glasses, his shoulders slumped and dark circles under his eyes, clearly exhausted by the endless monotony of his role. He didn't even look up as Yamin approached.
"Name and class number."
Yamin provided his details. The man stopped writing and stood up, shuffling through a mountain of mail until he finally produced Yamin's letter. Yamin looked at the rows of abandoned shelves, confused.
"Why are there so many old letters here that no one has ever claimed?"
The man didn't answer. He simply gestured to the logbook on the table for Yamin to sign. Yamin signed his name and took the envelope, lingering for a moment, hoping for a word or a glance. But the man remained completely indifferent, his eyes already fixed back on his ledger.
As he walked out, Yamin turned the letter over. The sender's name was simply written as: *'Mother.'* A soft smile touched his lips. If a royal title had been written there, a guard would have been forced to kneel before him. He preferred it this way. Despite his royal blood, his family had always showered him with love rather than the weight of status.
On his way back to his room, he passed by the library. He stopped dead in his tracks. Through the door, he saw Emma still sitting in the same spot, reading just as she had been the night before. Yamin rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was imagining things. But when he looked again, she was still there. With a flicker of hesitation, Yamin stepped toward the library door.
As Yamin stepped inside, Emma looked up. Yamin was slightly startled by her gaze. Emma set her glasses on the table, her curly hair tied back. "Are you going to keep standing there, or are you coming in to sit?"
Yamin felt a flush of embarrassment. He swallowed hard and walked in with slow, deliberate steps. Emma gestured toward the chair opposite her. As Yamin sat down, he placed his letter on the table.
Emma's eyes flickered toward the envelope before meeting his gaze.
"May I know why you keep watching me like that?"
Yamin bowed his head, his hands clasped tightly together. "Please, don't misunderstand. I was just...."
Emma smiled, closing the book in front of her. "Don't take it so seriously. I was just trying to lighten the mood."
Yamin tried to force a laugh, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Emma's smile faded, and she asked, her voice turning serious,
"Why were you so desperate for history books last night?"
Yamin stumbled over his words, unsure how to answer. Emma didn't wait for his explanation.
"Do you know why we don't write certain things in history books? It's because we humans only like to record what makes us look powerful and superior. Often, some bitter truths are buried under the weight of such vanity."
Yamin stared at her, stunned. Some of what she said went over his head, yet he couldn't help but ask, "Actually, I was searching for history to understand how Blessings work. Can you tell me why Blessings don't work the same way for everyone?"
Emma watched him silently for a moment, then cleared her throat. "Because a Blessing depends on who is bestowing it. The power you receive depends on the rank of the Angel who blessed you."
Yamin leaned forward. "But what does that have to do with immortality?"
Emma laughed. "Where did you hear about immortality? No one is immortal. The difference is that our life cycle is extended. Our Blessings are at their peak during our youth, so when someone learns to fully master their Blessing between the ages of 25 and 30, their aging process slows down significantly."
"That means someone could look 40 but actually be 300 years old!?" Yamin asked, wide-eyed.
Emma felt a flicker of warmth at his genuine curiosity and innocent expression. "It's possible. But even if your age increases slowly due to a Blessing, your body is still aging from within."
Yamin was about to ask more questions when he remembered his mother's letter. He picked it up and stood.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I just remembered something important." He left quickly, his footsteps echoing as he hurried away.
Emma watched him leave, retrieved her glasses from the table, put them on, and returned to her book. A subtle smile played on her lips, she knew well enough that Yamin hadn't just been looking for information on Blessings.
Yamin entered his room and sank onto his bed. As he opened his mother's letter, he thought, 'I could have just asked Mother. Other people always kept their answers limited, but his mother surely knew everything.'
He remembered how his father used to tell stories of the 'Great War' every night. Yamin had always assumed it was a tale from 500 years ago, but his father didn't look a day over thirty. Some of his doubts had cleared today, but new questions had taken their place. He set the letter aside and stared up at the ceiling.
"This is from the time of the Great War, 300 years ago. So, if my father's aging slowed down after he turned 30, it means he fought in the war with Sameer 270 years later. What could have happened in those 270 years to trigger such a massive war? And why has none of this been recorded in history for the last 300 years?"
Lost in these thoughts, he picked up the letter again and began to read.
Yamin felt a strange mix of joy and sadness as he finished his letter. His mother was reaching out, yet the distance between them felt insurmountable.
He sat at his desk, his pen scratching rhythmically against the parchment. Before he knew it, he had poured his heart out over several pages, asking questions he knew she might never fully answer. He sealed the letter and headed toward the office.
Outside, the sunset bathed the world in a haunting, bruised yellow light. The birds were retreating to their nests, and a thick, unnatural silence hung over the academy, the kind of eerie quiet that always precedes a violent storm.
High on the balcony, Siyam watched the fading sun, his expression unreadable. Humaira stepped up behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders. Siyam turned, offering a faint, weary smile before pulling her into an embrace.
"Still thinking about it?" she whispered, resting her head against his chest.
"I'm leaving for the Void Imperium tomorrow," Siyam said, his grip tightening. He stroked her hair, trying to find comfort in her presence.
Humaira listened to the steady rhythm of his heart, a momentary sanctuary in the cooling air.
"Do you really still believe Sameer is alive?" she asked softly.
Siyam didn't respond. The doubt gnawed at him. Why can't I let go of the feeling? Why does my soul insist that the strike of the Dark-Light sword wasn't enough to kill him?
He kissed her forehead gently. "I need to take a walk in the garden."
As Humaira retreated, Siyam watched her go before heading toward the secluded garden. He scanned the shadows to ensure he was alone, then clutched his chest, gasping as a sharp pain flared within him.
"What are you doing, Suxang?" Siyam hissed, his voice trembling. "I told you, do not try to seize control of my body! Do you not remember the carnage of the Great War?"
A distorted, chilling laugh vibrated from deep within his own throat. "You know the rules, Siyam. I cannot inhabit your vessel without your consent."
Siyam's eyes blazed with rage as he shouted, "Then why are you pushing so hard now? What is so urgent that you are desperate to take over?"
Suxang's voice turned cold, devoid of humanity. "Because you must reach the Void Imperium at once."
Siyam's legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the garden path. His body felt like lead, stripped of all strength. Tears welled in his eyes as the realization hit him.
"It means... he didn't die. I didn't finish him that day."
Suxang's aura flared, heavy and suffocating. "Sameer will not die until the Dark-Light sword pierces his heart. You only struck his back."
Siyam summoned every ounce of his willpower, forcing his aura to rise and push Suxang back into the depths of his mind. He wiped his eyes, his face hardening with resolve.
"I won't let you kill him. He was my friend. I will speak to him, and I will understand why."
Suxang let out a mocking, guttural laugh. "Sameer hides secrets you cannot fathom, Siyam. Secrets that no human was ever meant to know. Even I am surprised he kept his silence for so long."
Siyam knew Suxang was baiting him, trying to push him toward the edge of madness, but he wouldn't break. He turned back toward his room. The air felt heavy, and his intuition screamed that the world was about to shift on its axis.
Miles away, the night sky was choked with the smoke of a burning forest. The woods had become a slaughter house, animals shrieked in terror as they ran, their fur licked by hungry flames. The stench of charred flesh and fresh blood hung thick in the air.
A man desperately scrambled through the underbrush, but a blade flashed in the darkness, slicing him in two. His insides spilled onto the forest floor. A second boy, paralyzed by the sight, fell to his knees, clasping his hands together.
"Please! Don't kill me! My daughter is waiting for me... I will be your slave for the rest of my life...!"
Before he could finish, a blade pierced his skull. The metal ground through bone and brain, pinning his head to the dirt.
Tameem kicked the man's throat, yanking the blade free with a wet, sickening thud. He looked around with utter disdain.
"Why do you beg for your life only when the end is staring you in the face? Why not when you had the chance?"
He strode toward the massive, obsidian-walled fortress ahead. Inside the dungeon, the guards were shaking so violently their weapons rattled against their armor. They couldn't retreat, a monster was chained inside the cell, and another, far worse, was walking toward them. One guard collapsed in a sobbing heap, knowing the end had arrived.
The heavy, rhythmic sound of boots echoed through the hallway, drowning out the pleas of the dying. Then, from the absolute darkness of the prison, a heavy, raspy breath broke the silence.
"Fear... I have always loved the taste of it."
Before the guards could even raise their swords, they were shredded into pieces. Blood splattered across the face of the weeping guard, freezing him in place. He tried to hide in darkness.
Tameem stood before the dark cell.
"Shall I use the key, or should I just cut through the door?"
Tameem asked the guard in shadows. "I'm talking to you!"
The guard in the darkness didn't reply, Temeem's eyes flared open, glowing with a feral, terrifying light that seemed to burn through the gloom. Tameem let out an annoyed *tch* and swung his blade.
The metal sliced through the magically reinforced bars like a hot knife through butter, decapitating the cowering guard in the process.
Tameem stepped into the cell. Even his own aura faltered against the suffocating pressure radiating from the figure inside. Sameer hung suspended by chains, his eyes, neck, wrists and ankles locked in heavy iron discs inscribed with glowing blue magical seals.
Tameem stood before him and Sameer repeated the question,
"What day is it today?"
Tameem smirked. "It is the day of your liberation."
He swung his blade, severing the chains. The moment the magic was broken, a massive, overwhelming aura exploded outward, tearing through the fortress.
Across the kingdom, Siyam stood still, a cold shiver running down his spine. He felt the ripple of power, a dark and familiar force. His eyes widened in absolute dread.
Deep within him, Suxang whispered, his voice dark with realization,
"Then, at last, we are too late."