“Anywho…” the Headmaster continued lazily, rocking back and forth. “I heard that lass from House Varona finally became a Legend.”

  “Yes, Headmaster,” Samuel replied. “Elisabetta De Varona advanced a few months ago. One of the youngest Legends on the Continent. She was summoned by Templo shortly after and has been appointed Seneschal, representing the Kingdom of Ansara. Her disciple, Elisha Nil Radomia, was promoted to Dragon General.”

  “Mm,” the old man grunted. “She was good. Very good.”

  He took another sip of his drink.

  “Strong spine. Firm resolve. And—ah—pleasant aesthetics.”

  A thin vein pulsed on Anastasia’s forehead.

  Samuel pretended not to hear a thing. He had learned, painfully, that engaging the Headmaster on such matters only ever ended one way. He had no desire to relive that lesson.

  “Speaking of Dragon General Elisha,” Samuel continued, steering the conversation away, “he invoked the Royal Army’s special recommendation slot to secure his brother’s admission into the Lyceum.”

  The Headmaster stopped rocking.

  “It’s… an unsightly affair,” Samuel added carefully. “I was inclined to deny the request. However, the Army approved it. His Majesty approved it as well. I had no grounds to refuse.”

  “Is that so?” Anastasia asked, folding her arms. “Is the boy truly unworthy? Elisha never struck me as one prone to nepotism.”

  “He meets the formal requirements,” Samuel replied. “Twelve years old. TAO Grandmaster. But his Qi is thin. Unstable. Artificial, perhaps—likely bolstered by treasures. In the upcoming Inner Class Ranking, I expect him to be demoted to the Outer Class. We shall see how long he lasts.”

  There was something about Nerion that unsettled him. Not because the boy broke rules—but because he reminded Samuel of a man who had once done so effortlessly, and surpassed them all.

  “Perhaps,” Anastasia said evenly. “But I doubt the King would endorse such a request merely for appearances. If nothing else, the boy deserves observation.”

  Samuel nearly scoffed—but restrained himself. The matter was trivial in his eyes. A fleeting anomaly, soon to be corrected by the Academy’s mechanisms.

  The Headmaster waved a hand dismissively.

  “Enough about children,” he said. “If that is all, then we move forward. We are still entitled to four candidates, yes? Assuming His Majesty hasn’t decided to meddle again.”

  “Yes,” Anastasia confirmed. “Sixty eligible students across the second and third years of the Inner Class.”

  “Then I want to see all of them,” the Headmaster said flatly. “I’ll select ten. Perhaps fewer. Perhaps more. We’ll run them through an intensive course. I’ll oversee it personally. You two, several elders, and whoever else hasn’t grown useless.”

  Samuel stiffened.

  “Preparations will take time, Headmaster.”

  “Then move faster,” the old man snapped. “Advance the Inner Class Ranking. One month from now.”

  Samuel hesitated. “Only for the second and third years?”

  “No,” the Headmaster said, eyes still closed. “Include the first years as well.”

  That earned silence.

  “Surprises tend to hide where no one bothers looking.”

  The rocking chair resumed its slow rhythm.

  “For seven months after the Ranking, we squeeze them. Hard. Then we choose four. Travel to Rhodar follows—barely a month to spare.”

  He exhaled. “Annoying.”

  Samuel and Anastasia bowed deeply. Dismissed.

  As they turned to leave, a whisper drifted through the pavilion—so faint it barely existed.

  “…Radom… Is that old degenerate still breathing? …Mirror of the World… Hmph. Stars never align for nothing…”

  Neither of them spoke.

  Outside, as the pavilion doors closed behind them, Samuel finally inhaled.

  But Anastasia spoke first.

  “Samuel De Fedora,” she said calmly, without turning. “If you speak of Lirian like that again in my presence, I will forget we were ever comrades.”

  Then she vanished—no sound, no distortion—carried away as if by a passing breeze.

  Samuel stood alone for several breaths, jaw tight, bitterness rising like bile.

  At last, he turned away.

  There was work to be done: Notifications. Preparations. Parents. Tutors. Schedules.

  Time, as always, was already running out.

  Nerion arrived at the Martial Temple a couple of hours after leaving the Lyceum.

  This time, he did not hurry.

  He walked at a measured pace, allowing himself to truly look at Ansem—to take it in. The broad avenues paved with pale stone, the grand buildings adorned with austere yet tasteful ornamentation, the rich storefronts displaying wares that radiated refinement rather than vulgar excess. Even the people themselves carried a certain quiet pride in their bearing.

  If Nerion had to choose a single word to describe the capital, it would not be flamboyant nor extravagant.

  It would be splendour.

  Not the kind that screamed for attention, but one that stood firm, confident in its own worth.

  For the first time, Nerion truly understood the pride of Ansara’s citizens—and the longing so many felt to live in its heart. Ansem was unlike any city he had ever seen. Siracusa, for all its importance, could not even be mentioned in the same breath.

  When the guards at the Martial Temple noticed him approaching, they immediately straightened and saluted, stepping aside to grant him passage without question. Every soldier knew the little brother of the Dragon General. Whatever private opinions they might hold, none would be foolish enough to obstruct him—or forget their duty.

  Elisha was in his study when Nerion arrived, seated behind a broad desk covered in neatly stacked reports.

  Two people stood nearby.

  Nerion recognised them instantly and could not help letting out a small sound of surprise.

  One was Sergio, a familiar presence—one of Elisha’s trusted confidants within the army. The other was a young woman with dark hair tied neatly into a ponytail, her posture straight and her expression warm.

  “Brigadier Serena,” Nerion said, smiling. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. How are things back in Siracusa?”

  “All stable—thanks to you,” Serena replied, returning his smile. “Our family has secured a firm leadership position. For the foreseeable future, the county is peaceful. My father says we still owe you a great debt.”

  She paused, eyes narrowing slightly in amusement.

  “I can hardly believe the boy I met at the frontier six years ago has grown into this. I suppose I’ll be relying on you again in the future.” She laughed lightly.

  Elisha leaned back in his chair.

  “It helps that you get along so well. Serena will be my personal attendant from now on, Nerion. When I’m unavailable, you can go to her for anything you need.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  He continued calmly, as if discussing logistics rather than reshaping authority.

  “She’s no longer a Brigadier. As the attendant to a Dragon General, she’s been promoted to Commander, though she doesn’t yet command troops of her own.”

  Serena gave a small nod, neither proud nor embarrassed.

  “With Serena here, things will be smoother,” Elisha went on. “I’ve already secured a manor. It cost more than I’d like, but it’s worth it. Close to the Martial Temple, warded properly, and private enough that we won’t have to worry about nosy eyes. It’s already reinforced with runes and alchemical safeguards. We move tomorrow.”

  Nerion nodded without hesitation.

  “And your first day?” Elisha asked, glancing up from his papers. “Anyone give you trouble?”

  Nerion smiled faintly. “More like I gave trouble to others.”

  Elisha chuckled but did not press further.

  He had no intention of interfering excessively in Nerion’s school life. Getting him into the Lyceum was already a significant step. From then on, Nerion needed to walk on his own. Growth demanded friction. Dependence would only cripple him.

  That didn’t mean Elisha would abandon him. Advice would come when necessary. Protection, when unavoidable. But Nerion had to learn to stand on his own.

  “Your uniform has arrived,” Elisha said. “It’s in your room. Make sure it fits. From tomorrow onward, you’ll need to wear it.”

  He paused, then added more quietly:

  “You have free rein, little brother. Do as you see fit. Just… enjoy your time there. Truly enjoy it. Be a teen.”

  Nerion looked up.

  “I know you feel the pressure,” Elisha continued. “I won’t tell you to take things easy. That’d be a lie. But remember this—no matter what happens, your big brother is here. I climbed to this position through blood, sweat, and tears. If I can’t even shield my own family, then I might as well grab a block of tofu and kill myself with it.”

  He said it with a grin, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.

  Nerion laughed softly. “Don’t worry, Big Brother. I just hope you won’t be too annoyed when teachers keep calling you because I’ve broken too many bones.”

  “As long as they’re not yours,” Elisha replied flatly, “you can go wild.”

  The ferocity beneath his calm gaze flickered for a brief instant, enough to make both Sergio and Serena feel a chill down their spines.

  They understood then, as they always had.

  These brothers were not to be trifled with.

  The following morning, just after dawn, Nerion and Elisha moved out of the Army Headquarters and into their new residence.

  The manor lay in the heart of Ansem, occupying a plot of roughly fifteen hundred square meters, an extraordinary luxury in a city where land was worth more than gold.

  The cost alone was staggering.

  Nerion was momentarily speechless, then openly delighted. Compared to the sprawling estates of ancient noble houses, the manor was modest—but for the two of them, it was more than sufficient.

  More importantly, it was theirs.

  A carefully selected retinue of servants accompanied the property, each vetted extensively by Sergio and Serena to minimise the risk of spies.

  When Nerion entered his room, he froze.

  The bed was wide and inviting. The furniture crafted from spiritual wood radiated subtle warmth. A carpet made from the hide of a magical beast covered the floor, soft beneath his feet.

  He changed quickly, then stood before the full-length mirror.

  Nerion had always been pleasant to look at. Even in worn clothes, even covered in dust, his clear eyes and natural smile spoke of an inner calm that drew people in.

  But now…

  He barely recognized himself.

  The Lyceum uniform was a masterpiece. Threads of Shadow Sleepless Worm silk, Mandrake Cotton, and wool from Horned Fire Sheep were woven together through advanced alchemical methods. Cyan blue fabric accented with silver borders gave it an elegant, sharp presence—durable, comfortable, and resilient even to minor attacks.

  The boots alone, crafted from Abyssal Alligator leather, were worth a small fortune.

  Nerion had never worn anything like it in his life.

  As he examined his reflection, a soft sound came from the windowsill.

  Nerion turned his head, and smiled.

  “Chirp, chirp.”

  A small green bird fluttered through the open window, circling Nerion’s head with joyful energy before finally settling on his shoulder.

  Nerion blinked, then smiled broadly.

  “Little Green… I was wondering if you’d gotten lost after we were separated in Siracusa,” he said softly. “That damned Raven launched me toward Ansem without a second thought. I could barely keep track of you at the start, and once I landed, you were nowhere to be found. Did you have trouble following me? Where have you been all this time?”

  The bird chirped again, tilting her head.

  Little Green was Evelin’s companion—a rank two magical beast. She had been meant to accompany Nerion to Ansem, serving as a means of communication between them. But the chaos of their separation had scattered them from the very beginning. Nerion had assumed she had been forced to return to the forest with Evelin, Raven, and Leo.

  Thinking of Leo made his chest ache.

  The direwolf had been his constant companion throughout childhood. Growing up side by side forged a bond that words could not describe. Seeing him go had been far more painful than Nerion had allowed himself to admit.

  “Chirp, chirp.”

  Nerion focused, listening carefully.

  Understanding Little Green was not as easy as communicating with Leo, but he could manage—enough to grasp her meaning.

  She told him she had followed his trail for days, losing him only briefly when distance and terrain interfered. Fortunately, Raven had marked him with a subtle sign known only to creatures of the Grand Forest, allowing her to sense his general direction. That mark had guided her across plains and forests, over the Argent River, and eventually near Ansem a little over a week ago.

  As a rank two magical beast, she had little trouble feeding herself or defending against minor threats. The city itself, however, was another matter entirely.

  Little Green had felt the density of power within Ansem—the overwhelming presence of experts far beyond her ability to resist. Entering carelessly would have been suicide. So she waited, watching from afar. Eventually, she slipped into the city hidden among a flock of wild birds heading toward the capital.

  She found Nerion quickly.

  But she did not approach him while he remained within the Martial Temple. Only after he moved to his new residence did she seize the opportunity.

  Nerion felt a warmth spread through his chest.

  “You can stay here as long as you want,” he told her gently. “I’ll make sure you’re well-fed, and I’ll spend time with you whenever I can.”

  Little Green chirped approvingly.

  She was small enough to pass for an exotic but ordinary bird. Nerion could easily disguise her as a pet. Still, he would not bring her to the Lyceum. He had seen students keep magical beasts as servants or slaves, but Little Green was his friend. He would not risk her being noticed, claimed, or trapped.

  Besides, he doubted she would stay long. Evelin was still her true home.

  Little Green conveyed her agreement—and added that while she remained, Nerion could rest easy. She would watch over the manor. If danger arose, she would warn him.

  Nerion thanked her sincerely, then left his room to eat a quick breakfast before heading to the Lyceum.

  In the living room, Serena had already arrived and was speaking with Elisha. Both paused when they saw Nerion descending the stairs.

  For a moment, neither spoke.

  Nerion had always been good-looking—handsome in a quiet, natural way. Even in old clothes, his clear eyes and relaxed demeanor made him pleasant to look at. But now, dressed in the Lyceum uniform, he looked entirely different.

  Sharp. Refined.

  Like the heir of a great house.

  The kind of youth who would steal the hearts of young maidens without trying.

  Nerion grinned.

  “You know what, Big Brother?” he said lightly. “I make this look good.”

  Elisha laughed aloud and ruffled his hair. “Cocky little runt. Keep that up and I’ll kick your ass for being a smart mouth.”

  Serena smiled, watching the exchange. She didn’t fully understand their bond—but she could see it was genuine.

  After a moment, Nerion’s expression grew serious.

  “By the way, Sister Serena… did you ever manage to catch that man? Sombra?”

  Serena shook her head.

  “No. We lost his trail completely once everything ended. It’s fortunate there were no further casualties—but his origins worry me.”

  She paused, lowering her gaze slightly.

  “The knowledge he possessed about the fake gods is not something accessible to the general populace. My family has lived in Siracusa for centuries, and even we had no knowledge of Dagon’s existence until then. Not even the local branch of Templo uncovered much.”

  She looked between the brothers.

  “All we know is that the Cortina family was contacted by him first. He was the one who tempted them into heresy and treason. What troubles me most is that Sombra was clearly trained—his skills, his knowledge, his methods. He belonged to something larger. I doubt this will be the last we hear of him.”

  Elisha frowned.

  “I read Lord Rafael’s report recently,” he said. “A fake god’s attempted descent hasn’t occurred in decades—not since the annihilation of the Umbra Masters. You were reckless to involve yourself, Nerion. If Raven hadn’t been there…”

  “I had no choice,” Nerion replied calmly. “If you’d been in my place, you would have done the same.”

  Elisha sighed.

  He understood his brother too well.

  Nerion had already told him everything—everything except one truth. And when Elisha later read Rafael’s report, he fully grasped just how close Nerion had come to death.

  Still, it was done.

  Nerion had acted with courage. He had protected others. And the fact that it remained largely unknown was a blessing, not a slight.

  That alone justified Serena’s appointment.

  Yet Elisha could not shake the unease stirring in his heart.

  Nerion still knew nothing of the truth surrounding their parents’ deaths.

  But Elisha did.

  A shadowy organization seeking remnants of false gods. Lirian, hunted after the mysterious death of a Vicar of Templo. The sudden rise of the Liberation Brotherhood.

  Were these threads truly unrelated?

  Or were they signs of something far greater gathering beneath the surface of the world?

  Elisha said nothing.

  For now, he would move forward.

  When the storm arrived, he would face it head-on.