"...What happened?"
The words slipped from Percy's lips in a low murmur as his golden-blue eyes blinked open—slow, dry, unfocused.
Sunlight poured in through the infirmary window at just the right angle, refracting across the curve of his iris in a sharp gleam—like glass catching water.
His vision swam, just for a moment.
Then came awareness.
Clinical sterility.
Pale magical lighting.
Laminated posters about Mánhar fatigue, sigil strain, sex magic safety, and anatomical diagrams taped to pristine enchanted walls.
He blinked again. A dry laugh left his throat.
"Oh. I know exactly where I am."
He sat up slowly, body stiff but functional. The cool scent of magical antiseptic clung to the air like mint and chalk.
He was in the infirmary.
Beyond the nearby window, the horizon was painted in pastel shades of orange and rose-gold.
Dawn had just begun its slow climb.
Percy watched it, mesmerized.
So peaceful...
The silence was broken by the soft hiss of an automatic door opening.
A woman stepped in—young, composed, clipboard in hand.
"Good morning, Mr. Magus. I'm Caitlyn Moss, APRN. Just here to check your vitals—if that's alright with you?"
Percy offered her a gentle, courteous smile. It was measured, not dismissive—but never quite relaxed.
"Not at all. Please, don't let me interfere."
Caitlyn paused for a second—caught off guard by the warmth in his voice and the poise with which he carried himself.
There was a strange gravity to him.
Not heavy, but... undeniable.
She ran the check with practiced ease.
"How long was I out?" Percy asked, voice low.
Caitlyn consulted her notes.
"Just a few hours. The Magical Duels ended around 5:45 AM. It's now 9:10."
"I wouldn't worry," she added with a small smile. "The exam week includes two rest days after each match. You've earned the downtime."
With that, she excused herself.
Once more alone, Percy turned his eyes back to the window.
He watched the light filter in, casting long shadows over the white sheets.
"...I won," he murmured.
It hit slowly—like puzzle pieces clicking into place.
Yesterday's chaos reassembled itself in perfect clarity.
The pressure. The sigils. Jason.
"Oh damn. I really won."
He laughed under his breath as he stood, peeling off the sigil-marked combat uniform Beta had crafted and slipping back into his usual clothes.
"Master!"
Beta's voice echoed from nowhere—and everywhere.
"Beta?" he asked, mid-shoelace. "What happened?"
"You passed out after your final sigil attack," she reported crisply.
"The exertion overwhelmed your reserves. Your elemental synchronizations were stretched far beyond safe thresholds."
"I thought I was managing it well..."
Percy's voice was laced with fatigue and subtle frustration.
"You were progressing," Beta admitted,
"but your inexperience in chaining elemental sigils with live swordplay was almost too painful to witness."
"Oh come on," he groaned, pulling his hoodie over his head. "I wasn't that bad."
"Master," Beta replied flatly,
"the discord between your sigil vibrations and sword frequencies is as transparent as crystal. Watching you attempt fluid linkage was like watching a master chef try to juggle flaming knives and a rolling pin."
"So poetic," Percy muttered.
"However!" she continued brightly, "you shall soon return to this university."
Percy paused.
"...What does that have to do with anything?"
He glanced at her projection.
Beta turned her head toward him in a slow, almost mechanical pivot.
Her holographic expression said everything.
Seriously?
"What I mean, Master," Beta began, a virtual hand resting against her forehead as if to steady herself, "is that once you return here, you will learn to harmonize and unite the finer elements of existence."
Percy exhaled sharply through his nose, gaze turning away from Beta's faintly glowing form.
"And here I thought I was speaking with an omnipotent system—a being beyond time, reality, and causality itself. Yet somehow, you're struggling to explain what cavemen figured out with a shared brain cell and a fire rock."
His words came out dry, razor-thin with sarcasm.
"Maybe the Infinite Omega System doesn't deserve the worship it gets," he added, voice low and laced with carefully-aimed contempt.
Beta's projection flickered—barely a heartbeat—and one brow arched with digital poise.
"Did you really think I'd fall for that?"
"Yeah, figured you wouldn't," Percy said with a wry smile, rising from the infirmary bench and brushing off his jacket.
He slipped into the hallway and navigated a winding path of sterile-white corridors, heading northeast.
Wide double doors opened with a low hum of arcane hinges, revealing a softly lit chamber.
A narrow, cathedral-esque hallway—modest in width, but grand in atmosphere.
Sunlight streamed through lattice windows, painting long shadows across polished floors.
Every wall was adorned with somber portraits—men and women etched in history by their silent, watchful gazes.
"Oh… the Hall of Honor," Percy muttered, eyes drifting.
"What's that?" Beta hovered beside him, scanning the room.
"A monument to generals. Heroes. It's where Solarskis immortalizes those who earned the right to be remembered," Percy replied, voice carrying an odd reverence.
"In my world, we built these halls so that the echoes of sacrifice were never silenced."
He paused in front of one particular plaque.
"General Eisen," Beta read aloud. "Defender of the Desolate Wilds. Fought the Shadow Harbinger, Azhgoroth, for twenty-five years without retreat. Not too shabby…"
"He earned every step of this hallway," Percy said quietly.
They continued walking—footsteps reverberating off the marble floor—until Percy halted again.
This time, the portrait was dusted with neglect.
Cobwebs clung to the corners.
The lighting above had gone dim.
Yet there she was.
A girl in a high-collared dress, holding a bronze chalice with both hands.
Long black hair. Crimson eyes. Intelligent. Composed.
Watching him.
"Camilia?" Percy whispered.
He stepped closer, brushing away the dust. His heartbeat ticked faster.
The resemblance was undeniable. Her facial structure, her gaze, even the slight tilt of her head—it was uncanny.
His fingers hovered over the nameplate.
Most of it had been eroded away, save for a few faint letters:
Zara —
The Last Great Arch**: Founder of the Su*** Co***.**
"What? There has to be more…" Percy whispered, eyes narrowing.
But the text had long since faded. The rest of the story, buried by time or intent.
"Weird…" he muttered, still staring into the girl's eyes.
Eyes that refused to look away.
He pulled himself away and exited through the back of the hall, stepping into one of Solarskis' serenity quads—lush green spaces nestled between columns and walkways.
Here, the chaos of battle and legacy faded into silence.
Massive trees arched above him, and the blossoms cast soft pinks and whites across the grass like fallen snow.
And for the first time since awakening, Percy felt...
Peace.
Even Beta, floating beside him, refrained from speaking.
As if the system understood—this was the quiet before something was about to change.
There was a place—a memory wrapped in ivy and silence.
Percy closed his eyes, standing beneath the high archways of Solarskis, and whispered to no one in particular,
"Everyone's probably gathered near the central quad."
He took a breath.
Then—he traced the sigil.
A pulse of space.
A whisper in the weave of Spatial flow.
Teleport.
And just like that, he vanished.
He reappeared in a forgotten corner of the campus.
Far north.
Long abandoned.
Time itself seemed to move slower here.
The overgrown courtyard was silent save for the soft rustle of breeze through wild branches.
Vines crawled up stone columns like ancient veins.
Cobwebs hung like decaying lace, swaying gently from the trees.
The silver light filtering through the foliage was dim—filtered, broken.
A forgotten sanctum.
And Percy… stood at its center.
He didn't speak.
He didn't move.
He just looked around.
(This place…)
His heart thudded with an emotion that didn't have a name—
Half longing, half déjà vu.
A place of solace.
Of late-night refuge.
Of memories made in solitude...
...and maybe never made at all.
Beta materialized, her projection softened by the light.
"Master," she said, voice gentle but alert. "Are you okay?"
No answer.
She floated closer, her usual glow dimmed by uncertainty.
"Master—"
"...This was the place," Percy said quietly.
No bravado. No sarcasm.
Just truth.
Beta's lips parted—
Then closed again.
She said nothing.
Because even she knew…
This wasn't the time to calculate.
This was something only Percy could walk through.
But deep within her Omni-Synchronic Cortex, her mind raced.
Without prompting, her system began reviewing logs—Percy's Year 1 memory archive.
And as it parsed the dates, timestamps, and sensory logs—
{Mismatched neural timestamps detected. Replaying altered logs...}
She blinked—only in her internal processes.
Because the system didn't just access Percy's memories.
It accessed Elysmyr Percy's memories.
And began to play them...
As if they had always belonged to this Percy.
📚 ALTERED MEMORY 1: The Curse of Intelligence (The Classroom Rebellion)
Year One, Solarskis University – The Altered Archive Begins
"And so, if you apply the fourth theorem of Mánhar-synergized displacement,
you'll notice that the energy compression in this sigilic array is significantly lower than the standard casting framework.
This is why it's the preferred method among high-ranking sigilcrafters."
Percy lowered his quill.
Silence.
The classroom remained still—too still.
The professor, a sharply dressed older man with streaks of silver at his temples, offered a pleased nod.
"Impressive deduction, Percy. Once again, you've demonstrated an intuitive grasp of advanced sigil theory that far exceeds your peers."
He turned to the rest of the class, tone shifting to mild disappointment.
"I strongly encourage the rest of you to follow his example—strive for mastery, not mediocrity."
Percy didn't smile.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't even look around.
He didn't have to.
He could feel it—the eyes.
A few laced with reluctant awe.
But most?
Poisoned with something colder. Uglier.
This was the routine.
Pop quizzes.
Spontaneous theory debates.
Offhand questions mid-lecture.
Every time, Percy was the one to raise his hand first.
Not to show off. Not for attention.
But because his mind moved too fast to stay silent.
He wasn't trying to outpace them.
He just… couldn't slow down.
"For today's exercise," the professor continued, "I want you all to apply today's theorem to a practical casting array. And Percy—excellent work on yesterday's pop quiz. Another perfect score."
Of course it was.
Only Percy had solved the final question—an advanced sigil compression model the professor had openly said was above their current level.
Percy had even corrected a typo in the answer key.
The professor left.
And the murmurs began.
"Here we go again. Another day of 'Percy the Prodigy.'"
"Does he ever get anything wrong?"
"He just wants to make the rest of us look like idiots."
"No, he's not even human. Just some calculator with legs."
A chair scraped against the stone floor.
Someone stood.
"Hey, Percy."
He didn't look up.
"You ever get tired of acting like you're better than everyone?"
That made him pause.
(Acting?)
Slowly, Percy raised his gaze—expression unreadable.
"I don't act like anything," he replied quietly.
"Yeah? Then why are you always the first to answer? Why do you always have to be the one the professor praises?"
His fingers tightened around the edge of his book.
The paper crinkled beneath his grip.
(Because I love this. Because learning makes me feel alive. Because this is the one place I don't feel lost…)
But he knew those words wouldn't matter.
Not to them.
Because it had never been about what he did.
It was about what he was.
And that was enough to make them hate him.
The bell rang.
Chairs scraped.
No one said goodbye.
Percy sat alone in that echoing classroom, the last rays of light catching the edge of his untouched parchment.
And for a moment—just a breath—he almost believed he could disappear into it.
Later that day, with footsteps echoing too loudly in the quiet corridors of the school, Percy wandered until he reached it—
That forgotten garden corner nestled beneath the vines.
The leaves rustled softly.
The shadows stretched long.
The cobwebs had grown back.
He stepped inside.
And finally—he let his expression break.
"I didn't ask to be this way," he whispered.
He sat beneath the old stone bench, resting his back against a tree grown wild and untamed.
The sanctum didn't judge.
It simply received him.
And in that stillness—
the hurt had a place to rest.
🩸 ALTERED MEMORY 2: The Relentless Fights (The Blood-Soaked Ground)
Year One, Solarskis University – Altered Memory Log [Segment 2]
Percy staggered backward, blood spilling from his lips.
The taste of iron filled his mouth. His chest heaved. His ribs screamed.
Around him, the training grounds were chaos—dirt torn—
Students lay scattered, groaning, unconscious... some simply afraid to move.
But the next wave stepped forward.
"He's still standing?! Someone take him down already!"
Percy's hands clenched around the hilt of his dulled training sword.
His grip trembled.
His vision blurred.
His breath burned.
But he didn't fall.
(How many more...?)
The thought barely registered.
It didn't matter.
Because they never stopped.
It hadn't always been like this.
Once, these duels had been honorable.
Clean.
Respectful.
Sparring to improve.
But that was before they saw what he could do.
Before they realized he wasn't just good—
He was better.
And that was unforgivable.
The duels became ambushes.
The matches turned into gauntlets.
They didn't fight to sharpen themselves anymore.
They fought to break him.
"Why don't you use magic, Magus?" one sneered, circling like a wolf.
"Afraid you can't win without it?"
Percy straightened.
Barely.
His body begged for mercy.
But he didn't give it.
Once—just once—he had used Mánhar in a fight.
He had thought…
Maybe if I show them everything… maybe they'll stop.
But they didn't.
They only hated him more for it.
So he stopped.
Now, it was only the sword.
Only the blade.
(If I limit myself… maybe they'll stop.)
They didn't.
"Come on, Magus. You're not done yet."
Another came.
He barely blocked the incoming strike—only for a fist to crash into his ribs.
CRACK.
He coughed violently—blood splattering across the dirt.
The sting lit up his nerves like wildfire.
His knees threatened to buckle.
His lungs rattled.
But he kept going.
He had to.
This wasn't about winning anymore.
This was about not dying on his feet.
He'd lost count of the fights.
Five?
Ten?
More?
They didn't come for victory.
They came for punishment.
And worst of all?
He had started to believe he deserved it.
(Maybe I do. Maybe if I fall—if I just stop—maybe they'll leave me alone.)
A blade came for him.
Fast. Precise.
But Percy was faster.
He moved on instinct—sidestepping, his sword lashing up in a vicious arc.
Steel met flesh.
A scream tore through the training grounds.
Blood flew.
Percy stared as one of the students clutched their arm, eyes wide in pain and disbelief.
He hadn't meant to strike that deep.
But he had.
Because if he hadn't—
It would've been his blood on the ground.
He turned.
The others—still standing—hesitated.
Finally.
(Good... maybe now… maybe now they'll stop.)
But he knew better.
They wouldn't.
They never would.
The blood didn't fade when the memory ended.
Not completely.
Not in his head.
Percy walked—limped, really—through a silent hallway no one used.
The scarred echoes of that day dragged behind him like chains.
He returned to the forgotten sanctum, the place with the tangled branches, the cracked stone, the cobwebs that no wind dared disturb.
The air was still.
He sat with his back against the tree.
Breathing slow.
Face unreadable.
A part of him wanted to scream.
Another part wanted to disappear.
But he did neither.
He just sat—
Letting the leaves above sway in silence.
Letting the broken boy inside him rest, if only for a moment.
💔 ALTERED MEMORY 3: The Corrupted Memory (The Lies That Took Everything)
Year One, Solarskis University – Altered Memory Log [Segment 3]
He remembered the warmth.
How her smile could quiet the world.
How her voice could pull him back from the edge of his worst days.
Seraphine.
Her name had once been a refuge.
Now, that same voice…
cut like glass.
"I can't do this anymore, Percy."
His blood froze. His chest tightened.
(What?)
She stood in front of him—arms folded, eyes flicking to the floor.
She couldn't hold his gaze.
"People are saying things about you. I… I just can't ignore it anymore."
Percy's heart twisted.
(Rumors? What rumors?)
"That you use people. That you think you're better than everyone else. That you—"
She stopped.
Shook her head.
"Maybe… maybe they're right."
The world tilted—
Not fast.
Not violent.
Just enough to make him feel like he was no longer standing on anything at all.
(No. This isn't right. You know me. You know me.)
He stepped forward. Just a half-step.
"Seraphine—"
"Carlos helped me see things clearly," she interrupted.
(Carlos.)
(Of course.)
The puzzle pieces slammed together.
The rumors.
The sudden cold shoulders.
The way people had started to glance away when he entered a room.
This was no accident.
Carlos had engineered it.
Brick by whisper. Seed by lie.
But this?
This was the final move.
He looked at her. His heart was sprinting, tripping over itself in panic.
(Say something. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you don't believe him.)
But she didn't.
Her eyes stayed low.
And when she finally spoke again, her voice was so soft, he almost didn't hear it.
"I'm with him now, Percy."
The silence after was worse than any scream.
He stared at her.
No tears. No trembling.
Just... nothing.
Because everything had just collapsed.
Not with a fight.
Not with a betrayal he could shout at.
But with a single breath.
A soft word.
And she never looked back.
(Was it all a lie?)
The late-night conversations.
The quiet mornings on the library steps.
The warmth. The laughter. The way she said his name.
Had any of it been real?
No one answered.
Because she was already walking away.
The path back felt longer this time.
Not because of distance.
But because his steps were heavier.
He didn't rush.
Didn't stumble.
He just... moved.
Like someone walking home after burying something they couldn't name.
He entered the forgotten sanctum, silent as always.
The vines didn't speak.
The branches didn't judge.
He sat at the edge of the moss-covered stone,
Where the ivy twisted like delicate veins across the ground.
And for a long moment, he didn't think.
He just... existed.
"I should've seen it coming," he whispered.
There was no audience.
Not even Beta.
Only the echo of what used to be love,
Now hollow in his chest.
He leaned back against the tree—
The one that still stood, no matter the season—
And let the ache bleed quietly into the roots.
🕳️ ALTERED MEMORY 4: The Last Thread of Friendship (The Ultimate Betrayal)
Year One, Solarskis University – Altered Memory Log [Final Segment]
The dormitory common room was loud.
Laughter, idle chatter—normalcy in motion.
But the moment Percy stepped in...
He knew.
(Something's wrong.)
The sound hit different.
The warmth was gone.
The air felt brittle—like glass ready to crack.
His so-called friends—Ruby, Douglas, Jada, Cade—were already standing.
Their eyes met his like a firing squad's aim.
The room that once welcomed him now repelled him.
"Percy," Ruby said stiffly.
The sparkle in her eyes was gone.
What remained behind her gaze was something colder.
"We need to talk."
He glanced around.
(Where's Carlos?)
"What is it?" he asked, though he already knew.
"Don't play dumb," Jada snapped, arms crossed. Her crimson eyes practically burned through him.
"We've heard what you did."
"...What did I do?" Percy's voice was calm—but brittle.
"Of course, you don't," Douglas sneered. His purple hair caught the light—so did the contempt in his smirk.
"Same old Percy. Acting innocent."
His voice was venom.
"Then tell me what I'm being accused of," Percy said, sharper now.
Cade stepped forward. The quiet one. The one who used to defend him.
"They're saying..."
His voice faltered.
Then hardened.
"They're saying you used Seraphine. That you cheated on her. Manipulated her. That when she found out… you snapped."
Percy's heart stopped.
(No. Not this. Not this...)
"That's not true," he said, voice even, despite the cracks forming underneath.
"Then why would she say it?" Jada demanded.
"Why would she leave you and run straight to Carlos if she didn't believe it?"
"Because Carlos—!"
He stopped himself.
He could see it in their faces.
They didn't want the truth.
They wanted a villain.
And Carlos had handed them one.
"Do you think I'm lying?" Percy asked, softer now.
Ruby looked away.
Douglas scoffed.
Jada clenched her jaw.
And Cade—Cade, who once called Percy his brother—finally answered.
"We don't know. But you've always been hiding something."
"So that makes me guilty?"
"It makes you suspicious," Ruby muttered.
And then—
his voice.
From the doorway.
Smooth.
Cruel.
"This is getting old."
Carlos Astaroth.
The architect of every whisper.
The shadow in every corner.
The group parted for him without question.
"Carlos, just tell him to leave," Ruby said.
Percy froze.
(Tell me to—?)
Carlos stepped forward, tilting his head with casual malice.
"Yeah, Percy. It'd probably be better if you just... left."
They walked into the hallway together.
No crowd.
No defense.
Just the two of them.
"So that's it?" Percy asked.
Carlos shrugged.
"Looks that way."
Something inside Percy fractured.
"You know the truth," he whispered.
"You know I didn't do any of this."
"I do," Carlos replied.
"And I still want you gone."
"...Why?"
Carlos leaned in.
His voice dipped low.
"Because I can."
Percy's breath caught.
"You really thought you were special?" Carlos laughed.
"That people cared about you? No. They cared about what you gave them."
He gestured toward the others.
"And when that stopped? So did they."
Percy clenched his fists.
"You did this."
"Obviously," Carlos said casually.
"It was easy. Whisper here, rumor there… and you? You handed me the knife."
Percy shook. His breathing broke rhythm.
"...Why?"
Carlos exhaled as if disappointed.
"Because it's fun, Percy."
Then, softly:
"And because I know the truth."
Percy's blood went cold.
"You and your sister."
The world tilted.
(No—no, not her—)
Carlos smirked, eyes gleaming with cruelty.
"You think no one knows where you came from? That you're just another student?"
He stepped closer.
"You're nothing, Percy. A stray. A ghost."
"And her?"
He chuckled.
"She'll end up just like you."
Percy swung.
He didn't think—he moved.
But Carlos was already stepping back, laughing.
"That's the reaction I wanted."
The others glanced over, confused. But they didn't intervene.
They didn't have to.
Because they had already abandoned him.
"You should go, Percy," Carlos said, brushing off his jacket.
"Before you lose what little dignity you have left."
Percy didn't answer.
He didn't beg.
He just turned.
And walked away.
He didn't remember how he got there.
He just... arrived.
Back beneath the weeping vines.
Back among the cobwebs.
Back where the shadows couldn't lie.
He sat, knees drawn to his chest.
And for the first time...
He didn't cry.
There was nothing left to cry with.
No one had betrayed him.
Because no one had ever really been his friend.
"They never cared."
His voice was hollow.
"Not one of them."
The silence swallowed him.
And as he sat beneath that old tree, he realized—
Trust was dead.
And he was the one who buried it.
Return to the Sanctuary (The Burden of the Past)
The Present – Infirmary Echo Sequence End
Percy stood at the threshold.
The sanctuary—his sanctuary—waited beyond the ivy-choked walls.
Once, this place had felt untouchable.
A quiet garden tucked behind the chaos.
Unmarked. Unbothered. Unseen.
It had been the only space that didn't ask anything of him.
But now?
It offered no comfort.
The silence wasn't soothing anymore.
It was loud.
The stone bench, the tangle of trees, the way the light filtered through half-broken branches—it was all the same.
And that's what made it worse.
It hadn't been peace.
It had been escape.
Escape from glaring eyes in the lecture hall.
From bruised ribs and chipped teeth on the training field.
From Seraphine's voice saying"I'm with him now."
From the moment Carlos smiled and said"Because I can."
This was where he ran to.
Because there was nowhere else to go.
And now…
Even here,
he couldn't breathe.
Percy's hands trembled.
His fists clenched.
Nails bit into flesh.
Inside, his memories roared.
The classroom.
The fights.
The betrayal.
The friends that had never been friends at all.
(They were never mine.)
His voice didn't rise,
but the words echoed all the same.
"They were just waiting for a reason to abandon me."
He could still hear them.
Still feel them.
Liar.
Manipulator.
Cheater.
None of it was true.
But it didn't matter.
Because in that world—
perception was truth.
And theirs had swallowed him whole.
Carlos had smiled through it all.
A smirk carved into memory with surgical cruelty.
Percy's breath hitched.
His vision blurred—not from tears,
but from exhaustion.
From years of holding it all in.
(It should have never been this way...)
His parents had raised him to believe—
In kindness.
In family.
In human connection.
And the world had taught him the lesson they'd never prepared him for:
(That love was conditional.)
(That friendships were temporary.)
(That trust… was a weakness.)
"Percy."
Her voice was soft—an echo across thoughtspace.
Not robotic.
Not clinical.
Just... gentle.
Beta.
He stiffened.
Because she knew.
Beta had seen it all.
Through the neural archives,
Through the Omni-Synchronic Cortex,
Through every synaptic echo she was bound to process.
She had walked those same corridors of memory—
And survived them with him.
She had seen his parents—the light in their eyes, the laughter in their home, the color of what life used to be.
And she had seen what came after.
The void they left behind.
And how the world had devoured him in their absence.
She had measured it.
The temperature.
The silence.
The collapse of color in his emotional spectrum.
She didn't speak again.
She didn't need to.
Because Percy knew.
Beta understood.
She wasn't just a system.
Not anymore.
She was the only one who knew exactly why he had become this version of himself.
And still chose to stay.
He sat on the edge of the cracked stone bench.
The sanctuary around him remained unchanged.
But he had changed.
What had once been a hiding place was now a memorial.
To everything he had lost.
And everything he had never truly had.
Untrusting. Guarded. Suspicious of everything and everyone.
Because that's what survival had become.
Not a habit.
A necessity.
"Your sanctuary was never meant to be a sanctuary, was it?"
Beta's voice was soft—gentle, almost.
"It was just a place where the world couldn't reach you."
Percy said nothing.
Because if he did—if he acknowledged the truth aloud—
Then he'd have to admit it was never a safe place.
It was just the only place left where the world didn't have claws.
(I never belonged anywhere…)
(Not really.)
His sanctuary had never been a home.
It had always been a cage.
After several long, silent minutes, Percy drew a breath and traced a sigil with fluid precision.
"Caevux."
(The Spatial invocation echoed briefly through the sanctum.)
He carved the teleportation glyph into the air with two fingers—simple, practiced, deliberate.
The sigil shimmered once, and with a flash of displaced light and space...
He vanished.
🌤️ Solarskis – Central Quad
He reappeared near the main quad—sunlight pouring over pristine stonework, blossoms rustling in the breeze.
Clusters of students gathered across the field, laughter and nervous energy threading the air.
"So, are you ready for the Survival Exam?" one girl asked her friend, half excited, half terrified.
"Of course not! How do you even prepare for something like that?!"
The conversations unfolded like wildfire.
BKG A: "Please not the subterranean caves. I heard last year's group went feral by day three."
BKG B: "Glowing fungi forest, please. If I end up in the swamp again, I'm just lying down and accepting death."
BKG C: "You heard they're adding cross-environment battles, right? Like, mid-exam teleports."
BKG D: "Wait, wait—so I could be chilling in a rainforest and then bam, I'm fighting some swamp psycho?"
BKG E: "Imagine going from a wet zone to a dry cavern. Your water sigils just die."
BKG F: "That's the point. It's not just endurance anymore. It's adaptability."
BKG G: "Great. I came here to master sigil theory, not die wrestling monsters in a cave."
BKG H: "Theory won't help when a live opponent appears in your zone. Fight or fail."
BKG I: "Toxic mist caves? I swear if they teleport me mid-cast..."
BKG J: "Hah. Welcome to Solarskis. If you can't survive unpredictability, you don't belong in the top ranks."
Percy walked through the murmuring crowd, silent as shadow.
(Nice. I knew coming here would yield insight.)
The intel was valuable.
But something else caught his attention.
The air shifted.
Chatter faded.
Whispers ceased.
One by one, heads turned.
Not because someone called attention to him.
But because they felt him.
Like the Mánhar pressure in the atmosphere had dropped.
Like something invisible—but ancient—had entered the space.
They turned.
And they stared.
Percy didn't flinch.
His eyes swept across the crowd—cold, detached, assessing.
He met every gaze.
Held every stare.
Unblinking.
And slowly, unease began to ripple through the quad.
Because it wasn't just that Percy had won.
It was the way he stood now.
Too composed.
Too still.
Like a blade that hadn't been sheathed.
Like a beast that didn't need to roar to remind the world it had teeth.
He wasn't part of the crowd anymore.
He was other.
Above them.
Outside them.
Beyond them.
And they knew.
The boy who walked among them now...
wasn't the same boy who collapsed yesterday.
He had survived something they couldn't see.
And now?
He was watching them back.