Soren stood before his class, posture upright, expression composed. The murmuring of students gradually faded as they sensed the shift in atmosphere—Instructor Noctis never raised his voice, but his presence alone was enough to silence a room.
Mana threads shimmered faintly in the air as he began the day's lesson, navigating the classroom with practiced ease. The topic was spatial folding—an advanced technique used to bend short-range travel spells with precision. As he moved, chalk etched lines across the blackboard under the subtle control of his mana, forming diagrams that even students in the back could see clearly.
Despite the normalcy of the lecture, his thoughts weren't entirely present. It kept returning to the conversation in the Headmaster's office, to the name "on-field mission" echoing like a silent incantation in the back of his mind. The Eye remained quiet—but he could feel it, dormant but waiting, as though aware of what was coming.
When the bell chimed, Soren dismissed the class with a nod and quiet words. Students filtered out in small groups, some exchanging glances and whispers—likely already aware of the rumors. News traveled fast in the Academy, especially when someone wanted it to.
Soren made his way down the hall, the sound of his cane tapping gently on the floor blending with the usual ambient hum of the Academy. He turned into the instructors' wing—a wide corridor lined with individual workrooms and offices.
He had just stepped into his own when he heard it.
A familiar voice, warm and subtly teasing: "You've been busy, haven't you, Instructor Noctis?"
He turned slightly, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Instructor Elara Kinsley."
She stepped into the room without invitation—as she often did—with her arms folded across her ample chest and her trademark half-smirk on her lips. Her robes were slightly rumpled from a day of work, and a few strands of her dark auburn hair had escaped the braid tied behind her head.
"I heard the news," she said without preamble. "About the mission requirement. So it's true?"
Soren inclined his head. "It is."
Elara let out a soft sigh, her expression shifting from amused to concerned. "I thought you were exempt from that—on account of, well…"
"My blindness," Soren said plainly, saving her the awkwardness. "Yes. I was."
"And now?"
He exhaled slowly, leaning back against the edge of his desk. "Now that exemption seems to have… expired."
Elara narrowed her eyes slightly. "Let me guess. Vellian?"
"Almost certainly," Soren said. "It's likely he helped spread the news, too. The more public the pressure, the harder it becomes for me to refuse without appearing weak—or hiding something."
"Classic political maneuvering," she muttered. "Push someone into a corner, leave them no choice but to comply. Damn him."
Soren said nothing, but the faintest flicker of frustration passed behind his closed eyes.
Elara stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You know if I could help you, I would."
He offered a faint smile, grateful. "I know. But the rules are clear. No assistance from other instructors. It's meant to be a final trial before formal appointment. I was only spared it due to my unusual circumstances."
"And now they're making you do it anyway," she said quietly. Her voice was laced with empathy, but also restrained anger. "Even after everything you've already proven here."
Soren gave a small shrug. "It's fine. Perhaps it's time."
She studied him for a long moment, then softened. "You're really going to do it?"
"I've already agreed. The mission list comes tomorrow."
There was a pause. Then Elara touched his arm lightly, her hand warm even through the fabric of his sleeve. "Then just… come back in one piece, alright?"
Soren tilted his head slightly toward her, a smirk playing across his lips."I'll try to make it look graceful."
She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered.
The moment stretched—a quiet space between the storm that had begun to brew.
Normally, once his lectures were over, Soren would return home—quietly, without ceremony. But not today.
Today, he turned his steps toward the Astralis Academy Library.
The library was nothing short of grand—an architectural marvel of white stone, silver trim, and towering glass windows that bathed the inner halls in soft natural light. Spiral staircases connected multiple floors, and long aisles stretched into shadowed corners, lined with thousands upon thousands of tomes. It was said that no library on the continent matched its collection in breadth or quality. For students, it was a treasure trove. For mages, a sanctuary of knowledge.
Soren entered through the central archway, his steps slow and precise. The scent of parchment and old ink greeted him like an old friend.
Behind the main desk sat a young woman hunched over a ledger, scribbling notes in rapid strokes. Her round glasses perched low on her nose, and her ink-stained fingers tapped idly against the desk in thought.
She looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps—and instantly straightened.
"Instructor Soren," she said, setting her quill aside. "Welcome back."
Her voice was warm, slightly surprised, but pleased. Her name was Cassie Wynne, the library's youngest archivist—a self-professed "book fiend," as she called herself. Bright-eyed and eternally curious, Cassie had always harbored a quiet admiration for Soren. To her, the idea that a blind man could not only become an instructor, but also a frequent reader, was nothing short of remarkable.
Soren gave a small nod of acknowledgment. "Good evening, Miss Wynne."
"You don't usually come this late," she noted, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "But you're always welcome, of course. Need something specific today?"
"I do," he said. "I'm looking for texts related to demons. Preferably scholarly or strategic material—histories, classifications, behavior patterns."
Lira blinked, caught slightly off guard. "Demons? That's… oddly specific."
Soren allowed himself a faint smile. "I've accepted a field mission. There's a chance I'll encounter one. I'd rather not be caught unprepared."
That seemed to satisfy her curiosity—or at least, enough of it. She nodded, rising from her seat.
"Well then, follow me. The demonology section is in the lower east wing. Not many browse it unless they're in combat or curse-specialized departments, so it's a bit tucked away."
He followed the soft sound of her footsteps as she led the way, winding past towering shelves and narrow corridors. Occasionally, Lira would glance over her shoulder, as if still marveling that he could navigate so well with eyes closed, relying entirely on the subtle pulses of mana around him.
They reached a quieter wing of the library—darker, colder, and lined with books whose titles were etched in ancient scripts. The air here felt heavier, as though even the parchment carried a whisper of danger.
Lira gestured toward a long row of shelves. "This entire section here. Starting from that column and down four rows. You'll find field records, encounter journals, cross-species studies, even speculative theory."
"Thank you," Soren said. "You've been very helpful."
She hesitated. "You know… I've always admired how you read despite your condition. I can't imagine the strain, especially with how mana-taxing it must be to sense script impressions from parchment."
"It has its costs," Soren replied. "But the pursuit of knowledge is always worth some pain."
Lira smiled at that—softly, genuinely.
"If you need anything else, just call," she said. "I'll be at the desk. And… good luck, Instructor. On your mission."
Soren inclined his head in gratitude.
Then he turned to the shelves—his fingers slowly brushing the spines of ancient tomes, each one buzzing faintly beneath his mana sense like a silent murmur.
Demons.
He had always kept his distance from books on the subject. Perhaps out of fear. Perhaps denial.
But tonight, with the Eye humming softly behind his closed lid, he could no longer afford that luxury.
Tonight, he would learn—about the mystery now dwelling in his left eye, the eye of a Demon Lord.