I barely felt the shift before it happened. One moment I was standing in that cold temple with chains rattling in the dark, and the next, my boots hit smooth stone under a pale, familiar sky.
The sound did not follow me, but it stayed in my head. I could still hear the slow, merciless groan of metal closing around something that should have been impossible to catch. I could still see it when I shut my eyes: the creature, silent even as the Iron Maiden swallowed it whole.
I was breathing too fast. The air here felt wrong, too bright and too light. My skin prickled as my body tried to decide if it was still in danger.
Then I noticed them. Two women stood by the edge of a shimmering barrier that was fading from view. One had her hands pressed flat against it, the light just fading from her palms. Both of them stared our way. No, not our way. His way.
Sora's face broke into something between relief and disbelief the moment she spotted Arden. She did not even hesitate. The dissolving barrier hardly slowed her down before she slammed into him, wrapping her arms around him like she thought he might disappear.
I stood there, feeling very much like a misplaced extra in someone else's reunion.
It was not until she pulled back that I saw what she saw. His coat was torn in several places. One lens of his glasses was cracked clean through, and a smear of dried blood marked his jaw. He looked like he had been through hell.
My chest tightened. I had seen him fight, but that thing in the temple had not even touched him. So whose blood was that?
Sora's hands began to glow again, her magic skimming over his clothes and skin, cleaning away the blood and grime as if it were never there. She did not even glance my way.
Which would have been fine, except my own side had started throbbing in a way that made my knees feel shaky. I shifted my weight and winced. The movement caught her attention for half a second before she looked right back at him.
I cleared my throat. "Excuse me, Sora? I think some of us need more healing than others. Just saying…"
Her eyes flicked to me, widening slightly when I gestured at my ribs. "It is starting to hurt more, so, you know. Soon would be great."
She panicked a little, glancing between me and Arden like she was being asked to choose between a person and the sun. He gave her a small nod, and she scurried over.
"Ah, right, sorry! I was too focused on Arden…" she said, pressing her glowing hands against my side.
"It is fine," I muttered, trying not to flinch when the magic sank in.
Lilith clung to me like a second injury, rubbing her cheek against my shoulder. "Sorry for being so useless, Master!" she wailed, which I did my best to ignore.
Warmth spread from Sora's hands, numbing the pain until I could breathe without a stabbing catch in my lungs. I let my eyes drift shut for just a moment.
I glanced over at Arden. His fingers drifted lazily through the air, tracing invisible lines in a pattern I could not follow, like he was sorting through a private map only he could see.
"Hey, Arden…" I said quietly.
He looked up at me, and for the first time, I caught sight of his left eye through the shattered lens. Without the dark tint, it felt different. Clearer. More human. I hesitated, caught off guard, before forcing my voice steady.
"Are you okay? You took a pretty bad hit back there."
There was a pause, just long enough to make me wonder if he had even heard me, then a slow nod. "Mmm… I am fine. Do not worry."
He slipped something from his coat pocket, holding it up between two fingers. It was a ring, cracked straight through, the metal warped and dull.
It took me a second to process. Then I remembered what Sora had said about the rings he carried.
"The attack pierced right through my body barrier," he said, his voice calm but weighed down by a tired edge, "and through every protection spell I had cast beforehand. In other words… it killed me."
I felt my throat tighten. "But that ring… it saved you, did it not? Sora mentioned it once."
"That is right."
Sora, who had finished healing me, suddenly turned toward him with wide eyes. "That is right! Arden, how did you actually die? What was it that killed you? Is it… gone now? I was so worried!"
He studied her face for a long moment, as if sifting through her words before deciding how much to tell her. Then his shoulders loosened just slightly.
"Mmm… it was a Lumenari," he said, his voice rough and unhurried. "It attacked us. I contained it… but I am paying for it now. These resurrection rings… they come with a price."
"A Lumenari!?" Sora gasped.
The name made my stomach knot, though I could not say why. Maybe it was the casual way he had said it, like the word alone was not enough to shake him anymore. The man standing in front of me felt different. Looser somehow.
Before I could dwell on it, Lysandra stepped forward, arms crossed, her gaze sharp but tinged with a smirk.
"Sora has been worried sick this whole time," she said. "If you had not come back, she would have been crying her eyes out."
"No I would not!" Sora squeaked, her cheeks warming.
Arden slowly turned toward her, humming low in his throat. "Is that so?"
Then, without warning, he let his knees give way and collapsed to the floor. Before anyone could ask what he was doing, he rolled onto his back and began making a slow, lazy snow angel on the polished stone, his coat flaring around him in messy folds. His movements were utterly serious, yet completely absurd.
I just stared. Did that ring break something in his head? Is this a side effect or is he just finally bored of being sane?
He stopped abruptly, propped himself up on his elbows… and his head tilted toward Lysandra. He pointed a finger at her. "Your horns are missing," he stated, his tone flat and factual, as if commenting on the weather.
Lysandra's eyes narrowed dangerously. "They are invisible, you idiot. Not missing."
"Prove it," he said, beginning to crawl toward her with that same unnerving, deliberate slowness.
I saw Lysandra's leg tense, her boot shifting as she prepared to stomp his hand into the tile. He paused just out of range, looking up at her, then simply laid his cheek on the cool floor with a soft sigh, as if the effort had been too much. The impending violence fizzled into sheer, bewildered anticlimax.
He stood up slowly, his attention drifting back to Sora. He looked at her with an unreadable expression before sighing. "Hey, Sora. Let us just go back to our room. It has been a while since we had some time alone."
"Huh? Master, you cannot just say that! You will give the others the wrong idea!"
He stepped closer, resting his hands on her shoulders before leaning heavily against her. Wrapping an arm around her, he buried his face into her chest.
"Soraa…" he whined softly, his voice muffled. "Please? I have worked so hard… I deserve some cuddles at least."
Really, what was with this guy? I was starting to think his mind had finally cracked. Then again, he had been acting strange ever since that attack, and he had warned there would be side effects from his resurrection.
I caught Lysandra staring at him as if she was still deciding whether he was possessed or if she had simply lost her mind and was hallucinating.
Lilith, still clinging to my arm, glanced at the pair before looking up at me. "Master, has Arden always been weird like this? He always seemed so stoic and serious…"
"No. Definitely not. I am just as surprised as you are…"
Sora finally gave in, running her fingers through his hair. It seemed to calm him a little, though it did not make him any less clingy. She excused herself before the two of them left, much to Lysandra's irritation, as she apparently had a mountain of questions for him.
The next thing I knew, we were in Lysandra's room. It was bigger than mine and Lilith's, of course. Figures.
She gestured toward the couch in the center of the chamber. "Sit."
I arched a brow but obeyed. Lilith followed, practically gluing herself to my side again.
"This room is a lot nicer than ours," I muttered, eyeing the high backed chairs, thick curtains, and polished floor.
"Radames saw fit to grant me special treatment," Lysandra said smoothly, seating herself across from us with the casual grace of someone who belonged there. "Smart of him, for a human. I imagine he thinks keeping me content keeps you safer."
As if on cue, a servant slipped inside, balancing a tray of tea. She moved quietly, filling the cups with practiced precision before bowing low and excusing herself.
I picked mine up, inhaling the faint floral scent. Right. Special treatment. A couch, curtains, and tea service. Definitely being treated like a princess, foreign or not.
I took a sip, the warm liquid soothing my raw throat. As I set the cup down, a sudden, inexplicable chill traced a path down my spine. It was the unnerving feeling of being watched. My eyes darted to the large window overlooking a manicured courtyard.
The sky was a clear, pale blue, empty except for a single, distant bird circling high above. It was probably just a hawk, but its flight pattern seemed too steady, too purposeful, as if it were observing the palace grounds… or one window in particular.
I shook my head, dismissing it as paranoia. After the day I'd had, it was a miracle I wasn't jumping at my own shadow.
Lysandra took a delicate sip, then fixed me with a look that was more annoyed than curious. "So? What exactly happened over there? You disappear, you return injured, and Sora blurts that Arden died. I would appreciate a straight answer."
I lifted a hand. "I was confused too! I only just learned that myself. I thought he had just… gotten lost after that hit." My words trailed off as I glanced at her. "But wait. How did Sora know Arden died?"
Lysandra's lips curved into something between amusement and disdain. "Because Sora is not exactly human. She is Arden's familiar. A slime, disguised in human form."
I blinked. That was surprising, though not that surprising. The signs had been there: the way she stuck to him like glue, her odd mana core, her reactions that were a bit too fluid to feel entirely human.
"I already knew that," Lilith piped up suddenly.
Both of us turned to her. She tilted her head, genuinely puzzled. "You did not? It was obvious from the beginning."
"Of course it was…" I muttered, rubbing my temple.
So I told her everything, summarized at least. Arden dragging me into his strange dimension to train, the landscape twisting, the Lumenari's appearance, the fight, the containment spell, and finally our return.
Lysandra exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "At least we do not have to worry about that divine like beast for now, thanks to Arden's seal. But how long do you think he will be able to keep it locked in? Days? Weeks?"
The conversation lulled after that, the weight of it all settling in the quiet room. The tea grew cold. Outside the large window, the sky shifted from afternoon gold to the deep orange of dusk. Servants came and went, refreshing the tea and bringing a light evening meal, a silent testament to the hours slipping by.
Lysandra spent most of it staring out the window, her expression unreadable. "The soldiers returned today," she said abruptly, not turning around. "Seraphina's unit. It was not the triumphant parade the capital was hoping for."
I looked up from my cup. "What happened?"
"They walked in looking like they had been through a meat grinder," she said flatly. "The crowd's cheers died pretty quickly. The Empire's invincible image took a hit. Seraphina looked like she would rather be anywhere else." She finally turned, a cynical smirk on her face. "It seems the beastkin of Slaechula are not the pushovers the Empire assumed. Radames must be fuming."
The news was a cold splash of reality. While we were fighting a god in a pocket dimension, a real war was starting on the borders. It made our problems feel both insignificantly small and catastrophically large at the same time.
"Do you think… the cultists are involved there too?" I asked.
"It would be a convenient distraction," Lysandra mused. "Or perhaps the beastkin king is just that arrogant. Either way, it means more eyes are off us, and more are on the front lines. A mixed blessing."
It was then that a sharp sting flared across my forehead.
"Hh!" I hissed, clutching it with one hand. It felt hot, burning under my skin.
Lysandra was at my side in an instant. "You… you are marked by something."
Lilith darted up, rummaging through a nearby shelf until she found a small, ornate hand mirror. She shoved it into my hands.
I hesitated, a knot of dread in my stomach, before raising it. The reflection staring back was still me, but in the top left corner of my forehead, a mark pulsed faintly, a golden shape, simple yet unsettling. It was not letters or runes I recognized, more like an arrow broken into angles: three lines hooked together, pointing outward as if trying to pierce through my skin from the inside. Each pulse sent a faint warmth radiating through my head, like it was breathing with me.
Before I could even voice the thousand questions climbing my throat, the door creaked open. The same servant from before stepped inside, bowing neatly.
"You have visitors, my lady," she announced, her voice a carefully neutral murmur. "They are… insistent."
I glanced at Lysandra, half expecting her to wave the servant off, but instead she set her teacup down with a soft, definitive clink. "Of course we do," she murmured, her voice flat but edged with a new, sharp interest. "Let us see which busybody thinks themselves important enough to disturb me after dark."
She rose first, brushing past the servant with a sweep of her dark skirts. Lilith and I followed, though my hand kept brushing against my forehead, as if the mark might vanish if I checked often enough. It did not.
We were led through the marble corridors and out into one of the palace courtyards, where the evening light cast the walls in pale gold. Waiting there was a group that did not look like they belonged anywhere near a palace.
At the front stood a figure robed in black, the cloth rich with golden patterns that curled and knotted like runes. Their hood was deep, lined in red, and from beneath it spilled hair so white it gleamed against the shadows of their mask, an ornate golden piece that revealed nothing of their face. The rest of their retinue wore similar robes, though theirs shimmered only with silver designs.
Each of them carried themselves with the weight of purpose. No wasted movements or wandering eyes. Their silence pressed down heavier than the evening air.
The figure did not speak right away. They only regarded us, their hidden gaze a palpable weight.
My chest tightened. Who the hell are these people?
The leader stepped forward, the medallion at their chest swaying. When they spoke, their voice was calm but layered, carrying a subtle echo.
"We are the Curators of the Unseen," the leader began, their voice calm but layered with a subtle echo. "An order devoted to preserving and understanding what is forgotten, forbidden, and unexplainable in this world. You may call me Rik." Their hidden gaze rested squarely on me. "The dimensional fabric was torn here hours ago. The release of energy was… unmissable to our instruments. It seems a theory we have long held about the Lumenari and their chosen has just been proven correct."
Albrecht, standing at our side, shifted slightly, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword. His presence was a steady reminder that we were not meeting them unguarded.
"Chosen?" I asked, the word feeling foreign and heavy on my tongue.
Rik tilted their head. "The Lumenari do not interact without purpose. They mark, they test, or they erase. You bear its sigil. That makes you a subject of immense academic and historical importance. More importantly, it suggests you are now a focal point in a conflict that predates these empires."
They paused, letting the weight of that statement settle.
"Our offer is this: come with us to our enclave. Learn to understand the power that has been thrust upon you. In return, the knowledge you gain will be your greatest weapon, not only against the cultists who seek to harness the Lumenari's kind for their own ends but also to uncover the truth behind the tragedies that have defined your life."
Their gaze, though hidden, felt piercing. "The attacks on your villages were not random. They were a culling. And you were the target they missed."
The mark on my forehead pulsed, warm and sudden, as if in confirmation. They were not just here for answers. They were here for me. And the reason was written on my skin.
The air in the courtyard went still. I could feel Lysandra's and Lilith's eyes on me, but I could not look away from Rik. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs. A culling. The word echoed in the silent spaces of my mind, finding a home in old, unhealed wounds.
The fires, the screams, the feeling of being utterly, completely unwanted. Had it all been because someone was looking for me?
"You expect us to believe that?" Lysandra's voice cut through the tension, sharp and skeptical. She stepped slightly in front of me, a gesture that was both protective and challenging. "You appear from the shadows, spin a tale of ancient marks and targeted cullings, and expect her to simply follow you based on that? You will need to offer more than ominous implications."
Rik's hood tilted toward Lysandra, the gesture unnervingly patient. "Skepticism is the foundation of wisdom, Devil Princess of the Obsidian Spire. We expect nothing less."
Lysandra went very still. Her eyes, already narrowed, sharpened to daggers. "How do you know that title?" she asked, her voice dangerously low. "My horns are concealed."
"And you," Rik continued, their hidden gaze shifting back to me as if Lysandra's question was a minor distraction, "you think we would approach a subject of such import without due diligence? We observed the energy signature of your light magic the moment you first conjured that fragile shield in the plaza. We know much more than you might find comfortable."
A cold knot tightened in my stomach. They had been watching. For who knows how long. They knew about my first clumsy spell, they knew Lysandra's true identity at a glance... what else did they know?
Albrecht cleared his throat softly, a diplomat's signal. "The Curators are a recognized allied institution," he stated, his tone carefully neutral. "Their methods are secretive, but their contributions to the Empire's understanding of pre-cataclysm events are well-documented. This, however, is an extraordinary request."
"Think of it not as a request, but as an opportunity," Rik said, their voice dropping, becoming more intimate despite the echo. "The cultists you face are not mere fanatics. They are architects of a resurrection, seeking to bring back the Demon Lord himself as their god. They see the Lumenari as a key, a source of power to be broken and used for their ritual. Even their Herald is not foolish enough to confront one directly without a plan. But you… you have been touched by one. You are not a key to be used. You are a lock they cannot pick. With us, you can learn to wield the light you carry not as a clumsy shield, but as a living weapon. A weapon to protect yourself, to uncover your past, and to shatter their designs."
My hand rose to my forehead again. The mark was not just a brand; it was a question. It was the same question I had been asking since my first village burned. Why me? The cultists, the Lumenari, my destroyed homes… it was all connected, and I was the trembling thread tying it all together.
I looked at Lysandra's guarded expression, at Lilith's wide, curious eyes, and then back at the enigmatic figure of Rik. They were offering a path out of the confusion. A dangerous, unknown path, but a path nonetheless.
"Where," I began, my voice quieter than I intended. I swallowed and tried again. "Where is this enclave?"
A subtle shift went through the robed figures, a ripple of satisfaction. Rik gestured smoothly toward a sleek, non-descript magi-transport I had not noticed waiting in the shadow of the palace wall. "A short journey. We reside beneath the Aethelburg Academy. The finest minds of the Empire study the surface level of history and magic above, while we work in the quiet depths below."
My breath caught. The Academy. The heart of learning in the Dalthun Empire. It was the last place anyone would look for a former village rat, and the one place that might hold the secrets buried beneath the ashes of my life.
The cultists were still out there, working to revive a nightmare. Arden was… preoccupied. And I was tired of being a target who did not know why she was being hunted.
I met Rik's hidden gaze. "I will go," I said, the decision feeling both terrifying and inevitable. "But I am not going alone." I gestured to my side without looking. "They come with me. All of us are tangled in this cultist business, and if you have answers, we all have a right to hear them."
Lysandra did not look happy, but she gave a sharp, single nod of agreement. Her expression was guarded, her arms crossed tightly. She did not trust these people, but their display of knowledge made disengaging seem more dangerous than following the thread. Lilith, for her part, simply clung tighter to my arm, a silent declaration that she was not going anywhere without me.
Rik inclined their head. "A prudent condition. Your companions are welcome."
"That is not your decision to make alone," Albrecht interjected, his voice regaining its formal authority. He stepped forward, placing himself as a physical barrier between our group and the Curators. "This party operates under the Emperor's auspices. Their redeployment, especially to an external institution, requires imperial approval. I cannot, in good conscience, allow them to depart without first consulting His Majesty."
It was the right thing to say, the responsible thing. But it also felt like a gate slamming shut on the first real path I had ever found.
Rik, however, seemed utterly unperturbed. "Your diligence does you credit, Steward. We would expect nothing less." From within their robes, they produced a sealed scroll, its wax emblem a complex, geometric design I did not recognize. They offered it to Albrecht. "This is a formal letter of invitation to the Aethelburg Academy, extended to these individuals. It outlines a provisional enrollment for specialized study, beginning three days hence. This should provide ample time for the necessary… consultations."
Their tone was perfectly respectful, but the message was clear: they had anticipated this. They were not snatching us away in the night; they were issuing a formal, difficult-to-refuse invitation, forcing the Empire to either openly accept their help or openly deny us the chance at answers and power.
Albrecht took the scroll, his jaw tight. He understood the political game being played. "I will see that this reaches the Emperor's desk immediately."
"Of course," Rik said smoothly. They turned their hidden gaze back to me. "The choice remains yours. But know this: the mark you carry is both a blessing and a beacon. The cultists will not wait for bureaucratic approval to make their next move. Use these three days wisely. Prepare."
With a final, slight bow that encompassed our entire group, Rik turned. Their retinue moved as one, flowing back into the shadows from which they came. The sleek magi-transport hummed to life and glided away, leaving us standing in the courtyard with the weight of a looming decision and the ghost of a future we never saw coming.
The three-day countdown had begun.