The tunnel shook with every footfall, echoing with the thunder of desperation.
Xander sprinted ahead, boots slapping against damp stone as torchlight danced wildly around him. The jagged walls of the underground passage bled shadow, broken only by the flicker of mana lanterns his guards had dropped in their haste. The air was thick with dust and the scent of burning iron. Behind him, the harsh clash of armored boots grew louder.
"Chase them and kill them all!" came the shout—a voice sharp as steel, laced with fury.
Xander didn't look back. He didn't need to. The sound of twenty soldiers, maybe more, echoed through the stone corridor like an avalanche. His four remaining guards were all elite, cloaked in battle-worn gear, but even they looked grim. One limped. Another grunted through a bleeding wound at his ribs.
"Xander, go!" barked Ser Derin, the eldest of the four. "You're the heir—we hold them here!"
"No!" Xander growled, stubbornness blazing in his violet eyes. "We all go—"
And then—
Light.
A pulse of searing brilliance erupted without warning, as if a newborn star had exploded within the narrow passage. The light was accompanied by massive thunder and lightning as if the gods themselves were present.
The pursuers screamed, clutching their faces, weapons clattering to the stone. Even the guards staggered, momentarily blinded.
But not Xander.
To him, the light was clarity. He saw through it as if it had form—like strands of glowing silk unraveling the world. It wasn't just light. It was invitation.
In front of him, space tore open.
A portal blinked into existence, hovering midair. Circular, rimmed with floating runes that shimmered in celestial hues—blues, silvers, aetheric whites. Its center churned with clouds of stars and an unseen horizon.
Then came the pull.
Air surged toward it, howling. Loose stones and shattered weapons lifted from the ground, drawn into its swirling core. Xander dug his heels in but felt his body lifting, pulled forward by some force beyond physics, beyond magic as he knew it.
"No—Xander!" one of the guards screamed, lunging—
Too late.
The portal swallowed him whole.
Silence.
Then—light.
It exploded like a star detaching from time itself. A burst of brilliance tore through the void, and in its wake, a figure plummeted from the ether and struck polished stone—hard.
Xander groaned, staggering to his knees. The air tasted clean, unnaturally so, like a sky before a storm. The floor beneath him was crystalline, etched with intricate runes that whispered across the surface like they were breathing.
And he was not alone.
As his vision steadied, he saw —thousands. Not dozens. Not hundreds. Ten thousand souls, sprawled or rising slowly to their feet, stunned and disoriented. A grand hall surrounded them—circular and immense, like a coliseum carved into a living nebula. Its ceiling spun with constellations, its walls pulsing with veins of luminous mana. Pillars of translucent stone reached skyward, supporting an unseen dome, and from above, a quiet hum filled the air like a heartbeat made of stars.
"What is this place?" cried out a voice ,
"I was just in the temple—how…?"said the other
"We were at war"another whispered
"what sorcery is this?" shouted another
Confusion echoed all around.
They had come from a thousand worlds, a thousand ages. Their bodies bore witness to it: tall beings of bark and antler, soldiers clad in obsidian exosuits, sorcerers with flaming brands across their foreheads, priestesses adorned in living silk, creatures half-shadow, half-flesh.
Xander,with confusion written on his face ,still on one knee, finally stood—his stance balanced, like a warrior awaiting an enemy's charge. The mantle of his Macedonian tunic fluttered slightly as unseen wind swept the hall. He could feel it. Not just the awe. Not just the fear.
The weight of something greater.
Then the hum grew louder.
A platform rose at the far end of the hall, its surface woven from silver filaments and floating runes. Upon it stood a single figure, regal and terrible in his stillness.
A man—no, a presence—cloaked in robes of celestial thread, the night sky stitched into their folds. His skin glowed faintly, as if illuminated from within. His eyes... they were endless. Galaxies swirled in them like slow-burning stars.
"You have heard the call," the voice boomed—not loud, but deep enough to vibrate the soul.
Headmaster Caelirion Varn.
"Ten thousand of you have been chosen—from worlds near and far, from realms beyond reckoning. You are not here by accident. You are not here by mercy. You are here because the Astral Veins stirred."
"You are Acolytes now. Bound to the will of the Veil. And this place—this sanctuary at the edge of time—is your crucible."
"Welcome to Magus College."
His hand lifted.
Above them, the stars shifted. Columns of light descended around the platform. A wind like prophecy brushed through the crowd.
"You will be tested," Caelirion said. "Some will rise. Some will fall. But none shall remain unchanged."
He paused, his gaze sweeping the sea of stunned faces. Then he reached slowly to his chin and stroked his celestial beard, silver strands glimmering like woven starlight.
"Many are called," he said, voice dropping to a murmur that echoed through the soul.
"But few… are chosen."
And with that—he vanished.
No sound. No spell. No exit. One moment he stood amidst the stars. The next, he was simply gone—as though he had never been there at all.
A silence followed. Thick. Staggering. Disbelieving.
All around Xander, the crowd remained frozen. Some glanced upward. Others looked to the space where the Headmaster had stood, hoping for a second appearance.
But none came.
Even Xander, trained in the arts of war and diplomacy, could not fathom what had just occurred. His thoughts spun, his body tense, instincts screaming for explanation.
But there was none.
Only a single truth remained:
Everything had changed.