Smoke.
Thick, black, and suffocating—curling over the peaks of a mountain range that rises above the earth.
Lightning flickers from shards of rubble suspended in the air; the stone pillars crumble like dried bones as heat pours from their molten veins amid charred ruins. In the center, two figures stand.
One is draped in cracks, falling with a blood-red hue.
The other is draped in darkness, emitting piercing blue sparks.
The world around them is silent—too silent—as if the earth has lost the will to breathe.
Then—
Clash.
A single impact shatters the sky.
Shockwaves ricochet through the valleys.
The force tears trees from the ground, evaporates rivers, and splits clouds apart like wet paper. It moves so rapidly—too fast to see.
Only trails are available.
Only consequences remain.
Only—
Two figures... battling like gods.
And just before the dust can even settle—
A scream rips through the air. "REN, I WILL KILL U"
The scream echoes, then darkness washes over the scene.
Mornings like this are quiet at a school like this one.
Not peaceful—just quiet, in the way that hospitals often are.
Too clinical. Too sterile. It feels as if the outcome is already decided, and even the walls choose to wait in silence.
Ren walks through the front gate of Velarium Academy, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat as the early spring air stings his skin.
Velarium Academy—the world's first and only institution dedicated to teaching magic.
We have three branches located in London, Brazil, and Japan.
And I am standing among the best of them—London.
The building doesn't look magical—no spires, no glowing runes. It is just a dull gray structure nestled between the forest and the fog.
A forgotten place for unforgettable people.
Two security cameras blink red as he passes by—watching, always watching.
Inside, the halls are empty and echoing.
Just 200 students. Ten classrooms. No outsiders allowed.
Everyone here comes from families with magical bloodlines.
No one ever says it aloud.
One can feel it when passing by—like static brushing against your spine.
This year, the tension hangs thicker than usual.
Everyone knows.
The war is coming.
Ren steps into Room C-2, the third door on the right, as always.
Only five students have arrived.
Each one is quiet and unmoving—not reading, not chatting.
Just… waiting.
He takes his seat near the window. The desk feels cold.
Outside, even the wind refuses to stir the trees.
Moments later, the door clicks open.
"Take you long enough," comes a voice.
Noah El Volcarion
Sharp eyes. Black coat. Tie worn loosely. That lazy confidence of someone who doesn't need to prove himself.
Ren doesn't look up. "You're early."
Noah slides into the seat beside him like something is staring at him all night.
Ren doesn't respond.
But he feels it as well.
At exactly 8:00, the door opens again.
The classroom door opens with a soft creak, and Professor Teshin steps inside.
He is a very large man wearing a light-colored coat, with his veins faintly glowing beneath his skin. It isn't magic.
There is something else unspoken, something alive with secrets. A silence follows him, enhancing the reverence he inspires in all of us.
The sound of his boots clicking on the stone floor accompanies him as he walks casually across the room toward the blackboard.
Wordlessly, Professor Teshin picks up a piece of chalk and writes a single word, about the size of a fawn, in jagged, sharp block letters:
REALITY.
A number of students shift in their seats; the air grows thick with tension. Ren, slouched in the back, doesn't look up from his desk.
Time seems to stand completely still in that classroom.
"Good," says Professor Teshin after a moment, his voice calm but relentless. "No absentees. None of you run away."
A quick smirk cracks on his lips, but his eyes are unyielding. He scans the room like a lion stalking prey, cold and aware.
He raises his hand with fingers splayed open.
[Yonvok.]
All at once the world feels like it shatters.
The walls crumble to dust as the shadows of the universe glow bright with stars everywhere. Desks float in a black void. The air appears thin, but our breaths feel steady, too steady, way too steady.
The floor cracks glowing, like destination markers shifting through a broken reality. Panic holds students in place.
Eyes bulging in sheer wonderment or primal fear, some gripping their desks, others half of their bodies stand, exposed to whatever lies ahead.
Ren's head jerks upwards, and in place of boredom, an electric sharpness now exists.
Teshin is in the same place, his coat having a stark contrast against the black void that surrounds him.
The professor's voice pierces the void. It is steady and clear.
"This is the truth of magic."
He then snaps his fingers and the classroom flickers back into existence, desks settling in place, solids find their walls while faint cracks slip from the floor as reminders of what is once there.
Students exhale; some aren't shaking while others whisper. Yet, Ren leans forward with focus set on Teshin.
The professor slowly turns back to his board and taps on the word REALITY.
"You all use magic," his voice devoid of emotions and full of coldness and evenness.
"That does not mean that you understand it. Magic is not power. It is not fire, wind or light. Magic is a structure.
A structure that is established well before science. Magic is the hidden infrastructure that dictates the behaviors of things; be it solids, liquids, or gas. Magic does not push against science; it precedes."
He takes a pause, allowing the words to rest.
"Electricity, magnetism, atomic force - those are tools. Magic is the grammar that makes electricity, magnetism, atomic force- and so on - possible, don't cast spells, you're solving them."
Teshin's voice softens, but its weight remains.
"Understanding magic is like deciphering a language that exists before anything has a name. Master it, and it stops being magic. It becomes reality."
A girl in the back raises her hand. "Sir, what happens if someone casts it wrong?"
Teshin pauses.
Then he smiles — the kind that holds no warmth.
"Then reality reminds you it isn't yours to command."
In the practical session that follows, students line up in the training dome — each attempting their version of the [Solek] incantation.
Teshin steps to the training dome. [Solek.] A flame ribbon slides from his palm, smooth, controlled. He shifts his breath. [Sole'k.] The flame explodes, then fades. [So'lek.] It creeps slow, blue-tinged. "Break the syllables, shift the intent. You decide the outcome."
Students line up to try. Sparks flicker. Flames sputter. Then one student—tall, cocky—steps forward. [Solek]—! His voice cracks. The magic snaps.
A red vortex erupts, violent, wrong. The boy screams, body twisting, skin charring. He collapses, lifeless. Silence swallows the room.
Noah whispers, "Idiot".
Another student mutters, "One less."
Several others smile quietly.
Ren looks around.
No grief. No fear. Just competition.
His fingers twitch.
Ren's mind screams: Kill them. Bring peace now. His goal—to end mages—burns. Sweat beads on his forehead. "Not now," he hisses, glancing at a camera watching him.
And he does nothing.
Later that afternoon, Ren sits beneath a tree near the training grounds. Noah stands tossing pebbles nearby.
A gentle breeze rustles the leaves. The sensors on the boundary fences buzz softly.
Still. Watching.
Ren breaks the silence.
"You ever wonder what it'll feel like if your name's the one that gets chosen?"
Noah doesn't look at him.
"Maybe we won't even know until it's too late."
"Or maybe we'll feel everything."
They both look up.
The sky is gold.
Peaceful.
Later, in the washroom, Ren scrolls his phone. News: "Daytime shooting stars shock the world. Divine sign or aliens?" He scoffs, shutting it off, but the streak lingers in his thoughts.
While across the world — connected by fate but unaware of it — they all are now part of the single thing.
A signal.
A warning.
A divine truth.
One event.
And the myths…
have not even begun.