Ares couldn't sleep that night.
The faint silver glow of the soul conduit still shimmered at the edge of his vision, pulsing like a heartbeat he didn't want to feel. Beth's emotions were just a thought away — a warmth too intimate, too intrusive. Every time his thoughts drifted toward her, the thread trembled faintly in the back of his mind, like a whisper begging to be heard.
He turned on his side, staring into the dim light.He could still feel her.
No matter how far she was, the connection persisted — alive, tethered. It would've been so easy, he thought, if he'd done this to his family. If he'd tied that invisible thread before everything had been taken from him. Then at least he would've known.
But he hadn't.
The not knowing was worse than death.
With a slow, deliberate breath, he closed his eyes and forced the weave to dissolve. It resisted — the string resisted; it didn't like being cut — but at last it gave way with a faint ripple, leaving only silence.It felt wrong to pry. Wrong to invade another person's heart, even with the best intentions.
He stayed awake until dawn painted the walls in a muted gray.
When the knock came, it startled him.
"Ares?" Emma's voice, cool and clear, carried through the door. "Master Arwen is calling for you. It's time."
Ares sat up, running a hand through his hair. His body still ached from the last conduit casting, but there was no mistaking the summons. "Right," he murmured, pulling on his outer robe. "I'm coming."
The corridors of the First Sun were almost too quiet. The walls shimmered faintly with embedded runes — old, patient enchantments that had seen more centuries than Ares could fathom. Each step he took echoed softly, swallowed by the vast, golden light that bled from the heart of the star itself.
Emma walked a few steps ahead, her expression unreadable. "The orientation begins today," she said, her tone measured, almost formal. "Master Arwen wishes to speak with you before you depart for the First Moon."
"What kind of place is it?"
"The First Moon?" she asked. "It's where all initiates begin. A testing ground, of sorts. You'll understand when you see it."
Her words offered little comfort.
When they reached the doors of Arwen's hall, Ares stopped short. The chamber beyond radiated authority — built of pale, translucent stone, alive with veins of slow-moving light. At its center stood Arwen.
The Master's presence was overwhelming.
He was tall, robed in layered gold and white that glowed faintly against his skin. His hair — silver touched with fire — drifted as if in a wind only he could feel. Yet his expression was cold, perfectly still, carved from centuries of control.
Ares bowed. "Master."
"Ares." Arwen's voice was calm, even distant. "You've come a long way. Just a few months ago you were a simple mortal; now you have stepped into the journey of magic. I hope you don't ruin it by showing haste."
"I'm trying to learn."
"Good," Arwen said softly. "I will be sending you to the First Moon, where you will see just how vast and cruel the world is. In the Celestial Arcanum, strength is law, and true strength can only come when you are faced with death. Although the initiation might lull you into a false sense of security, don't forget that it is not a safe place."
Ares nodded, forcing his hands still. But as he lifted his gaze, instinct stirred — that itch beneath his skin, that silent pull of the Sight Weave. He hesitated only a heartbeat before letting it slip open.
The world shifted.
Ares saw something vast and horrific coiled inside Arwen. A black shape loomed — an eight-horned devil, its form rippling like smoke and bone, one horn longer than the others he had seen. It was sentient. Watching. Waiting.
Ares's chest tightened. He forced himself to breathe, to keep his eyes steady on Arwen's face. Don't let it see you.
The devil's gaze burned through him, testing, curious. He shut the Sight Weave off before the tremor reached his fingers.
Arwen turned, speaking of the Academy's laws and the trials to come, his words distant hums in Ares's ears. But Ares's thoughts were already elsewhere — his heart drumming with a single question that refused to die.
Are they alive?
He couldn't bear the silence any longer. Quietly, he began forming the soul conduit, hiding the movements of his will behind stillness. It was slower this time, careful. Ares was anxious that Arwen might find out that he was trying to peek inside his mind. The threads spun within his mind, weaving a small, invisible pattern that reached toward Arwen.
"Am I boring you, boy?"
Ares's heart jumped. "No, Master. I'm listening."
Arwen's eyes lingered on him a moment longer than they should have. Then, with deliberate patience, he turned back to his lecture.
Ares finished the conduit and released the first weave of thought.
The devil inside Arwen flickered, its eight horns flaring like molten gold. Then, in a blur, Arwen vanished. Ares gasped softly as the soul-thread between them stretched thin, alive, vibrating. He felt it whip through reality, darting east, then north, then south — searching, hunting — before suddenly snapping taut.
Moments later, Arwen reappeared, expression composed but faintly strained.
"What's wrong?" Ares asked before thinking.
"Nothing," Arwen said flatly, brushing the air as though clearing dust. "Just a disturbance."
He turned then, eyes colder than before. "You've been restless lately, haven't you?"
Ares stiffened. "I—"
"Your family," Arwen continued, voice a shade quieter, "may yet live. But if you dig too deeply, you will harm them. Others will be watching you — beings far older and less merciful than myself."
Ares met his gaze. Through the conduit, the feelings were unmistakable — honesty, edged with threat. Beneath it, faint warmth. Pity, perhaps. Or regret.
He swallowed. "So they're alive?"
He didn't need for him to speak the word. Ares was able to feel his thoughts.
Relief flooded Ares's chest, raw and dizzying. He bowed low, unable to hide the tremor in his voice. "Thank you, Master."
Arwen studied him for a long moment, then extended a small, glowing token. Its surface shimmered like molten crystal, etched with faint runes that shifted as Ares looked at them.
"Your entry token," Arwen said. "It will fuse with your body. Lose it, and the Arcanum will cast you out. Guard it as you would your own life."
Ares reached out. The moment his fingers touched it, the token melted into his palm, spreading warmth through his veins. It pulsed once — then vanished.
He looked up to find Arwen watching him. "You'll begin your journey to the First Moon now. Don't waste what you've been given."
Light erupted around him.
For a heartbeat, the world shattered into shards of color — gold, white, violet — all spinning like broken glass. He felt his body tear and re-form. When the world steadied again, he was standing on soil.
Soft wind brushed his face.
He opened his eyes.
A vast forest stretched before him, endless and alien — trees with silver leaves, roots glowing faintly with mana. Above, three suns hung in perfect alignment, bathing the world in layers of warm light. Around them, dozens of moons circled slowly, casting soft halos through the mist.
He wasn't alone.
Thousands filled the clearing — humans, scaled beings, crystalline shapes, and creatures he didn't recognize. Each bore the mark of their world, the subtle aura of the mana they were born with. The air was alive with languages, sparks of power, the weight of expectation.
The First Moon.
His beginning.
Ares stood there for a long moment, overwhelmed — both by beauty and dread. Somewhere beyond this forest, his teachers waited. His future waited. Perhaps even the truth of his family.
He took a slow breath. The warmth of the fused token pulsed faintly in his chest, in time with his heartbeat.
He stepped forward.
The First Moon of the Celestial Arcanum awaited.