The classroom was filled with sunlight streaming through wide arched windows, illuminating the intricate patterns etched on the marble floor. Students whispered among themselves, their excitement and envy barely contained.
Sam sat near the back, quietly observing. Though many eyes darted toward him — some filled with admiration, others with contempt — he kept his gaze focused on the open book before him. The golden flame from yesterday had spread like wildfire through the academy. Everyone had heard about the commoner with divine fire.
Some called it a miracle.
Others called it a lie.
And a few whispered… a curse reborn.
At the front of the room, Professor Irius, a tall man with graying hair and deep-set eyes, struck the board with his staff. The faint echo silenced the chatter.
"Settle down, everyone," he said. His voice was calm, but carried authority. "Today's lesson concerns the Ancient Battles — the wars of gods, demons, and mortals, long before our recorded history began."
He tapped again, and glowing runes appeared midair — swirling into images of colossal figures clashing amidst the ruins of heaven.
"These wars," Irius continued, "are often dismissed as myths or fairy tales. But within these so-called legends lie truths… and techniques… long lost to time."
Sam's eyes sharpened.
"The warriors of that age," Irius said, "did not rely solely on elemental mana. They bent their very essence — their will, their spirit, their fears — and shaped them into power. Every sword swing carried a philosophy. Every defense, a belief."
He paused, turning to the students. "True strength is not in your element — it is in your understanding of yourself."
Murmurs filled the room again. One student raised his hand. "Professor, are you saying even commoners could become as strong as those ancient heroes?"
The class chuckled, glancing at Sam. The professor didn't miss it.
He smiled faintly. "Anyone who understands the depth of the stories and reflects them in their heart could. Power does not care about your birth. It only answers to purpose."
For a moment, the room fell silent. Even the laughter died down.
Lucy, sitting two rows ahead, glanced back at Sam and gave him a small smile — a quiet gesture of encouragement.
But Sam's thoughts were elsewhere.
Ancient wars… forbidden techniques… gods and demons, he repeated inwardly. These words struck too close to the visions he'd been seeing — the shadowed figure from the ruins, the sword that could split dimensions, the flame that was not light nor dark.
"Professor," Sam raised his hand suddenly. "These battles… were any of them fought between light and darkness?"
Irius turned his head, intrigued. "Ah, the Eternal Eclipse War." He waved his hand and a new projection formed — a blinding sun clashing with a sea of shadow. "According to old scrolls, yes. There was a war between divine beings of light and entities born from darkness. But what's fascinating is that, in the end, both sides vanished. The balance was… erased."
"Erased?" Sam asked quietly.
The professor nodded. "Indeed. The records say a single being ended the war by using a forbidden power that could unmake creation itself. But that's only legend, of course." He smiled, dismissing the image.
Sam didn't smile back. The word "Unmaking" struck him like a bell echoing in his skull. He could feel the pulse of something old stirring deep within him.
Meanwhile, a group of students whispered in the corner — the same ones who had mocked him earlier.
"So the golden flame boy is interested in fairy tales now?" one of them sneered.
"Maybe he thinks he's that mythical hero," another chuckled.
"If he were, he wouldn't be hiding behind noble favors."
Their words didn't reach Sam, but the tension in the air was palpable. Even Lucy could sense the jealousy spreading through the room like smoke.
When the class ended, Professor Irius called out, "Sam, a moment please."
The others left, some glaring, some whispering. Sam walked up, his expression neutral.
"You have a curious mind," the professor said, studying him closely. "And an unusual aura. That question of yours — about light and darkness — most wouldn't ask it."
Sam hesitated. "I just… want to understand. What lies beyond what we see."
Irius nodded thoughtfully. "Curiosity is a dangerous gift. But it's also what drives discovery." He reached into his desk and pulled out a small black-bound book. "If you truly wish to learn, read this. It's forbidden in most libraries — a compilation of myths that scholars deemed too close to the truth."
Sam took the book gently. Its cover felt warm, pulsing faintly with mana. "Thank you, Professor."
"Be cautious, Sam," Irius warned. "The stories inside aren't meant for everyone. Some truths… demand a price."
That night, as Sam sat by the window of his dorm room, he opened the book. The faint golden light from the lamp flickered over the pages, revealing old runes and faded drawings.
The first line sent a chill down his spine:
"When the balance of light and dark shatters, a child of both shall rise — cursed by gods, hunted by mortals."
Sam's eyes widened. He touched his pendant unconsciously. The golden stone at its center glowed faintly, as though responding to the words.
The darkness inside him stirred, whispering faintly:
You're getting closer, Sam. But remember — the truth is never kind.
He closed the book slowly, his reflection in the window split between light and shadow.
Outside, Lavatorian shone with golden lanterns — a city thriving in light.
But deep beneath it, the shadows had already begun to shape.
The night stretched on, quiet and heavy with thought. Sam sat by the window of his dorm room, a candle flickering beside him as his eyes scanned the old text once again. The story spoke of a nameless warrior who ended the divine war, a man whose existence had been erased from every record. But there was something in those words — a strange familiarity that unsettled him.
Closing the book, Sam ran his hand through his hair and muttered, "Why would someone erase his name?" The question refused to leave his mind.
He stood, picked up the book, and walked down the silent corridor toward the professor's study. The faint glow of candlelight seeped from beneath the door, and he could hear the scratching of a quill. Sam knocked softly.
"Come in," came the calm, familiar voice.
Professor Irius looked up from his desk as Sam entered, holding the book close to his chest. "Ah, Sam. It's late," he said, setting down his pen. "You look troubled."
Sam hesitated, then stepped forward. "Professor, I was reading the section about the man who ended the divine war. There are no records about him anywhere in the library. Why?"
Irius raised an eyebrow. "So you noticed too." He leaned back in his chair, his fingers interlacing. "That story… is one of the oldest we have, but also the most incomplete. The identity of that man has been lost — or rather, deliberately erased."
"Erased?" Sam echoed, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
"Yes." Irius's gaze turned distant. "Every attempt to document him led to vanished records, missing scrolls, even destroyed temples. It's as though the world itself rejects his memory."
Sam frowned slightly. "But why would history try to forget the man who ended a war?"
"That," the professor said quietly, "is the question scholars have asked for centuries. Some say he wielded a power that even the gods feared — one that shouldn't exist in mortal hands."
Sam's hand tightened around the book. "Power that gods feared…" he repeated under his breath.
Irius nodded slowly. "It's said he walked the line between light and shadow — a duality that defied nature. Those who worship the divine call him a heretic. Those who seek forbidden truths call him a savior."
Sam lowered his gaze, his tone calm but thoughtful. "And which one do you believe, Professor?"
A faint smile crossed Irius's lips. "I believe both can be true. Light can save… but darkness can protect, too. It depends on who wields it."
Sam stayed silent for a moment. "If someone wanted to learn more — to uncover what's hidden — is there a way?"
"There is," Irius said, standing and walking toward a tall bookshelf. He pulled out an ancient scroll bound with silver thread. "But not for everyone. The Hall of Truth — beneath the academy — holds what remains of the old world's records. Only those with permission can enter."
"And how does one get permission?" Sam asked, his tone steady.
Irius turned to face him. "Every three months, the academy holds the Ascension Trials. A contest of skill, will, and intellect. Only the top three are granted access to the Hall."
Sam's expression hardened with quiet resolve. "Then I'll win it."
The professor studied him for a moment — a faint gleam of something unreadable in his eyes. "You're serious."
"I wouldn't ask otherwise," Sam said simply.
Irius smiled faintly and nodded. "Then train well. Curiosity can be powerful — but dangerous, too. Some truths are buried not to be forgotten… but to protect those who seek them."
Sam gave a small nod, thanked the professor, and stepped out into the corridor. The cold air brushed his face as he walked back to his room, the moonlight spilling through the tall windows.
He looked up at the sky and whispered to himself, "Then I'll uncover that truth — no
matter what it costs."
The night wind carried his words into silence.