A full week had passed since the incident.
Outside the walls of Astral Academy, the world moved forward as if nothing had happened. Trains ran on time, markets stayed busy, and news channels slowly replaced the tragedy with louder, easier topics. But inside the academy, the air felt different—quiet, careful, as if the buildings themselves were listening.
No one spoke about Elara openly anymore.
But everyone felt it.
Students still attended classes. Teachers still lectured. Yet whispers followed every step in the halls, and guards stood straighter than before. The Academy was waiting—for something no one dared to name.
And then the news spread.
The Number One Hero of Solara was coming.
Aric.
The strongest human alive.
A name that carried weight across nations, guilds, and the Hero Association itself.
Everyone had tried to hide the truth from him. The government. The Academy board. Even the Hero Council. But secrets never stayed buried for long—especially not from someone like Aric.
In the end, it was Aren Vaylen, former second-ranked hero and current principal of Astral Academy, who agreed to the visit.
That single decision sent ripples across the world.
Speculation exploded overnight.
Some said Aren had never resigned—that he had been forced out for refusing orders from headquarters. Others whispered that the Hero Council feared him, that they still feared him. Old stories resurfaced—of battles fought side by side, of missions where Aren and Aric had stood as equals.
Once, they had been friends.
Now, no one knew what they were.
The question burned in everyone's mind:
What would happen when the two strongest humans met again?
---
Far from the Academy, inside a towering government structure known as Hero's Council tower , the tension took on a more casual form.
The Spire rose like a blade of glass and steel in the center of the capital—dozens of floors tall, each one filled with offices, screens, and quiet power. It was where policies were shaped and histories rewritten.
On one of the middle floors, two junior office workers stood near a coffee station.
Both wore plain gray uniforms. Both pretended to be busy.
"…So," one of them muttered, glancing around before lowering his voice, "if they fought—who do you think would win?"
The other raised an eyebrow. "You're actually asking that?"
"Come on," the first said. "Everyone's thinking it."
The second leaned against the counter, thoughtful. "Aric's the strongest, officially. Raw power. Perfect record."
"Yeah, but Aren," the first replied slowly, "he's different. He doesn't fight fair. He fights smart."
The second chuckled. "Sounds like you've already picked a side."
"I put my bet on Aren," the first admitted. "Three months' salary."
The second stared at him, shocked. "You're insane."
"Maybe," the first said, smirking. "But I've seen Aren's eyes once. People like that don't lose."
A moment passed.
Then the second sighed. "Fine. I'll take Aric. One of us is getting rich."
They clinked their paper cups together, laughing quietly.
Neither of them noticed the security camera above them silently adjusting its angle
....
The office of the Number One Hero of Solara felt heavy, like the air itself refused to move.
High above the city, inside the upper floors of the Hero Council tower, thick glass walls reflected faint light from outside. The room was wide and clean, but not luxurious in a flashy way. Everything inside had purpose. A large desk made of dark alloy sat in the center, its surface marked with faint scratches—signs of years of pressure and war.
Behind that desk sat Aric.
He was a large man, broad-shouldered and solid, built like a living fortress. Even while seated, his presence filled the room. His long white hair was tied loosely behind his head, a few strands falling near his sharp jawline. His face looked calm, almost lazy—but the crimson eyes beneath his brows were anything but. They were deep and cold, like blood-red glass, eyes that had seen battlefields drown in silence.
He wore a dark coat trimmed with silver lines, the official uniform of the Hero Council, stretched slightly over his wide frame. A single emblem rested on his chest—the mark of the strongest human alive.
In front of him stood an officer.
The man was tall and muscular, his posture straight, his uniform neat. The badge on his chest shone clearly: Apex Rank Enforcer. His name plate read Emar Situb. To others, this man was terrifying.
To Aric, he was just another presence.
"Find out where the boy is," Aric said calmly, his deep voice steady and heavy.
"Ethan Veylor. Where is he now?"
Emar swallowed.
"Well, sir… t-the thing is—"
Aric slowly raised his gaze.
"Louder," he said, his crimson eyes locking onto Emar.
"And clearer."
The pressure in the room changed instantly.
Emar stiffened. "S-Sir," he said loudly, "we were unable to locate Ethan Veylor. His last known location was Astral Academy."
Aric leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk.
"And after he left?" he asked.
Emar hesitated. His throat went dry.
Aric's voice dropped lower. "Speak."
"S-Sir… the only person who knows Ethan's current location is Principal Aren Vaylen."
For a moment, nothing moved.
Aric tilted his head. "And?"
Emar squeezed his eyes shut. "He refused to share the information, sir."
Aric's brows lifted slightly. "Refused?"
"Yes, sir. He said that we are—"
Aric's voice slammed down like a blade.
"We are what?"
Emar snapped. "T-That we are incompetent, sir."
Silence swallowed the room.
Emar waited. His job, his future—everything felt seconds away from ending.
Then—
"Hah."
A low laugh escaped Aric.
"Hahaha…" Aric leaned back in his chair, shaking his head slightly. "So Aren said that."
His crimson eyes softened just a fraction.
"Well," he continued calmly, "maybe we are a little incompetent."
Emar blinked. "…Sir?"
Aric waved his hand casually. "You're dismissed. Go."
Emar didn't ask twice. He saluted sharply and left the room, his heart still pounding.
...
Far away from cities, roads, and even maps—
Deep within an endless forest where sunlight barely reached the ground, a heavy silence ruled.
Ancient trees rose like pillars of the world. Thick roots covered the earth, and the air smelled of damp soil and moss. No humans. No beasts. No sound—except breathing.
At the center of a small clearing, Ethan sat on a large stone.
Completely naked.
His eyes were closed. His expression calm. His body thin but hard, muscle lines tight from constant training. His mind was far away—focused inward.
Inside his consciousness, a perfect triangle floated.
Three corners.
Disorient.
Destruction.
Creation.
The triangle glowed brightly.
Slowly, Disorient faded.
Then Destruction dissolved into light.
Only Creation remained.
Ethan's breathing deepened.
The stone beneath him trembled.
It flattened… then rose.
Ethan clenched his fists.
"Grow," he shouted.
The stone lifted higher, shaping itself upward like a crude pillar.
"More!" he shouted again.
Crack.
A sharp sound split the air.
The newly formed stone fractured, and Ethan lost balance, falling to the ground with a dull thud.
He opened his eyes.
Panting, he stood up and looked at the stone. It reached only his chest.
"…Only three feet," he muttered. "Progress is slow."
As the words left his mouth, black light wrapped around his body. In seconds, a simple black shirt and black pants formed around him.
He looked around the forest—endless trees, endless silence.
No one.
Ethan let out a quiet breath.
"Fine then," he said softly.
"In this life… I'll be alone."