Chapter 12: The Start of the First Arc of the First Game (2)
Claire's POV
The mana train hummed along like a steady heartbeat, the old runes carved into the metal making everything vibrate just a little under the seats. Morning sun poured through the big windows, breaking into colors of gold and blue where the magic barriers on the glass turned the light into something special, like sunshine shining through a colorful jewel.
Claire Manhattan sat two rows behind the famous Lucian Azrael Von Blackstar. Her hands were folded tight in her lap, fingers twisting the edge of her skirt like it was the only thing keeping her steady. She hadn't planned to sit so close to him. Back on the busy platform, her heart had raced like a trapped bird, and she'd wondered if she should even share the same air as the boy whose name people whispered about like a scary secret. They called him the Demon of House Blackstar: a dark figure in fancy clothes, with a reputation for being cruel and cold.
But when she saw him get on the train alone—his steps careful, his face distant, his energy quiet like he was holding his breath—something tugged at her heart, a feeling she couldn't quite explain. Maybe it was curiosity, or that stubborn kindness her father always said was her biggest weakness.
'He doesn't look like a bad person...' she'd thought back then, gripping her bag strap until her knuckles turned white, the noise of the platform fading around her. 'Just... alone.'
So, even though everyone warned against it, she'd done something bold. She'd waved, her smile shy but warm, like the one she gave to lost kittens or drooping flowers. She'd called his name with that same gentleness, hoping for a nod or even a small spark—anything to cross the gap that all the gossip had created.
But instead...
He'd looked at her for just a second—his eyes dark like deep night pools, calm and still, his face blank and peaceful—then turned back to the window, like she was just a puff of fog burning away in the sun.
No angry snarl. No raised eyebrow of rude dismissal. Just... nothing, wide and empty as a clear sky.
Claire bit her lower lip, the soft skin giving way under her teeth, helping her stay grounded against the confusion twisting in her stomach.
She'd heard all the stories in fancy tea rooms and quiet corners: how Lucian was like a storm in nice clothes, quick to hurt with words as sharp as knives; how he'd insulted the princess of the Lumina Empire herself, breaking off their engagement in a big court fight that still caused scandals among the rich; how the Blackstar family name, once strong and scary, now made even powerful dukes nervous. People said he was the bad guy waiting to happen—the second son with a heart as black as his family's flags.
But the boy just a few feet ahead didn't match those tales at all.
No smirk like a drawn sword on his lips. No angry stare burning in his eyes. He just looked tired, like the weight of long, hidden travels had sunk into his bones, leaving him floating in a world that rushed by too quick.
'He didn't even frown,' she thought, her hazel eyes following the shape of his face against the window's light—the sharp line of his jaw, his gray hair catching bits of sun like silver ice. 'It's like he's... not really here. Like his mind is off chasing places we'll never reach.'
She wanted to close the space between them—to lean forward and ask why he'd ignored her, if her happy wave had bothered him somehow, or if the stories had gotten him so wrong that even a kind word felt like rubbing salt in a cut. But every time the words built up, they faded away before she could say them, melting into the train's steady hum like sugar in the rain.
It wasn't fear holding her back—not the sharp scare that rich people talked about when they mentioned Blackstar. No, this was softer, sadder: a quiet hurt, from seeing something big and hidden in his eyes.
Because in that quick look they'd shared, she'd seen no meanness hiding like a hunter ready to pounce—only emptiness, a deep hole that had faced too many storms and picked silence over shouting.
'Maybe he's lonely,' she thought, her chest squeezing like a hand around a soft flower, the train's gentle rock trying to calm her. 'Or maybe... he's stopped caring, like a traveler who's gone so far that going home doesn't matter anymore.'
The train kept going, sliding smoothly over the glowing bridges of light and glass—thin arches that curved like the bones of a sleeping giant, holding the tracks in their bright hold. Below, the capital city spread out like a big, living picture: huge gardens full of wild colors, paths twisting like silver rivers; tall towers floating up to touch the clouds, their walls marked with runes that glowed like breathing stars; streets lit by crystal lamps that sang soft songs to the morning crowd.
Soon, the view ahead changed, and it took Claire's breath away.
"Ah..." she whispered, leaning forward without thinking, her eyes going wide as excitement warmed her chest.
The Royal Academy appeared like a dream come true, a shining gem hanging in the huge blue sky. Tall towers of clean white marble reached up high, each top covered in floating runes that sparkled like trapped northern lights—magic shields made of gold and blue light, buzzing with old power. Bridges of pure mana curved between the towers like strips of lightning caught in the air, see-through and moving, carrying students in slow floats. Waterfalls poured down from high gardens in the air, their spray making rainbows that jumped like happy laughs, with flower petals floating on the wind like party scraps from the gods.
"No wonder they call it paradise..." she said softly, her words lost in the carriage full of gasps and whispers, a smile pulling at her lips even with the worry in her stomach. "It's... like walking into a fairy tale."
Around her, the other students rushed to the windows—rich kids in their best clothes crowding together, faces red with excitement; regular kids from normal families holding their bags like lucky charms, eyes shining with old dreams. Even the ones born with money couldn't hide their wonder, their talks bubbling up: "Look at the gardens—they're floating!" "The runes... they're singing!"
But just as the excitement peaked, a dark shadow hit fast and hard.
The train jerked hard, like a loud thunder boom in a quiet summer—BOOOM!—the whole carriage shaking like a horse bucking out of control, the runes on the windows flashing wild in anger. The air got heavy, like an invisible hand squeezing everyone's chest, and screams broke the calm as people fell from seats, bags spilling open like spilled secrets.
Claire's fingers grabbed the armrest tight, the wood digging into her hands, her heart pounding like a storm in a cage. "W-what was that?!" she gasped, the world spinning with scared faces and falling trays.
Magic sparks burst outside the glass, wild purple ones dancing like crazy fireflies. Black smoke twisted up from the front cars like snakes, and bright lines of energy slashed the sky—raw power bolts ripping like claws from nowhere.
"Monsters?!" a boy yelled from the front, his voice breaking high as he got up fast. "No—bandits! Mana raiders—shadow thieves!"
The train's safety shields lit up in a burst of gold, a big dome of shining light wrapping around the cars like a worried mom's hug, pulsing with strong defense. Explosions hit the shield—soft booms that shook everything, energy blasts bouncing off in safe showers of light—but the hits made the air shake, sending shivers through bones and breaths.
Students huddled in scared groups, ducking low as whispers turned to cries: "Are we being attacked?!" "Where are the teachers—someone call them!" "The mana core—it's flickering, what if it stops?!"
Chaos spread like spilled ink in water, the carriage a mess of held hands and wide eyes, guards in academy blue uniforms rushing down the aisles, staffs raised as they cast support spells—blue light bolts weaving into the shields, making the gold stronger with quick chants.
But Claire's eyes, sharp like a tailor's pin, went right to the front—to the boy by the window.
Lucian didn't move at all, like a statue in a storm—his body still the same, eyes looking out like the attack was just light rain on leaves. While screams bounced around and people bumped into each other, he stayed put, the flashing lights painting wild colors on his face: purple lines in his hair, gold flashes in the shadows of his cheeks.
Even the bright glare in his eyes didn't make him blink or clench his jaw or show any worry.
Claire's breath caught, like a thorn stuck in her throat. 'Why... why isn't he moving? Like it's just another normal day.'
The train groaned again, a bigger shake running through it as sparks rained from the roof—harmless bits of mana fizzling on the shield—but Lucian just rested his chin on his hand, eyes half-closed in lazy calm, watching the fight like someone looking from far away.
His face showed no fear, no annoyance, not even a bit of bored interest that might speed up a normal person's heart.
It was like he knew this was coming—like fate had dealt him this hand in the game, and he'd played it so many times that being surprised felt worn out.
'He expected this,' the idea hit her cold in the chest, sending a chill down her back even in the warm carriage.
The thought made her freeze, heavy like an anchor in calm water.
All around, the noise grew: students hiding in seats like scared rabbits, tears running down made-up faces; guards shouting quick orders, their spells blooming like brave flowers against the attack; the mana hum rising to a high whine, the shield buzzing like a too-tight string on a guitar.
But not him. Not the boy with eyes like endless night.
Lucian stared right into the middle of the fight, his deep black eyes copying the lights—purple flashes, gold bursts—but showing no change inside. There was no feeling to move the calm surface: just a quiet understanding, the kind that didn't fit kids about to start big adventures, but people who'd been through too many wars, coming out with the peace of someone who knew chaos like an old, unwanted friend.
'What... what kind of dark paths has he been on?' Claire wondered, her fingers twisting tighter in her skirt, the cloth bunching up like waves in a coming storm. 'To sit through this like it's just... rain on a window.'
The carriage lights flickered—once, twice—a quick dark before coming back to their warm shine, the attack fading as the academy's big magic system woke up: gold shields spreading far off like giant bird wings, making a web of light that caught the bandits' attacks in the air.
Train guards walked the aisles, voices loud for calm—"Stay steady! The shields are holding—the academy knights are coming!"—their words like medicine that eased the worst panic, though the air still smelled like scared sweat and burned magic.
But the quiet after felt heavy, pulled tight like a bow ready to shoot, mixed with the tricky calm of a storm's middle—fake, waiting for more.
Claire stole another look ahead, her heart beating fast like a rabbit against her ribs.
Lucian had closed his eyes to the window, not in happy relief, but in the deep tiredness of someone who carried storms inside his bones.
His fingers tapped softly on the glass—tap-tap-tap—a quiet beat like a sleeping heartbeat, drawing shapes only he could see, like a silent song playing in his head.
The rhythm mixed with the train's low hum, answering the last sounds of the fight.
And then, soft as breath on cold glass, his lips moved—forming words lost in the carriage noise, a whisper taken by the unseen wind.
She tried to hear them, leaning just a bit, but they got away like smoke. But in that quick move, his face changed—a break in the calm cover, real and open: a soft shadow of regret, tiredness carved like lines on old stone, and a strange calm, like a traveler putting away his map at the end of the road.
Claire pulled back, looking out her own window, the academy towers growing bigger now—lights of marble and power, promising amazing things in a world full of sharp corners. But the excitement she'd felt before, fresh as morning drops, faded like a lamp running out of oil.
For reasons she couldn't explain, a quiet worry settled in her chest, heavy like unsaid goodbyes.
And for the first time since the platform, she wished she'd kept quiet—wished she'd let the space between them stay, untouched by her hopeful wave.
Because the weight in Lucian Azrael Von Blackstar's eyes... wasn't the kind a seventeen-year-old boy should ever carry.