The light slowly faded, leaving behind a sense of disorientation — as if drifting out of a dream.
Elior faintly heard the sound of wind, though it was no ordinary wind — it was the hiss of Ether, flowing through thousands of floating crystals that orbited the tower's spine.
When he opened his eyes, the world had changed.
He was lying in a round chamber, beneath a crystal dome so high it seemed to touch the clouds. Above him, hundreds of Ether crystals glimmered like constellations, rotating slowly — with each turn, their light shifted from silver, to violet, then to blue.
There were no walls, only translucent glass — and beyond it, drifting clouds, with the floating island of Astra shrinking far below.
Lucen and Alice lay on nearby beds, covered by thin silver sheets. Occasionally, the Ether in the air gathered around them, like it was healing their wounds.
A soft click — the door opened.
Someone entered — tall, wearing a white, silver-gleaming robe. His expression was calm to the point of lifelessness. Ash-grey hair caught the light faintly; his eyes were sharp yet cold, like a moonless sky.
Solomon.
He stood before Elior's bed, gaze steady. Without a word, he placed a small silver crystal on the boy's forehead. The Ether pulsed, sending warm waves through Elior's body — the pain melted away.
Elior tried to speak, but his throat tightened. He could only see Solomon's lips move:
"Sleep. You're not ready to know yet."
Darkness claimed him again. Solomon turned away, his footsteps soft as if touching clouds.
At the top of the tower — the Domed Chamber, where the wind sang like the whisper of the sky.
The highest level of the Headmaster's Spire floated among the night clouds, slowly revolving around the luminous core of Astra. Light from the core filtered through black glass stone, scattering into countless glowing runes that circled the chamber. Each turn revealed the entire academy far below — dormitories, libraries, Ether training grounds sparkling like falling stars.
Solomon sat at the head of a long obsidian table, fingers interlaced. Pale violet light glinted through his monocle, slicing his face into halves of shadow and reflection.
He was waiting.
When the door opened, a gust of chill air entered — along with a figure in a silver cloak.
Remiel.
Former Saint of the Celestial Realm — once known as The Mind of the High Heavens.
He bowed slightly. His voice rang with a tone as clear as chimes on metal.
"You called for me, Solomon."
Solomon didn't answer at once. He turned toward the glass wall, where the glowing core of Astra revolved, reflected in his eyes like a miniature universe.
"You brought a peculiar child into my academy," he said slowly, each word weighed with thought.
"You know what I wish to ask."
Remiel gave a faint smile. "I suppose you're not here to thank me for rescuing a child from the Infernal House."
"Don't jest," Solomon replied coldly. "I'm not interested in pity. I want to know — why Elior."
Remiel stopped before the obsidian table, resting his hand upon the staff Mnemosyne. Runes drifted lazily along its shaft, glowing faint silver.
"That boy," he said softly, "is a mistake of the Light — but perhaps also its last hope."
Solomon narrowed his eyes. "Hope walks hand in hand with chaos. That boy triggered an Oblivion Burst, Remiel — an event erased from history for over a thousand years. He didn't channel Ether — he erased its existence."
"I know," said Remiel calmly.
"And you let him live?" Solomon's voice deepened, heavy and cold.
"You, of all beings, know that power once destroyed a Celestial city. It was forbidden by the Creator."
"Banned by reason," Remiel said quietly, "but not by nature."
He raised his head; the misty white of his eyes met Solomon's steel gaze.
"The boy didn't choose that power. And I won't let your kind turn him into a weapon again."
For a long moment, silence filled the chamber. Ether winds coiled around them, whispering like the ghosts of ancient souls.
Finally, Solomon spoke:
"You don't trust me, do you, Remiel?"
Remiel smiled faintly. "I did — a few millennia ago. Back when the Creator still trusted you."
The air thickened. Light flickered across the glass walls, trembling as if stirred by old memories.
Solomon exhaled quietly. "Still speaking in half philosophy, half mockery. But very well."
He tilted his head slightly. "What do you want me to do with the boy?"
"Teach him," Remiel said.
"Not to fight — to control. And keep his true power secret. I'll fabricate a false skill — Telekinesis, 'Sensory Ether Manipulation.' A safe disguise for what he really is."
Solomon arched a brow. "A deception?"
"No," Remiel replied. "A salvation. If he believes he's ordinary, he'll learn how to live — not how to destroy."
The chamber fell silent again. Ether winds hummed through the runes, creating a faint sound like ancient hymns.
Solomon rested his chin on his hand, eyes lowering. "You speak as though you're describing yourself."
Remiel didn't deny it. "Perhaps I am. I once believed Light was the answer. Now I see — Light has killed more than Darkness ever did."
He turned the staff slightly; the silver glow in his eyes shifted hue. "Elior isn't the chosen one. He's merely a child mistakenly chosen by the Light."
Solomon rose, walking toward the glass door where clouds swirled around the spire. His voice was deep and weary:
"You want me to teach him faith in the Light — when you no longer believe in it yourself?"
Remiel answered softly, without hesitation:
"No. I want you to teach him to choose the Light — even if that choice means standing against us."
Solomon stared at him for a long while. In his eyes flickered something between disdain and reluctant respect.
"You're still the same Remiel — stubborn, contradictory, dangerous."
"Perhaps," Remiel murmured with a faint smile, turning toward the door.
Before stepping out, he stopped and said quietly but clearly:
"Keep this secret, Solomon. For everyone's sake."
Solomon didn't reply. He simply watched as the silver figure disappeared into the Ether mist.
The tower fell silent once more.
Winds spiraled upward, the Ether crystals on the ceiling shifting color — from silver, to blue, to deep violet.
Solomon closed his eyes, feeling the vibration of energy beneath his feet.
"Oblivion Burst…" he whispered.
"That child could erase even the Light I once built."
He opened his eyes; silver light gleamed within his pupils.
"But if you're right, Remiel… perhaps I will teach him — so that he may choose for himself."
A chime of Ether rang across the clouds, echoing through the night.
Outside, the Headmaster's Spire revolved slowly around Astra's radiant core — magnificent, yet utterly alone.
And within that light, a very small shadow began to awaken.