The world was still cloaked in shadow when the summons came. A low chime echoed through the dormitory halls of Kuoh Academy, vibrating softly through the mana-infused crystal panels embedded in the ceilings. It was not the usual school bell. This tone was sharper, colder — urgent. The kind of sound that prickled at the edges of sleep and roused even the heaviest of dreamers with a sense of unease.
Outside, the sky was a deep indigo, with only the faintest suggestion of dawn bleeding along the eastern horizon. A gentle snowfall drifted down in slow spirals, gathering along the sleek rooftops and leafless branches of the Academy's grounds. Each flake shimmered faintly, catching the magical wardlight that flickered from lanterns mounted along the walkways.
The Academy, usually buzzing with morning chatter and hurried footsteps, was unnervingly quiet. Inside Dormitory Hall 3, students of Class D stirred. Blankets shifted. Boots thudded softly on wooden floors. Quiet yawns, muttered curses, and the hissing sound of water being splashed on sleepy faces filled the dim corridors. No one knew what was happening yet, but the message had been clear:
"All members of Class D. Report to the Grand Hall. Immediately."
And so they did.
The Grand Hall of Kuoh Academy was a place few first-year students had ever stepped foot in. It was often reserved for council assemblies, intercontinental delegation meetings, and advanced briefings for upperclassmen or elite task groups. It was a place of echoes and reverence, of old wood and older magic.
As the class filed in, the grand oak doors creaked open like the groan of a waking beast. The warm breath of the hall greeted them — not from heat, but from the pulsing mana-lanterns that hovered like stars beneath the vaulted ceiling. Ancient banners lined the walls, their fabrics woven with arcane thread that shimmered faintly in the dark. Above them, stained-glass windows told stories long forgotten — battles, pacts, victories... and warnings.
No chairs were arranged. No desks. Just an open circular space in the center, lined with deep inlays of silver and gold forming a runic circle etched into the stone. A projection array, some of them recognized — but one of immense scale and intricacy.
Kiyoshi was one of the first to step through. His eyes narrowed slightly, gray irises catching the shifting glow of the runes as if reading a language unspoken. He didn't say anything. Just folded his arms and stood near the back, observing.
Sanae arrived moments later, still buttoning her blazer. She looked more alert than most, though there was a clear crease of worry in her brow. She caught sight of the crest in the center of the floor — the symbol of the Northern Alliance during the war — and something in her stiffened.
Rajieru made a dramatic entrance, arms spread, scarf flaring behind him like a cape.
"Is it a test? A trap? A surprise party? I accept all three." No one laughed — but a few smiled despite themselves.
Zoltan leaned against the wall near the door, arms crossed and eyes sharp. The faint glow of his crimson irises flickered under the lanternlight, half-lidded but alert. He didn't ask questions. He didn't need to — not yet.
Celosia moved quietly behind the group, her eyes wide with wonder and nerves. Her fingers grazed the hem of her sleeve, tracing circles as she looked up at the glass windows above — stories of past Spirit-Users like her locked forever in still color.
The rest of Class D filtered in slowly: Kotaka, trying not to yawn; Haruki, rubbing his shoulder absently like it ached; Rin, tugging her long hair back into a ponytail with a practiced twist; Reuel, silent and sturdy as a boulder. The group was complete. And the moment they were, the room responded.
The central rune pulsed once. Then again.
With a quiet flicker, the glyph activated — a sphere of blue light rising from the floor like a rising moon. Inside it, the head and shoulders of Headmaster Kasede appeared, cast in translucent light. But the man himself stood just beyond the illusion, arms clasped behind his back, sharp eyes scanning them like a general at inspection.
Beside him — or rather, reclining against a pillar with dramatic flair — was Professor Kayuki, arms folded, one foot propped lazily against the stone.
"Early birds, I see," he drawled. "Love that energy. Love the confusion. Love the sleep in your eyes."
He clapped his hands, and the image of the world map spun to life above them, rippling with magical projection.
"Let's get to the good part, shall we?"
And just like that, the joking died away. The room stilled. Something had shifted — from confusion to gravity. The briefing was about to begin.
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The glowing map hung above them, slowly rotating, casting pale blue light across the marble floor and their faces. Mountainous ridges and faint outlines of wards shimmered on the surface. Somewhere near the northern edge, a pulse blinked rhythmically — slow... then slightly faster.
But for a moment, the room held still.
Then—
"Okay... why do I feel like this isn't gonna be a field trip?" Haruki, scratching the back of his neck, leaned closer to Rin, who narrowed her eyes at the pulsing marker.
"Because it's not," she muttered. "Look at the scale. That's Asgard's border, isn't it?"
"Looks like the Verdenholt range," Reuel added from nearby. His deep voice was calm, but low — like he was thinking ahead already.
Rajieru, meanwhile, slid dramatically beside Sanae, holding up one hand to "shield" his mouth like he was sharing a scandalous secret. "What do you think? Covert mission? Monster hunt? Secret royal wedding?"
"Keep your voice down," Sanae whispered back, shaking her head. "They wouldn't call us all here like this if it was simple. Something's... off." Her eyes remained fixed on the map, noting the shifting patterns — the way certain regions flickered as if layered with unstable mana.
A few steps away, Zoltan hadn't moved from his place near the wall. He watched everything — not just the projection, but his classmates. How they reacted. Who leaned in. Who backed away. "They said it's not a team mission," he muttered, mostly to himself. "But that's exactly what it smells like."
Celosia, standing near Kotaka, clutched her sleeves tighter. Her voice was barely audible, a breath against the tension. "That place... Verdenholt... it was in the history archives. It was abandoned after the war."
"Abandoned doesn't mean empty," Kotaka murmured. "Places like that tend to echo with the wrong kind of memories."
Kiyoshi remained silent.
He stood apart from the rest — not far, but enough to create a subtle distance. Eyes focused, arms crossed, gaze unmoving from the flickering red pulse near the mountain range. His posture was relaxed, but his presence wasn't. Not to those who had been around him long enough to notice the way his breathing slowed when he was thinking too hard.
Sanae glanced his way for just a second. He looked like someone who'd been here before — not in this room, maybe, but in a moment like this. Quiet before the storm.
A murmur passed through the group as the projection zoomed in on the blinking point. "Wait... isn't that near a civilian zone?"
Rin, sharp-eyed as ever, tilted her head. "There's a town near that ridge. I remember from the terrain books."
"They wouldn't send us near civilians unless... unless something serious is happening and they don't want to cause a panic," Sanae finished, brows drawing together.
Rajieru clapped softly once. "And that, my friends, is why I nominate we all pretend to be terribly ill. Starting now."
"You volunteered to be the face of chaos last week," Haruki reminded him.
"Yes, well, I didn't expect homework and death to be in the same paragraph." Even with the joking, the tension in the air was thickening — not from fear, but anticipation. The class had grown enough to feel the undercurrents beneath theatrics.
This wasn't a standard mission. This wasn't for show. And then — with a flick of his wrist — Kayuki dispersed the flickering illusion and stepped forward, a new sharpness in his usually lazy gaze.
"Alright, stars of the show," he said, voice louder now. "Eyes front. We're not stalling anymore. You're going to want to hear this."
The whispers faded like mist. All heads turned toward the center.
Headmaster Kasede's presence became heavier — not through magic, but through sheer intent. He stepped into the center of the room, hands still clasped behind his back, and nodded once.
The real briefing was about to begin.
𝚃𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚍...
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