It wasn't long before Soren was summoned.
The next day, while still bound by cuffs that suppressed his magic, he was escorted by two guards—one on each side—through the long corridors of the academy's upper halls. Their destination was a grand, revered chamber: the central hall typically reserved for high councils, critical trials, and internal power disputes.
Kreeet.
The towering twin doors groaned as they swung open.
Soren stepped forward under escort, and immediately felt the weight of many eyes bearing down on him—sharp, evaluative, suspicious. Every gaze seemed to pierce through his skin, searching for truths he had yet to speak.
"Defendant Soren Noctis, entering the chamber," one of the administrative officers announced.
At the head of the hall sat Eryndor, the Headmaster, occupying the elevated helm where judgment would be passed. Beside him were the other members of the Academy's Core Council—a body of seven, wielding the highest authority within Astralis.
Among them sat Mirelle Thalrune. Not just by virtue of her bloodline, but by merit of her own formidable talent. Her expression was unreadable.
Presiding over the proceedings stood a stern man with an austere voice—Caelin Draven, Eryndor's right hand and the current conductor of the trial. His gaze locked on the young promising man who had become the subject of so much unrest.
To be frank, Caelin still found it difficult to believe.
Soren Noctis. The quiet, visually impaired man, now at the center of an escalating storm. Could he truly have interfered in the capture of a Black Vow operative? Was he hiding this level of power all along—or had something triggered a sudden, violent awakening?
So many questions, and yet none of them could stall today's judgment.
"Defendant Soren Noctis," Caelin said, voice echoing through the hall, "you may take your seat. Every word you speak from here forward shall be taken under oath. Any falsehood, evasion, or perceived manipulation shall be considered an act of defiance against this court. Proceed with caution."
Soren nodded once, calmly. "I will cooperate to the best of my ability."
A moment later, a voice slithered into his thoughts.
"A Demon Lord candidate, being judged by mortals? How utterly ridiculous."
Soren's eye twitched. Demon Lord candidate? Spare me. He wasn't in the mood to entertain the Sin's whispers.
Caelin turned toward the Headmaster. "Your Excellency, shall we begin the trial?"
"Proceed," Eryndor said evenly.
Caelin addressed the room.
"Soren Noctis, prior to the events in question, was undergoing an official mission to validate his position as an Academy instructor. His task: to eliminate a known traitor of Astralis, notoriously titled the Crimson Apostle."
He let the words sink in before continuing.
"He completed this mission and returned alive, despite grievous sacrifice—including the loss of his left arm. Multiple witnesses and allied parties confirm the success of this assignment. The A-Rank adventuring party, Howlspire, who collaborated with him throughout the mission, has provided signed testimonies corroborating his actions."
He paused, flipping a page of the parchment.
"Additionally, another figure intervened during the final stages: the Flower Maiden Elianne of the Rosavelle family—a direct descendant of Camellia Rosavelle, once High Enchantress of the Mage Tower—and one of her knight guards."
"That alone violates the terms of the trial mission," a cold voice interjected.
A hush fell over the room.
It came from one of the council elders—an aging man with a hawk-like gaze and a perpetual air of disdain. Everyone in the chamber knew who he backed.
Of course. The man was a staunch ally of Vellian. And now, he had found his foothold.
"The mission, if I recall correctly," Vexen continued icily, "specifically forbade external aid from unsanctioned parties. Howlspire was permitted, yes—but Elianne Rosavelle and her knight? That's a violation."
Here we go, several in the chamber thought. The old man is grasping at whatever he can.
Caelin remained composed.
"The Headmaster has already given his ruling on that matter," Caelin replied coolly. "Given that Camellia Rosavelle was killed as a direct consequence of the Crimson Apostle's prior acts, Elianne's involvement is deemed admissible—her intent driven by personal and familial justice. Furthermore, to honor Camellia's legacy as a respected former High Enchantress of the Mage Tower, her descendant's participation was recognized as legitimate."
A sharp tsk escaped Vexen's lips—quiet, but unmistakably audible in the silent chamber.
Caelin ignored it.
His gaze returned to Soren.
"But that still leaves many unanswered questions. The events that unfold the later date. Your contact with the Black Vow. And most disturbingly—your choice of action during the confrontation."
He let the tension build.
"Before we proceed, Soren Noctis… do you have anything to say regarding anything?"
Soren's hands clenched faintly in his lap. The cuffs dug into his wrists, cold and unyielding.
He took a breath.
And prepared to speak.
But before Soren could speak, someone interrupted.
"Soren Noctis," a new voice cut through the chamber, calm but edged with steel. "I have a question for you. And you will answer truthfully."
It came from a woman seated at the far side of the council dais—poised, elegant, and striking even in her forties. Her features carried a refined beauty that time hadn't diminished, framed by perfectly styled silver-streaked hair and eyes like ice.
Senora Veyne—the woman who had once mentored Elara Kinsley, long before the younger woman had officially joined the Academy, and later helped shape her into a full-fledged instructor.
Her voice was frosty. Each word measured, but not without underlying urgency.
"Where is Elara Kinsley?"
The chamber tensed.
Soren's breath caught subtly. He could feel the weight in her tone—the same ache that throbbed in his own chest when he'd thought of Lyra. He understood it. The need to know that someone precious was still alive.
Lady Senora's eyes bore into his.
Before Soren could reply, it was Mirelle who interjected this time.
"Lady Senora," she said calmly, "let the man speak in his own time. If he intends to defend himself, that is."
Seliora exhaled, a sharp but controlled breath.
She fell silent again—but not without tension. Her hands folded in front of her. She knew impatience would get her nowhere, but restraint was clearly costing her.
Caelin cleared his throat, reestablishing control over the chamber.
"Defendant Soren Noctis," he said, voice firm. "Please answer and proceed with your defense."
His gaze hardened.
"A day ago, you were witnessed engaging in direct conflict with Instructor Vellian. A known member of the Black Vow assisted you during that battle—ultimately killing Vellian."
Whispers stirred faintly across the hall, but Caelin ignored them.
"And worse still, when Headmaster Eryndor and Lady Mirelle tried to apprehend the suspect, you obstructed them. You aided a criminal's escape. That, by all laws and precedents of Astralis, constitutes an act of betrayal."
He leaned forward slightly, hands folded.
"This court demands an explanation. Proceed carefully."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
All eyes once again returned to Soren.
No one in the room truly believed that Vellian would die so easily.
Yes, the man was arrogant, entitled—but he had means. He had power. For him to be struck down in a single battle, spoke volumes.
The Black Vow… they were no ordinary threat.
They were a terrifying force—one that walked in shadows and left ruin in their wake.
"I will speak," Soren said quietly, his voice calm though his eyes remained closed.
He raised his head slightly.
"I was granted exception from the standard field mission requirement due to my condition—my blindness," he said, his voice carrying through the hall. "But then, the Academy decided to revoke that agreement and impose the mission on me regardless. Is that not already a violation of my rights as an instructor?"
The words struck the council like a hammer.
No one replied.
Because no one could.
He was right.
They had allowed it to happen.
"But I accepted it," Soren continued. "And I succeeded. I brought back victory—for the Academy. I lost my arm for it. I returned more crippled than before."
His voice sharpened.
"But I brought glory. And what did I receive in return? Assassins on my trail. Black Vow agents trying to take my head. Do any of you know what it feels like to live on the edge of death, day after day?"
The chamber remained silent.
"My trail was hunted. When I successfully went home, my sister was then targeted. And the one who ordered my execution… was Vellian."
"Lies!" Elder Malchior Vexen snapped. "You dare accuse the dead without proof? For all we know, you're the one allied with Black Vow. You conspired with them to kill Vellian!"
Soren's breath caught.
Wait.
The contract.
Before he'd collapsed… he remembered hiding the signed Black Vow contract he got from Lancer—proof of Vellian's treachery—within his inner coat lining. But now—
Where was it?
"As for that," Caelin spoke, voice cutting through the tension, "when we apprehended him, we confiscated items on his person. Among them, we found a written, signed contract—legitimate and bearing Vellian's seal—detailing terms made with the Black Vow."
He turned toward the council.
"The defendant speaks the truth."
Gasps filled the room.
Even Vexen seemed caught off guard. His scowl faltered.
He hadn't heard this part.
Did the Headmaster deliberately withhold it?
Caelin gestured, invoking a levitation spell. A parchment floated up from an enchanted case and hovered at the center of the hall. All seven council members leaned forward, enhancing their vision with magic to read its contents from distance.
The evidence was irrefutable.
When the council was finished, Caelin retract it and sealed the document once more.
"Furthermore," Caelin added, "Headmaster Eryndor was present during the confrontation. He heard the Black Vow agent refer to Vellian's 'favor' as forged. And now this evidence corroborates the claim. The matter is settled."
Vexen bit down, cursing in his heart.
Vellian made a big mess this time, and he become joke trying defending him.
But then—
"Where is Elara?" asked Lady Seliora again, her voice almost cracking. "Don't tell me—something happened to her?"
Soren took a slow breath.
"Elara… I mean, Instructor Elara," he began carefully, "she helped protect my sister. Vellian tried to kill her for that. She received a fatal wound, but she was evacuated. She's receiving treatment… elsewhere."
A half-truth.
Enough to buy time.
She's alive. But if I release her from the devour space now… she'll die. Unless I find a way to fully heal her. And I can't expose the Eye of Ruin—not yet.
Lady Seliora stood halfway from her seat. "What do you mean—'elsewhere'? Why not here, in the Academy?"
Soren said nothing.
He couldn't.
She can't survive outside. Not yet. And if they learn about my Eye—what I used to preserve her—they'll never let me go.
And then—
Another voice rose.
Cool, clear, composed.
"Soren Noctis," the woman said. "Why are you branded by a Dragon?"
The words fell like thunder.
The room froze.
All heads turned toward the source.
She sat two seats to the left of the helm—dressed in flowing robes of shimmering indigo, eyes sharp as cut crystal. Her beauty was ageless. Her expression unreadable.
She was Lady Ysmera Luneval, a council member rarely seen, rarely heard—known for her enigmatic presence and arcane mastery. None knew her true origin, only that she had served on the council longer than most could remember.
She smiles strangely—like an enigma wrapped in a tease.