Aetherthorn Dormitory – Early Morning—
The sky over Aetherthorn was still a silver-blue hue, veiled in a thin mist that hovered just above the ground like the breath of a slumbering world. Birds chirped softly in the distance, rousing the land slowly from its dreams. In the stone corridors of the main dormitory, golden pendant lights still glowed faintly, guiding students toward their individual destinies.
In front of the western dorm room door stood two figures—Demian Bentley, still disguised as Julian Everhart, and Sebastian Thaloré, his hair slightly disheveled, dark circles beneath his eyes a sign that he hadn't fully recovered from yesterday's incident.
Demian wore a dark leather-layered uniform with a copper belt that held miniature rune-carving tools and work gloves engraved with the symbol of a Construct Initiate. On his chest gleamed an emblem: a gear-like circle surrounded by small runes, marking his new identity as a student of the Department of Runes Constructs, and Forgeworks.
Sebastian, on the other hand, wore a midnight-black robe with a faint pattern of stars on the shoulders—the mark of the Department of Mysticism, where students studied the essence of mysticism, crafted arcane techniques, and learned to manipulate mystical energy. Hanging from his neck was a pendant of a single eye with a shifting pupil, symbolizing understanding of realities beyond normal perception.
They began to walk slowly down the stone stairs leading to the academy courtyard.
Sebastian turned, gazing at the slowly brightening sky.
"You know... it feels strange. We arrived here together, but today… we start down separate paths. Very different ones."
Demian nodded, his voice low.
"Maybe. But different paths don't mean our goals won't cross again."
They reached a fork in the road. To the left, a steel-plated path led toward the Forgeworks complex, filled with the hum of steam, hammering metal, and the glow of burning runes. To the right, a violet cobbled trail shrouded in mist wound toward the Tower of Mysticism, a tall building covered in glowing fungi and ever-shifting rune-carvings that seemed to live.
Sebastian sighed, staring into the foggy trail.
"Mysticism… feels like this place is going to try and take my soul."
The two shared a look. The smiles on their faces weren't just signs of camaraderie—they were silent acknowledgments that from this moment on, their journeys would diverge. Perhaps only temporarily. Perhaps forever.
Demian patted Sebastian's shoulder.
"Take care of yourself, Sebastian Thaloré."
Sebastian returned the gesture.
"You too, Julian Everhart. Don't forget… we both have our reasons for being here."
---
Department of Runes, Constructs, and Forgeworks
The soft rumble of aetheric coils and rune-engraving tools filled the main hall of the Department of Runes, Constructs, and Forgeworks. The room was lined with copper-plated worktables and shelves stacked with experimental metals. Along the walls, steam pipes rang gently, channeling stable mystical energy. Students wore conductive-thread gloves and flameproof aprons infused with warding enchantments.
At the front stood a man with messy silver hair, half-moon glasses, and a long coat stained with metal smudges and rune ink—Professor Edmund Smith, the eccentric engineer famously known as Aetherthorn's Mad Genius.
"Runes are not just symbols!" he exclaimed passionately. "They're remnants of ancient contracts—declarations that bind reality itself! Today, we begin with the basics of rune interface mechanics!"
Among the students sat a young man with unruly dark brown hair and sharp grey eyes—Demian Bentley, now officially enrolled as Edmund's personal student under the identity of Julian Everhart. He listened intently, taking notes, but much of his mind lingered on the third book given to him by his first Master, Leonard.
That book was no ordinary text. Its pages brimmed with charts and diagrams of mystic rune-card weapons, a technology that dared to blend sacred power with human engineering.
A forbidden project that challenged the very authority of the churches.
Meanwhile in the Department of Mysticism, Sebastian walked down a corridor of obsidian stone. Light from suspended crystals pulsed in rhythm with the breath of passing students. The scent of incense and murmurs of incantations echoed as if from another dimension.
Ahead lay the Amphitheater of Dreams, the grand hall of the Department of Mysticism. Their instructor—Madam Aksira, an old woman with a youthful face and a voice that echoed twice over, as though speaking from both the future and the present—gazed at her students with soul-piercing eyes.
Her voice cut through the space.
"Mysticism is not about understanding the spirit energy of the world. It is about hearing the whispers even the world tries to hide. Ready your minds. Do not trust what your eyes show you."
Sebastian clutched his pendant tightly. This was no ordinary place. But in his heart, he knew—for the truth, he would cross the boundaries of sanity itself.
---
Edmund's Private Workshop – Afternoon
After class, Edmund led Demian to a hidden workshop beneath the tower. The room was dusty, filled with metal shelves, automated carving tools, and discarded prototypes.
"The book… you've read it?" Edmund asked without preamble.
Demian nodded. "I have. And I understand why Leonard was called insane."
"Good. Then you know what we're going to build."
Edmund handed him a schematic of thin metal cards engraved with highly complex rune patterns.
"Five runes—Explosion, Teleportation, Shield, Illusion, Healing. Each mimics the core trait of one of the Five Great Churches. That book… is a map toward unifying their powers."
Demian stared at the blueprint, his eyes gleaming. Something trembled within him.
"No wonder he was called mad... This is like stealing the authority of the gods. But Leonard's vision—truly brilliant."
He clenched his fists.
"And I… I won't need anyone to carve these runes. With the Backdoor inside me, I can replicate their essence."
---
Demian's Dorm Room – Midnight
A dim oil lamp lit Demian's desk. On it lay thin metal sheets forged from mithril and etherium. He activated his carving tool and began tracing the first pattern: the Explosion Rune, mimicking the destructive force of the Church of the Blazing Sun.
The first attempt failed—the metal burned. The second—the rune cracked and exploded lightly, singeing his fingers. But Demian didn't stop. Three… four… up to twelve times.
Finally, when he etched the last line and channeled a sliver of energy into the card—
Zzzzzhmmm…
The card trembled softly, pulsing with reddish-yellow light.
"It worked… It's done."
---
Training Room
The Next Day—
Demian entered the training arena. The space was quiet, but in the far corner, he saw Sebastian Thaloré practicing water control. A two-meter wave danced to his hand movements.
"Sebastian!" Demian called.
"Hm? Want to spar?" Sebastian replied with a friendly smile.
"I need to test a new prototype. But I need a living target."
"Interesting. Very well, I accept your challenge."
The duel began.
Demian didn't attack immediately. He moved swiftly, dodging water strikes, waiting for the perfect moment. When Sebastian raised a massive wall of water for defense—
"Now," Demian whispered.
He tossed the rune card into the air.
"Explode."
BOOOOM!—
A deafening blast tore through the water, shattered the wall, and slammed into Sebastian with brutal force. His body flew backward, crashed into the arena wall, and collapsed unconscious.
"Sebastian!" Demian shouted, panicked.
He ran and lifted his friend, carrying him to the infirmary.
Aetherthorn Infirmary—
Demian sat by the bed, face gloomy, hands trembling. He stared at the card in his pocket.
"Idiot… Why didn't I think of the explosion's force? This isn't a normal rune… it's one of Leonard's weapons. Of course it's not some cheap toy."
The door opened.
A tall man in a long coat adorned with Aetherthorn's emblem stepped in. His face was calm but radiated authority.
"You're the one who made that tool?"
Demian stood stiffly. "I take full responsibility. I'm prepared to accept punishment."
"Relax," the older man said with a faint smile. "Injuries during training are nothing new. You're not the first to nearly blow up a friend."
Demian blinked. "S-Sir…"
"My name is Benedict Thaloré, headmaster of this academy."
Demian froze. "Thaloré…?"
"Is he… Sebastian's father?"
The question rang silently in his mind.
The headmaster placed a hand on Sebastian's chest and whispered an incantation. Soft golden light enveloped the boy, healing his serious injuries.
"He'll wake in an hour. Return to your dorm. Get some rest."
Demian could only nod, then left with heavy steps.
One Hour Later....
Sebastian groaned softly. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused.
"Where…?"
"Easy. You're still alive," came a deep but warm voice. Headmaster Benedict Thaloré smiled from the chair beside him.
Sebastian turned his head quickly. "Uncle… Where's is He?"
"I've sent him back to the dorm. And yes... I scolded him."
Sebastian frowned. "What did you do?"
"I dangled him over the ocean. Just for fun."
"UNCLE!" Sebastian groaned. "Stop joking like that!"
The headmaster chuckled lightly.
"Just kidding. He seemed remorseful. But you... what exactly happened?"
Sebastian stared at the ceiling.
"I couldn't see clearly… but the explosion was huge. Probably some tech-weapon from his department. I think he was testing it… on me."
Benedict narrowed his eyes.
"A tech weapon… with that level of force… That's at least phase 3. But that Julian boy… is barely early phase 2. That doesn't add up."
He stood, stroking his chin.
"I'll have to investigate."
---
Dormitory Corridor – That Night
Soft footsteps echoed in the stone hallway. Fully recovered, Sebastian walked casually toward Demian's room. He paused in front of the door and knocked gently.
The door opened. Demian stood there, guilt in his eyes.
Sebastian gave a small smile.
"Next time you blow someone up… at least make sure I'm wearing a helmet."
Demian froze for a moment… then let out a weary laugh.
"You're not mad?"
"I've been through worse. But… honestly, that was amazing."
They laughed together. And in that laughter, trust took deeper root—once fragile, but now undeniably real.
---