Arkael gasped as breath returned too soon. His ribs burned and his mind reeled. But what truly jolted him was not the pain or the memories flooding back—it was the brutal impact of a boot crashing into his stomach.
"Still think you're better than us, noble runt? Just because you're a Renhardt?"
A fist struck the side of his head, pain flaring sharp and real.
Mud and stone scraped his cheek. Shouts and cruel laughter echoed in his blurred vision. He grunted, trying to rise but failed.
Where was he? Who were these insolent fools daring to strike the Great Sage of Astia?
His body felt foreign—weak and small, like a teenager's limbs. And the circuits inside him… by the gods, they were shattered. Not sealed or dormant—broken completely.
He blinked through blood-streaked lashes to see a boy—a student with sharp red eyes and brown hair—grinning down at him with cruel delight, surrounded by others laughing and jeering as if he were nothing but trash.
"You mana-mute trash," the boy sneered. "Should've dropped out last semester."
Another kick slammed into Arkael's stomach. He gasped, clutching the wound.
Voices then echoed in the distance. The boys clicked their tongues and scattered, leaving him crumpled on the ground.
Moments later, footsteps approached, followed by a soft gasp.
"Lucien? Are you alright? What did those boys do to you…" a gentle female voice called out to him as he felt a pair of hands cradle his head carefully.
Arkael lifted his head weakly to see who it was, however through his blurred vision, all he could make out was a strand of blue hair. Then the weight of unconsciousness dragged him back into the void.