West couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sky.
What was once a canvas of soft hues laced with warm golden dust—those ever-floating, gentle particles of magic that shimred across the air like pollen from a celestial tree—had vanished completely.
Even the fireflies, those glowing little spirits that often danced lazily around the Academy grounds, were gone, as though they had sensed sothing far beyond their comprehension and fled.
The skies had darkened, not with clouds, but with sothing more... uncomfortable. Sothing terrifying. The kind of gloom that didn’t co with thunder, but with silence—deep, and cold.
The very air had changed. It was stilled, weighed down with invisible pressure. You could feel it when you inhaled, taste the tallic trace of disruption. Even the softest of sounds—a cough, a rustle of robes, the scratch of boots—seed unnaturally sharp.
Everyone knew why.
Earlier, every apprentice watched East as he stood alone beneath the colossal crystal chandelier, his figure a single, unwavering pillar in a sea of uncertainty. The professors were absent nor the other Guardians.
East hadn’t raised his voice, but his words carried enough weight to silence every murmuring heart. For the first ti in years, he revealed truths that many suspected but never dared voice.
He had explained—carefully, thodically—that the Guardian Realm is in danger and even the Human Realm itself. That fractures were appearing, not in the walls of their buildings, but in the very threads of magic that held their world together.
And yes, he had spoken of Silvermist. Of Frost.
Their nas were uttered with precision—no embellishnt, no dramatics. East simply laid bare the chain of events: how the catalyst was the breaking of Frost’s staff by Silvermist’s hand. A mont, he said, that triggered a shift in more than just power dynamics—it disrupted sothing ancient—a seal of a magic that has long been suppressed.
Now, both Silvermist and Frost had vanished.
Silvermist’s location remained tightly guarded—even from high-ranking arcane apprentices like West, Ezekiel, and Sebastian—even from the professors. Not a hint, not a whisper. Even East had given them nothing beyond careful silence. But Frost? His disappearance cut deeper, more unnerving. His whereabouts were not just hidden—they were utterly unknown, even to the Lunar King himself.
West exhaled quietly. The darkened skies still lood above, silent witnesses to the mounting tension. He turned toward the assembled apprentices behind him, their Victorian uniforms now shrouded beneath thick Deep Blue cloaks, the color of readiness—of war... perhaps.
After East’s chilling announcent, the apprentices had been dismissed for personal preparation. Just an hour. Enough ti to breathe, to adjust, to pretend they weren’t terrified.
And now, they had reconvened in the sa Grand Auditorium—only to find East missing, replaced by Professors Aelith and Mordic, who guided them with unreadable expressions and vague words. When asked where the others were—Professor Cedric and the others—they rely smiled, as if the question itself were naïve.
That smile was more unsettling than any answer could have been.
So believed Professor Cedric was behind the silence. He and Bramble had vanished shortly after breaking past the magical seal that once kept Frost confined. What they had forced to awaken now disappeared together with the body of the Winter Guardian.
Now, they were left waiting for East to return. Waiting for sothing to fall into place.
West’s eyes flickered to his left as two familiar figures approached. Cullen and Levi—both cloaked like the rest. Cullen, always casual in the face of chaos, leaned against the marble column beside him.
"Uhm... and you’re telling ," Cullen muttered, arms folded, "that you, Ezekiel, and Sebastian still have no idea what’s going on?"
His tone was casual, but the edge in it wasn’t missed.
West didn’t answer at first. He just watched them—especially Levi, who remained silent, his arms at his sides, but his gaze steady and searching. Earlier, the mont East vanished after his cryptic briefing, Levi had cornered West with one question:
Where is she?
And West had answered truthfully—with nothing. Not because he was hiding anything, but because there was nothing to hide. East refused to share even with them. Whatever was happening, it went deeper than ranks, deeper than protocol.
"If I knew," West said at last, his voice low, "do you think I’d still be here?"
Cullen clicked his tongue and gave a loose shrug. "Fair point. I forgot you actually like Silvermist—" He paused, then slowly turned his head toward Levi, grinning as he caught the way the latter’s jaw tightened. "Ahh~ that woman really gives everyone headaches, doesn’t she? Perhaps if the Grandmaster would finally give us the direct link between our mana threads and hers, we could at least track her movents. That woman can’t do this alone, you know."
West’s sharp eyes cut to Cullen, expression blank—but intense enough that Cullen imdiately raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Fine! Fine! I’ll shut up," Cullen laughed, though his voice trembled slightly. "But, just saying—if the three of you could at least pretend you’re not about to crack under pressure, it might help the others. You know how apprentices look up to the Season Apprentices’ circle. If they think you’re panicking, they’ll probably try sothing incredibly stupid."
"Their stupidity is not our responsibility," Levi muttered, rubbing his temple as though trying to suppress a brewing headache. Then he turned to West again, hesitating. "But... I do have a favor to ask."
Both West and Cullen blinked in unison.
Levi’s voice dropped. "If ever you hear anything—anything at all—about Silvermist’s condition... can you tell ?"
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t try to mask it with sarcasm or indifference. Levi didn’t care how it sounded anymore. Not to Cullen, not to West. His request was raw—simple, and painfully human.
"I just want to know she’s safe."
There was silence for a mont. Cullen looked down. West, whose face rarely betrayed emotion, stared at Levi with sothing like silent understanding. Sothing unspoken passed between them—beyond rivalry, beyond pride.
After all, whatever Silvermist had beco—weapon, threat, or salvation—she mattered to all of them.
Even now, in her absence, her presence lingered like a storm that hadn’t yet broken.
After all, whatever Silvermist had beco—weapon, threat, or salvation—she mattered to all of them.
"So, like..." Cullen suddenly cleared his throat, straightening his posture as if trying to look important, which didn’t suit him at all. "What do you all think would happen from here? Are we, like, going sowhere mystica—AHHH!"
His voice cracked into a scream that echoed across the high-ceilinged auditorium as East materialized out of thin air directly in front of him, grinning like a man who had just won a raffle he didn’t enter.
"Good guess!!!" East chirped, slapping Cullen on the shoulder with such enthusiasm that Cullen stumbled three steps back, clutching his chest like he had just survived a near-death experience.
Sowhere behind them, soone dropped a spellbook. Another apprentice shrieked. A faint "I think I peed a little" was heard from the back row.
East, in all his radiant and unapologetic glory, was back to his usual self—bubbling with relentless cheer, oozing floral chaos. His jasmine-and-lavender-infused presence swept through the room like a scented hurricane. Within seconds, three apprentices with sinusitis were wheezing dramatically, one of them attempting to crawl toward the exit while mumbling prayers to the Wind Spirits.
West groaned.
He was used to East’s random teleportations. They were practically weekly occurrences. But still—still—every ti East popped out of nowhere with that ridiculously flawless face and those soft, glowing curls, West’s heart betrayed him with a tiny, unexplainable jump.
Mini heart attacks. Every. Single. Ti.
And yes, it was probably because of East’s annoyingly beautiful smile. Or that face. Or the blinding optimism that could turn a death sentence into an impromptu picnic.
West narrowed his eyes at him, unimpressed. "Could you not give people cardiac arrhythmia every ti you show up?"
"Of course I could," East chirped cheerfully, spinning in a little circle, his coat flaring with dramatic flair. "But where’s the fun in that?"
Levi sighed like he was reconsidering all his life decisions. Cullen was still frozen, one eye twitching, as if he was buffering. "What—why—how are you always so—?!"
"Glorious?" East offered helpfully. "Radiant? Intriguingly floral?"
"I was going to say terrifyingly chipper," Cullen muttered, slapping his cheeks to regain composure. "But, sure. Let’s go with floral."
Behind them, Professor Mordic subtly moved a potted plant out of East’s line of sight. The last ti East got too excited around indoor greenery, soone ended up in a magical coma due to aggressive blooming.
"I have excellent news," East clapped his hands, eyes sparkling with suspicious delight.
West squinted. "You always say that right before dragging us into near-death experiences."
"And aren’t you grateful for every mont of them?" East winked. Then, with the confidence of soone who clearly planned nothing but acted like he planned everything, he gestured dramatically toward the auditorium’s glowing center.
"Pack up, darlings," he sang. "We’re going on a trip."
The apprentices collectively groaned.
Cullen raised a hand, already bracing for heartbreak. "Is there... like, a destination involved this ti? Or are we doing that thing again where we get to enter so horrifying simulation and end up fighting exaggerated versions of ourselves with darker, curlier hair? Because honestly, I still have trust issues from seeing my evil twin with better cheekbones."
A murmur of agreent swept across the auditorium—soft grumbles and nods of traumatized apprentices who clearly rembered that simulation. No one wanted to face a sassier, eyeliner-wearing version of themselves again.
"h," East shrugged nonchalantly, then whooshed—vanishing from Cullen’s front and reappearing like stage fog at the center of the raised platform, arms spread as if expecting applause.
Everyone instinctively flinched.
A single, collective sigh swept the room like a breeze of resignation.
Then, with a snap of East’s fingers—poof!—peonies burst into existence before each apprentice. Not from the floor, this ti. Oh no. Apparently, East had upgraded the delivery system. These peonies just appeared mid-air with that sa magical, smug flourish, hovering innocently before each of them like dainty floral drones.
They only floated there, blinking and bobbing gently, until each apprentice reached out and touched them. Then, and only then, did they slowly lower into their palms—still tightly shut.
"Ahhh, I know those faces," East cooed, grinning like soone who just handed out bombs disguised as muffins. "Yes! You’re correct—again! You have to make these peonies bloom."
Everyone groaned.
Cullen muttered sothing under his breath that might’ve been a prayer or a curse, maybe both.
"But this ti," East added dramatically, wagging a finger, "you have to bloom them not by desire, or hope, or awkward emotional tension—" he looked right at Levi and West, who promptly looked away like guilty suspects in a lineup, "—but by finding soone. Soone important."
The auditorium fell silent. You could practically hear the collective eye twitch.
And then—of course—it was Athyst who raised her hand like a model student halfway through a villain origin story.
"Is it Silvermist again, Grandmaster?" she asked, sounding both hopeful and tired. A dangerous mix.
"Oh, no no no..." East bead, placing a finger to his lips with theatric mischief. "Let’s just say... soone who could help us. Soone who might be able to turn the tides, if—and that’s a big ’if’—he chooses to stay."
Everyone exchanged worried glances. Cullen leaned over to Levi and whispered, "He’s being dramatic again."
"I heard that," East chirped without turning around.
"Sorry, Grandmaster," Cullen said automatically, but he didn’t an it.
Sebastian, who had suddenly appeared with Ezekiel who looked so drained at most groaned. "So... we’re supposed to wander off and emotionally bond with a complete stranger, ard with a flower that won’t open unless we emotionally connect?"
East gasped and dramatically clutched his chest. "Oh my stars, Sebastian, that was so close to being poetic. Who hurt you?"
"You, probably," West muttered.
East threw his arms up. "Excellent! Then you’re all emotionally ready for this task! Now scatter! You’ve got a universe to bond with and emotionally confuse!"
He clapped again, and a shimring portal opened behind him—an iridescent swirl of violet, gold, and possible doom.
Cullen eyed it suspiciously. "Is this going to be one of those things where we all wake up crying in a field again?"
East gave him a wink. "No promises!"
And with that, the petals rustled, the portal humd, and one by one, apprentices began to step into the unknown—ard with nothing but unopened flowers, questionable guidance, and way too many feelings.
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