The rays of the setting sun slowly spread across the sky, painting the clouds above the Capital in a deep crimson hue. The light settled on rooftops, clung to towers, slid over glass and tal, yet the city itself showed no sign of quieting. Sowhere in the distance, carts rumbled, rchants shouted, tal rang, and fragnts of conversations blended into a single, dense hum.
Kael stood at the Academy gates, gazing at the sky and listening to the ceaseless hum.
“It feels like the Capital never grows quiet…” he murmured.
Realizing he had drifted off again, he flinched slightly and smirked, gathering his thoughts. Without lingering, Kael stepped forward toward the massive arch leading from the Academy onto the streets of the Capital.
Letting his gaze sweep over the paths and gardens, now nearly empty, he added quietly, “Almost no students… Valeria and I stayed a bit too long.”
The evening air was softer than during the day, still holding the warmth of sun-heated stone and a faint scent of greenery. The occasional silhouettes of students hurrying along the paths only emphasized the growing quiet within the Academy’s walls.
As he walked, Kael’s thoughts drifted back to his conversation with Valeria.
A satisfied smirk spread across his lips, and he thought, “Although the information I received is too general, the overall picture is becoming clearer.”
Two students passed by him, speaking in low voices, but Kael didn’t even glance at them, completely absorbed in his thoughts.
“Eight hundred years ago, sothing happened…” he muttered quietly under his breath. “Sothing that stripped the Three Ancient Empires of their Gods’ patronage. Or sothing happened to the Gods themselves…”
“It seems the Beast God saw an opportunity and decided to subjugate the Human Dinsion…” he added inwardly.
He paused, as if he’d run into an invisible wall, and unconsciously raised his hand, absently biting his finger.
“But that’s not the main point…” he muttered, frowning. “Who was that mage who introduced the worship of the God of Blood and War? And what were his motives? This is all damn strange…”
The question lingered in his mind, finding no imdiate answer.
Lowering his hand, Kael moved forward again, slightly faster now, as if the pace itself helped him maintain the flow of thought.
“But thanks to him, the Human Dinsion was able to push back the Beast God Horde…” he added under his breath.
The words sounded even, but inside, another feeling was already rising—cold, calculating irritation.
“Still, nothing new…” he continued inwardly, looking ahead where the lively streets began beyond the arch. “The Mortal World and all its Dinsions always suffer from the ambitions of the Gods.”
Taking a few more steps, Kael crossed the threshold of the arch.
Almost imdiately, the guards standing on both sides of the passage turned toward him in unison and respectfully inclined their heads. Their movents were precise and practiced, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons more out of habit than necessity.
Kael paused for a mont, involuntarily slowing his step.
But in the next second, Valeria’s words surfaced in his mory: “The uniform of the Imperial Academy signifies status. It ans that you may one day beco one of the more important figures in the hierarchy of mages.”
Realizing his new status, Kael simply gave a polite smile, then nodded briefly to the guards in return without breaking stride.
“Alright…” he thought, returning to his earlier line of thought. “If I want to take revenge on the Master, my ambitions must be no less than those of the Gods themselves.”
Lifting his gaze and straightening his back, Kael paused for a mont, looking at the lively streets ahead, where evening shadows were already deepening, blending with the glow of lanterns and signs.
“First step—scout the city. I need to figure out how to make money fast.”
He did not linger at the entrance and calmly moved on, rging into the flow of people. The city greeted him with noise and motion: rchants passed by with loaded carts, the ring of tal echoed nearby, and from open shops drifted the spicy aroma of food. Kael walked at an even pace, unhurried, letting his eyes catch on details and committing them to mory.
✦ ✦ ✦
At the sa ti, while Kael walked calmly through the streets of the Capital, entirely different events were unfolding within the Imperial Citadel.
On one of the vast upper levels stretched an entire square, surrounded by massive marble columns adorned with crimson banners bearing an embroidered dragon. The fabric swayed lazily in the faint current of air, producing a faint rustle.
Encircling the square stood small two-story buildings, each designed in its own distinct style. So were defined by strict lines and symtry, others by elaborate shapes and an abundance of decorative elents, as if the architects had competed with one another.
Each building bore a sign displaying the guild’s na in large golden letters, reflecting the light of magical lamps.
Near one such building—distinguished by its sowhat chaotic and ornate architecture—stood a man in a black robe.
It was Elder Cornelius.
He paused at the entrance, lifting his gaze to the sign reading “Scholars’ Guild,” and a calm, almost nostalgic smile appeared on his lips.
“It’s been a long ti since I’ve been back at headquarters…” he said quietly, taking a slow breath, as if absorbing the very atmosphere of the place.
With those words, he extended his hand and pushed open the massive doors, feeling the cold smoothness of the tal beneath his palm, and stepped inside.
The mont he crossed the threshold, a rich scent of books, ink, and old parchnt struck him—dense and familiar, as though it had soaked into the very walls.
A spacious hall opened before Elder Cornelius, filled with rows of tall bookshelves and tables cluttered with scrolls and scattered notes. So books lay in stacks, while others slowly floated in the air, gently rotating as if held by thin threads of mana.
A soft golden light poured from above, emanating from a large crystal suspended in the center of the hall, casting its glow upon the pages and making the ink shimr faintly.
But what stood out most was that all the mages who had been working quietly suddenly sprang to their feet and turned toward the entrance.
Cornelius did not even have ti to raise his hand in greeting before the silence was shattered by loud applause.
Before him, among the tables and shelves, stood around three dozen mages in black robes bearing the image of a red dragon on their backs. Many of them smiled, exchanged glances, and so even stepped forward, not hiding their excitent.
“Congratulations, Elder Cornelius!”
“I can’t believe you actually managed to find descendants of the ancient refugees!” voices rang out from all around.
The applause only grew louder, drowning out the rustle of pages and the low murmur of conversation. Elder Cornelius simply laughed, raising his hands in a calming gesture.
“Thank you, friends,” he said with a smile. “But there’s no need to make a fuss.”
His words were calm, almost familiar, and for a mont the noise began to subside.
But at that mont, slightly off to his side, a black spark flared in the air.
It appeared suddenly, as if tearing through the very fabric of space, and in the next second expanded sharply, becoming a brief rift. From it, three figures stepped out, appearing just as abruptly as the flash itself.
The reaction was instantaneous.
Cornelius, like everyone present, imdiately dropped to one knee, bowing his head. The movent was almost perfectly synchronized, drilled into instinct.
“We greet Archmagister Al-Hakim! We greet Magisters Morgana and Callista!” rang out in a single unified chorus.
In the silence that followed, a calm, deep voice spoke:
“To carve a path through the mountains is already a feat. But you surpassed yourself and managed to find the lost flock. My congratulations, Cornelius.”
Cornelius respectfully lifted his gaze to the speaker.
Before him stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark brown skin and a clean-shaven head. White runic tattoos ran across his scalp, precise and orderly, while his long silver eyelashes contrasted oddly with his cold blue eyes.
Cornelius rely smiled, maintaining his respectful posture.
“Thank you, Archmagister,” he replied evenly.
Al-Hakim gave a faint nod, and the long black earrings in his ears swayed gently, producing a soft, clear ringing sound.
At that mont, two figures stepped forward from behind Archmagister Al-Hakim.
Both were fully grown won, yet in their posture, gaze, and movents there was a confidence that only enhanced their allure rather than diminished it. They carried themselves calmly, without overt displays of power, yet their very presence seed to make the space around them subtly constrict.
The first to speak was the one whose skin was unnaturally pale, almost devoid of any trace of life. Long black hair fell nearly to the floor, sliding softly over the fabric of her robe, and her deep violet eyes settled on Cornelius.
A faint smile touched her lips.
“I hope you will finally join the ranks of the Magisters.”
Her voice was even, without force, yet it carried a certainty, as if she already knew the answer.
The second woman gave a slight nod in agreent. Lush red curls rested softly on her shoulders, and her green eyes carefully traced over Cornelius’s figure. The thin tattoo of a snake beneath her left eye seed to stir for a mont, as if reacting to her mood.
“I agree with Morgana,” she added calmly. “In the Scholars’ Guild, knowledge matters more than strength. And you have long proven that you surpass any other Elder.”
Callista idly adjusted her curls, tucking a strand behind her ear, then turned her gaze to Al-Hakim.
“What do you think, Archmagister?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.
Al-Hakim gave a short nod, absently turning a ring on his finger before replying calmly, “When the Emperor returns, I will personally ask him to issue a decree.”
Then he looked back at Cornelius and, with a faint smile, added, “You have already suffered enough, my friend. The wound from your youth should no longer hold you back.”
The Archmagister’s words seed to act as a signal.
Voices of support imdiately rose from all sides—so nodded approvingly, others murmured among themselves, and the overall tone carried sincere agreent.
Cornelius felt sothing tighten in his chest, and his hands trembled, betraying him. Pressing his lips together, he quickly lowered his head, trying to hide his emotions.
“Thank you, my friends…” he said in a restrained tone. “If I truly beco a Magister, I will do everything to live up to that status.”
In response, Al-Hakim chuckled softly, shaking his head.
“You already have,” he said lightly. “Let us celebrate your success today.”
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With those words, he casually waved his hand, and several massive crates flew out of his spatial storage ring, landing on the floor with dull thuds. Bottles inside clinked, drawing everyone’s attention.
A faint glow emanated from the bottles themselves, and the glass was so clear it seed almost transparent.
The reaction was imdiate.
“Archmagister, you spoil us!”
“Is that Golden Serpent Wine?”
Voices overlapped, and the mood surged with excitent, filling the hall with renewed energy.
But Cornelius barely heard any of it.
He remained standing with his head bowed, and only now allowed himself to slowly raise his gaze. The crystal’s light reflected in his eyes, but sothing else burned there far brighter.
“At last…” the thought passed through his mind. “After all these years…”
✦ ✦ ✦
While a celebration unfolded at the headquarters of the Scholars’ Guild, the sun had fully dipped below the horizon, and evening slowly descended upon the Capital.
Lights ca on one by one, as if the city itself were coming alive. Terraces lit up, shop signs and restaurant windows glowed, magical lanterns along the streets bathed everything in warm light, and crystals embedded in the pavent shone with a muted bluish hue, giving the streets a faint, almost unreal shimr.
The city did not quiet—it grew louder.
At that very mont, Kael walked calmly along a crowded street.
On both sides stretched restaurant terraces, from which the scents of roasted at, spices, and sweets drifted. People sat at tables, talking, laughing, and the clinking of glasses could be heard here and there. Waiters weaved deftly between the tables, carrying trays of food.
A little farther on, street musicians played strange instrunts, drawing out unfamiliar yet captivating lodies. Small groups of listeners gathered nearby—so tapping their feet to the rhythm, others simply standing, enjoying the mont.
In several places, mages perford street acts, creating illusions and simple spells, drawing in both children and adults. Miniature fireworks burst in the air from ti to ti, scattering sparks and drawing bursts of laughter.
Looking around, Kael couldn’t help but smile faintly, letting his gaze drift over the lively terraces and crowds.
“No wonder Valeria suggested I visit the Boulevard of Glimring Terraces first…” he noted inwardly. “Close to the Academy, a great atmosphere, and plenty of people. Just what I need to observe the city.”
He continued walking without slowing, absorbing every detail—the way people spoke, their clothing, their behavior, even the rhythm of the crowd’s movent.
“Strange… The people of the Capital and the people of Lasthold are similar in many ways, yet there’s a difference,” Kael noted inwardly. “But for now, it’s hard to say exactly what that difference is…”
At that mont, he passed another street vendor’s stall, around which a small crowd had already gathered.
Behind the counter stood a thin man with long, narrow mustaches, gesturing animatedly and deftly rolling three small balls between his fingers.
“Keep your eyes on my hands!” he shouted loudly, drawing the attention of passersby. “Guess where the mana crystal is hidden and multiply your money tenfold! The ga costs only three copper coins!”
The balls spun so quickly that the eye could barely follow them, and several onlookers leaned in, clearly considering whether to try.
Kael rely glanced at them and smirked faintly.
“There’s a magical array carved into the wood, creating illusions. Seems swindlers exist everywhere… Though what surprises more is that people still fall for it.”
Noticing a small crowd forming ahead around a group of musicians, Kael shifted slightly to the side, closer to the row of stalls, not wanting to push through the crowd.
He slowed his pace, watching as a few people had already given in to the rhythm, moving to the sounds of horns and a stringed instrunt. The music was lively, sharp, with quick transitions, and even random passersby paused to watch.
But in the next mont, his thoughts were abruptly cut off by a rough, bass voice, thick with drink: “Hey! You trying to make drink beast piss?! —Barnabas himself?!”
Kael imdiately turned his gaze forward.
The source of the shout was at one of the stalls, neatly arranged and lined with nurous bottles and small barrels. A strong sll of alcohol wafted from it, overpowering even the aromas of street food.
An old man stood before the counter.
He was almost a head shorter than Kael, yet he looked sturdy—broad-shouldered, solidly built, with hands clearly used to hard work. His posture was relaxed, and his gaze slightly unfocused.
Kael let his gaze pass over him, noting the details, and narrowed them slightly.
“So drunkard causing trouble?” he thought.
The conclusion ca naturally.
The old man was dressed carelessly and in layers, as if he had put on everything he could find. Over his clothes hung a long violet robe, wrinkled in places and gathered into uneven folds. On his head sat a strange cloth cap, more like a long stocking, giving him an almost comical appearance. His long, thick gray beard was braided into three plaits that swayed slightly with his movents.
He himself swayed as well, barely keeping his balance, as if he stayed on his feet more out of habit than control.
“Hey! Don’t ignore Bar-r-rnabas!” he shouted again, this ti louder.
He pronounced his na with emphasis, dragging out the “r” with a low growl, as if to give his words more weight.
In response, the vendor straightened sharply behind the counter, irritation flashing across his face.
“Old man, get the hell out of here already!” he snapped. “I gave you a drink out of kindness, and you dare insult my liquor!”
At that, the old man suddenly grabbed his beard, tugged at one of the braids, and let out a theatrical chuckle:
“Heh-heh… Liquor, you say?”
With those words, he raised the cup with the remaining liquor and, in one motion, poured the rest into his mouth.
But in the very next second, sothing happened that made Kael involuntarily pause.
The old man puffed out his cheeks, then suddenly leaned forward and spat it straight into the vendor’s face.
“I told you, it’s piss, not liquor! Ha-ha-ha!” he burst out laughing, throwing his head back.
The vendor froze for a mont, clearly not expecting this, then his face twisted with fury.
“You damn drunk!” he bellowed, leaping out from behind the counter.
In the next instant, his fist was already wrapped in dense mana, and without the slightest pause, he drove it into the old man’s face with full force.
The blow was heavy.
The old man’s body jerked and was lifted off the ground and sent flying backward.
“Damn it!” Kael cursed inwardly, instantly realizing the man was flying straight toward him.
His reflexes were faster than thought. Channeling mana into his body, he reduced his weight and, at the last mont, shifted aside, slipping out of its path.
The old man hit the ground with a dull thud and, sliding across the stone for a few more feet, ca to a stop.
Short cries rang out from the crowd, several people instinctively recoiled, as if about to help. But quickly assessing the situation and realizing the old man was just so vagrant, they simply went around him, returning to their business.
Seeing this, Kael only gave a crooked smile and shook his head.
“He brought it on himself. So I’ll just ignore him as well…” he thought, stepping aside, about to move on.
But at the very mont he was about to look away, the old man, who had lain motionless until then, suddenly snapped his eyes open.
His head jerked to the side, and his gaze imdiately locked onto Kael.
“Damn… Just don’t latch onto ,” flashed through Kael’s mind, and turning quickly, he picked up his pace, pretending nothing had happened.
But the old man was already moving.
Without getting up in the usual way, he suddenly kicked his legs up and, pushing off the ground with his shoulders, landed on his feet in one swift motion. His beard jerked, his robe flared, yet he landed steady, as if he hadn’t been struck at all.
Without taking his gaze off Kael, he shouted, “Hey, boy!”
Kael flinched but imdiately quickened his pace even more, not turning his head and pretending not to hear.
But in the next mont, Kael suddenly felt soone’s hand clamp onto his wrist.
The grip was firm and precise.
He imdiately turned—and found the sa old man standing right before him, holding him firmly as if it took no effort at all.
Kael’s eyelid twitched with irritation.
“Let go of , old man,” he said coldly.
In response, the man only laughed carelessly, swaying slightly without loosening his grip.
“Who are you, boy? I haven’t seen you here before…”
Kael jerked his hand, trying to pull free, but almost imdiately realized it was useless. The old man’s grip was too strong.
anwhile, the old man leisurely looked him over, lingering on the white robes of the Imperial Academy, and muttered, “A student? Strange…”
He lifted his gaze to Kael’s face. His eyes were glassy, slightly unfocused, yet beneath it there was a strange sharpness.
“Your mana is strange… Rare…” he murmured thoughtfully, frowning slightly. “You haven’t been in this city before.”
Kael jerked his shoulder irritably.
“Looks like you’ve had too much, old man. How would you know whether I’ve been here or not?”
But inwardly, his reaction was completely different.
“Judging by his aura, this old man is an ordinary Steel Mage…” the thought flashed. “But that’s definitely misleading. He’s stronger than .”
The old man, in response, only burst into loud laughter, throwing his head back, making the braids in his beard sway.
“How would I know?” he declared with exaggerated pride. “I am Barnabas himself—the Empire’s greatest drunkard! You think I don’t know who’s new around here?”
With those words, he suddenly released his fingers, letting go of Kael’s wrist.
Kael imdiately stepped back half a step and rubbed his numb hand lightly, feeling the sensation gradually return.
“If you’re so famous,” Kael said calmly, looking at the old man, “then why don’t even the rchants recognize you?”
Barnabas laughed again, louder this ti, swaying slightly on the spot.
“Use your head, not your ass, boy!” he said, waving a hand. “I’m famous in taverns, not among rchants!”
Not giving Kael a chance to respond, he suddenly threw an arm over his shoulder, leaning almost his full weight on him and slumping against his side.
He reeked of alcohol.
“I was just looking for a drinking companion,” he continued with a satisfied grin. “Co with , I’ll treat you to the best wine of your life. We’ll have a proper talk…”
Kael shot him a sideways glance, wondering how to get out of this situation.
“Why are you pestering , old man?” he said irritably.
Barnabas fell silent for a second, as if lost in thought, then leaned closer and, slurring his words, drawled:
“That’s… a secret… Heh-heh-heh.”
Kael was about to shrug his arm off, but the grip tightened on his shoulder like steel, leaving no room to move.
anwhile, Barnabas confidently headed toward one of the side streets, without waiting for an answer. The street was just as lively: the flow of people was denser, and the noise rougher, mixed with loud conversations and hoarse laughter from the open doors of taverns.
Shoving Kael forward, the old man grumbled, “You still didn’t answer. Where are you from?”
Kael let out a heavy sigh, feeling himself grow tired of this situation.
“Old man, I ca here for a reason. I don’t have ti to drink with you…”
Barnabas didn’t slow down in the slightest.
“And what goal could be more important than drinking with a famous mage like ?”
Kael closed his eyes for a mont, suppressing irritation.
“He doesn’t care what I say…” the thought flashed. “Maybe if I answer his questions, he’ll leave alone.”
With that in mind, he exhaled briefly and finally spoke, “You’re right, I’ve just arrived in the Capital. And I need to figure things out so I can earn money and move out of the Student Quarter.”
Barnabas turned his drunken gaze to him, and despite its haze, sothing sharp flickered within it.
“I knew right away you were from the provinces!” he declared confidently, but then paused in thought. “Just can’t place your accent…”
Kael didn’t dodge the question.
“Have you heard the news about the savages from beyond the Central Dragon Mountains?”
Barnabas stopped abruptly.
His hand on Kael’s shoulder froze for a mont, then he stared at him, mouth slightly open.
“No way!” he shouted, then suddenly burst out laughing, throwing his head back. “My luck is as good as ever!”
Letting go of Kael’s shoulder, Barnabas quickly added, “You’ve got brains, getting out of the Student Quarter on your very first day.”
And imdiately, slapping him on the back a bit harder than necessary, he continued, “Listen, kid, looks like my luck rubbed off on you too.”
Not giving him a chance to respond, the old man rubbed his hands together, as if already sizing up a deal.
“I live in my late friend’s house, but it’s too big for alone…”
Kael narrowed his eyes, eyeing him sideways.
“What are you getting at, old man?”
Barnabas smiled broadly, a crafty glint flashing in his eyes.
“I need money,” he answered bluntly. “And there’s sothing familiar about you. So I’m willing to give you a good discount.”
Kael only raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll pass. I’m not about to live in so mad drunk’s house. And I’m not moving alone—I’m moving with companions.”
Barnabas stared at him for a couple of seconds, then suddenly chuckled quietly, as if sothing had amused him that Kael didn’t quite catch.
He narrowed his eyes slightly and, tilting his head, muttered, “I see you’re not in the mood today, kid… Then let fate decide…”
With those words, he took a step back, pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, and quickly scribbled sothing on it.
With a smile, he handed it to Kael and said, “My house isn’t far from here; here’s the address. If you change your mind, it could easily house ten people.”
Turning away, Barnabas laughed as he walked off and tossed over his shoulder, “Or co by if you feel like drinking! I’d love to hear about your holand!”
Kael remained standing in the middle of the street, watching the old man disappear into the crowd, not entirely understanding what had just happened.
The crowd kept moving around him—soone brushed his shoulder, others passed too closely—but he didn’t even notice.
Frowning, he muttered under his breath, “Old weirdo…”
Lowering his gaze to the paper, Kael hesitated for a mont, as if weighing whether it was worth it at all, then slipped it into his spatial ring.
“I’ll keep it… just in case,” he thought.
anwhile, Barnabas, already dissolving into the flow of people, walked farther along the street, occasionally glancing around in search of another tavern. His gait once again beca relaxed and slightly unsteady, but a strange, faint smile played on his lips.
Narrowing his eyes slightly, he quietly muttered under his breath, “So I wasn’t imagining things yesterday… The boy really does have the Soul of the Formless Void…”
He smirked briefly, and in his drunken eyes a strange, deep glint flickered, as if, for a mont, he sank into thought.
“Didn’t think I’d ever see a mage with it in person… What if…”
But the next mont, he burst out laughing and said lightly, “Though… what does it matter to a drunk like ?”
The words ca out slurred, drowned in the noise of the street.
And in that sa instant, his gaze clouded over, his expression slackened, and only clumsy drunkenness remained in his movents. It was as if all that previous awareness had simply vanished, as though it had never been there.
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