The morning sun bathed Ravenwood Academy in golden light.

The campus had been restored to the jewel of learning it once was.

Marble towers gleamed anew, gardens overflowed with spring colors, and at the center of the courtyard stood a grand stage draped in blue and gold — the academy's colors — for the Graduation Ceremony.

Rows of families, nobles, soldiers, priests, and citizens filled the courtyard, whispering in awe at the young graduates who had survived a war and still returned to finish their education.

Music from the academy orchestra filled the air ... violins, flutes, and soft drums blending in solemn harmony.

Professors in formal robes stood at the sides, proud and teary-eyed.

When the Headmaster finally stepped forward to the podium, silence fell like snow.

"Today..." she began, his voice heavy with emotion.

"...we gather not just to honor achievement… but survival.

Years ago, our academy stood as the cradle of future heroes. Then came the war that shattered nations... yet from those fragments, you, the graduates of Ravenwood, rebuilt yourselves."

Applause rolled like thunder through the crowd.

The announcer began reading names — one by one.

Each student, dressed in the signature navy-blue uniform with a silver emblem pinned to their chest, walked across the stage to receive a crest of graduation.

Cheers erupted from families, friends, and old comrades.

And then—

"Maya Brenthall," the announcer declared.

The crowd stirred.

The Saint of St. Eldred's Southern Cathedral herself rose gracefully, her violet hair flowing behind her as she walked to the stage.

She was radiant in her white clergy uniform, trimmed with gold embroidery and a sash of pale lavender across her shoulders. As she bowed slightly, the people erupted into reverent applause.

Next—

"Ariana Snow."

The genius Spirit Tamer stepped forward, her golden hair reflecting the sunlight. Spirits of light — unseen to most but faintly visible as ripples of warmth — seemed to dance around her shoulders. She smiled brightly, waving at the crowd.

Then—

"Draven Lockwood."

A hush spread. The people rose to their feet almost instinctively.

The Hero of the Fractured War.

Draven walked forward with his academy uniform neatly kept.

When he reached the center of the stage, the announcer continued.

"Draven Lockwood — for your valor during the Fractured War, your leadership as the youngest Holy Knight in history, and your devotion to both Empire and peace — the Global Council decrees that a statue in your honor shall stand within these grounds."

The crowd gasped as attendants pulled down a white cloth behind the stage. Beneath it stood Draven's statue — lifelike and noble. It depicted him in partial armor, the lower half plated, while the upper bore a stretch shirt. His sword was etched into the ground before him, his eyes cast forward — resolute and calm.

The crowd erupted in applause and cheers.

Draven bowed his head, humbled beyond words.

Then came the final announcement. The voice of the speaker grew softer.

"And finally… the highest honors of this year's graduating class.

The top seat of Ravenwood Academy... one who has contributed to its legacy more than any other."

The speaker hesitated.

"…Noah Ashbourne."

For a moment, time itself froze. Then, slowly, applause began — hesitant at first, then growing stronger.

"Though he is no longer with us," the speaker said.

"...his contributions remain unmatched. As the youngest instructor in our academy's history, even if his position was temporary, he revolutionized our teachings, led students through crises, and left behind merit beyond compare. His name shall forever remain among the legends of Ravenwood."

People clapped — some through tears, others through guilt. But among them, one man clapped the loudest.

Draven.

His hands struck together in rhythm, steady and loud, until the entire audience joined in.

---

Hours later, the ceremony turned into a celebration. The gardens were alive with laughter, music, and chatter. Tables filled with food and drink were arranged under banners of blue and silver.

At one of them sat Draven, Ariana, Maya, Elias, Rose, and the Princess ...the surviving members of what had once been Ravenwood's most promising generation.

"Imagine that," Rose said, swirling her drink. "You guys actually made it..."

"Morbid as always," Elias muttered, rolling his eyes.

Maya smiled faintly, "It's been a really amazing journey, hasn't it?"

Draven smiled a bit and said.

"Yeah it definitely has been..."

They laughed. They talked about the future — Rose planning to open an alchemy lab, Ariana joining the Royal Spirit Council, Elias teaching swordsmanship at the academy. The princess would return to the imperial palace as ambassador of peace between the continents.

And Draven… he just listened.

He smiled at them, truly smiled, watching the people who had become his small family.

But deep down he felt there was still a piece missing.

"..."

"Excuse me," a voice said softly.

They turned to see a young man with shoulder-length red hair and calm crimson eyes, no older than them.

He wore a pristine white long blazer, white shirt, pants, and gloves.

"Congratulations on your graduation," he said, holding a small basket filled with metallic flowers — each shaped perfectly like silver roses.

"I'm giving these to graduates.

They'll never wither.

A small gift from...me."

He handed one to each of them, smiling warmly.

Then, when he reached Draven, he offered two.

"Thank you," Draven said, puzzled.

"But you already gave me one."

The red-haired man smiled faintly.

"I noticed you placed your sword on that extra chair.

It seems...you wanted someone to be here beside you."

Draven's eyes widened slightly.

"The second flower is for that person," the stranger said softly.

"Cherish it… and if he ever returns, give it to him... on my behalf."

He bowed elegantly, one arm across his chest, the other holding a single remaining flower.

And with that he left.

His smile was so warm, so familiar, that Draven's breath caught in his throat.

"He smiles just like…" Draven whispered.

When he turned the man was gone.

Startled, Draven rose from his seat, scanning the crowd.

The laughter, the music, the chatter all blurred around him.

But there was no trace of the red-haired stranger anywhere.

---

The academy doors, bathed in afternoon sunlight.

The red-haired person stood there, his white coat fluttering behind him. The light touched his crimson hair.

By a small empty white table near the door he had placed the last metal flower he had.

He smiled then stepped through the doorway, sunlight swallowing his figure whole.

The metal rose gleamed where he had left it, catching the rays of the sun.

***