CHAPTER 57: THE FIRST YEAR’S LAST FREE NIGHT

Darius walked the halls of the academy alone, his boots echoing softly on the polished marble floors, each step a faint pulse against the stillness of dusk. The tall windows lining the corridor framed a sky slipping from pale gold to deep indigo, the last rays of sunlight fading like a memory. His body ached, bruises from the tournament the night before throbbing under his skin, a reminder of the chaos he’d survived. But it wasn’t the physical pain that weighed on him—it was the truth Professor Ignatus had dropped like a storm in his mind.

The Storm Visionary.

Darius raked a hand through his dark hair, his breath catching as he replayed the revelation. He’d written Ignatus as a mentor, a figure of wisdom and power, but not this. Not a legend who’d shattered the old magical order, rewritten the rules, and carved a path through history with raw, untamed will. Darius had been the author, crafting Eidolon’s world, its heroes, its stakes. But now? The real world was outpacing his script, twisting beyond his control. Ignatus wasn’t just a character anymore—he was a force, and his offer to Darius wasn’t just guidance. It was a legacy, a call to step into a storm Darius hadn’t planned.

"Guess I’m not the writer anymore," he muttered, watching dust motes drift in the fading light, catching the sconces’ warm glow. The purple eye, Lucien’s survival, Ren’s brewing war—none of it matched his original story. The world was alive, rewriting itself, and Darius had to let go of knowing every turn. He exhaled, the decision settling in his chest like a stone. He’d accept Ignatus’s offer. Not because he was ready, but because there was no other path.

He reached his dorm room, the wooden door creaking as he pushed it open. The space was quiet, untouched, the air thick with stillness. His bed sat rumpled, a book splayed open on the nightstand, its pages curling slightly. A half-empty glass of water caught the sunset’s dying rays, casting faint prisms on the wall. Darius collapsed onto the mattress, the frame groaning under his weight. His muscles screamed, magic’s healing touch not quite erasing the tournament’s toll. He flung an arm over his eyes, blocking the world, and let the silence wrap around him. For once, the chaos of Eidolon—the System, the Crown, the battles—faded. Sleep came fast, a rare moment of peace pulling him under.

A knock jolted him awake, sharp but not urgent. "Oi, Darius," came a familiar voice, smug and teasing. He blinked, groaning, his arm still draped over his face. The sky outside had darkened to a dusky purple-blue, stars pricking the horizon. Twilight had crept in, soft and heavy. Darius sat up, rubbing his neck, as the door creaked open and Kai poked his head in, his lopsided grin gleaming like he was already plotting mischief.

"There he is. Sleeping beauty lives," Kai said, stepping inside. His boots were clean—no dust, no practice marks, just the casual scuff of a weekend. His sleeves were rolled up, dark eyes sparkling with trouble.

"What time is it?" Darius croaked, his voice rough from sleep.

"Time to make bad decisions," Kai said, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. "We’re heading out. You coming?"

Darius flopped back against the pillow, groaning louder. "I got my soul punched out in the tournament last night. You want me to party?"

Kai’s grin didn’t waver. "Tahlia’s gonna be there."

A beat of silence. Darius sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. "Why didn’t you start with that?"

Kai laughed, clapping his hands. "I knew you’d see reason. Get up, hero. Tradition waits."

Fifteen minutes later, Darius followed Kai into the courtyard, the cool night air sharp with pine and distant woodsmoke. The sky was a deep indigo, stars shimmering like scattered jewels. Under a gnarled oak tree, seven first-years clustered, their voices low, laced with the thrill of rebellion. The academy loomed behind them, its stone walls etched with old runes, silent but watchful. Darius’s heart stirred, the weight of Ignatus’s revelation still heavy, but the sight of his friends sparked something lighter—a chance to breathe before the storm.

Aiden was already there, his blond hair tousled, enchanted gloves glowing faintly with golden light as he gestured animatedly. Beside him stood Selene Myre, her storm-gray eyes catching the moonlight, silver tattoos along her arms sparking faintly as she spoke. Her presence was sharp, like a blade you didn’t notice until it was too close. Zevran Kael leaned against the tree, his long coat slung over one shoulder, a jagged scar slicing from brow to cheekbone. His expression was unreadable, but his nod to Darius held a quiet respect. Bran Ostel bounced nearby, red hair wild, tossing a small fireball between his hands like a toy, his grin wide enough to light the night.

Then there was Tahlia Vire. Her dark green hair fell in waves, woven with tiny leaves that shimmered faintly, responding to her heartbeat. Her mossy green eyes locked on Darius, and her smile—soft, warm, like sunlight through a canopy—made the courtyard feel smaller. "You made it," she said, stepping closer, her voice like a breeze through branches.

"Kai’s persuasive," Darius replied, trying not to let her smile unravel him. "Said you’d be here."

She laughed, the sound light as rain on leaves. "Figures."

Selene cut in, her tattoos glowing brighter as she grinned. "Alright, lovebirds, save it. We’ve got a tradition to uphold. Every first-year who survives the tournament sneaks out for one night of freedom—music, magic, madness. Before the Visionaries turn us into their pawns."

Bran cracked his knuckles, flames flickering in his palms. "They can’t chain us tonight. Tonight, we burn."

Darius raised an eyebrow. "This legal?"

Aiden shrugged, his gloves humming softly. "Not illegal."

"Frowned upon," Zevran said, his voice low, almost a growl.

"That’s what makes it fun," Bran finished, winking, his fireball flaring briefly.

Tahlia tilted her head, smirking at Darius. "So you survived the arena," she said, her eyes glinting. "Barely, I heard."

"Barely," Darius admitted, rubbing a bruise on his arm. "Still seeing stars."

"Must be from the beating," she teased, stepping closer, "not from looking at me."

Darius grinned, his pulse quickening. "Maybe a bit of both."

Kai clapped his shoulder, laughing. "Alright, enough flirting. Let’s move before a professor spots us."

The academy’s outer wall loomed ahead, a towering barrier of stone laced with ancient wards, meant to keep students in and trouble out. But every year, the first-years found a way. The group moved quietly, moonlight bathing the grounds, their shadows stretching long and thin. Kai went first, stomping a foot to summon a stone platform from the earth, smooth and steady. He gestured to Selene, who hopped on with a flourish, her tattoos glowing as she balanced. The platform rose, carrying them to the wall’s top, their silhouettes sharp against the starry sky.

Aiden crouched, golden light pulsing around his legs. "Show-off," he muttered at Kai, then launched upward in a radiant streak, landing on the wall with a gymnast’s grace, his gloves flaring briefly. Zevran didn’t pause, pulling metal rods from his pocket dimension, each snapping into place as ladder rungs. He climbed silently, his scar catching the moonlight, his movements precise and unhurried.

Bran grinned, reckless as ever. "My turn!" He stomped, channeling a compressed blast of combustion under his feet. The explosion shot him upward, flames licking his boots, and he landed with a wild yell, barely sticking the landing. "Woooo! Still alive!"

Tahlia turned to Darius, her smile softer now. "You ready?"

He offered his hand, his heart thudding—not from nerves, but from the warmth of her fingers brushing his. "Hold on," he said, his voice steady. "It’s a bit windy up there."

She laughed, light and clear. "You’re making this into a date, aren’t you?"

Darius didn’t answer, just focused, gathering the air around them. A swirling column of wind formed, gentle but firm, wrapping around their legs like a living current. He channeled his magic, the breeze lifting them in a smooth, spiraling ascent, the night air cool against their skin. Tahlia’s hair danced, leaves catching the moonlight, and Darius kept his eyes on the wall’s crest, his concentration sharp but effortless. They rose higher, the academy shrinking below, the stars above growing brighter.

They landed softly on the other side, the grass cushioning their steps. Tahlia’s hair was wild, leaves tangled, and she laughed, brushing a strand from her face. "Smooth," she said, her eyes meeting his, a spark of something unspoken passing between them.

"Thanks," Darius said, his grin a little too wide. "I have my moments."

The others were already moving, their figures slipping toward the forest beyond. In the distance, a grove glowed with faint light—lanterns, floating enchantments, the flicker of magic weaving through the trees. Music thumped faintly, a heartbeat pulsing through the night, calling them forward.

Darius lingered, his gaze drifting upward to the stars, their cold light steady against the chaos of his thoughts. The Storm Visionary’s offer, the shifting story, the weight of a world he no longer controlled—it all pressed against him. He wasn’t ready for everything, not for the battles or the legacy Ignatus promised. But tonight, with Tahlia’s laugh echoing, Kai’s smirk pulling him along, and his friends’ voices fading into the woods, he could let go. Just for one night.

He followed the group, their laughter trailing into the darkness, one final breath of freedom before the storm to come.