CHAPTER 32: THE ASHRAETHS.

While Azhriel was awakening

Far from where Azhriel stood absorbing mana.

"Ice?" Arianne tilted her head, curious,at the change. At the same time, Serica’s eyes narrowed, locking onto a direction in the distance—the same direction Azhriel was in.

Rumble! Crack!

The sky growled. Thunder echoed, loud, deep and boisterous, as streaks of purple lightning danced across the clouds like a twisted spider web. The clouds churned, dark and heavy.

Rippel.

The air rippled—subtle, like a leaf dropped into calm water. Only Serica sensed it, her rank was high enough to feel the space itself shifting. She was just a step away from moving past the boundaries of mortals. Arianne, however, noticed none of it.

But she did notice something else.

"Huu," she exhaled a cold breath. "Serica, what the hell is happening?" she asked, her voice slightly tense. The chill in the air deepened. Arianne hugged herself, rubbing her arms as she shivered. Her breath coming out in white.

All around them, frost surged like a wave. It crawled over the ground, freezing everything in its path. A thin layer of ice coated the trees and leaves, turning the landscape into a pale, frozen world.

Serica stayed quiet, her eyes sharp and focused. Her mind, however, was a storm of thoughts. From the mana flowing in the air, she could tell what rank Azhriel had just reached—and it left her stunned.

’This... this isn’t normal. Just what is that boy? His breakthrough alone is causing this much chaos.’

She had seen many awakenings in her life—geniuses, nobles, and prodigies from powerful clans—but none of them caused a reaction like this. Something about Azhriel was different. Very different.

And today... everything felt off.

First, they found a stranger in a forbidden forest. At first, she couldn’t even sense his rank clearly, which was already strange.

Then, despite knowing Arianne was the Duke’s daughter, the stranger stayed cold and distant—not even trying to please or flatter her like most do. Even more surprising, Arianne herself—who usually stayed calm and unreadable—had shown more emotion than she had in years.

And as if that wasn’t enough, the boy claimed he knew where the rare flower was. The same flower they had searched for months without luck. But he was right—they found it where he said it would be.

And now? That same boy just fought a berserk demonic beast... a creature that was a full tier above him. And he won.

None of it made sense.

"Serica?" Arianne’s voice called again, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Serica turned, her face calm once more. "...Yes, my lady."

"You seem troubled. Do you also not know what’s causing all this ice?" Arianne asked, wrapping a faint layer of mana around her body to shield herself from the growing cold. Even then, she shivered slightly—the frost in the air was no joke.

Serica’s eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced in the direction of the disturbance. "It’s the boy’s awakening, my lady," she replied.

"Huh? For real?" Arianne blinked, completely dumbfounded.

Serica nodded slowly, still looking out toward the source. "Yes. This level of elemental response... it’s coming from him. He’s breaking through the Apprentice rank."

Arianne’s eyes widened at her words, her expression shifting to one of disbelief. Her jaw dropped slightly. "The beasts were a whole rank above him... and he won?" she muttered.

She glanced in the direction of the frost-covered valley again, still dazed.

"...Do you think he lied about being a commoner and actually comes from a distinguished family or something?" Arianne asked, exhaling a soft sigh that misted in the cold air.

"I don’t know, my lady," Serica replied, her voice low, thoughtful—then a shade of unease crept into it.

"But his eyes... those light sapphire-blue eyes, they felt like able to see through my soul, like a witch, however there was something else in them too... I’ve seen them before. Somewhere."

Arianne turned to her, frowning slightly. "Where?"

Serica’s eyes darkened as memories stirred, a slight hint of fear in her expression. "It was long ago, when I traveled with the Patriarch. To a place no mage or warrior ever wants to be. Though they were grey instead of azure however I got the same chilling feeling like right now back then and In that place... I saw eyes just like his."

She paused, then continued in a more hushed tone.

"...They belonged to the banes of the mages and warriors alike- The Ashraeths."

Complete utter silence reined.

*******

In a large room lit by the soft, steady glow of mana lamps, a quiet tension hung in the air. The bluish-white light from the lamps washed over the smooth stone walls, casting faint shadows that danced gently with each flicker.

The ceiling, high and plain, caught the glow and reflected it down like a soft mist, giving the whole space a calm but nice aa atmosphere.

At the center of the room stood a long rectangular table made of dark wood, polished to a faint shine. Seated around it were several individuals, their faces partially lit by the mana light, eyes sharp with focus.

One of them, a man with fiery red hair and sharp green eyes, leaned forward with his arms crossed. Eric Flames.

His voice was deep, edged with irritation, the heat around him rising slightly with his mood. He wore a deep red suit, which seemingly glowed as if affected by the heat.

"He’s late... again," he muttered, barely keeping his annoyance in check.

Beside him, another figure spoke with a calm, composed tone. He had platinum silver hair that shimmered faintly under the sun, and golden eyes that seemed to hold a quiet depth. His long, elven ears twitched subtly as he sighed.

"Calm down Eric, we all know that’s how he is from the beginning," Arson Windgale said.

Unlike his fiery companion, Arson gave off a peaceful aura, like a breeze through an ancient forest. His blue suit gleamed through the morning sun as the silver engravings on it shone brightly.

Even the scent of pine and earth seemed to linger faintly around him, as if nature itself clung to his presence. His ears twitched once more, reacting to the shifting wind as he spoke.

The others seated around the long table remained silent, though the slight shift in posture and quiet sighs made their impatience clear.

They were all used to the one who was late—his carefree nature, his tendency to wander, and his complete disregard for formality. Still, it didn’t make the wait any easier, when the topic of the meeting was so disturbing.

"I apologize on his behalf," spoke a calm, weary voice. "That child just never learns."

It came from Alaric, the principal of Eldoria Academy, a man with silver-streaked hair and eyes sharp with wisdom.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he spoke, a gesture that hinted at long-standing exasperation. Like many in the room, he had once been a student of Eldoria. Alaric had known him well—and endured his whims longer than most.

"Tch, some people can just never be punctual," muttered another voice with a faint click of her tongue.

It came from a striking figure seated near the window, her expression clearly sour. Her long ears hinted at fairy heritage, though they were shorter than a full-blooded elf’s.

At her back, a pair of pure white wings shimmered faintly with magic, their feathers glinting like frost under morning light.

Yillindra Faelight.

She was breathtaking—even in irritation. Her dark green dress flowed like water, its design elegant and embroidered with glowing threads.

Her light viridian eyes sparkled with intelligence, and her hair—shifting subtly between hues with every breath—only added to the breathtaking beauty she carried. Even her scowl held a kind of graceful charm.

Despite her words, everyone knew she was more annoyed than angry. That was simply the effect Solas, the one they was waiting for had—on everyone.

"Let’s just wait a few more minutes. Otherwise, we’ll begin without him," a soft voice chimed, cutting through the tension like a gentle breeze. "Alaric, you can brief him later."

All eyes turned toward the speaker.

Vaeloria Crimson.

Draped in flowing robes of deep black threaded with silver, she sat with quiet dignity at the beside the head of the table.

Her crimson eyes, like pools of still blood, glinted beneath her lashes—not with menace, but with a depth that came from age and wisdom.

Despite the delicate softness in her voice, her words held firm weight, and none in the room dared oppose them.

She was among the most powerful individuals present, a figure of awe and mystery. Yet today, her expression was distant—tinged with something wistful, almost melancholic.

Her usual sharp presence was dulled, wrapped in a quiet heaviness that everyone at the table noticed but no one dared speak of.

They all knew.

They knew what she was going through. So, they simply bowed their heads slightly, and let the silence settle again as they waited.

However the silence was broken as the door of the room burst open.