May it be the son of Duke, or the princess of the royal's. Why did the nobles send their children to the academy without guards?

The answer was simple—because in this academy sat Alaric, an Archon, a being of absolute power.

There was no need for escorts, no need for protection, when the shield of an Archon covered every student.

From the moment Alaric had taken charge of Eldoria Academy, not a single student had been harmed by outside forces.

Only once had there been an incident, long ago, during the single time he had been away.

But now—

That unbroken record had been shattered.

Everything pointed toward one possibility.

Azhriel had been kidnapped.

And not just any student.

A student of Eldoria Academy.

One of the top five.

The shame of it burned like acid.

It wasn't just an insult to the academy's name.

It was a strike at his pride.

The pride of Alaric, the Archon and headmaster, who had sworn that under his watch, no harm would ever come to those who stepped through Eldoria's gates.

And someone had dared.

Cold fury, burned into his eyes.

In an instant, a glowing magic circle spread out under Alaric's feet as he snapped his fingers, preparing to move.

But before the light could rise and take him, Elizabeth stepped straight into the circle beside him.

"Elizabeth—" Alaric opened his mouth, ready to stop her, but the words froze on his tongue when he saw her eyes.

There was no hesitation in them. No fear.

Only a stubborn, unshakable resolve.

She wasn't going to stay behind.

If he refused, she would follow on her own.

He sighed inwardly, rubbing his temple.

Haa… this child. When it comes to Azhriel, she really won't listen to anyone.

Before he could argue further, others stepped into the circle one by one—Raymond, Samuel, Kevin,

Caelyn everyone.

Alaric raised a brow at them.

Raymond met his gaze and spoke calmly, "We might not know him well, heck, we only just met him today… but if he's Elizabeth's friend, and a fellow cadet, it doesn't feel right to do nothing." It was the protagonist word's.

The words were simple, but they were the kind that only someone with the heart of a hero could say.

Kevin folded his arms, his usual grin on his face.

"I don't know him that much either, but I think the guy's pretty cool. So, obviously, I'll grace him with my presence."

Everyone ignored him.

Alaric glanced at them one more time, then let it go.

Snap.

The magic circle flared bright, swallowing them whole—

and in the next instant, they were gone.

They appeared miles away from the academy, the light of the circle fading beneath their feet.

Before them stood a large, abandoned building. Once, it might have been grand, but now it was nothing more than a shadow of its former self.

The old museum loomed under the pale moonlight. Its walls were cracked and stained with time.

Glass windows were shattered, leaving only jagged edges like broken teeth. Rust clung to the iron gates, and the faded sign above the door hung crooked, barely clinging on.

Thick spider webs covered the corners, swaying slightly in the night breeze. Dry leaves scattered across the ground, crunching under their boots.

It felt more like a haunted house than a museum.

A faint wind whistled through the hollow windows, carrying with it the smell of dust and decay.

This time, the chill was something they all felt, not just Alaric.

The moment they stepped closer to the abandoned museum, an icy wind crept over their skin, biting and sharp.

It wasn't the kind of cold that came from winter air—it was something far deeper, something that seemed to crawl into their bones, whispering danger.

No one said a word, but none of them stopped.

Alaric was the first to move. His hands rested behind his back, his pace steady. His face was calm—too calm.

It carried the kind of quiet confidence that said it didn't matter what awaited them inside. Whatever it was, he would end it.

Click.

The gates groaned open.

Silence.

Utter, absolute silence greeted them from the dark hall within.

Tap.

The sound of their steps echoed like the beat of a war drum. And then—

They froze except Alaric.

Not because of the cold this time.

Because of what they saw.

The hall before them was a battlefield. The walls were cracked, furniture smashed into splinters, the floor itself marred by deep grooves, as though some terrible clash had taken place.

Frost covered everything, a pale sheen of ice creeping across every surface, catching the dim light and giving the room a deathly glow.

But that wasn't what stopped them.

Their eyes were drawn upward.

To the ceiling.

Seven bodies hung there.

Each one suspended by thin, bluish-white threads that dug so deeply into their flesh the skin was split, blood trailing down in frozen streaks.

The threads had them by their necks, turning them into grotesque puppets.

Some were missing arms.

One had a gaping hole straight through his chest.

The bodies dangled lifelessly, swaying ever so slightly as drops of blood—thick and almost black—fell to the floor.

Tap.

A drop struck the frozen ground, the sound loud in the silence.

The smell of cold blood and metal filled the air.

Everyone stood stunned, the sight burning itself into their minds.

Samuel's lips moved before he could stop them.

"…Holy shit."

The words came out raw, shaken, unguarded.

Even Kevin, usually quick with a joke, didn't open his mouth.

The air was heavy, as if the whole building itself was watching them.

Elizabeth's hands curled into fists, her crimson eyes flicking from body to body, searching.

And still, that freezing, unnatural chill crept over their skin.

She exhaled slowly, though even she wasn't sure if it was out of relief that Azhriel wasn't among the corpses—or out of pure shock at the sight before her.

"Just what the hell happened here?" Nyverra's voice cut through the silence.

It was the question on everyone's mind, but there was no one here to answer it.

Alaric didn't waste a second. His figure blurred, and in the next instant he was hovering in the air, eye level with one of the bodies hanging from the ceiling.

His eyes glowed faintly, deep arcs of mana flaring within as he examined the corpse.

"…It's the same again," he muttered.

Everyone looked up.

"The same as the body found at the academy," he clarified grimly. "Everything—wiped clean. No mana signature, no traces, nothing. Whoever did this doesn't want to be followed."

His voice was low, but the weight in it made the air heavier.

Elizabeth's hands clenched at her side, her breath uneven.

Alaric's eyes narrowed. The timing, the attacks—first the academy, now this—it was too perfect. Too deliberate.

"They deliberately let out that surge of demonic energy," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "They knew I would sense it and come here… a diversion."

He turned his gaze, sweeping the broken hall, and then his eyes caught something.

A faint glint on the icy floor.

He descended slowly, boots touching the frozen ground. Kneeling down, he reached for it.

It was a letter. A plain sheet of parchment, half frozen, its edges ragged.

Under the moonlight streaming in from a broken window, he read the words written in elegant, dark ink:

A gift of greeting by this Unwoven one for the World.

It may be hard to believe, but I am on your side. So until next time, Headmaster.

For a long moment, the only sound was the faint creak of the threads above them.

Alaric's grip on the paper tightened, his expression unreadable.

The others could only stare, silent, as the message hung in the air like a curse.

Ring.

The piercing tone of Elizabeth's manawatch shattered the heavy silence like glass.

Every gaze in the ruined museum turned to her, but she ignored them all and answered the call at once.

The voice on the other end was urgent, familiar—the calm voice of her personal maid, guardian, and closest advisor.

"Miss, I have found him," the voice said.

She didn't need to ask who. Her hand tightened around the watch.

"Where?" Elizabeth demanded without hesitation.

"The Clock Tower, my lady," came the reply.

Elizabeth's lips parted as if to curse, but she caught herself halfway. "That bast—We'll be there," she said instead, her tone sharp.

She turned to Alaric. Their eyes met for a moment. He gave a quiet sigh, shaking his head, though there was a flicker of relief in his stern eyes.

Snap.

In the blink of an eye, they were gone, reappearing atop the ancient clock tower.

The night wind howled softly around the broken spire, and there, sitting on the edge, was Azhriel.

He sat alone, one knee propped up, hand resting over it, staring out at the moon that hung over the city like a watchful guardian.

The long strands of his white hair caught the wind, dancing and swaying around him, some brushing against his calm, pale face.

There was no tension in his posture. Only quiet stillness. Yet those sapphire eyes—

Those eyes told a different story.

They shone faintly in the moonlight, deep as the ocean, flickering with emotions he did not speak.

Melancholy.

Longing.

Something old and heavy that made the air feel thinner.

The group stilled.

No one spoke.

For a brief moment, even Elizabeth, who had rushed here with her heart pounding, stopped in her tracks.

Because under the moonlight, with the wind caressing him and the city far below, Azhriel looked like something painted—a picture too perfect, too untouchable.

Ethereal.

Beautiful.

And unbearably distant.