Roughly an hour remained before they would reach the outlying waters of Vazrun Island. That much, the navigator had informed in passing. From time to time, the vessel gave a slow, shuddering groan. Tremors throbbed against the vessel with rhythmic persistence, drawn by the pulse of magic and the scent of motion.

Aquatic Voidspawn had begun to surface, a primal hunger that came from raw instinct. They came alone, or in twitching groups of two or three, gnashing and shrieking as their warped forms rose briefly to the surface.

Yet none had posed a real threat. Velthia’s defenses had held fast. The ship, though not built for war, carried officials whose rank implied competence. Whatever dared draw near was swiftly unmade.

Even so, the silence afterwards felt a bit too long. Ruvian watched from behind the reinforced window of their assigned quarters, his gaze fixed on the water as a whole.

The sea had darkened further since morning. No longer blue, nor the blue-green that belonged to tropical depth, but a shade that seemed to reject light outright—darkness. And the sky above mirrored it in temperament, heavy with low grey clouds.

‘We are close now.’

Ruvian could feel the abstract shift of it.

He turned his head, then slowly swept his gaze across the quarters, observing his fellow teammates.

Shima lay sprawled across her mattress, surrendered to boredom and mild exhaustion. Her breath came deep and steady, but even in sleep, she looked alert.

Across from her, Horren had fallen into a similar state, though in his case it was more stubborn than unconscious. One arm hung loosely off the side of the bed, and his legs were still half-bent, as though he hadn’t intended to sleep at all.

Arlok, meanwhile, rejected the stillness entirely. He moved through a set of light push-ups near the far wall, eyes half-closed as though the act itself was meditative. Perhaps it was, for him.

Yerin sat with her legs crossed on the edge of her bed, hands resting lightly on her knees, eyes closed in deep concentration. Ambience of mana danced along her skin. She was refining her mana control. All of them were managing the hour in their own way.

Ruvian fell into another memory.

He remembered where each named character started, where they were meant to be deployed, which ruins, shorelines or battlefields awaited them on the map the Academy had drawn.

And while there had been deviations—Zian’s absence—it had not been enough to break the bones of the structure. Julian had inherited Zian’s squad. So, the other named characters moved up in terms of their squad rank number in the same order.

Like Calyra, who in the original narrative was supposed to be in Squad 3, deviated to Squad 2. The Academy, in its quiet cunning, had followed the preordained placements out of specific design.

The locations weren’t random.

With one final glance toward the others, he let out a soft breath and turned toward his own cot. His body was not tired, but if he wants to get some rest, it's better to do it now before they land on the island.

‘There is still time. An hour, maybe less.’

Enough to close his eyes.

****

A hand pressed lightly against his shoulder.

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Ruvian woke up from the shallow edges of sleep, his eyes opening with readiness as though the part of him that rested never truly let go of the waking world.

Arlok stood above him, crouched slightly, his face shadowed by the dim cabin light.

“They told us to get ready. Fifteen minutes.” There was stiffness in his voice when he spoke.

By then, the others were already moving. Yerin sat upright, lacing the leather guard around her wrist. “The instructors said we’ll arrive soon. Make sure you’re prepared.” Her voice was calm.

The space became alive with motion. Metal rang softly as weapons were drawn and checked. Everyone knew the time for ease was over. Shima cracked her shoulders with a grunt and tested her footing.

Arlok flexed his arms, rotating his joints with small, efficient movements. Horren secured the final buckles on his reinforced cloak before rising with a languid stretch.

Yerin closed her eyes, only for a breath, before exhaling slow.

Yet even amid all the final preparations, something pulled their attention outward.

The world outside it beckoned without meaning to. Beyond the glass, it felt like the end of the day or a terrible storm. The sky had thickened into a pallid grey-black. None of them said it aloud, but the thought crept into the same place in every mind: If this is morning… what does night look like on this island?

The question lingered among them until…

A sharp knock came at the cabin door, followed by the unmistakable voice of the old academy staff member.

“Time’s up. Follow me.”

The door opened, and they stepped outside.

The deck greeted them with a blast of cold wind. Sharp and merciless, they punished bare skin and pulled at loose fabric like claws. The ship rocked harder now, creaking under pressure that came from both the sea and the sky.

And then they saw it.

The Vazrun Island.

It rose in the distance, but not far. Looming, massive, and utterly still despite the storm that danced around it. At its heart, black cliffs jutted from the sea like a wound carved into the earth. Above, the dark clouds had begun to spiral around the island’s peak like a vortex. Lightning flickered faintly inside the storm’s belly.

Arlok squinted against it, muttering under his breath, though not softly enough.

“Holy fuck…”

Horren’s hands opened and closed restlessly at his sides, his expression caught between awe and unease, as though every instinct in his body warned him not to step forward.

Even Yerin, always composed, always poised, had her eyes wide now. No words, just the silent recognition of something far greater than expected.

Shima narrowed her gaze, her voice quiet, almost reverent, almost dreading.

“So, this is Vazrun Island.”

Meanwhile, Ruvian was quietly smiling as the lightning illuminated his face. He could feel his heart beating louder.

Was it a thrill that he felt?

No. What he felt… was fear.

…

The wind howled across the upper decks, carrying the cold scent of the sea-brine. Scholars were herded upward in steady waves, guided by commands.

They gathered across the central deck and onto the upper observation platforms, a tide of black-clad scholars standing shoulder to shoulder—four hundred bodies bound by the shared anticipation.

Squads clustered by number, loose formations held by the fragile order of preparation.

Then, a calm and authoritative voice rose.

“From this point on,” the Chief Instructor began, standing atop the raised quarterdeck with his coat flaring behind him, “remain vigilant.”

“Your safety is your responsibility,” he continued, eyes scanning the mass below.

“Faculty and staff are positioned across the island to observe and intervene—but do not mistake that for a shield. We are not omnipresent. There are limits to how quickly help can arrive, and sometimes…” He paused, just long enough for silence to thicken.

“…Sometimes, it doesn’t arrive at all.”

“There have been scholars who never returned from this test.” There was no drama in his tone. And everyone who listened didn't respond. Well, what else could be said in the face of a truth already written?

Then came the blindfolds.

The fabric was cold to the touch and humming with dormant runes. Staff moved down the lines clinically, binding one after another efficiently. One by one, the scholars were plunged into darkness.

“You are not to remove these until you land,” came the next instruction, spoken without inflection. “Do not use mana. Do not attempt to cheat the veil. Violate this rule, and you will be eliminated before you ever set foot on the island.”

As if on cue with his final words, a rush of air rose underneath the scholars. Neither harsh nor violent, only absolute in its intent as transportation.

Ruvian’s feet left the wooden deck without resistance, and his body rose into the sky as though the laws of weight had simply ceased to apply.

All around him, others were being carried as well—squad by squad, each drawn along invisible paths to locations long predetermined.

Then, they were scattered.

For his group, the destination had been assigned long before they ever stepped aboard the ship.

Grid Location: B7.

And so, without resistance, Ruvian allowed himself to be carried downward into the waiting island.

PP= 4000

ME= 510