The awkward tension lingered in the air for a few more excruciating seconds before Romona—who had clearly reached her limit of tolerance for Areion's social blunders—cleared her throat loudly, the sound cutting through the lingering unease.
"Well," she said flatly, her amber eyes sharp and unwavering, "now that you've successfully terrified your unfortunate seatmate, perhaps we can all focus on the rapidly approaching fact that class is about to commence."
Areion rolled his silver eyes, a picture of long-suffering martyrdom. "Yeah, yeah."
Vixen, still sporting a faint blush that painted her cheeks a delicate rose, lowered her gaze once more. But this time, a small, almost imperceptible smile, like a secret bloom, tugged at the corner of her lips.
.
The grand lecture hall of the Order of Odysseus fell into a profound silence, broken only by the soft rustling of students shifting in their seats, a collective intake of breath in anticipation. The very presence of Lady Belladonna was enough to command absolute attention.
Standing before them in a deep violet robe, the color of twilight, embroidered with intricate golden runes that seemed to pulse with a faint inner light, her poised figure radiated an aura of both formidable authority and quiet grace. Long raven-black hair, as dark and lustrous as a moonless night, cascaded over her shoulders, framing sharp, intelligent eyes that held the weight of centuries of accumulated wisdom.
Her voice, when it finally broke the silence, carried through the vast hall—not through volume, but with a clarity, refinement. "I assume many of you recall me from the entrance ceremony," she began, her gaze, like a keen hawk's, sweeping across the assembled students. "But allow me to properly introduce myself. My name is Belladonna Morgiana, Current Headmaster of the Order of Odysseus."
A subtle ripple of acknowledgment spread through the students, a collective nod or a slight inclination of the head. Most had already surmised her importance, the air around her thick with an unspoken power, but hearing her state it formally reinforced the monumental significance of her presence.
She clasped her hands gracefully in front of her, her gaze lingering on each face for a fleeting moment, as if imprinting their individual features onto her formidable memory, before continuing.
"This institution—this Order—is far older than any of us gathered here today. It was founded during the Param Era, long before the world fractured and settled into its current, often fractured, state."
Silence descended once more, heavier now, imbued with the weight of untold history. "A visionary dwarven man named Odys established this Order not for the powerful, nor the privileged, but for those who possessed the unwavering will and inherent merit to stand as a bulwark against the myriad atrocities that plague our world."
She paused, allowing her words to sink into the receptive minds of the young mages. "Here, within these hallowed halls, nothing—not the glint of inherited wealth, not the prestige of ancient lineage, not the fleeting favor of political influence—will grant you true power or lasting prestige. Only your own inherent merit, the relentless cultivation of your abilities, will ultimately determine your standing within the Order. This institution exists to train those worthy, regardless of their species, their birthplace, or the circumstances of their background."
A palpable shift occurred In the room. Some students straightened in their seats, a newfound sense of purpose igniting in their eyes. Others exchanged thoughtful glances, beginning to grasp the profound implications of her words.
"Each of you, upon your successful entry into this Order, received a grimoire," Lady Belladonna continued, her gaze unwavering, "a tome unique to this academy, a vessel of knowledge that will guide your initial steps. Within its very first pages, you will find a passage inscribed, a truth that has echoed through the generations of mages who have walked these paths before you or will follow you."
She lifted a single, elegant finger, emphasizing the profound importance of her next words. "A mage's true prowess resides solely within one's self, transcending the limitations of their physical form, their material possessions, their worldly connections. Consciousness, in its purest form, is one."
A ripple of intellectual curiosity spread through the room. Some students furrowed their brows in deep thought, grappling with the abstract concept. Others merely nodded, a flicker of understanding in their eyes, but none missed the gravity that underscored her pronouncement.
Lady Belladonna's serene expression did not waver. "This is your first and most crucial lesson at the Order of Odysseus. You are not required to memorize it verbatim, nor are you obligated to recite it back to me. Your task, in the days and weeks to come, is far more significant: you must decipher its profound meaning on your own." A long, pregnant pause filled the hall. "Find your own truth within these seemingly simple words."
She allowed the silence to linger, a space for introspection, before effortlessly transitioning into the more practical details of their initial curriculum, her voice guiding them with the same unwavering authority and refined clarity.
.
After the conclusion of their first, thought-provoking session, Areion, Romona, and Vixen found themselves wandering through the vast, open training grounds of the academy, the air alive with the crackle of nascent magic and the rhythmic thud of practice weapons.
"So, this is where your sister spends most of her time?" Areion asked, his silver eyes taking in the sprawling fields where students sparred and honed their developing abilities.
Vixen nodded quickly, her pinkish-brown curls bouncing with enthusiasm. "Yes! At least, that's what she always says." Her tail flicked behind her, a subtle manifestation of her excitement. "I've never actually seen her fight properly, though… but I know she's absolutely amazing."
Areion arched a silver brow, catching the undisguised admiration that shone in Vixen's wide, brown eyes. Romona offered a small, knowing smile. "You really look up to her, don't you?"
Vixen turned towards them, her eyes widening even further, as if the answer were so self-evident it barely warranted a response. "Of course! She's my big sister."
Areion chuckled softly, a genuine amusement coloring his tone. "Well, now my curiosity is thoroughly piqued."
They approached the main open sparring field, where numerous students were engaged in various forms of training, their movements a blend of awkward fumbles and flashes of nascent skill. Amidst the activity, one figure stood out with an undeniable presence.
A young woman, noticeably taller and more physically imposing than her younger sister, moved with an effortless ferocity that belied her age. Her wild, pinkish-brown curls were pulled back in a practical knot, allowing her sharp, almost feline features to be fully visible.
She was engaged in a relentless assault on a massive, armored training construct, her clawed hands slicing through its thick plating as if it were mere parchment. Each strike was precise, unwavering, imbued with a raw power that made the metal groan in protest, sparks flying as she tore through the automaton's defenses.
Vixen beamed with unrestrained pride, her entire demeanor shifting from shy reserve to vibrant enthusiasm. "That's her!" she exclaimed, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, her tail swishing back and forth with unrestrained excitement.
Without a moment's hesitation, she waved her hand excitedly and called out, her voice carrying across the training grounds, "Sis! Sis! Over here!"
The girl paused mid-strike, her sharp, feline ears twitching almost imperceptibly at the sound of her sister's voice. She turned towards them, a warm, genuine smile immediately breaking across her face, softening her otherwise intense features. For a fleeting moment, she looked like any other big sister greeting her younger sibling, a familiar affection radiating from her.
But then—her gaze fell upon Areion. A subtle shift occurred in his perception, a faint echo of something familiar yet elusive stirring within him, though he couldn't quite place its origin.
The warmth in her expression flickered, like a candle flame caught in a sudden gust of wind—and then, abruptly, vanished. Her smile froze, the corners of her lips losing their upward curve. Her golden eyes widened almost imperceptibly, as if a crucial piece of a long-forgotten puzzle had suddenly clicked into place.
She motioned for Vixen to wait with a brief, almost imperceptible gesture, her entire demeanor shifting from relaxed affection to a taut, almost wary alertness. Areion immediately felt the weight of her unwavering gaze upon him, scrutinizing, calculating, as if she were assessing his very soul.
Romona, ever the keen observer of subtle shifts in atmosphere, caught the sudden change in the older sister and narrowed her amber eyes slightly, her hand instinctively moving towards the hilt of the concealed dagger at her hip. "…This just got interesting," she muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible.
Areion, ever composed and outwardly unperturbed, remained still, meeting the older girl's intense gaze with his usual unreadable expression, a polite but distant neutrality masking whatever thoughts might be stirring within him.
Breaking the tense silence, Areion, with his characteristic effortless charm, turned to Vixen, a curious glint in his silver eyes. "So… your sister," he began, his gaze flicking towards the approaching Roxen but his tone remaining light and conversational, "tell me about her."
Vixen's ears perked up, and her face lit up with an almost radiant joy as she eagerly launched into a fast-paced ramble, her words tumbling out in a rush of sisterly pride. "She's a genius! Everyone in my village says so—my parents, the elders, even the merchants passing through! They say she's a gift from the gods! Ever since we were little, she's been amazing at absolutely everything—fighting, magic, hunting, academics—she even—"
Areion raised a hand slightly, interrupting her enthusiastic torrent of praise with a smooth, polite gesture. "Sorry," he interjected gently, not wanting to dampen her obvious pride but also feeling slightly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information. "I'm not trying to stop you, but… could you perhaps start with something a little simpler? Maybe her name and age first?"
Vixen blinked, her flow of words abruptly ceasing as if she had never considered such basic details before. Then, with a sudden gasp of realization, she slapped a palm onto her forehead, her pinkish-brown tail swishing frantically behind her in a display of mild embarrassment. "Ohhh! Mama always says I'm terribly forgetful!" she whined, sticking her tongue out playfully before grinning sheepishly at Areion. "Okay, okay! Her name is Roxen Sorrelwind, and she's nineteen!"
Areion's silver eyes flickered with a subtle recognition. [Nineteen.] So she was the same age as Lucian and Romona. [Probably a third-year student, if her village's assessment of her genius holds true and she hasn't failed any academic years.] He mentally filed the information away for later consideration.
But before he could delve deeper into his observations, Vixen's sharp ears twitched, sensing the approaching movement. Her gaze darted past him, lighting up once again with unrestrained affection. "Sis!" she chirped, her arms already opening wide for an eager embrace.
Roxen Sorrelwind was approaching. Her presence was undeniable, each step deliberate and purposeful, carrying an unspoken intensity. She had seemingly mid-cancelled whatever Beast Transformation she had been utilizing, her once-enhanced muscles gradually shrinking back into a lean, feminine build. Even now, as she smoothly pulled her coat back over her toned shoulders, she exuded an effortless strength, the kind forged through relentless training rather than mere natural talent.
Vixen bounced in place, practically vibrating with anticipation, ready to throw herself into her sister's arms. But then—she hesitated, a flicker of confusion crossing her youthful features.
Roxen's expression had hardened. Her sharp, golden eyes weren't focused on her eager younger sister. They were locked, unwavering, onto Areion. Intense. Overwhelming.
She walked directly past Vixen, as if the younger girl wasn't even there. Vixen's outstretched arms slowly lowered, her brows knitting together in a silent question.
And then—a sharp crack echoed through the training grounds, the sound of a forceful impact cutting through the ambient noise. A slap. Hard. Unexpected.
Areion's head barely moved from the force of the blow, but the undeniable weight behind it resonated through his jaw. For a brief, stunned moment, everything was silent. Students training nearby froze mid-motion, some gasping audibly. Others turned their heads instinctively, drawn to the sudden, inexplicable violence.
Romona's amber eyes widened, her body tensing on reflex, her hand now firmly gripping the hilt of her concealed dagger. Even Vixen gasped, her feline ears twitching wildly as she stared at her older sister in utter shock and disbelief.
Roxen's hand lingered in the air, her fingers trembling slightly from the force of the strike. Her breath was uneven, her lithe body taut with an emotion that went far beyond mere anger.
Then—her voice, raw and laced with something deeper, something akin to a painful recognition, broke through the stunned silence.
"You f*cker…"
The words carried a heavy weight, filled with a profound understanding that Areion himself did not yet comprehend, a cryptic accusation hanging heavy in the air.