Each floating platform and stage ferried their respective faction's representatives and new recruits to their bases.
The newbies expected some kind of welcome or introduction to their camps.
But that wasn't what they got.
Not really.
At least, not most of them.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Mercedes Caulis – Sixth Stratum: Incidina Barham
Bang.
Sion Ulster blinked as the doors to Cariott Wiseman's private quarters slammed in his face.
He stood stranded in the hallway with barely any instructions.
Turning stiffly, the fire mage met the gaze—or lack thereof—of the attendant posted outside.
Logwell, blindfolded and unreadable, stood like a statue with his arms folded behind his back.
Protectively, in front of the entrance.
Like some seasoned soldier and bodyguard.
"...I'm supposed to wait?" Sion asked, gesturing vaguely at the door.
The old man nodded.
"Yes. For a week, to be precise."
"...For the Second Bloom to finish?"
Another nod.
"Lord Cariott is a practical man. It makes little sense to hold an initiation for you alone, and then another in a week's time."
"That depends on whether he adds anyone else to our ranks—"
"It is still not a risk he is willing to take," Logwell said flatly. "What Lord Cariott hates most is wasting time. After the Second Bloom, he will hold The Initiation for you—and, if fate deems it, for other flame users from your cohort all at once."
Sion went quiet, lips twitching in wry exasperation.
Then what the hell am I supposed to do for a week?
He spread his arms, motioning toward the empty hallway.
"I don't like wasting time either, you know."
He let out a breath and ran a frustrated hand through his red hair.
"Well then, I suppose I'll head down to the Colorless Garden—"
"You may not."
The words cut sharp and fast. Logwell didn't flinch.
He remained upright, composed, unbending.
Sion blinked.
"And why not?"
"All new Blessed are strictly forbidden from leaving their respective faction territories until the Second Bloom has concluded," Logwell said. "To prevent foul play, you may not—by any means—communicate with or assist Will Serfort, Julius Reinburg, or any other Colorless in any capacity."
Sion fought the urge to instinctively deny it.
He didn't want to come off like a tsundere in front of his superior.
A denial here would be nothing but an admission.
So he simply crossed his arms and waited for the adjutant to continue.
"Shortly, someone will arrive to show you around the base and give you a light orientation," Logwell said. "He will supervise you for a week. Please cooperate."
Sion blanked.
Supervise? By who? …Is it that Rodge guy who scouted me—
Thump.
His thoughts stopped cold at the sound of footsteps approaching from down the corridor.
Logwell looked to his left. Sion turned to his right.
"He's arrived."
Sion raised a brow.
A fairly tall man entered view—clearly past the six-foot mark.
He had orange hair, something more common among earth mages than fire users, but the subtle red tones threaded through it made Sion dismiss the thought.
The hair was messy and spiked at the top, tied into a single, thin tail-braid that fell below his shoulders. His build was lean but defined—broad enough to suggest time spent training rather than lounging.
So they don't skip the gym around here, Sion mused, casting a brief glance between Logwell and the newcomer.
Red markings framed the man's eyes, angular and deliberate, with a diamond-shaped one etched on his forehead.
A single sharp tooth poked out on the right side of his mouth, tugging at the corner of a scar that curved from lip to ear, tracing his cheekbone like a branding.
He wore an overflowing crimson cape trimmed with fur, the Fire Faction brooch glinting from his coat collar.
Everything else—shirt, pants, boots—was plain black from head to toe.
A blank slate. Stylishly intimidating.
He stopped just short of Sion, looking down on him with turquoise eyes, once again very odd for a fire user.
His expression was stony, calm, a tad bit cold, and reserved.
Sion nearly shrank under the glare—until the man turned his gaze to Logwell and gave a polite dip of the head.
"Sir."
Logwell nodded.
"I'll leave him to you."
Without another word, he turned and slipped into his Vander's room without so much as a knock.
Creak.
Unlike Cariott, though, he took special care to close the door behind him.
And just like that, Sion was left alone with the towering stranger—who was now focused solely on him.
The man extended a hand.
"Leopold Vermillion."
Sion instinctively took it, matching the firm grip without flinching or looking away from the unspoken stare challenge.
"Sion Ulster."
Leopold's expression softened, just slightly, as he released his hand.
"You may call me Leo, if you choose."
"I think I'll stick with Mr. Vermillion for now," Sion said politely, tone firm but not antagonistic.
Leopold didn't push it.
He stepped past him, continuing down the hall at a calm pace.
"Then follow me… Mr. Ulster."
Sion didn't hesitate.
He silently fell in line.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Fifth Stratum: Elleaf Canaan
Wignall Lindorr was very confused.
His sister hadn't even spoken to him directly—she'd simply stated, offhandedly, that his inauguration would occur after the Second Bloom.
That timing might have made sense for other factions, but for the Fairy Faction—who had only elves among their ranks—what was there to wait for?
He was the last elf still outside the tower until now.
There was no need to wait.
Currently, he stood awkwardly in a large room. Across from him, the faction's adjutants, Lefiya Viridis and Filvis Challia, sat calmly at a small round table.
Neither spoke. Filvis kept her eyes lowered. Lefiya's expression was blank.
The silence dragged.
Wignall cleared his throat, coughing into his fist.
"A-ahem. Master Lefiya… Master Filvis—"
Eyes still closed, Lefiya cut him off before he could continue.
"Lady Ellenor is waiting for the High Elves to arrive from Alfswood to oversee your inaugurations. They are expected shortly after the next Bloom."
Wignall froze.
The High Elves… leaving the kingdom just to see me?
His throat caught.
He couldn't help but feel honored.
And excited.
H-have they finally decided to acknowledge me?
Welcome me as one of their own again—
He stopped himself and shook his head, bitter.
What are you thinking, Wignall… It's probably just to shame you again. Maybe they'll even try to block your admission.
He let out a sigh, resigned.
Then blinked.
"Wait… did you say inaugurations?"
His brow furrowed. "As in plural?"
Reading the thoughts written plainly on his face, Lefiya nodded without opening her eyes.
"Yes. As in plural."
Wignall's expression contorted into absolute bafflement.
The silence stretched—until Filvis spoke softly from behind her mask.
"They're here. Introduce yourself."
He spun around. Then froze.
A rosy-haired elf stood at the front of the group, turquoise eyes sharp and posture poised.
She was of decent height, wearing the Elleaf Canaan brooch on her robe.
Wignall's gaze lingered on the red, curled markings on her forehead—reminding him of a certain figure who'd been lingering in his thoughts for some time.
But his attention was soon drawn elsewhere.
A small girl stood beside the elf woman, clutching her hand.
She looked even younger than Ellenor had been at her debut. Platinum blonde hair was tied into a tidy little ponytail, and her soft, solemn expression stirred something instinctual in him.
You just wanted to protect her.
But more than anything, one detail stood out.
She was wearing a gloria.
A Colorless gloria.
Wignall's thoughts erupted at once.
A-another new recruit?!
There's another elf who hadn't entered the tower until now?
But how? Surely I would've heard—
She's no newborn… she must be in her sixties! So why haven't I ever seen her at the academy?
His lips parted in a broken whisper.
"Y-you are…?"
The girl blinked up at him. Her wide, curious eyes reminded him of Ellenor's—long ago.
She let go of the woman's hand and bowed politely.
"Selia. Selia Silvamillon."
"O-oh?!"
Wignall startled and quickly bowed back with equal formality, more flustered than he understood.
"I-I'm Wignall Lindorr. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Selia gave him a casual nod.
"I know who you are. Every elf does."
He froze.
Then his eye twitched, and he let out a quiet, wry breath, head drooping slightly.
I see my reputation precedes me.
Just not in the way I'd hoped.
Selia stepped past Wignall toward the table, bowing again—this time more comfortably, her demeanor friendly.
"Auntie Lefiya. Auntie Filvis."
Lefiya, still with eyes shut, shook her head firmly.
"We've told you. Call us Master or Sister."
Wignall blinked.
They're that close?
Filvis nodded emphatically beside her partner.
"Y-yeah, we're not aunties… we're only twenty!"
Wignall was already beginning to lose respect for the so-called elven legends in front of him.
Selia scratched her cheek, looking mildly troubled.
These 'aunties' were well over a hundred years old by elven reckoning.
Not calling them grandma was already a stretch.
Still, she followed mage years. And by that measure, they might actually be younger than her brother.
So she nodded.
"It's been a while, Big Sis Lefiya. Big Sis Filvis."
Both seemed satisfied with the compromise. Lefiya raised a finger toward her casually.
Boom.
Selia was instantly engulfed in a warm, familiar light.
Her gloria shimmered, then morphed into a female version of the Elleaf Canaan uniform—dark green with a skirt that fell just above her knees, and a fitted shirt that revealed nothing but her collarbone.
Her eyes sparkled.
She turned toward the pink-haired woman and gave a quick twirl, clearly seeking approval.
The woman smiled gently.
"Very cute."
As Selia hugged the woman tightly, the elf turned to offer Wignall a gentle smile.
"I am Fana."
Wignall gave a quick, awkward nod.
"G-greetings, Ms. Fana… m-may I ask you a question?"
Fana tilted her head, puzzled but patient.
"Sure…?"
Wignall straightened slightly, trying to steady his nerves.
"Do you happen to know an elf… with markings like yours, on his cheek? He wears an eyepatch. He uses light magic—"
"Oh! You met Uncle Patri?"
Selia cut in suddenly, appearing right in front of him with wide, curious eyes.
Thump.
Wignall stumbled back a step.
"U-uncle?!"
Selia nodded, now beaming with pride.
"Yeah, he's my uncle. See?"
She raised her hand, and a yellow glow hovered over her palm before gently fading.
Wignall's pupils dilated.
L-Light magic?! Another elf who can use it?! What in the world is going on?!
Selia looked pleased with herself, clearly enjoying his reaction. Her eyes sparkled as she gazed distantly.
"Uncle Patri's way better than me though. What do you want with him, anyway?"
Beside them, Fana resisted the urge to press her fingers to her temple, already feeling the headache coming.
Wignall pointed at Selia, still reeling.
"B-but how? How can you use light magic?"
Selia blinked innocently.
"Who knows? Maybe I'm special?"
She said it with the same casual tone Patri had used in the dungeon, leaving Wignall slack-jawed once again.
Before he could recover enough to ask another question, Lefiya rose from her seat, drawing his attention.
"Selia, her brother, Lady Fana, and Lord Patri are the last remnants of a small clan," she said calmly. "One that branched off from Alfswood shortly after our ancestors arrived in this world."
"It's no surprise you've never heard of them."
Wignall opened his mouth, full of fresh doubts to voice.
But Lefiya didn't give him the chance.
Instead, she turned to Selia.
And for the first time today, she smiled.
Her maser floating at her side, she chuckled softly.
"I have good news, Selia. I just received word—your brother has returned."
Selia's face lit up.
Brighter than it had in a long, long time.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Fourth Stratum: Thorzeus Fudge
Lihanna Owenzaus was surprised, to say the least.
No sooner had she arrived on her faction's floor than she was ordered to change out of her clothes into her training gear—and now here she stood.
Outside. In shorts, sneakers, and a tank top. On a long grassy field encircled by a paved running track, where the rest of the faction was already scattered, casually stretching.
Most gave her a blunt "hi," "sup," or "hello," without offering names, breaking off into their own groups.
Some helped others stretch.
Some lifted weights.
Some engaged in light, magicless spars.
And others stood around, chatting like they were just waiting for something.
Before she could so much as raise a question, a familiar sound buzzed in her ear.
Bzt.
A flash of white light burst in front of her, blinding her for a moment.
When it faded, a familiar tanned face stood there, wearing clothes similar to hers… though far brighter—flower pins, leg warmers, bracelets, necklaces—every kind of colorful accessory imaginable.
Lihanna blinked in surprise.
"M-Miss Theralde—ack!"
She flinched and clutched her back, where Annalie had just slapped her with a wide grin.
"Call me Anna, girl!" she corrected, overly friendly.
Komari popped a peace sign with a wink.
"I totes remember you from the Terminalia! You did pretty good against those stinky dinos, kiddo! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧"
Despite the strange jargon, Lihanna flushed slightly, unexpectedly moved.
Annalie Theralde—Anna—was one of the most distinguished high mages from that battle.
She had slain dozens of Dinobori, despite the creatures wielding Mage Slayers—a serious threat to anyone who relied on magic.
Just like Lihanna, she was short—only 5'2—and thin.
No doubt she'd been looked down on most of her life for her size. Dismissed. Underestimated.
Yet she'd stood brave. Fought face-to-face with monsters.
Like a real knight.
Her fashion horrors aside, she was exactly the kind of woman Lihanna wanted to become.
Maybe then… my parents would finally be proud of me.
And she let her know that.
"Thank you, Ms— I mean, thank you, Anna... that means a lot coming from you."
Komari froze—then squealed.
She lunged forward, grabbing Lihanna's cheeks and kneading them like dough.
"What an adorable junior you are! Don't worry, Anna-senpai will definitely take you under her wing!"
Lihanna turned beet red, squirming under the tight pinch, unable to break free.
"M-Miss Anna, please...!"
Komari finally let go with a giggle, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Are you confused why we're out here?"
Lihanna blinked at the sudden shift in tone, but nodded honestly.
Komari began stretching, casually.
"The bossman fights more like a warrior than a mage," she said. "So the rest of these guys train their bodies hard to emulate him."
"Then in the future, they can fight alongside him—rather than behind him."
Lihanna tilted her head, brow raised.
"The way you speak… it's like you're excluding yourself?"
It didn't make sense.
She'd seen Annalie fight during the Terminalia—charging into battle with enchantments, brawling in close quarters like a seasoned knight.
So what was with the phrasing?
Komari threw her head back with a laugh.
"Naturally I do too! I've always fought that way. Got nothing to do with Zeo Bro though!"
Lihanna blinked, stunned.
Bro?
Did she just call a Vander… "Bro"?
Before she could even process that, a furious voice beat her to it.
"BRO?! How dare you address Great Mage Zeo as 'Bro'?!"
The shout made Lihanna flinch—and Komari nearly stumble from the sheer volume.
She turned toward the voice with an audible groan.
Around them, a few Thunder Faction mages chuckled wryly.
Komari clicked her tongue.
"Guil, can you lay off me just for one day?"
Face unreadable, the Thunder Faction adjutant stomped toward her with heavy steps.
"That's Guilford to you, Theralde! You will show the Great Mage proper respect!" he barked. "And how many times do I have to tell you to change out of that ridiculous attire?!"
"Your fashion choices embarrass Lord Zeo, embarrass us, and make a joke of this entire faction!"
Komari rolled her eyes.
You were a joke long before I joined.
Still smirking, she leaned in close to his face.
"You're always on my case, Guil. Ever since I kicked your ass. What's up? Got a little crush on Anna-dear? Want to see a little more skin?"
Guilford froze.
Then flushed crimson and stumbled back.
"C-crush?! Skin?! WHAT NONSENSE?!"
The laughter around them grew louder. Guilford stomped his foot.
Thump.
"Enough! Hit the track! Theralde, you'll be running thrice the laps for today's insubordination!"
Komari groaned.
Times like these, she regretted not taking the adjutant position from Guil when she had the chance.
With the unspoken might-makes-right rule in their faction, she could've taken it easily.
But it had sounded like way too much trouble at the time.
Komari Imari did not bother herself with paperwork!
Still… with Guil's obsession ever since that one humiliating defeat, she sometimes regretted letting laziness win.
Sighing, she turned and whispered to Lihanna.
"Sorry, kiddo. I was gonna run with you, but if I don't start now I'm missing dinner…"
"…Little advice—don't sprint. Pace yourself, and use your magic in short bursts, alright?"
Zip!
Komari vanished in a streak of white light, already rounding the track several times in an instant.
Lihanna blinked, baffled.
But despite everything, she didn't doubt her senior's advice—no matter how contradictory it looked.
And in time, she'd realize…
That was one of the smartest decisions she'd made in a long while.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
3rd Stratum: Albis Vina
Seated on a chair of ice, chin resting on her knees, Elfaria sulked.
"I'll kill him."
"I'll kill him."
"I'll kill him."
"Kill him…"
"Kill him…"
"Kill him…"
"Kill him…"
The Vander murmured her dark intentions over and over, almost absentmindedly.
Sarissa Alfeld sighed, adjusting her glasses with a weary push.
"Elfaria-sama."
Elfaria's head snapped toward her, eyes wild.
"What, Sarissa?! Don't judge me! This is your fault—I trusted Kreutz because you told me to! And look what happened?!"
She stood abruptly, hands clenched.
"Will is still gone! Still out of my reach! And now he's in danger too!"
My Will!
Even if he's a cheating scumbag… he didn't know any better! He's still my Will!
And that carrot-top, homewrecking bimbo? I'll deal with her in due time…
Right after I ice the entire Upper Institute!
As her stormy thoughts lingered like a dark cloud over her head, Sarissa sighed once more.
"Lady Elfaria, would you please listen to what she has to say?"
Elfaria blinked.
Only now did she finally notice Iris X. Stellamaris standing in front of her—apparently having tried to speak to her for the past five minutes.
She gave the Watcher a sheepish smile.
"Sorry, Iris… could you repeat that?"
Glasses absent and hair let down, the mysterious undercover fourth-year raised a single, unimpressed brow.
"For the sixth time, Lady Elfaria—why have you not scouted Julius Reinburg?"
Her tone was sharp, professional.
"As a Watcher, I am beyond baffled that his talents are still being overlooked."
Elfaria quickly averted her gaze, face half-buried in her knees as she mumbled under her breath.
"B-because… he said all those pervy things at the festival… about stripping me bare… a-and he never stopped bullying Will…"
Her head suddenly snapped up. Fists clenched.
"And he even revealed my dark past to the entire school!"
"..."
Sarissa and Iris stared at her, visibly unamused.
Actually, that last one had been Will.
A bead of sweat trailed down Iris' cheek as she pinched her brow, feeling a migraine settle in.
"So, in other words… this is completely personal."
Elfaria ducked her head again, flushing with embarrassment—caught red-handed all over again.
"...What does Lord Aaron make of all this?" she muttered.
Iris shut her eyes and sighed.
"'What will be, will be.' Those were his exact words."
She looked Elfaria up and down, slowly.
"He's not too pleased about Julius' current situation—but he respects your decision. Naturally, the honor and dignity of a Vander… no matter how sleazy they may be… can still be challenged."
Elfaria's eyes lit up, ignoring the subtle jab entirely.
"But," Iris continued, "he also hopes you'll let the past rest… and try to see the bigger picture."
Elfaria lowered her head with a sigh.
"If Julius shows humility… if he demonstrates growth by next week… then I'll bless him."
Iris gave a satisfied nod and moved on.
"As for Will, Lord Aaron will let the situation unfold as it has. If he passes Kreutz's test, he won't object."
"However, he won't grant the boy any special treatment."
"Unlike Headmistress Caldron, Lord Aaron is not enthusiastic about mixing a sword in with a tower full of wands. He must prove himself."
Elfaria nodded slowly and sank deeper into her frozen seat.
Meanwhile, Sarissa quietly adjusted her glasses, lifting her chin in thought.
Not even a Colored, and this boy is already causing divine-level waves within the Tower…
Just what is he? And what is Wis?
I searched every book I could find. Aside from a name, there's no information. Either it was wiped from all archives… or purposefully omitted—never recorded to begin with.
She stole a glance at her master.
Lady Elfaria certainly knows more than she lets on… but why hide it? Even from me?
Iris straightened her posture, heading toward the exit.
But she paused—mid-step—and glanced back over her shoulder.
"A word of advice, Lady Elfaria."
"Hmm?" Elfaria tilted her head, caught off guard.
Iris didn't turn around.
She resumed walking, her tone cool and distant.
"Keep lazing around and indulging your whims… and forget Will Serfort. Even Julius Reinburg may slip from your grasp."
"Consider yourself warned."
"?!"
Elfaria blinked, stunned by the sudden shift in tone.
But Iris was already gone.
She turned to her adjutant with a bewildered look.
"What was that about?"
Sarissa remained silent.
Truthfully… she didn't know.
She just had a very bad feeling.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Second Stratum: Earth Faction District
Within the allotted territory of Grantina L'Abysse, Colette Loire eyed her friend with confusion.
"Rose, why aren't you letting me meet our superiors?"
Rose Prehnite smiled innocently.
"Because that just wouldn't be fair."
Colette tilted her head. "Huh?"
Rose casually placed a hand on her friend's shoulder, already steering her away from the conference room.
"Think about it, my dear Colette. In a week's time, a few more of our classmates might join us. So how would they feel if we, their fellow newbies, were already well-acquainted with everyone?"
"That wouldn't be good for their self-esteem, would it?"
She struck a proud pose.
"We have to spare them the inferiority! It's our duty as their friends!"
Colette stared at her flatly.
"Rose… we're the only Earth users."
"We won't have any more additions this year."
Earth magic was in steep decline. If given a choice, few ever opted to specialize in it—most saw it as a secondary element at best.
Rose's expression twitched.
Damn it, Colette—I'm trying to keep you away from those embarrassing perverts as long as possible. Work with me here!
Still forcing a smile, she pressed on.
"Just humor me, Colette."
"…"
The Earth Princess narrowed her eyes, suspicious.
But eventually, she relented with a sigh.
Forget it. This way I'll stay on the same starting line as Will and Julius.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Second Stratum: Dark Faction District
Inside Tenebrias Noctane's Shrouded Manor, the only two admitted members of the Dark Faction from the 401st cohort stood trembling.
Well—only one of them did.
Mike Maius, a guy with a sharp jawline and reddish-brown eyes and hair, draped in a full-length pitch-black cloak, was the unfortunate source of the embarrassing scene.
A former announcer for the last Grand Magic Festival and a newly inspired dreamer aiming to become a Tower Arbiter... now reduced to a cowering wreck.
He was currently hiding behind a petite, pale-skinned girl dressed in gothic fashion, her expression vacant as she dangled a bunny plushie by one ear.
This was Angie Roux.
In front of them stretched a long rectangular table, where all the upper members of the faction were seated.
Most were... unsettling.
Faces hidden beneath deep hoods.
Muttering words that could only be taboo hexes or ancient curses.
Some casually sipped inky mixtures from test tubes.
Others stirred strange concoctions or poked at ragdolls with unsettling concentration.
They were undeniably creepy.
Only three faces were clearly visible.
One belonged to a short-haired, busty woman—who, under different circumstances, might've excited Mike to no end.
Another had a soft, sneaky smile and wore his long black hair tied back in a loose ponytail, eyes shut in calm amusement.
But it was the last figure at the far end of the table who commanded all of Mike's fear—who radiated it.
This was Walther Lyndon.
The Dark Faction chief.
His bald head bore a large, black, tribal-like tattoo across the forehead—ominous and ritualistic.
His deep-set eyes were unnervingly wide, filled with manic glee. That piercing stare practically danced with sadistic thrill.
Sharp cheekbones and a long, angular face made even his resting expression feel intense.
A wide mouth stretched into a crazed grin, revealing pointed teeth that only added to the feral, predatory vibe he gave off.
And his hands…
They hovered in the air like claws—long, skeletal fingers adorned with painted black nails, twitching slightly as if preparing to grasp something that wasn't there.
Mike gulped hard.
Please put your hood back on. Better yet, wear a mask… you're hideous!
He cried out inwardly, but not a single syllable left his lips.
He didn't dare say anything.
Walther stretched out his long tongue, the sound wet and deliberate, before clasping his clawed hands together.
"It's rare for us to convene at all," he said, voice giddy and low. "Let alone for a pair of new recruits."
The busty woman—Mora Lattar—let out a soft yawn, half covering her mouth.
"Then why did you?"
Walther's grin widened, revealing too many teeth.
"Because one of our recruits deserves such respect. Or rather… returnee might be the more accurate term."
Hmm?
Everyone paused.
Then turned.
Thump.
The front doors creaked open. A lone figure stepped inside, prompting hushed murmurs to ripple across the table.
Mike nearly dropped to his knees in despair.
No… no, it can't be—after six long years I finally escaped this psycho… so why is he here?!
Edward Serfence strode in with an easy, scornful snort.
"You don't look too happy to see me, Maius."
Mike tried to plaster on a smile—one that could've been mistaken for a grimace.
"W-why would you say that, Edward-sensei? I'm always happy to be in your—"
"Spare me the shameless flattery," Edward snapped, his mood instantly souring. "And it's Mr. Serfence now."
Mike froze.
Then ducked his head.
...Awkward.
He, like many, had heard the rumors swirling about Edward's sudden dismissal from the Academy.
But unlike most… it looked like he'd still have to deal with the nightmare in the flesh.
Morta gleamed wickedly.
"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Out of work and already came crawling back—"
"Who are you?" Edward asked flatly.
Genuinely.
Morta twitched. A few low chuckles echoed around the table.
She forced a saccharine smile.
"Morta Lattar. Honored to meet our former ascendent."
The one I kill first is you, she swore internally.
Edward didn't spare her another glance. His focus shifted to Walther, who grinned wide.
"Now, now, Edward. Don't go bullying your juniors," the faction chief drawled. "You cut off all contact with us after one failure… and now you want back in? Just like that?"
"At the very least, show a little respect."
Edward remained unfazed.
"I don't need to. I could thrive as a Colorless. Any faction would welcome me."
His tone didn't waver.
"My only courtesy is this—I have no interest in your seat."
Walther paused.
Then beamed.
It was a very ugly smile.
"Glad we're of the same mind," he said. "Welcome back."
He raised a long, black-painted fingernail and pointed toward Edward. In that moment, the Dark Faction's brooch shimmered—materializing once more on Edward's coat after eight long years.
Edward gave Walther a single nod.
As he turned, his eyes briefly swept over a man seated farther down the table—a crescent-moon smile curling on his face. That expression reminded him far too much of the one who had stolen his dream.
Without a word, Edward spun on his heel and walked away.
Mike Maius took that as his one and only cue and hurried off after him.
For once, he was grateful for his old professor.
Compared to Walther's nightmarish mug, at least the Dark Viper Mage was someone you could look at without the immediate urge to vomit.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Second Stratum: Wind Faction District
Arvin led the way toward the chief's office of Solphis Neamhain.
That alone stirred Monica's curiosity. She leaned in and whispered.
"Why are we heading there?"
Arvin glanced past her to Emma trailing behind, then looked back with a charming smile.
"Obviously to introduce little Emma to the boss."
Emma's eyes lit up with interest.
Monica, on the other hand, froze mid-step.
Her expression twitched as she forced a casual smile.
"The Chief… has returned?"
Arvin's grin widened.
"Yes!"
Finally, he thought, now I can breathe easy.
Monica frowned.
"Why wasn't I informed?"
Arvin turned away, continuing ahead so she couldn't see the smirk tugging at his lips.
"Because he just got back. I only now received word myself."
He glanced back over his shoulder with a troubled frown—clearly fake.
"If it's an issue, I can just take Emma alone?"
Monica's smile tightened as she forced herself to move.
"Why would it be troublesome? I love our chief," she said sweetly.
A lie so bold she nearly gagged on it.
Arvin beamed.
"He's definitely the best!"
Emma sensed something strange in the tone of the conversation—but didn't dwell on it.
Soon, they arrived at the office.
The door was already ajar, and from within came a calm, almost monotone voice.
"Sylor. I'm told your sister is here. You should go see her."
"Sure."
A matching, indifferent voice responded.
Moments later, its owner stepped out—swinging the door open fully.
He paused upon seeing them, then gave a casual nod.
"Mr. Arvin. Ms. Monica."
They returned the greeting with professional ease.
Emma, however, gaped.
We have an elf in our camp?!
The tall, striking man nodded politely to her as well before walking past, heading the way they'd come.
She had no time to ask questions.
The voice inside called again.
"Come in."
Emma gulped and followed Arvin and Monica—the Wind Faction's number one and two—into the room.
And there he sat.
Emma nearly blushed.
She had never seen someone so effortlessly handsome… well, maybe Julius.
He had that princely air to him—the kind that made your heart race, even if his personality turned out to be complete trash.
Yuno Grinberryall.
His black hair was neatly groomed, his golden eyes calm and unreadable. He wore a long fur-trimmed coat, pale green with gold edges, over a light blue shirt, tailored pants, and black dress shoes.
Behind him, leaning casually against the wall with a brown sack at his feet, stood another familiar face.
Jozou Hanegatsuji—once of the Ryuzen Seven.
His old ninja garb and mask were long gone, replaced by a sleek tracksuit better suited to this world. Small tinted shades covered part of the grotesque X-shaped scar across his face.
His name was just another relic of the past.
Jozou raised a hand before anyone could speak.
"Terzo Auguste Pennacallis," he said flatly, stating his alias with mechanical disinterest before falling back into his habitual silence and brooding.
Emma blinked, unsure how to respond.
Yuno sighed.
"Ignore him."
His eyes settled on her.
"I'm the Chief of the Wind Faction. Yuno Grinberryall. I apologize for my absence during your Bloom. It's a pleasure to meet you, Emma Clever."
"..."
The words were polite—too polite. Spoken with such emotional emptiness that Emma couldn't feel even a flicker of warmth.
Arvin, however, bowed deeply.
"Nonsense! It is our honor to be in your company now, Lord Yuno! Did you complete all you set out to do?!"
Yuno's eye twitched.
He was not in a good mood.
That damn Mereoleona!
He had taken Sylor and Jozou with him all the way to Samios to track her down. There were good reasons for it—important reasons.
But the woman refused to carry a maser or even the simplest communication device. So of course, he couldn't contact her ahead of time.
Nor did he try to reach out to anyone else in Samios.
Partly because he didn't want to risk the off chance he was still being monitored by the Tower.
But mostly because he hadn't thought he'd need to.
She was supposed to stay in Samios.
That was the agreement.
But no—of course not.
The beast in human form couldn't resist the call of violence any longer and had already run off to the dungeon to play.
Honestly, the fact they managed to keep her in one place for years was a miracle in itself.
And yes, Yuno had planned to invite her to the dungeon with him anyway.
So it wasn't completely ruined.
He simply decided to follow her trail, trusting that fate—or more likely luck—would let him cross paths with her down below.
But he didn't.
Occasionally he'd stumble across scorch marks and patches of carnage that were undeniably her handiwork… but that was it.
No Mereoleona.
They searched from Floor 1 to Floor 45, chasing smoke and embers, and never even saw a strand of her flaming hair.
By the time they gave up their search and returned to the surface, all three of them were seething.
And then they found out there had been an entire invasion while they were gone.
With no warning. No backup. A staggering number of casualties.
Yuno, Sylor, and Jozou had been rendered speechless.
The three introverts blinked.
Once.
The invasion made their convenient absence all the more suspicious.
Yuno could imagine it now—side glances, quiet whispers, hushed accusations.
He would've thought himself guilty if their roles were reversed.
Six years of carefully erasing the skepticism surrounding him, undone in a single sweep.
Back to square one.
Yes, Yuno was pissed.
So when Arvin asked his question, every fiber of Yuno wanted to tell him no.
But he had to keep up appearances.
Snap.
With a flick of his fingers, Jozou picked up the brown sack without a word and tossed it to Arvin.
"The carcass of the 40th Floor Boss," Yuno said flatly. "Hand it to the Upper Institute for verification."
"Whew." Arvin whistled softly, both impressed and thrilled.
He turned toward Emma, eyes gleaming.
"Do you know what this means, little Emma?"
Emma blinked and shook her head.
Monica, meanwhile, answered for her—voice even, but heart in turmoil.
"Even Albis Vina has only reached the 37th floor. That places us fifth among the factions—behind the remaining Vander."
Emma's breath caught.
The weight of it settled on her shoulders.
Monica's reaction was natural. So was Emma's.
This wasn't just about surpassing one of the Four Great Factions.
Floors forty and below were known as dead zones.
Places where you moved with an entire faction behind you—and only if someone like a Finn was leading the expedition.
Yet here stood three people who had hunted down a floor boss alone.
Yes, the Devander had been absent due to Ghotia's recent meddling, reducing the dungeon's difficulty for a time.
But that didn't make this feat any less ridiculous.
If they knew the trio had returned from the 45th floor, they'd doubt reality itself.
And if anyone discovered how deep Yuno had ever ventured on his lonesome...
They'd faint.
Arvin lowered the sack, then leaned in, whispering discreetly.
"Are you going to…?"
Yuno paused, expression unreadable.
Then offered him a subtle nod.
"I'll consider it."
The cryptic reply only made Arvin's excitement swell further.
Emma and Monica stared, puzzled.
What are they plotting…?
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Fiftieth Stratum: Light Faction District
With no floor or official base of their own, the few members of Masterias Noah had made do with a quiet corner at the top of the Tower.
Asta, holding a curious little Nigel in his arms, blinked alongside his wife, Noelle, as Finn led them into a large, empty room.
Noelle glanced at the dwarf, brow raised.
"Why did you bring us all the way up here?"
Finn beamed.
"The Old Man will introduce you to the Tower next week. Till then, make yourselves comfortable—and stay out of sight."
Starting a new faction was no small thing.
There would be pushback. Resentment. Challenges to the increased competition.
Territorial disputes, wealth squabbles, recruitment drama—all of it.
So it was better to keep the source of disruption under wraps until the point of no return.
Asta frowned, displeased.
"I don't like being caged. What will you do if I insist on going outside?"
Finn shrugged and smiled undeterred.
"Nothing I can do. Just be discreet about it."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned to the door.
"See ya, Big Guy!"
Asta let out a snort as the dwarf vanished from sight. Then, without a word, he passed Nigel over to Noelle.
She took the baby gently, while Asta walked toward the ledge.
He looked down from the Tower's peak, over the sprawling lights of Urbus Rigarden.
"…Not a bad view," he admitted.
Noelle scoffed softly.
"Don't get used to it. It's only temporary."
Asta exhaled, brow furrowed.
"I just hope our next home… can be a bit more permanent."
Noelle leaned her head against his shoulder, eyes shining faintly.
"Me too."
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
First Stratum: Temporary Quarters
Scritch.
Scratch.
In the small study hall, Will sat hunched on a bench, flipping through text after text, his lips moving in an absent-minded mumble. Kiki purred lazily beside him as he scribbled in a worn notebook, thoughts pouring out in fragments.
"Fire, wind, earth, thunder, water, darkness, and light… excluding the elves' illusion magic, the seven elements will require a new approach…"
"…Being a No-Talent, it goes without saying I have no elemental affinity. But it's been proven that my inability to cast a spell myself doesn't exclude me from wielding magical power via the Wis…"
"Thus I must thoroughly analyze this phenomenon, leveraging its uniqueness—and my own—to tap into its power through alternate means…"
"..."
He didn't notice the cluster of Colorless classmates standing in front of him, waiting awkwardly.
Minutes dragged by. Will stayed trapped in his own world, eyes scanning a page, pen scratching noisily.
Finally, Lyril worked up the nerve to speak.
"Hey… Lear—Will!"
Will's head snapped up.
The brown-haired boy shifted in place, his voice uncertain.
"We're heading down to the dungeon to train. We'd… like you to come. If you're interested, I mean."
Will blinked. His magenta pupils widened behind his glasses.
"W-what? You want me—"
BANG!
Everyone flinched as the door was kicked open. Heavy footsteps echoed across the floor.
Julius stomped past Lyril's group and slammed both palms on Will's desk.
"Outta the way! This flunkee's training with me!"
Will nearly jolted upright.
"Huh?! Julius, what are you talking about?!"
BAM!
Another slam, harder than the last.
"What you need right now isn't a bunch of pretend friends or study notes!" Julius barked.
"What you need is the ability to control the Wis—or whatever it is you call it!"
Will stared, stunned.
"Control?"
Not… access?
Julius spread his arms wide, as if declaring a universal truth.
"Precisely! And I'm the man who's going to help you do it!"
Will froze, blinking in confusion.
"I could certainly use the help… but why would you…?"
All eyes shifted to Julius—Will's included, as well as the other Colorless watching from behind.
"…"
The Reinburg heir fell silent, lowering his head as if wrestling with something. After a moment, he finally spoke.
"Will Serfort… I know you and I've had our ups and downs… but I agree with Wignall and the others."
He extended a hand.
A rose of ice bloomed in his palm, its delicate petals shimmering. He held it out with a smile far too grand for the situation—like a man making a Valentine's confession.
"I think of you as one of my party. My comrade."
Will paused, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Then he silently took the rose and nodded.
"Thank you, Julius. I accept your offer."
His voice was quiet, but genuine.
To Julius, however, Will might as well have been a starstruck orphan clinging to the radiant glory of his savior.
Hook, line, and sinker!
As if anyone would help a No-Talent out of the goodness of their heart! This is all for my future!
Help this freak control the Wis, earn favor with Lady Elfaria, and she'll open her icy palace to me with a smile. Maybe even groom me as her heir!
A dark grin crept across his face as he inwardly cackled.
I'll milk this dwarf wannabe for everything he's worth and score a spot in the Ice Faction! Hahaha!
Lost in his delusions, Julius didn't notice the unreadable look Will was giving him from behind.
Not at all.
Without another word, Julius turned and marched toward the door, calling out like a drill sergeant.
"Stop dawdling, Serfort! To the field—we start your training now!"
"…"
Will followed silently.
Kiki leapt to his shoulder, tail flicking as she glanced at her master in confusion.
But Will said nothing. His eyes stayed fixed on Julius' back, his thoughts unknown.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Author's Notes:
[1] Jozou Hanegatsuji roughly translates to "a noble and balanced individual on a joyful, free-spirited path," or more metaphorically, "the third son who walks the celebratory road of wings."
Both meanings evoke themes of wind, air, and flight—fitting for a ninja's nimbleness, even if Jozou himself is far more stoic than a free spirit like Komari.
His naturalized name, Terzo Auguste Pennacallis, carries a similar motif: "the third majestic feather that floats down a path."
[2] I don't think I ever explained Komari's name before:
Komari Imari can be interpreted as "a little ball" or "tiny sphere" of Imari porcelain, or alternatively as "of ten thousand leagues of elegance."
As for Annalie Theralde, her name was meant to tie into lightning and storms—essentially meaning "God's favored, free-spirited harbinger."
A harbinger is a bringer of storms.
[3] If you'd like to chat, discuss the story, or hang out, feel free to join the Discord: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar