The last echo of battle faded into memory, the cheers replaced with the low murmur of calm. Medics in white robes stepped back, their hands faintly glowing as the final wounds closed, and the last of the top twelve duels came to an end.
Daz and Ivy were healed, quietly returning to their seats. The others followed.
Headmaster Varos rose.
With his hands behind his back, standing tall at the edge of the viewing platform, his voice boomed across the now-luminescent arena. The moonlight above had reached its zenith, silver rays cascading like a divine spotlight on the earth below.
"The rankings have been decided."
Silence swept across the students.
"The top ten students have been recorded. They will receive benefits that will be revealed tomorrow during class." He paused, letting that settle.
Then his tone shifted, firm and challenging. "However…The two students ranked eleventh and twelfth—despite not placing in the top ten—scored above 80%. Therefore, they too will receive partial benefits."
Riku, seated among the crowd, kept his expression blank. But his fingers curled slightly.
Daz, beside him, cracked a subtle grin.
Varos continued, "Should any student wish to climb into the top ten…"
The headmaster stepped forward, the moonlight catching his sharp silhouette.
"…they must challenge and defeat someone above them."
A collective murmur rippled through the student body like a passing wind.
"Top ten students are forbidden from refusing a duel unless they provide a reasonable excuse."
He raised one hand, his voice now solemn.
"Stand. Now. All of you. And commemorate Sage Art Academy's founding song."
Confused, yet drawn by the gravity in his voice, all 279 students slowly rose.
The arena gates opened.
A grand piano was rolled to the center by a handful of staff.
Dust clung to its black body like stardust. An elderly man with long, snowy white hair sat at its bench. He cracked his knuckles and smiled at the headmaster, before lowering his hands to the keys.
The first note struck the air.
A soft chord. Then another. Then a melody — delicate, slow, aching.
Moonlight danced in the arena casting soft shadows. The arena was now a cathedral of memory, silence, and awe.
Riku felt it instantly.
A trembling, impossible beauty inside those notes. The notes climbed like hands reaching toward a forgotten dream. Sad. Yearning. Hopeful. Mournful.
A prayer wrapped in harmony.
He blinked, and tears swelled.
Not just him. Even Daz. Even Ivy!
Even hardened boys even sharp-tongued girls. The entire class stood—still, fragile, moved.
For a single, soul-stirring moment…
They were just children.
Children staring at the moon, listening to the art of something far older than them.
It was beauty. It was connection. It was… grace.
[IN THE TURRET]
Hane stood at the window, arms crossed behind his back. Shinji beside him.
Neither said a word.
But both had tears in their eyes, although Hane had lived long and heard it a hundred times, he still couldn't get over how emotional it was.
The melody played on, filling every inch of the vast Sage capital. Carried by the wind, the music climbed towers, crossed bridges, entered homes.
[SOMEWHERE IN THE SAGE EMPIRE]
In a dim chamber of dark stone, two brothers faced one another.
One leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His eyes burned with ambition.
"Hane has ruled long enough." He spat the name like poison.
The second man—taller, more regal—stepped from the shadows, his cloak brushing the ground.
"Then we remove him."
"Good. Then it begins."
They raised their cups in a toast, shadows masking the smirk beneath their lips.
[SOMEWHERE IN THE RAGE EMPIRE]
A man in a torn cloak galloped across crimson sand.
His horse heaved, hooves thunderous against the earth. Another rider followed, similarly cloaked.
The first man turned slightly.
His eyes—piercing, filled with rage—stared ahead.
"That barbarian Lucan," he growled. "His greed had my family burned alive. My village wiped from maps. I will see him buried in those ashes."
The second rider said nothing, only nodded.
From beneath his cloak, the first man drew a silver dagger.
Its edge shimmered unnaturally...
[INSIDE THE RAGE EMPIRE'S EMPIRICAL PALACE]
The balcony overlooked endless dunes.
Lucan stood shirtless, muscles like coiled steel, a long scar over his ribs. His hand hovered over his chest—over a small, black mark pulsing faintly.
Behind him, a figure stood in shadow.
Lucan's tone was calm, almost nostalgic.
"How do you think Riku will fare?"
The figure answered slowly, deliberately.
"We know Riku. He always rises to the occasion."
Lucan let out a dry chuckle.
"He'd better." He turned toward the night sky. "Before this cursed thing spreads too far. I need Sage Art healing. Or this will kill me."
[SAME TIME IN THE ARENA]
The music reached its peak—a crescendo of sorrow and strength, colliding in perfect harmony.
Riku stood, frozen, heart pounding.
'Why am I here?' he wondered.
'Not to spy. Not to deceive. To learn. To understand Sage Art.'
He had arrived just two days ago… yet every hour had been filled with revelations, with mystery, with awe.
Now he understood.
Sage Art wasn't just power.
It was a force that connected everything—music, battle, even memory. It didn't crush. It mended.
And in that moment, as the final note rang out and disappeared into the stars, Riku finally said the words, silently in his heart:
"I'm ready to learn… what they call…"
"…Sage Art."
Hundreds of years ago, there once lived a great emperor. This emperor was unlike any before or since—his rule stretched across the vast majority of the world. His power was unmatched, his wisdom celebrated, and his presence commanded the loyalty of kings and commoners alike. In his lifetime, he fathered two sons: the firstborn, Hane, strong and noble, destined to inherit the throne; and the second, Lucan, pampered by their mother and filled with a restless fire.
Hane was the perfect heir—the embodiment of discipline, honor, and grace. From his earliest days, he was trained to lead with fairness and strength, to balance the might of the sword with the wisdom of the mind. The people loved him, and the court held him in high regard.
But Lucan was different. While his mother showered him with gifts and affection, Lucan's heart darkened with envy. He looked at his older brother and saw not a sibling, but a barrier between himself and the power he craved. A deep anger began to grow inside him, an unyielding storm of hatred, greed, and resentment. It was this emotion that birthed a terrible and dangerous power—one that no scholar or sage could have predicted.
From the depths of his rage, a new force took shape within Lucan. It was raw, violent, and uncontrollable. It was known as Rage Art.
Lucan's power was unlike any other—born not from study or discipline, but from the very flames of his fury. With this dark energy, he gathered an army of followers who shared his ambition and thirst for dominance. He marched against his brother, sparking a war that would shake the foundations of the world itself.
But Hane was not defenseless. As his brother unleashed chaos, Hane too awakened a power, but one that reflected the balance and harmony he sought to protect. This power was called Sage Art.
Sage Art was the embodiment of wisdom and calm—a force drawn from peace and enlightenment. With it, Hane defended his people and lands, standing as a beacon of hope against the tide of rage and destruction.
The war that followed was brutal and unrelenting. Lucan's armies fought fiercely, but the power of Rage Art came at a terrible cost. The land they conquered began to wither; once-fertile fields turned to dust, skies darkened with endless storms, and rivers ran dry. The very earth rebelled against the evil that had taken root.
For generations, the two powers clashed. Neither side could claim a true victory, and the world was left scarred and divided. A stalemate was reached—not by peace, but by exhaustion and the harsh reality that neither power could dominate without destroying everything.
And so, the world was split.
On one side lay the lands of Sage Art, where order, knowledge, and growth flourished. On the other, the barren territories ruled by descendants of Rage Art, struggling to survive amid the decay their power had caused.
Generations passed, but the fire of ambition never truly died.
Lucan himself lived on—his rage burning still, fueled by hatred and the desire to reclaim what he believed was his by right.
Now, he prepares a new strategy. Rather than wage war openly, he sends his great-great nephew, a boy born from his bloodline but stripped of power, into the heart of the enemy's world.
His mission is clear: enroll in the Sage Art academy, learn their secrets, master their power, and then return to teach it to his people—arming them for the day they will take back what was lost.
This is a story of secrets and survival, of hidden strength and the struggle to find identity amidst the ruins of war.
It is the tale of a boy who walks between two worlds, carrying the weight of his bloodline and the hope of his people.
And so.
The story continues...