The morning air carried the scent of woodsmoke and something else—the lingering metallic tang of spilled blood that even the mountain wind couldn't quite wash away. Ben stood at the edge of Oakhaven's central clearing, his shield propped against a nearby boulder while he methodically cleaned his sword with practiced motions. The steel gleamed despite the gray dawn light, but his movements were automatic, his mind elsewhere.
"You're up early." Celeste's voice carried its usual crisp authority, though something in her tone suggested the night's events had affected even her composed demeanor. She approached with her robes pristine despite yesterday's battle, but Ben noticed the way her fingers drummed against her wand—a nervous habit she rarely displayed.
"Couldn't sleep," Ben replied, not looking up from his blade. The rhythm of his cleaning was almost meditative. "You?"
"Sleep is for those who don't have reports to write." She settled onto a fallen log nearby, studying the village with calculating eyes. "The Academy will want a full accounting of what happened here. Particularly regarding the boy."
Ben finally looked up, meeting her gaze. "What are you going to tell them?"
Celeste was quiet for a long moment, her fingers still tapping against her wand. "That we witnessed an emotional breakthrough manifestation. Textbook case, really—extreme grief triggering impossible focus and power output." She shrugged dismissively. "I'll note it in the report, but it's hardly noteworthy. A Tier 0 village boy having a grief-induced outburst? The professors have more important things to worry about."
"Still killed two enemies with it."
"True," she conceded. "But emotional breakthroughs burn out the mage completely. The boy's magical potential is almost certainly destroyed now. From the Academy's perspective, he's just another burnout case."
Mark emerged from the meeting hall, wiping his hands on a cloth stained with healing herbs. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his usually neat druidic robes bore the wrinkles of a sleepless night spent tending to the wounded.
"How is he?" Ben asked, straightening from his sword maintenance.
"Stable," Mark replied, settling onto the ground beside them with a weary sigh. "Physically, at least. The magical exhaustion is... extensive. I've never seen anything quite like it."
Celeste glanced up from her contemplation of the village. "I heard from the villagers that the boy awakened as an Arcane Squire. How delightfully ironic."
Mark frowned. "What do you mean?"
"An Arcane Squire without magic is just a Fighter," she said with cold pragmatism. "Actually, worse than a Fighter. At least Fighters train properly for combat from the beginning. This boy will have the worst of both worlds—inadequate martial training and no magical ability to compensate." She tapped her wand against her knee. "He'll be useless for anything requiring real skill."
Mark's expression darkened. "That's rather harsh, considering he saved an entire village."
"Oh, I'm not dismissing what he accomplished," Celeste clarified with a wave of her hand. "The emotional breakthrough was impressive. But that's over now. What's left is a crippled Arcane Squire in a mountain village with no prospects."
Ben shook his head at Celeste's casual cruelty, returning his attention to his sword. "Your compassion is truly inspiring," he muttered.
"I prefer honesty to false comfort," she replied without a hint of shame.
Mark shifted his focus, clearly eager to change the subject. "How's the old druid? Hemlock, was it? Last I saw, his injuries looked severe."
"He'll live," Ben confirmed, testing the edge of his blade with his thumb. "Turned out to be mostly exhaustion and old war wounds flaring up. The prolonged battle took more out of him than it should have, and losing that Treant so violently..." He shrugged. "Apparently summon backlash hits harder when you're his age. His left arm will be stiff for a while, but nothing that won't heal."
"Good," Mark said with genuine relief. "I was worried we'd lose him. The village needs their elder, especially now."
Celeste glanced toward the meeting hall. "Speaking of the village, what's our timeline here? Surely we're not planning to linger in this... rustic paradise much longer?"
"Our contract was to provide protection until the Awakening Ceremony," Ben reminded her. "That's still days away. The mercenaries were just the beginning of our obligation."
Celeste let out an exasperated sigh. "The threat is eliminated, Ben. We've captured or killed every mercenary who dared to threaten this place. What exactly are we protecting them from now? Aggressive squirrels?"
She gestured dismissively at the quiet village around them. "We're Academy students, not village guards. Every day we spend watching these people milk goats and split firewood is a day we could be gaining real experience elsewhere. There are contracts in the lowlands that would actually challenge our abilities."
Mark frowned. "The Awakening Ceremony is important to them. It's a sacred rite."
"Sacred to them, perhaps. But hardly relevant to our development as professionals." Celeste stood, brushing imaginary dust from her pristine robes. "I didn't come to the frontier to play nursemaid to mountain peasants. We've done our job—decisively, I might add. Continuing to loiter here serves no purpose except to waste our time."
Ben set down his sword and looked directly at Celeste. "We came here for Mark, remember? You agreed to this contract because he believed meeting a druid from the Stone-Root Kinship could help him advance to Tier 2. That was the whole point."
Celeste's mouth tightened, clearly annoyed at being reminded of her own reasoning. She glanced at Mark, who was studying the ground with obvious embarrassment at being the center of the discussion.
"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "You're right. We made a commitment." She crossed her arms, her expression making it clear this concession came with conditions. "But I'm not going to pretend to enjoy rustic village life. I'll fulfill our obligations and provide protection if needed, but don't expect me to participate in their quaint mountain customs or make small talk about turnip harvests."
Mark looked up gratefully. "I appreciate it, Celeste. Really. And who knows? You might find their magical traditions more interesting than you expect."
"Doubtful," she replied curtly. "But I'll stay. Just... keep the folksy charm to a minimum around me."
Inside the meeting hall, Alph stared at the rafters overhead, the wooden beams blurring as tears gathered in his eyes.
Kael is dead.
The thought circled through his mind like a vulture, each repetition bringing fresh waves of pain. Not the clean, sharp agony of a physical wound, but something deeper. A hollowness that seemed to expand with each breath, threatening to swallow him whole.
He could still see it—the moment frozen in perfect, terrible clarity. Kael shoving Finn aside, that familiar grin starting to form on his lips even as the blood magic tore through his chest. His friend had died as he'd lived—laughing in the face of danger, protecting someone else without a second thought.
I should have been faster. Should have seen it coming. Should have done something.
The guilt was almost worse than the grief. All his secret power, all his careful training, all the knowledge he'd hoarded—and in the moment that mattered most, he'd been too slow. Too weak. Too focused on his own fight to protect the people who mattered.
His hands clenched into fists, and he felt... nothing. No responding tingle of frost magic. No cool pulse from his mana core. Just ordinary flesh and bone, as powerless as any village farmer.
The magic was gone. He knew it with the same certainty he knew Kael would never again pelt him with berries from the old oak tree.
Alph squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the tears back through sheer will. The grief was a luxury he couldn't afford—not now, when so much remained uncertain. He'd learned long ago, in his previous life, that drowning in emotion solved nothing. Problems required analysis. Solutions demanded clear thinking.
Focus. What do you know? What can you control?
The facts arranged themselves in his mind with legal precision. Kael was dead—unchangeable. His own magic was gone—also unchangeable, at least for now. But he was alive. The village was safe. The immediate threat had been eliminated.
What's next?
The Academy students would stay until the Awakening Ceremony. That gave him time—time to assess his situation, to plan his next moves. Without magic, his original goals seemed impossibly distant. The Lumina Academy was out of reach for a powerless village boy. His dreams of hunting down his family's killers felt like the fantasies of a child.
But he was still breathing. Still thinking. And somewhere in this world, the people responsible for destroying his bloodline continued to live their lives, believing themselves safe from retribution.
Then I'll find another way.
The thought brought him back to the starless expanse, to the ancient voice that had called itself The Shaper. The entity had been fascinated by his anomalous nature, had created that diagnostic interface specifically for him. If anyone might have answers about his condition—or solutions—it would be the architect of the very system that had just failed him.
The question was whether he could still reach that place. His meditation technique had relied on syncing with his mana core's rhythm, but with the core shattered...
Only one way to find out.
Alph shifted carefully on the makeshift bed and closed his eyes, seeking the meditative state that had carried him to the Mind Garden before. He reached for the familiar rhythm of his mana core, but found only silence. An absence where power used to pulse.
The core is gone.
For a moment, despair threatened to overwhelm him. But then his analytical mind kicked in. The Mind Garden existed in consciousness, not magic. Instead of seeking the pulse of power, he focused on the stillness itself—that hollow space where his core used to be.
He let himself sink into the emptiness, not fighting it but embracing it. The world around him began to fade.
Darkness. Silence. And then...
The familiar starless expanse opened around him. He was back in the Mind Garden, though something felt different this time—more responsive to his presence, as if his sacrifice had earned him deeper access.
It worked.