Part 1 — The Return
Two months had passed.
Two months of relentless training under Master Calem's unyielding eye—far from the safe routines of Orion.
Menma's muscles had grown lean and defined, his posture anchored, his gaze sharpened.The hesitant boy from before? Gone.Something fundamental inside him had shifted.
During their final session, Calem placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"You're not the same anymore." — "You're ready."
Menma gave a single nod. Just one sentence came to his lips:
"I'm ready to prove I deserve this place."
One week before the end of the term.
In the Orion classroom, tension sparked in the air like static. The final trial loomed large.
Then, the door opened.
And silence crashed over the room like a wave.
Menma stepped in.
He was different—more athletic, upright, grounded. But it wasn't just his physique.It was his eyes: cold, determined, unwavering.Nothing like the boy who had once trembled during the Revelation Ritual.
Menma had returned.
Every head turned.
It wasn't just about how he looked.It was the aura—calm, distant, impenetrable.
At the back of the room, William blinked.
"Wait, is that…"
He stood up so fast his chair screeched against the floor.
"Menma?!"
He stepped forward, eyebrows lifted high.
Murmurs burst through the room like cracks splitting ice:
— "That's him?"— "He really changed…"— "Looks like he survived two months in the Black Forest."— "Did not expect that, honestly…"
"What the hell did you eat, man? You look like a gladiator!"
William broke into a half-joking, half-impressed grin.
"Seriously, we thought you'd dropped out or gotten sucked into a rift or something! You vanished—and now you're just here, like it's nothing?"
Menma answered calmly:
"I was training."
William froze for a beat. Then he exhaled, slower this time.
"You didn't just change on the outside, huh…"
In a quiet corner, a pale-haired girl lowered her gaze as he passed.
Alina.
She hadn't forgotten how he had stepped in front of Zarek to protect her.
She clenched her fingers against her uniform, heart fluttering.A small smile tugged at her lips.
She had never thanked him.Maybe now… she'd get the chance.
Elsewhere, whispers flared again:
— "I respect what he did against Zarek. Not many would've."— "Yeah, but now he's acting like he's above us. Look at him—not even glancing around."— "No. He's focused. You can feel it—he's leveled up."— "Well, we'll see at the trial. Playing the cold warrior's cute… but he better deliver."
Opinions diverged.
But one thing had changed:
No one saw Menma as background anymore.
Part 2 — Calem's Announcement
The doors slammed open.
Master Calem walked in—sharp as ever, his long coat billowing, glasses gleaming like blades.
"Silence. Listen closely."
The air shifted. Stillness fell.
"In one week, the end-of-term trial will take place."
A collective shiver rippled across the room.
"You won't be tested on scrolls or essays. You'll fight. One-on-one.""Your opponent will be a student from the Nova class."
He let the words hang.
Then he named him:
"Zarek."
The class erupted:
— "You've got to be kidding!"— "That psycho?!"— "He humiliated us last time!"— "We don't stand a chance!"
Menma's fists clenched tight.
Him again…
Calem's gaze met his. It wasn't a coincidence.
This wasn't just a trial. It was his trial. A reckoning—for all of them.
To see who had grown. Who had overcome fear—or let it fester.
Calem's voice chilled:
"No scores. No rankings. Only this: the fight.""Win. Lose. Run. Every action will be judged. Show your worth."
He turned, one last look across the class. His eyes lingered a second longer on Menma.
"Professor Sylvain will take over. Today's topic: Flux dynamics and primary alterations."
And with that, he left.
Tension snapped tight behind him.
Moments later, Professor Sylvain entered.
His robes were chaotic—gray, ink-stained, etched with glowing runes. His hair stuck up like he'd wrestled a lightning spell.But his eyes shone—bright, curious, unpredictable.
"Alright, alright. Page 142, people."
"Today, we're diving into raw Flux schematics before any Arche influence. The real foundation for advanced alteration."
Behind him, diagrams shimmered into existence—spirals, fractals, layered glyphs.
But Menma wasn't taking notes.
His pen lay still. His eyes unfocused.
His thoughts spun back—through the months of pain, of exhaustion, of failures stacked high.
To the nights where even lifting a finger had felt impossible. And to the rare sparks of breakthrough. The moments when effort became clarity.
And to her.
Why had no one spoken of her powers? Why was her name… erased?
Even her death felt like it had been covered up.
So many silences. Too many.
And the stronger he grew, the more those silences weighed.
But he had felt something. A light.Small. Flickering. But real.
If I keep going—if I keep rising—maybe that silence will speak.
Calem's words rang again:
"You must become strong. Not to prove yourself. But to understand."
He had stopped waiting for answers.
I'll tear them from the world. One by one. And for that… I need power.
He looked up. Flux patterns danced on the board.
And in his chest, something stirred.
A heat.Not rage. Not fear.
Something deeper.
A light.
The light of truth.The light of a future where his mother's name would no longer be forgotten.
He picked up his pen at last.
He didn't write down the lecture.
Just one word, small and steady, in the corner of his page:
Understand.
✧ Appendix — Silence in the Archives
A blue lantern flickered, casting broken shadows across old stone.
In a sealed corridor of the Grand Archives, Calem turned page after page, his eyes narrowing.
Arche records. Awakening registries. Historical mage lineages.
Nothing.
The name he sought was… gone.As if it had never existed.
He looked up at the shelves—dusty, forgotten.
Not a mention.Not a scribbled side note.Not even a misplaced bookmark.
Nothing.
And yet… he remembered.
A whisper. A discarded debate between scholars.A name that had once lit fires in hushed conversations.A woman of terrifying power—enough to rival Aeloria's legends.
Now, history said she'd never lived.
His fingers tensed on the leather-bound grimoire.
How can someone be erased like this? And why?
He closed the book with care. Too much care.
Something dark pressed at the back of his thoughts.
This was no accident.
Someone had made sure she would be forgotten.
And if there was one thing Calem loathed more than lies...
It was enforced oblivion.