Scene: The Aetherion Arcanum Grand Library
It started the moment he walked through the doors.
Whispers.
Lucian Valemire was used to it by now—the stares, the hushed giggles, the not-so-subtle pointing like he was some walking school-wide event. He'd been at the academy for less than a week, and already the rumor mill had him pegged as Flame Queen Nerida Virellia's mysterious hand-holding, spell-slinging, cafeteria date.
Add the "wind-swept entrance" and "pretty-boy smirk," and apparently, he was public property now.
Even the front desk girl blinked twice when she saw him.
Then whispered something into a pink-glowing rune that vanished with a soft ding.
Probably a gossip spell.
Lucian didn't flinch.
He walked through the grand archway like he owned it, sleeves rolled up, notebook tucked under one arm. His boots tapped softly on enchanted marble as he climbed to the second floor—the quiet study tier.
Because while the rest of the school obsessed over his love life, Lucian had other priorities:
Dungeons.
One Hour Later…
Lucian sat hunched over a wide study desk, a stack of heavy tomes to one side, his black notebook cracked open in front of him. Diagrams sprawled across the page, ink still drying.
The title of the book he was reading?
"The Grand Theory of Dungeons: Aether, Affliction, and Avoidance."
His notes looked like this:
Dungeon Survival 101
Dungeons = Aether leaks.
Realm cracks → Great Aether Sea spills in → World goes bananas.
Six Types:
• Air (White)
• Fire (Crimson)
• Water (Azure)
• Earth (Bronze)
• Lightning (Violet)
• Order (Gold) ← rare. death incarnate. do. not. enter.
(Some say they're divine curses post-Silence. Others say people are just dramatic.)
Mana Suppression –
Aether = older sibling. Mana = annoying little brother.
Aether enters the room and mana just… stops talking.
Spell Failure –
Try twisting mana in a dungeon? It laughs at you.
Even basic spells feel like dragging a rock uphill.
Dungeon strength scales over time.
Bigger crack = more Aether = more mutation = more ways to die.
Creatures ranked via the M.U.R.K. system:
• Mutation Index
• Unnatural Behavior
• Resistance to Mana
• Kill Rate
(Yes, the dungeon really will MURK you.)
Rule of thumb:
If it hums ancient hymns while crawling upside down—you're already dead.
Loot: glass weapons, ancient armor, golden forks.
Weird stuff. Possibly cursed. Possibly decorative.
Martial advantage → Warriors thrive. Mages suffer.
Exception: suicidal mages. They get hazard pay.
Best advice: Don't be a mage.
Too late.
Lucian exhaled, pen twirling between his fingers, and scribbled "Too late" under the last line.
"All right…" he muttered, flipping to a chapter on Aether-resilient spellwork. "Let's see if anyone's figured out how to cast while being mana-strangled."
But before he could get two lines in—
"Lucian."
The voice came from behind—slick and rehearsed, like someone who'd practiced sounding important in front of a mirror.
Lucian turned, eyebrows faintly raised.
He didn't recognize the guy.
Clean-cut. Fancy boots. Collar too crisp. That polished noble confidence Lucian had seen in way too many family meetings.
"I'm sorry," Lucian said lightly. "Do I know you?"
The boy's smile sharpened, eyes cold.
"Halric. Class C. You'll want to remember it."
Lucian didn't blink. "Noted."
Halric stepped closer, voice dipping.
"I'll be blunt. Nerida is mine. She deserves someone of proper breeding. Back off while I'm still being polite."
Lucian tilted his head, just a little. "Huh. Bold opener for a stranger."
Then added, voice even:
"You're right, though. She does deserve someone competent enough to get her attention. But backgrounds don't matter if you're too incompetent to land the girl."
Halric's smile twitched—barely.
"The next time we meet, you'll have taken my advice… or else."
Lucian returned a lazy grin.
"Enjoy your hair gel. While you still have hair."
Halric paused.
Then walked off.
Lucian waited three seconds.
Then cracked a grin, reopened his book, and casually added:
"Gold-type dungeons may rewrite localized physics. Avoid until further notice."
He underlined avoid three times.
Then turned the page and started sketching a new spell circle—
One built to resist suppression.
One built for firepower.
Because if he was going to walk into a dungeon someday…
He wasn't planning to walk out dead.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Elsewhere…
The Flame Queen sat at one of the window seats overlooking the East Courtyard, book in hand.
Or rather—book unread.
She'd been staring at the same paragraph for ten whole minutes, and the runes were starting to blur in her vision.
Maybe because her thoughts kept drifting somewhere else.
Or to someone.
"Nerida!"
She looked up just in time to see a first-year from the Astrology Club jogging over—breathless, glitter in her hair, and gossip practically leaking from her fingertips.
"You didn't hear this from me," the girl began (which of course meant she absolutely wanted Nerida to hear it from her), "but your boyfriend just had a stare-down with Halric. In the library."
Nerida blinked once.
"My what?"
The girl grinned. "Your boyfriend. You know—tall, smug, grey-eyed charmer? Lucian-something?"
A long pause.
Nerida's face showed nothing.
But inside, her flame twisted, flared, snapped.
"…He's not my boyfriend."
"Sure," the girl said, already backing away like she'd just tossed a fire crystal into a furnace. "But I thought you should know—Halric did not take it well."
She disappeared down the corridor.
Nerida stayed still for a long moment.
Then—very slowly—she shut her book with a quiet thud.
"Why," she muttered, voice low and heated, "would those two even be talking…"
The temperature around her spiked. A faint wisp of smoke curled from her fingertips. A nearby wall sconce flickered—then blew out with a pop.
"…Idiots."
She sighed, stood and walked away, steam curling in her wake.
This guy and his drama...