Dawn crept through the high stained-glass windows of Arcanum Academy, casting rainbow shadows on polished marble halls. But within the west dormitory, beneath thick covers and muffled sheets, Rowan Edevane sat wide awake.
He couldn't sleep—not after what happened yesterday. Not after Pantom Logic. Not after the angel.
The image burned itself into his brain: the stunned faces, the frozen crowd, Darian's scorched pants. He smirked. Then groaned.
His head throbbed, his eyes ached, and a trail of dried blood still marked the side of his mouth from last night's spell backlash.
But it had been worth it.
---
[JOKER SYSTEM – Rank D]
> New Passive: Aura of Absurdity – People are more likely to underestimate, misunderstand, or mislabel you. Prank Points: 0/100
"Let's start again."
Rowan stood, wincing as he cracked his joints, and opened his system menu with a mental swipe.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the academy, the consequences of Rowan's prank were still unfolding.
Darian Voss sat shirtless in the infirmary, arms crossed, his pride more wounded than his body.
The healers had found no damage.
No trauma.
No curse.
Only fear.
"Mass hysteria," one instructor had diagnosed.
"A miscast illusion. He must've had hidden talent."
"No mana reading at all," another muttered. "It doesn't make sense."
But Darian knew what he saw. And worse-what he felt.
A divine presence.
A judgment.
A lie that felt real.
He clenched his fists.
"Edevane. You'll pay for this."
---
Elsewhere, the Academy buzzed. The duel between Rowan and Darian had become legend overnight.
That day, back in class, Rowan sat with his feet propped up, chewing a twig of mana mint like a Rebel.
The whole room buzzed, but not about today's lesson. Eyes flicked toward him constantly, voices
hushed.
"Is he the angel summoner?"
"Or some kind of cursed warlock?"
"I heard his family made a pact with one of the old gods."
He smiled, letting their imaginations run wild.
That was the point of Aura of Absurdity-the less they understood him, the more powerful he became.
The angel. The divine illusion. The fear.
Rumors spread faster than wildfire in a dry forest.
And far from Rowan's knowledge, eyes from behind marble walls and secretive towers had turned toward him.
---
That afternoon, he received a message.
It wasn't a scroll or letter. It was a glowing sigil painted onto the wall of his dorm room.
It pulsed once, then dissolved into words:
> "If you hear the truth hidden within lies, come to the Bell Tower. Midnight."
No name. No explanation.
Just a symbol: a seven-pointed star.
---
Midnight came.
Rowan climbed the abandoned Bell Tower at the edge of the Academy. The stairs were cracked, choked with ivy, the higher he climbed, the quieter the world became.
At the top, cloaked in moonlight and silence, stood three figures in silver cloaks. Their faces were shadowed beneath helms shaped like halos, not masks.
One stepped forward—a young woman, her eyes piercing beneath her helm.
"You are Rowan Edevane."
"You've heard of me?" he smirked.
"You summoned what the world thought divine. But we know better. We were watching."
Rowan blinked. "Who are you people?"
"We are called the Order of the Unseen Star," she said. "Guardians of forbidden prophecy. Scholars of miracles and trickery."
"Sounds dramatic."
"You used a cursed illusion, and everyone believed it. But you didn't control just perception. You shaped belief. That's not mere illusion. That's a form of invocation."
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "What do you want with me?"
A second figure stepped forward. Older, their voice like gravel.
"There's a war coming. A war of narratives, not swords. Truth itself will be weaponized. You are a weapon. A very strange, very dangerous weapon."
"You want to... recruit me?"
"We want to protect you," the woman replied. "And teach you how to protect others. Those who twist reality with false gods and curses are rising. We call ourselves protectors, but to the world, we must remain unseen."
"Because?"
"Because the enemy lives in stories. In prophecy. In expectation. And we are what they never expect."
---
Rowan laughed. "Let me guess. You all think I'm some destined hero?"
"No," the older one said. "We think you're a disaster waiting to happen. But at least with us, it'll be a guided disaster."
The younger woman handed him a ring—a simple black band with a faint shimmer.
> [Artifact Acquired: Ring of Veiled Purpose] Grants passive aura: misalignment with magical detection.
"We'll train you. In exchange, you report to us. Secrets you discover. Relics you find. And in time, if you're worthy—"
"You'll trust me?" Rowan asked.
The woman smiled faintly.
"No. But we'll fight beside you."
---
The Next Day
Rowan returned to class. But something had shifted.
He wasn't alone anymore.
He felt the ring pulsing, a warmth on his finger like silent approval.
When Professor Tellmoor asked him to demonstrate an illusion, Rowan didn't just cast a trick.
He cast a concept.
He summoned a crown that appeared broken, then whole, then shattered again—and yet, every student watching believed it was their own family's crest.
The detection orb sparked and failed.
> [+15 Prank Points]
Tellmoor gawked. "This is... reality warping."
Rowan simply walked away.
He was no longer performing for applause.
He was training for war.
END OF CHAPTER 5