Mid-year had arrived.
A breath of change drifted through the air, perceptible even in the ancient stones of the Golden Tree Academy. Usually resonating with studious voices and martial commands, the hallways now thrummed with a feverish excitement, a mix of anticipation and apprehension.
For the first-year students, this moment marked a turning point. The grueling basic training, already exhausting, would soon give way to more demanding lessons, advanced martial arts and, most importantly, the initiation into wielding lutech weapons.
In the vast central courtyard, students moved in small groups, their lively discussions punctuated by nervous laughter and weary sighs. Beneath the gnarled branches of the great tree overlooking the campus, some were hunched over parchment scrolls, rereading hastily scribbled notes, while others, like Gaël, watched the commotion with curiosity.
From the second half of the year onward, the student-instructors of the second year, familiar and sometimes dreaded figures, would relinquish their roles to seasoned professors. Masters forged in the trials of battle and wisdom.
But while the arrival of these new instructors was a point of interest, it was not the sole cause of the Academy's restless energy.
In three days, the week-long break would begin.
This much-anticipated reprieve drifted through the air like a bittersweet promise. After months of relentless training and overwhelming coursework, many dreamed of rest, a bowl of warm soup shared with family, or simply a moment of silence, far from the instructors' relentless commands. In the vaulted hallways and stone courtyards, conversations intertwined: some planned to wander the markets of the veil-cities, while others longed to reunite with their loved ones, even if just for a single day.
Yet this year, it was not the prospect of homecoming that electrified the Academy. A momentous event was about to disrupt the usual routine: a student was about to become a radiance keeper.
And according to the announcements, not just any student:
Astraéa.
A name whispered in hushed discussions, one that stirred intrigue and debate. But to Gaël, it meant nothing.
Leaning against an archway in the atrium, Gaël observed the ebb and flow of students. White capes billowed in the wind, nervous laughter echoed, faces, tired yet eager, formed a living tableau of excitement and uncertainty.
Above the courtyard, suspended lanterns cast a soft glow, their flickering light reflecting off the damp cobblestones still slick from the morning's rain. The air carried a mingling scent of incense and wet earth, infusing each breath with an odd sense of nostalgia.
A few steps away, voices rose, fragmenting the tension in the air.
"Do you think it'll go wrong? They say every ascension angers the Black Moon…" whispered a tanned student, his eyes darting around anxiously.
"The elders say that one day, the Black Moon will send more than just anger…" another added. "A true calamity. Maybe this time… it will happen."
"Pff, not with her." A girl in Ardentis robes scoffed, her voice as sharp as a freshly honed blade. "It's Excalibur that'll cast judgment on her, not the Black Moon!" she added with a snicker, a mocking glint in her eyes.
Gaël frowned. 'A judgment? What do they mean by that?'
Rumors had been swirling for days. Whenever a chosen of the Lumen ascended on the Path, legend held that the Black Moon, torn and corrupted by the Nameless Abomination impaled at its core, would tremble with lingering hatred.
Was this darkness truly dead, unconscious, or merely trapped on its celestial prison? No one knew for sure. What was certain, however, was that its murderous will fell upon those who dared to defy its reign. And each time, it demanded a price.
Gaël knew the theory. The first ranks of the Luminic Order were said to be "easy," but easy was not the same as harmless. The higher one climbed the blessed path, the more the body risked collapsing under the pressure of Excalibur's Shard, veins burning as if set ablaze by living fire. And the mind… How many had been broken, consumed by a light too intense? Even the Luminic Order, always so eager to sing the virtues of the Lumen, could not deny this truth: too much light blinds.
Exceptional measures had been announced. The ceremony would take place in the Sanctuary of the Dawn, a sacred hall whose doors only opened for great occasions. Its walls, adorned with ancient frescoes, depicted the epic tales of the first keepers, painted silhouettes wielding blades of light, battling monsters beyond imagination.
Gaël stood still, lost in thought. Who is this Astraéa? And why would she provoke the wrath of Excalibur rather than that of the Nameless One?
His gaze swept over the crowd, then drifted toward the silver-crowned peaks of the great tree, its branches stretching toward the sky like pleading fingers. For a fleeting moment, he felt small beneath the weight of history pressing upon this place.
Then, a far-too-familiar voice shattered his contemplation.
"How much you wanna bet we're in for one of the Grand Druid's never-ending speeches?"
Gaël turned slightly, meeting the mischievous gaze of Kaëlan. Arms crossed, his friend wore a smirk despite the dark circles under his eyes. A damp lock of hair fell over his forehead, weighed down by the lingering morning mist.
"Those guys love the sound of their own voices..." Kaëlan went on, shaking his head. "I just hope there are biscuits at the end."
Gaël raised an eyebrow. "You've got some weird priorities. I just wanna see if all the rumors about him are true."
Kaëlan narrowed his eyes, intrigued. "Like what?"
Gaël smirked. "Rumor has it… his beard touches the ground."
"Oh yeah?" Kaëlan burst into laughter. "I wonder if he uses it as a blanket in winter."
Despite himself, Gaël laughed too. Kaëlan had that rare gift, making things feel a little less important, even if just for a moment.
The intensity of the past three months had left little room for new friendships. The Academy was a harsh world where sweat, the barking of instructors, and grueling trials forged muscle faster than bonds. And yet, Kaëlan, with his disarming extroversion, had managed to weave connections.
Notably with Owen, that easygoing redhead who had greeted them on their first day with a slap on the back and a knowing wink.
"A second-year guy told me the swordsmanship instructor is a real demon disguised as a human," Kaëlan muttered, sliding his hands behind his head. "I don't know if I should be excited… or start digging my own grave."
"Both," Gaël replied with a shrug.
He, too, was eager to learn more about wielding weapons. He wanted to understand the intent to cut. So far, his fencing lessons had left him unsatisfied, the student-instructors had focused on footwork, parries, counterattacks, all the technical aspects… but nothing about the very essence of swordsmanship.
They headed toward their final class before the week-long break.
The thought of reclaiming a semblance of freedom lingered at the edge of their minds, but beneath the excitement, an odd sense of melancholy stirred.
Three months… Gaël mused.
Three months that, in hindsight, had passed as swiftly as a well-honed blade. Three intense, grueling, transformative months.
He had arrived at the Academy with an athletic but unrefined body. Now, he could feel the difference, his muscles were firmer, his reflexes sharper. He carried the marks of relentless training: small cuts, bruises still fading to yellow, but also an endurance he never thought possible. The four guys from Kernéval, as they were called here, were no longer the same.
And yet… as his feet carried him mechanically toward the training hall, a thought surfaced, unbidden.
'Will Mom and Aedan even recognize me? And Kernéval, did the city get rebuilt with help from the other city-states?'
He'd heard little from them since.
He pushed the thought aside with a quiet sigh, but a faint smile traced his lips. He wanted to know. He was eager to find out the answer.
"Hey, you brooding again?" Kaëlan nudged him playfully with his shoulder. "It's just one last class. We survive, and then, freedom, my guy! I'm taking you to the best tavern in Kernéval, I swear."
Gaël shook his head, amused.
"You only ever think about food. Or is it girls and booze?"
"A man's gotta have priorities," Kaëlan replied with a wink.
They stepped through the final doorway. The familiar scent of the training hall enveloped them instantly, leather, sweat, and a faint trace of chalk used to mark positions on the floor. The rhythmic clash of weapons already echoed in the air, mingling with the sharp commands of the instructor.
Last trial before the break, Gaël thought.
Then, drawing in a deep breath, he left his doubts behind.
For now, there were blows to take… and blows to land.