Grand Arcanum Academy –
The first rays of sunlight filtered through the large window of Alistair's dorm room, casting a soft golden glow across the polished wooden floor. The room was silent—except for the soft, rhythmic breathing of the small figure curled up beside him.
Alistair's eyes slowly opened from his sleep. His gaze flickered down, meeting the sight of silver hair spilling across the pillow.
His spirit.
Sera.
The little girl with silver hair and golden eyes—who looked eerily like Sofia from his past life—was curled up against his chest, her tiny fingers grasping onto the fabric of his shirt.
A sigh escaped him.
She did it .
Despite having a designated spirit mark on his neck where she could rest, the girl had somehow manifested out of it in the middle of the night and climbed into bed with him.
Her warmth was faint, almost like a whisper of mana itself. A newborn spirit, delicate yet stubborn.
His mind drifted back to the night before.
****
The moment they had returned to his dorm and had dinner, the child had refused to return to the mark.
Instead, she had stood in front of him, rubbing her tired eyes before looking up expectantly.
"Story."
Her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper.
Alistair had simply stared.
"You want me to read you a story?"
She nodded.
He sighed.
"I don't have any books."
She frowned. Then pointed at him.
"Make story."
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
I used to kill armies. I fought against gods. And now I'm being forced to tell bedtime stories?
He had tried to ignore her. But every time he looked away, she tugged at his sleeve with those tiny fingers.
"Story."
A demand, not a request.
Eventually, he had relented, sitting on the edge of the bed and weaving together a simple story about a lost knight searching for a fallen star.
She had listened with rapt attention, golden eyes blinking slowly as sleep began to claim her.
By the time he finished, she had fallen asleep sitting up, her tiny body leaning against his arm.
And as she fell asleep her body glowed in white particles, entering the spirit mark.
****
A tiny yawn broke his thoughts.
Golden eyes fluttered open, blinking sleepily before locking onto him.
Then—
"Food."
Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose.
This girl…
"Fine," he muttered, slipping out of bed.
She watched him expectantly as he moved to the small kitchenette in the dorm.
Today, he decided to cook.
A simple warm meal—soft bread, scrambled eggs, and a warm cup of milk. The scent of fresh food filled the room as the little spirit stared with wide eyes.
The moment he placed the plate in front of her, she eagerly dug in, though her small hands made eating a slow and delicate process.
Alistair sat across from her, watching in silence.
As she sipped her warm milk, her tiny body began to glow faintly—her form flickering before dissolving into light.
The spirit mark on his neck pulsed once.
And she was gone.
Back into the mark.
So she can return when she wants… and come out as well.
He touched the mark.
It was a black symbol resembling a crescent moon intertwined with vines, resting just below his collarbone on the left side of his neck. Unlike abyssal energy, the mark carried a strange warmth, almost like the glow of morning sunlight.
A stark contrast to the power within him.
Shaking the thoughts away, he moved toward the small pedestal where his egg rested.
Placing a hand on it, he let a stream of mana flow inside.
The egg was warm to the touch, its surface pulsing faintly in response.
Not yet.
It wasn't ready to hatch.
Soon, though.
Grabbing his coat, he stepped out of the room, making his way toward the training grounds.
****
The students who had chosen weapon arts gathered at the open-air training grounds, a massive courtyard lined with racks of training weapons. Stone pillars lined the perimeter, etched with runes that absorbed stray mana from practice sessions.
Alistair arrived without fanfare, stepping into the group just as Instructor Ignatius Pyros arrived.
The dragonkin warlord strode forward with his usual imposing presence, his golden reptilian eyes scanning the students.
"Good. You all made your choices yesterday. Now we see if you can actually use them."
The murmurs among students quieted as Ignatius continued.
"Most of you probably picked flashy techniques. Good. That means I get to watch you struggle."
Some students shifted uneasily. Others, like Leon, bristled at the remark.
Ignatius ignored them.
"A Weapon Art isn't just a set of moves. It's a philosophy. A way of fighting that becomes second nature."
His gaze swept across the students.
"Today, we start with the basics. I'll observe how you handle the first sequences of your chosen arts. You'll be divided into smaller groups based on your selection—sword users, spearmen, unarmed fighters, and so on."
Alistair remained still as the groups were called.
Leon stepped into the sword group, his stance full of confidence.
Rael Thunderfang rolled his shoulders before joining the unarmed combatants.
Sylara Ilthariel, the elven princess, moved gracefully toward the sword and wind arts section.
Cassandra twirled a practice scythe, clearly eager to test her new combat style.
Alistair, meanwhile, found himself in the category of "Abyssal and Mystic Arts."
He was the only one.
Of course.
Ignatius' eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at Alistair, but he didn't comment.
Instead, he barked out orders.
"Get to work. Show me what you learned from your manuals last night. Fail to meet my standards, and you'll regret it."
The students quickly moved into their designated areas, each beginning to practice the introductory sequences of their chosen Weapon Arts.
Alistair exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders.
He opened the Bloodshadow Manifestation manual in his mind, recalling the sequences from memory.
Slowly, his hands moved—tracing the patterns described in the art.
Abyssal energy flickered at his fingertips.
He could feel it. The first step in mastering this art.
The path forward was clear.
Now, let's see how far I can take this.
---
(To Be Continued...)