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{Chapter: 83: The Scarlet Bloom and the Summoned Guardian}
Saya turned slightly, his tone growing more thoughtful. "You know, Charles… you shouldn't be so nervous. Confidence is something you're allowed to have now. Regardless of your past, you've been chosen by the flow of magic itself. You're no longer a commoner. You're an apprentice wizard. That alone places you on a different path than most people will ever dream of. Walk it with your head held high."
The words struck deeper than Charles expected. He glanced at Saya, searching his face for mockery or insincerity—but there was none. Only calm sincerity.
Looking into the boy's sky-colored eyes, Charles suddenly felt strange, as if someone had opened a locked window in a dusty room inside him.
In the reflection of those eyes, he saw his own fragile figure: pale, bony, hunched slightly, still shaped by years of self-doubt and poverty. Yet for the first time in his life, he wondered—what if this wasn't how he had to stay? What if…he could be more?
'Maybe… I really do need to change.'
It was the first time such a thought had occurred to him with conviction.
---
Meanwhile, Saya gave him a sidelong glance, hiding the flicker of satisfaction that passed through his thoughts. He didn't smile outwardly, but a quiet joy stirred within.
Perfect.
He wasn't being malicious—no. Saya had been taught from a young age how power worked. How alliances were formed. How to lead.
And he knew this journey—this academy—was not merely about study. It was about survival, about influence, about forging bonds while others scrambled and clawed for attention. Among a group of strangers, the strongest move was always to gather the weak early.
People like Charles—humble, poor, uncertain—were the easiest to win over. And in time, the most loyal.
In Saya's mind, this wasn't cruelty. It was strategy. And besides, Charles would benefit, too.
Just then, the sudden rise of a powerful voice snapped Charles out of his thoughts.
A middle-aged man stood near the helm of the aircraft, his bearing stern and imposing. His robe shimmered with purple-and-black symbols that marked him as a senior mage. But what made him unforgettable was the third eye that sat squarely in the center of his forehead. The eye glowed faintly, shifting as if it could see something far beyond mortal sight.
He raised his hand, and silence fell like a spell across the deck.
"The academy is in sight. Final descent is underway. Prepare yourselves. No more idle chatter. Stand tall. This is where your futures begin."
The students echoed his declaration in unison.
"Yes, Mentor!"
Charles instinctively straightened his back. Even the smallest defiance could earn punishment now, and he wasn't ready to risk his new life—not for anything.
As the aircraft began its slow descent into the mist-wreathed campus, the students rushed back to gather their belongings.
---
Soon after, within the dim interior of the descending airship, Charles found himself seated quietly in the corner of the cabin, his hands folded over his knees. The distant hum of the engine had become a familiar rhythm, and yet his heart was beating faster than ever. Thoughts swirled in his mind like clouds before a storm.
He recalled the appearance of the mentors he'd seen earlier—figures of immense presence, adorned in robes that shimmered like starlight, with features that defied conventional human norms. Some bore extra limbs, others had glimmering eyes of unnatural color, and one in particular had a third eye centered in his forehead—unblinking and piercing, as if it could see through lies and even into the future.
"In the stories I heard as a child," Charles murmured to himself, "wizards were always strange... distant. Not quite like us. But to see them with my own eyes—it's more surreal than I imagined."
He turned to the window, peering into the mist-covered sky outside. The white fog, dense and seemingly endless, made it feel as though they were drifting through a world between worlds. Then, as if responding to some unseen command, the clouds above the academy began to shift and swirl in deliberate spirals.
"Look!" a student gasped.
Charles, Saya, and the other newcomers leaned forward at once, their eyes wide.
A shimmering opening appeared in the mist—an unnatural vortex parting the clouds in a perfect circle. Sunlight poured through the gap like divine illumination, bathing the land below in a golden halo. A collective gasp of awe filled the cabin.
It was the first time any of them had witnessed such an ethereal scene. Even Saya, typically poised and confident, couldn't suppress his amazement.
"So this is the power of true wizardry..." Saya murmured. "To bend the skies… to carve a hole in the heavens. I've always believed in magic, but seeing this... it's proof that humans can control even the weather if their will is strong enough."
Their aircraft, shaped like a sleek black whale, began its descent through the opening. Beneath the clouds lay a landscape like nothing Charles had ever seen.
The land was blanketed in a vast sea of red flowers—an unbroken crimson tide that extended in all directions. It wasn't a natural red either—it shimmered as if each petal had been brushed with molten rubies under the afternoon light.
The aircraft hummed softly as it came to rest at the edge of the field. A quiet shudder ran through the floor as it landed, followed by the mechanical hiss of the exit hatch unlocking. The ladder unfolded like the tongue of a serpent, resting gently on the field below.
Before any of the students could move, the leader of the enrollment team—a stern, middle-aged man with a forehead marked by a closed third eye—stepped forward and raised his voice, slicing through the awe-filled silence.
"Listen well!" he barked, eyes sharp as blades. "None of you are to touch the red flowers. Not with your hands, not with your feet, not even with your breath. If you value your lives, keep your distance. This is not a decoration. This is a warning from the academy itself."
His voice rang with such authority that even the most overconfident among the new students snapped to attention. No one dared question the command.
"Yes, sir!" came the chorus of voices, some strong, some trembling.
One by one, the students began to descend the stairs. As Charles stepped down, the wind gently stirred the air, carrying with it a strange, sweet fragrance. It was a scent like no flower he had ever encountered—both intoxicating and oddly metallic.
The red flowers below rippled as though moved by the breath of some invisible god. Charles blinked in astonishment. He felt as if he had stepped into a dream. The petals shimmered in the wind, and a faint red mist began to rise, curling upward like wisps of incense.
"It's beautiful..." he whispered, eyes wide with wonder.
And it was—achingly, hauntingly beautiful. The mist seemed alive, refusing to disperse even as the wind swept through. It clung to the flowers like a veil of silk, wrapping the field in a seductive aura. A strange warmth seeped into his chest as he breathed it in, and his muscles loosened, his thoughts slowing.
Unconsciously, Charles took another breath, savoring the sweet aroma. A strange thought flickered in his mind: Just a few more steps, just a little closer...
He wasn't alone. Around him, other students wore similar expressions of dreamy calm. A few even stopped walking, staring blankly into the red sea as if drawn to something deeper within.
From the side, Saya grabbed Charles by the arm.
"Snap out of it!" he whispered sharply, pulling him back.
Charles blinked rapidly, as if a spell is broken. He looked around in confusion, suddenly realizing how close he had wandered to the edge of the flowers.
Up ahead, the lead teacher narrowed his eyes. He could sense the field's influence taking hold. As always, the academy's wards had suppressed most of the flowers' potency, but even a whisper of their true power was enough to enchant the weak-minded.
Before the teacher could shout a warning, he spotted someone—no, something—sitting in a tree nearby, lazily watching the procession of students.
The figure had long crimson hair that shimmered like fresh blood, flowing down in waves that danced with the wind. He lounged casually on a thick branch, one leg hanging loosely, the other bent at the knee. His skin was pale, almost too smooth, and his red eyes with golden pupils burned with faint amusement.
The lead teacher stiffened.
He immediately bowed his head, showing deference. His heart thumped once in quiet recognition. His own mentor had warned him once in hushed tones: If you ever see the summoned guardian in red, avoid provoking him at all costs.
This was Dex.
He was not a man. He was a being from another realm—summoned by the headmaster himself through an ancient ritual. Dex took the form of a man, but every whisper from the old halls spoke of his true nature: a creature far older, far more alien, than anyone truly understood.
---
Dex watched them with a half-smile.
As the students passed, he chuckled softly and looked to the space beside him. "Why is it," he said, not looking at anyone in particular, "that you wizards always end up experimenting with blood? Every year I sit here, and every year you bring more children to feed to the fire. Sometimes I wonder if you're more monstrous than demons like me."
From thin air, a calm voice responded.
It was Hosorn—a senior instructor of the academy, appearing beside the tree without so much as a sound. He stood with hands behind his back, his long robes swaying like smoke.
"There is no cruelty in pursuit of truth," Hosorn replied evenly. "To us, trivial things like blood and race are but tools. What matters is the mind—the soul of the wizard. If we are monsters, then we are monsters with purpose."
Dex tilted his head and gave a crooked smile. "A sense of identity... more important than heritage, more important than morality. Wizards are mad, truly mad. But I'll give you this—your madness is powerful."
A moment of silence hung between them.
Then, with a flick of his tail—yes, a thin, barbed appendage flickered briefly into view—Dex turned his gaze to the misty field.
Dex smiled and sighed, "So that's how it is. Is the sense of identity as a wizard more important than anything else? It's really a strange spellcasting profession. Although it's crazy, it's really powerful…"
Hosorn gave no answer. He had already disappeared.
And so, the students marched on, unaware that unseen eyes watched from above, judging their every step.
*****
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