The world was built upon a fragile balance, upheld by main three realms
The Heavenly Realm, The Mortal Realm and The Demon Realm,
These realms were bound together, each relying on the other to exist. At the center of it all was manas, the source of all spiritual energy. It flowed through the Mortal Realm, unseen but essential, like the breath of the world itself.
Those who could absorb the most manas became powerful beyond measure. Their strength depended on the purity of their core spiritual energy, which transformed manas into personal power. Some became protectors, others conquerors but all sought to control it.
For the heavenly gods, manas came from creation from life, joy, and the prosperity of mortals. Every heartbeat, every moment of happiness, fed their divine power.
For demons, manas came from destruction from suffering, sorrow, and death. Every tear, every war, every dying breath fueled their strength.
Thus, the Mortal Realm was both a treasure and a battlefield.
The demons, driven by greed, sought to claim all three realms for themselves. Unable to enter freely, they took on disguises hiding among mortals, spreading chaos, and feeding off destruction. Their presence grew like a shadow, a threat that became a grave concern for the gods to manage.
The heavens could not intervene directly. To descend meant to disrupt the balance, risking more harm than good. And so, the Supreme Creators devised a solution one that would change the fate of mortals forever.
They decided to bestow fragments of their divine spirit upon chosen mortals. These gifted individuals, born with those power, would stand as guardians against the demons. With the strength to wield Auron and the wisdom to harness Zenithra (the spiritual energy within), they would protect the realm without requiring the gods themselves to interfere.
"All thanks to the heavens for their kindness! Because they lent their power, we have been able to eliminate every last threat from those filthy demons—"
A firm voice echoed through the grand hall, but it was soon interrupted by a sudden pause.
"There, there… look who didn't sleep all night."
An old man, his hair faded from grey to white, sat at the front of the hall. Dressed in flowing white robes, he held a massive book, one hand frozen mid-turn as his sharp eyes locked onto a slouched figure.
In the middle of the grand lecture hall, amidst rows of attentive students, someone was dozing off head bobbing slightly, shoulders slumped, lost in the battle between sleep and consciousness.
The room fell silent. Some students suppressed chuckles, others stole glances at each other, waiting to see what would happen next. The person in mid-sleep showed no sign of hearing him. Their breathing was slow, their head tilting slightly forward as if surrendering completely to exhaustion.
Seeing no response, the old master let out a quiet sigh. With deliberate patience, he slowly closed the massive book in his hands. The silence in the hall made the sound of its closing almost deafening.
Every student sat still, their eyes flickering between the master and the unfortunate student.
The old master placed the book carefully on the table, his movements unhurried yet filled with a quiet authority. Then, without a word, his hand reached for the long, slender wooden stick resting beside him.
Gripping it firmly, he began walking slowly, deliberately toward the sleeping figure. His footsteps were soft, but in the silence of the grand hall, they felt like the ticking of a clock counting down to an inevitable moment.
The old master stood in front of the dozing figure, watching in silence. He waited a few more moments, but there was no sign of movement. Finally, he let out a sigh and turned his gaze toward a young girl sitting beside the sleeper. She had been nervously shifting in her seat, glancing between the master and her seatmate.
With just a subtle nod from him, she understood what had to be done. Swallowing her hesitation, she reached out and gently tapped the sleeping girl's shoulder.
"Astra… Astra…" she whispered. No response.
She sighed, her nervousness growing. "Astra…"
Still nothing.
Losing patience, she smacked her head hard. The force caused her head to slam against the wooden desk with a loud thud.
"Ah—Huh!?"
Astra shot up, hands flying to her forehead, rubbing the sore spot with a wince. Her mind, still sluggish from sleep, struggled to process what was happening. Her blurry vision adjusted, and the moment she recognized the towering figure standing before her, reality hit like a slap to the face.
Eyes widening, she scrambled to her feet.
"Old Sprout! AHEM! I mean Master!!" she blurted out, stiffening into an awkward stance.
The hall fell into a stunned silence before a few students muffled their laughter.
The master slowly exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temples as if warding off an impending headache. Astra glared at her seatmate, who was barely holding back laughter, her shoulders shaking from the effort. Traitor.
Shifting her gaze back to the old master, she felt her stomach drop. His face, usually stern yet patient, was now laced with pure disappointment.
"Twenty-eight times." His voice was calm, but the weight of his words pressed down like a mountain.
"In just nineteen days."
The entire hall went silent. Some students glanced at each other, some looked away as if pretending they weren't witnessing this. Astra, however, could only stare in horror.
"Twenty-eight times… you have shown disrespect to the great history of our ancestors and their heroic deeds." The master sighed, crossing his arms behind his back as he began pacing slowly. "How many more times, Astra?"
She swallowed hard.
Then came the sentence.
"You will stay here till night and leave only after cleaning every corner of the Great Hall."
Her eyes widened in shock. No. Not this again.
"W-Wait! No, not this time! I swear, it won't happen again! Next time—" She paused. "I mean—there won't be a next time! Just… just not this! I've already cleaned it so many times, I—"
But the master was unmoved. He simply kept walking, his pace unhurried as he made his way toward the grand doors.
Just before leaving, he added in a tone that made her blood freeze:
"After that, tell him to meet me tomorrow. And not to send those letters. He will meet me personally."
Then, without another word, he exited the hall.
Dead end.
Astra's world collapsed.
Her legs gave out, and she thudded onto the bench, staring blankly ahead.
Cleaning duty was one thing…..but that?
The weight of his final words hit like a death sentence.