Astraedus Academy – Training Grounds (Upper East Quadrant)

  Morning haze clung to the earth, veiling the dew-slicked stone with an almost sacred stillness.

  The dueling ground stood empty now, but not forgotten. Students lingered at its edges, murmuring tales that twisted with each retelling. Some swore they saw Aeon summon an ancient spirit; others claimed he moved faster than light itself. No one knew the truth. And Aeon wasn’t speaking.

  From a high tower window, Professor Varnet Kaelos observed in silence. A half-elf historian of eldritch combat, Varnet had seen hundreds of duels—none like this.

  “He’s cracked the surface,” Varnet whispered, voice rasping. “Just like they feared.”

  South Academic Wing – Spell Engineering Hall

  Celia Nymira, a short, sprightly girl with copper-ringlet hair and goggles perpetually perched atop her head, scribbled frantic notes on her hover-scroll. She bounced over to Professor Grinth Malduros, her alchemy mentor, clutching her parchment like a lifeline.

  “Professor! Look! The duel's energy signature—it bent reality like a dual-core mana rupture! That shouldn’t even be possible at student tier!”

  Grinth, a hunched man with dragonhide gloves and glowing ink veins on his fingers, raised a bushy brow. “Unless the boy’s not running on tiered mana.” He coughed darkly. “But on something older…”

  Dormitory Wing – Room 87A

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  Aeon sat cross-legged, eyes shut, fingers lightly brushing the edge of the now-activated glyph-scroll. Its blue fire wove through the room like tendrils of memory.

  He didn’t flinch when the door creaked open.

  “You good?” asked Lysira, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Aeon replied.

  Lysira stepped closer, her presence oddly grounding. “You made a storm, Virelios. And now everyone wants to know what kind of thunder you’ll bring next.”

  Aeon looked up, eyes catching the golden-red of dawn through his window. “Maybe it’s not thunder they should fear. But silence.”

  Underground Temple Ruins – Beneath the Academy

  The gears clicked louder.

  Far below, hidden by layers of enchantment, a chamber began to pulse with pale crimson light. The gate, bound by six divine seals, shook.

  Zelphira Dyvra stepped into the sigil's circle. Her voice chanted in a dead tongue. Myris Velstra placed a hand over the seal of perception, eyes glowing.

  “Two seals broken,” Zelphira said. “Once the third falls…”

  “He will wake,” Myris whispered. “And the true hunt begins.”

  Faculty Council Chambers – Afternoon

  Archon Viran met with Head Strategist Iskar Tenreth, Madame Caltrae of Prophecy, and War-Tutor Boros Kaine.

  “He isn’t ready,” Boros grunted. “He lacks discipline.”

  “He lacks chains,” Iskar countered, fingers steepled. “And that’s what makes him dangerous.”

  Madame Caltrae, blindfolded and ageless, finally spoke. “He is the Scattered Flame. The one who will walk through storms not yet written.”

  Viran nodded. “Then we prepare. And hope… Aeon remains Aeon.”

  Astraedus Central Mess Hall – Later That Evening

  Tables buzzed with laughter and tension. Whispers. Stares. But amid the crowd, a new voice rang out.

  “Oi, newbie!”

  Kael Rynlor, self-declared third-year champion and thunder-born spellblade, stomped across the hall. Behind him, his twin sister Veyra Rynlor smirked, fingers flicking with storm energy.

  “Let’s see if lightning answers that silence of yours,” Kael barked.

  Aeon didn’t rise.

  He just looked up.

  And for a moment—the storm hesitated.

  In the next chapter… the storm breaks. And from its heart, a forgotten name may rise again.