The Arc Order incident echoed through Velmira's underground like a broken drum—one that only a few had ears trained to hear.
A top the black-spired towers of the Nocturnum Research Academy, whispers stirred.
Professors who had long abandoned the surface world looked down with interest. Something had changed. Something old had blinked into existence again.
And it had chosen a student.
Caleb walked through the alleyways of the Old Rail District, hood drawn low, blood dried on his cuffs.
His leg throbbed, still healing from the Arc blast.
His Book pulsed softly at his side—dormant now. Resting.
Then, a sound.
A ripple of static.
A faint hum in the air.
From the shadows emerged a figure—cloaked in robes of dark silk embroidered with floating glyphs.
His voice was calm, layered, and mechanical.
"You made quite a mess, Mr. Noir."
Caleb stopped. "If you're here to kill me, get in line."
The man chuckled. "If I wanted you dead, I'd have spoken from your own shadow."
Caleb stiffened.
"My name is Headmaster Veyros," the man said. "I represent an institution that watches what the rest of the world pretends does not exist."
He held out a scroll, sealed with a sigil of moonlight and ink.
"The Nocturnum Academy would like to offer you… sanctuary."
The campus was hidden beyond the mirrored planes—accessible only through calculated shadow bends.
It hovered between dimensions, where magic bled into reality and reality refused to look back.
Noir stood at its gates,
Book of the Abyss sealed tightly under his arm.
Other students watched him—some with awe, some with disdain.
Here were elemental prodigies, quantum spellwrights, and dimensional warpers.
They came from ruined bloodlines, forgotten races, or forbidden legacies.
He fit right in.
Day One.
"Class Aether-Black, assemble!"
Inside the central chamber, a floating coliseum of shifting platforms and inverted light, Noir stood among five other students:
Kael – a fire kinetic with volcanic rage issues
Miren – a water-bender who speaks in ancient ocean tongues
Druan – a telekinetic scientist with no empathy
Selis – an illusionist who doesn't believe she's real
Vaen – a lightning glyph-runner with cybernetic limbs
Professor Thale, their combat instructor, circled them like a hawk.
"You are not here to impress," she growled. "You are here to survive."
The arena shifted.
Shadows stretched.
Glyphs flared.
And the test began.
Caleb didn't draw his blade.
He didn't cast a spell.
He simply stood—and let his shadow move.
Observe.
Miren's movement pattern.
Kael's combustion charge.
Druan's levitation lag.
Split.
A clone dashed behind Selis—triggering her illusion matrix and forcing Vaen to discharge early.
Reshape.
A mirror wall rose just as Kael's fire blast hit—reflecting it into the air.
The room paused.
Thale squinted.
"Subtle. Controlled. Dangerous."
She made a mark beside Noir's name.
That night, in his dorm chamber,
Caleb opened the Book.
It flipped to a new page, glyphs unfolding like tendrils.
The next word revealed itself:
"Vanish."
He smiled.
Training had only begun.
But he was already rewriting the rules