The room fell into a taut hush as Headmaster Kasede stepped forward beneath the glowing crystal chandelier. A quiet authority clung to every measured step she took, the hem of her coat brushing over polished marble. She came to a stop just a few paces before the front row — close enough for her gaze to reach every student assembled.
"What I'm about to share with you," she began, "is not a simulation. Nor is it a staged assessment." She paused — not for drama, but weight.
"This mission is sanctioned, real, and critical to the academy's ongoing contribution to regional stability. You will be acting not as students... but as representatives of Kuoh."
A quiet shift swept through the crowd. No one interrupted.
"Roughly 48 hours ago, our monitoring stations picked up strange fluctuations in mana density along the eastern ridge of Asgardian territory — a mountainous stretch once known as Verdenholt."
With a snap of her fingers, the illusion reformed overhead — this time zoomed in. The terrain expanded: jagged peaks, scattered snow, and nestled near the center, an ancient ruin half-swallowed by nature. Its towers leaned inward like broken fingers. Wind currents swept over it in real time, faintly animated by Kayuki's magic.
"Verdenholt was once a fortress outpost used during the War of Concord. After the ceasefire, it was sealed and abandoned. Most believed it buried by time and frost. Until now."
Kayuki leaned forward lazily on the nearest desk, spinning a levitating cube in one hand — the engraved object Kasede had handed him earlier. Its metallic lines shimmered faintly with golden etching.
"Mana readings have spiked to unstable levels. Intermittent tremors. Inconsistent ward behavior. Small anomalies at first — misfires in spells, distortion fields. But they're escalating."
Kasede turned, looking toward the illusion. One long finger pointed to a glowing outline just west of the ruins.
"This area, here, is a civilian settlement — Asgardian by heritage. Small population, mostly farmers and craftspeople. They're unaware of the potential threat. And we'd like to keep it that way."
Her eyes returned to the students. Calm, deliberate.
"You are not being sent in to engage," she said. "This is a scouting assessment. Your task is to enter Verdenholt, analyze the surrounding mana patterns, assess the current ward conditions, and report back with findings. Observe. Do not provoke. Do not tamper."
Kayuki grinned, still toying with the cube.
"We'll be watching through relay orbs — so no disappearing into the mountains for picnics. Not unless you want to be snowmen for the rest of your academic lives."
A few students chuckled, though it died quickly.
"Your primary goal," Kasede continued, "is coordination. You will not be split into teams for this mission. You will act as a class — unified, efficient, and accountable."
That last word held weight.
Then Kayuki tossed the cube toward the center of the group. It hovered midair for a moment before slowly rotating, pulsing once with light.
"And this," she said, "is your lifeline."
The cube settled softly into the air between the students.
"A failsafe device keyed to a class-wide emergency protocol. In the event that something goes catastrophically wrong — and I mean truly sideways, monster-eating-your-best-friend wrong — this will trigger an immediate retrieval protocol. That means an emergency response and evacuation spell tuned to your exact mana signatures."
"It can only be used once," Kayuki added. "It does not fix bruised egos or poor grades. So use it when, and only when, you're certain you can't handle what's coming."
Zoltan muttered, "...Great. One parachute for twenty kids."
Sanae gave him a sharp side glance. "Let's hope we don't need it at all."
Kayuki stood upright again, brushing off his robes.
"Transport will be provided via The Astral Wing Mini — you'll board within the hour. Hovercraft. Runs on stabilized runes and good vibes. Try not to throw up."
A faint hum echoed through the air as the illusion shifted one final time — a sleek, smooth silver vessel hovered above snow-dusted cliffs, glowing with ancient runic engravings along its undercarriage.
"Expect rapid atmospheric descent and minimal ground support," Kasede added. "This is meant to test not only your magical ability, but your composure."
Then, for a heartbeat, the illusion faded. No images. No flickering light. Just the room — full of students, standing before something unknown.
"You will depart in one hour," Kasede concluded. "Prepare accordingly. Review your tools, reinforce your spell matrices, and remember — you carry not just your own fates, but the academy's trust."
She stepped back, allowing Kayuki to finish. The professor raised a hand, lazily swirling a final arc of magic into the air.
"Now, now—don't look so grim. You might not all die."
A silence.
Then Kayuki grinned wide. "...Kidding. Mostly."
He clapped his hands together once.
"Dismissed."
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The students filed out of the Grand Hall in staggered silence. The weight of reality — of being treated not as students but as operatives — had settled over them like a thin veil of frost. The usual idle chatter was muffled, replaced by quiet steps against the polished floor and the hum of magical conduits running along the corridors.
The castle-like academy always felt large, but now... it felt cavernous. Watchful. Expectant.
Sanae walked briskly ahead, fingers curled tightly around her notebook. Her footsteps echoed faintly through the stone corridor, but her mind was louder — flipping through checklists, worst-case scenarios, mana distributions, ward resonance equations. She wasn't scared exactly... but the idea of leading this mission as Class Rep? That was another story.
"Okay. Breathe. Stabilizers. Crystal compass. Aether quills. Don't forget the prism markers—"
"Talking to yourself again?" Manjiro's lazy voice rang in from behind, hands in his coat pockets.
Sanae didn't look back.
"It's called thinking. Try it sometime."
He smirked, amused but sharp-eyed.
"Nah. I'll just follow you around and pretend I'm the quiet, mysterious type. Seems easier."
They rounded a corner where Celosia was crouched near her bag, rearranging her vials of glowing spirit-infused herbs. Her fingers trembled slightly, but her face was set with quiet determination. A small spirit—like a floating wisp of moss and petals—hovered just above her shoulder, whispering softly only she could hear.
Zoltan stood nearby, back against the wall, arms crossed. He was already geared up — minimal armor beneath his uniform, gloves tightened, a dagger clipped to his side. Despite his nonchalant posture, his crimson eyes were narrowed. Watching. Calculating.
"This feels off," he muttered. "They say scouting, but they're sending us? All of us?"
Rin, fixing the last strap on her gear, snorted.
"Yeah, because sending a bunch of overworked professors would make too much sense."
Rajieru bounded in from another hall with a grin on his face and mismatched gloves on his hands — one was a flashy fireproof gauntlet, the other an enchanted kitchen mitt with a ward sigil sloppily drawn on it in chalk.
"I am prepared for battle, soup, or both!"
"You're gonna lose that hand," Reuel said quietly as he passed him, securing a thick band of reinforced runes across his forearm.
The group began to converge near the northern exit gate of the academy grounds, where The Astral Wing Mini hovered just above the wide courtyard. The ship shimmered in the dim morning light — a sleek, rune-etched marvel that pulsed with soft-blue energy beneath its hull. Its elegant fins curved slightly like the wings of a bird mid-glide, and faint glyphs spun around the cockpit like a protective halo.
Students stared in awe, but the atmosphere remained tense. The wind picked up, brushing cloaks and hair with cold fingers. Off to the side, Kiyoshi stood apart. He wasn't alone — not physically. Kotaka and Haruki were nearby, going over spell incantations in low voices. But Kiyoshi's gaze wasn't focused on anyone. His eyes, dull gray as ever, stared quietly toward the forested skyline in the distance — as though listening to something only he could hear.
His fingers twitched slightly at his side.
"Something's wrong," he whispered to himself, barely audible.
He didn't know how he knew. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was something deeper — a tug on the part of him he still didn't fully understand. But the mana... the world itself felt like it was holding its breath.
"Hey." Sanae approached him, adjusting her gear across her chest. "You good?"
Kiyoshi glanced at her, blinking slowly. He nodded. "Yeah. Just... thinking."
"Well," she said, her tone softening, "try to stay close out there."
"I will." He offered a faint smile. "You'll be a good rep."
She looked surprised for a second, then rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. "Thanks. I think."
Before the conversation could go further, a whistle blew. Kayuki, standing just below the boarding ramp of the Astral Wing, waved an overdramatic hand in the air.
"Alright, little adventurers! Last chance to cry, confess your crushes, or fake food poisoning!"
He tapped a glowing rune on the side of the ship, and the hatch slid open with a quiet hum.
"Boarding begins now. Window seats are first come, first serve. Don't forget your dignity — we won't be stopping to pick it up later!"
The students began boarding one by one — some chatting nervously, others silent, each carrying more weight than they let on. As the last of them disappeared inside, a thin mist rolled over the distant treeline. The sky darkened slightly — not enough to notice, not yet. But enough for Kiyoshi, who paused at the threshold. He looked back once toward the forest. Toward the direction of Verdenholt.
His fingers twitched again. He stepped aboard. And the hatch closed behind him.
𝚃𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚍...
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