The Council Chambers of the Imperial Hero Academy were bathed in the golden light of enchanted orbs, their soft glow casting long shadows over the obsidian floor. Behind a thick veil of mana, high-ranking officials, instructors, and representatives from the Five Noble Factions whispered nervously. Something had shifted in the capital—something dark, like a shadow slithering through the cracks of their carefully ordered world.
Zaine Elcross stood at the center of the chamber, his black and gold uniform spotless, his posture noble. He looked like a hero—the Empire's ideal heir.
But his mind was chaos.
> He's back. That bastard's really back...
Zaine clenched his jaw, hiding the tremor in his fingers beneath the sleeves of his coat. The Council had summoned him not as a student, but as a symbol—the crown jewel of the next generation. A prodigy. A hope.
But all he could see in his mind was him. That haunting presence. That glare. That voice.
> Arjen...
"Zaine Elcross," one of the High Elders said, her voice reverberating through the chamber like thunder muffled by silk, "we received your report regarding the Crimson Sky Sect's collapse. The details are... disturbing."
Another Elder leaned forward, brows furrowed. "Are you certain the one responsible was a single student?"
Zaine nodded. "He acted alone. Ruthlessly. I witnessed him tear apart one of our instructors mid-cast. He's not a student anymore—he's something else entirely."
A murmur rippled across the chamber. Words like rogue, monster, and outlier echoed off the crystal-lined walls.
"He called himself Arjen Vanyel," Zaine continued, each syllable soaked in cold precision. "I believe he is the same individual who vanished three years ago."
One of the Elders rose from his seat. "That's impossible. Vanyel was recorded dead in the Eastern Wilds."
Zaine didn't flinch. "Then this is his ghost."
Silence.
And then, from the shadows behind the Council, a deep voice spoke.
"You sound... afraid, Zaine."
Everyone turned. A man stepped forward, garbed in ceremonial black. A Grandmaster.
Lord Arcturus, the Head of the Shadows Division—silent guardians of the Empire. His presence made the mana in the room shrink.
"I am not afraid," Zaine replied smoothly. "I am preparing. If we don't treat Arjen Vanyel as a threat beyond current classification, we'll lose more than a sect next time."
Arcturus studied him. "You've grown, Elcross. Cold. Sharp. Good. But let me ask you—"
His gaze narrowed.
"Is this about the Empire... or your brother?"
Zaine's heart skipped.
The question struck harder than any spell. A beat of silence passed before he bowed.
"It's about the Empire."
> It's always been about the Empire... hasn't it?
---
Meanwhile...
Far beneath the academy ruins, a secret chamber pulsed with forbidden energy. Magic circles hummed in a dull red, and a lone figure stood in the center—his cloak soaked in blood, his hand outstretched toward a pulsing core.
Arjen Vanyel.
His eyes glowed faintly, the system's interface flickering in his vision.
> [System Sync Complete. Hidden Skill Tree: Execution Protocol – Unlocked.]
> [Warning: Soul Interference Detected.] [Threat Level: Zaine Elcross Approaching.]
A smirk tugged at his lips.
"So... he's still chasing shadows."
He placed a hand on the central core—and it responded with a resonating hum. The ancient spell circle beneath his feet flared as blood fed it.
He whispered.
"A debt paid in blood... a truth buried in shadow..."
The circle lit with violent energy.
"Let the game begin."
---