Throne Hall — Morning Light

  Silence ruled the throne hall.

  Morning light streamed through the stained-glass windows, falling onto the marble floor where the silhouette of a kneeling man reflected faintly.

  Selveran knelt before the king — his blood brother.

  His voice, as always, was calm and steady.

  “Orien de Lacour,” he said without lifting his gaze, “the trials are progressing successfully. This time I tested him on teamwork… and on his ability to protect an ally.”

  The king, seated upon his throne, slowly raised his head.

  “And?” he asked, his eyes focused somewhere deep within the hall.

  “He works well with a partner,” Selveran continued.

  “He did not allow harm to come to his ally… and he ensured her victory.”

  Orien rose to his feet.

  His footsteps echoed beneath the high arches as he approached the enormous glass window. Outside, leaves drifted slowly in the wind — the world seemed suspended beyond time.

  “And who was his partner?” the king asked quietly, not turning around.

  Selveran hesitated for a brief moment, then answered softly:

  “Rosalyn de Lacour, my lord.”

  A faint smile appeared on Orien’s face.

  His cold, authoritative eyes suddenly softened.

  He looked up at the portrait above the throne — himself, standing beside a woman with silver hair and a warm smile, and between them a small girl with lavender-silver curls.

  The king whispered:

  “Our daughter is already grown… my Isabella.”

  Selveran did not look up, but his expression darkened.

  He exhaled deeply, as if holding back a heavy emotion.

  “If you allow it,” he said quietly, “I will take my leave.”

  Orien nodded, still watching the portrait.

  Selveran rose, bowed, and headed toward the massive doors.

  His footsteps echoed through the hall like falling stones.

  When he almost reached the exit, Orien’s voice sounded behind him — soft, yet filled with weight:

  “Brother… tell me, when will you forgive yourself?”

  Selveran stopped.

  Silence settled between them like a slab of granite.

  He did not turn.

  “Never,” he answered hoarsely.

  “And only when the rose blooms again.”

  He opened the doors and stepped out, leaving behind only the heavy echo of his departure.

  A breeze from the corridor stirred the cloth that covered the second throne — the one that had long remained empty.

  ---

  Morning light slowly filtered through the thin curtain.

  Warm rays fell upon the floor, the table, and the sleeping Hiro — sprawled across the bed like someone who had gone to sleep far too late and had no intention of returning to reality anytime soon.

  He never slept deeply.

  Even in dreams he sensed everything — shadows, rustles, a stranger’s footsteps in the corridor.

  So when someone knocked quietly on his door, his eyes opened immediately.

  The door cracked open.

  Rosalyn peeked inside.

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  “We need to talk. I’ll be waiting in the dining hall,” she said softly.

  Her voice was… different.

  Warm.

  Not sharp.

  Not prickly.

  None of that usual aristocratic aloofness she used as a shield.

  And before he could respond, she disappeared.

  Hiro ran a hand over his face and sat up.

  “What’s bothering her so early…?

  Ah… right. Someone tried to kill her yesterday.”

  He grimaced and stood.

  “Hopefully she slept at least a little,” he murmured and headed for the dining hall, still half-asleep and moving mostly out of habit.

  ---

  The dining hall was nearly empty.

  Only Rosalyn sat in the far corner by the window — her back straight, hands folded on the table, but her expression… softer. As if her usual mask had cracked.

  Hiro approached, sat across from her, crossed one leg over the other, and closed his eyes for a moment — he wanted sleep far more than conversation.

  “So, what did you want to talk about?” he asked without lifting his head.

  Rosalyn inhaled quietly, gathering her thoughts.

  “You saved me,” she said in almost the same whisper as earlier.

  “Yeah,” Hiro replied simply.

  She hesitated, brushing a strand of hair aside, her gaze drifting away.

  A faint, nervous smile tugged at her lips.

  “It’s… the second time someone has saved me. The first time…”

  “God of the Void, right?” Hiro interrupted.

  A hint of pink rose to her cheeks — subtle, but enough for Hiro to notice.

  “Yes,” she admitted softly.

  “Will you tell me how it happened?” he asked casually, but his eyes were sharp.

  Rosalyn swallowed.

  “Alright… We went to the hunting lodge with my family and my uncle. There…”

  But she didn’t finish.

  The doors of the dining hall burst open.

  A woman stood on the threshold — the very same informant from the Triple Brotherhood.

  A narrow waist, a black uniform tight enough to be inappropriate for staff.

  The moment she spotted Hiro, her face lit up with an unnatural sort of delight.

  “Hiro!” she exclaimed and hurried toward him.

  Before he could pull away, her hand was already on his cheek.

  A pink shimmer instantly flashed across his skin — a barrier forming to prevent her hand from decaying under his curse.

  “Would you like something to drink, darling?” she purred in a syrupy, dragging voice.

  Hiro jerked back, pressing himself to the wall.

  Rosalyn watched — and something inside her flared.

  She rose to her feet, approached them, and firmly removed the girl’s hand from Hiro’s face.

  “This behavior is unacceptable for Academy staff,” Rosalyn said coldly.

  “By decree, you are forbidden from making physical contact with students.

  Especially… of that nature.”

  The girl’s face twisted as she yanked her hand away.

  “And who even are you?” she snapped.

  Rosalyn lifted her chin, straightened her back — the aura of nobility draped around her like silk.

  “I am the President of the Student Council.

  Rosalyn de Lacour.

  And I will be reporting the conduct of the Academy’s waitstaff.”

  The waitress’s eyes widened.

  Her face turned pale.

  “My apologies!” she yelped and bolted out of the hall.

  Hiro blinked and followed her with his eyes.

  “Ugh… thanks. She gives me chills.”

  Rosalyn, still staring at the door, spoke with a quiet, icy calm:

  “How incompetent the staff has become…”

  ---

  A deep rumble echoed from outside.

  Rosalyn stiffened.

  “R-right! The exam!!” she squeaked in panic.

  “We’re late! Hurry!”

  Before Hiro could say a word, she grabbed his hand—

  —and pulled him out of the dining hall so quickly that even the winds of the Academy barely had time to move aside.

  ---

  The sun hung high in the sky, flooding the vast square with warm golden light.

  The sky was clear, thin clouds drifting lazily above the enormous arena.

  Nearly a thousand students stood upon the stone plaza — and at its center, like a statue carved from ancient marble, stood Director Selveran de Lacour.

  His eyes were closed.

  His hands clasped behind his back.

  His robes rustled lightly in the breeze.

  The murmurs of the crowd rolled like the sea — loud, restless, electric.

  And then—

  The crowd parted, like water before a ship’s prow.

  One person stepped aside, then another — then those in front moved back as well.

  Rosalyn and Hiro finally arrived, slightly out of breath.

  Hiro still looked half-asleep, hair messy, steps slow.

  Rosalyn, though composed, still had a faint shadow of morning panic in her eyes.

  Selveran opened his eyes.

  Instantly, silence swept across the plaza — as if the world itself had stopped breathing.

  He raised his hand.

  “Good day, ladies and gentlemen. Students of our Academy.”

  The buzzing vanished.

  A thousand eyes focused solely on him.

  “Today marks the end of another academic year. And it concludes with a trial more difficult than any before it.

  Allow me to explain the rules.”

  He clapped once — gently, effortlessly.

  But the ground seemed to tremble.

  Mana surged, and behind him a colossal stone wall materialized from the air, covered in glowing runes.

  Names lit up across the surface.

  Each one paired.

  Next to every pair — a team number.

  And on the right — another number, veiled by shimmering magic.

  Gasps rippled through the crowd.

  Even Hiro, who rarely showed interest, raised an eyebrow.

  Rosalyn studied the wall with laser focus — already trying to predict what her uncle would say next.

  Selveran continued:

  “Each team has a number.

  And on the right — your initial score.

  The minimum is twenty.

  The maximum goes to the strongest.”

  With a gesture, he unveiled the values.

  “Team One — Hiro and Rosalyn de Lacour.”

  A collective reaction — instinctive, primal.

  The crowd stepped away from them again, widening the space around the pair as if expecting an explosion.

  Hiro stood with his hands in his pockets, showing neither pride nor surprise.

  Rosalyn — straight-backed, confident — though her expression trembled for the slightest moment when she heard her name beside his.

  Selveran smiled faintly.

  “As the strongest pair of the Academy, they receive one million starting points.”

  The crowd roared.

  Someone whistled.

  Several people clasped their heads in disbelief.

  “And now… the trial.”

  ---

  “The Labyrinth consists of narrow corridors,” Selveran said, his voice deeper, heavier.

  “Inside, the light will occasionally go out.

  And your magic will too.”

  A group of swordsmen by the wall sharpened their blades.

  The metal sang sharply, sending chills through even the bravest of students.

  Hiro glanced at them — lazy, yet observant.

  Something black flickered in his eyes.

  “There are chests within the maze: clues, artifacts, tools.

  You may exit at any time if you find the way out. You will also be chased and attacked by hunters.”

  --

  Selveran lifted two fingers.

  “A forest where it is always night.

  Fog marks the boundaries. Step into it — and you’re disqualified.

  To survive five days, you must gather resources, fight, hide, or form alliances.

  But only one team will win.”

  Rosalyn didn’t blink once.

  She knew: this trial wasn’t a game.

  Here, there was always blood.

  “Across the zone are doors,” he continued.

  “To open them, you need special plates — five in total.

  Some doors are partially open.

  Some… are hunted by other teams.”

  The crowd stirred again — reality sinking in.

  ---

  “The bracelets on your wrists,” Selveran said, “will return you to the plaza if you suffer a fatal wound or break the rules.”

  His gaze hardened, turning to steel.

  “Only one hundred of you will advance.

  The winning team will receive a reward worthy of the strongest.”

  ---

  Several mages stepped forward behind him.

  They spread their cloaks, raising their hands.

  Mana shook the ground.

  The air trembled like a taut string.

  Selveran whispered an incantation — ancient words flowing like cold water.

  A burst of light split the world.

  ---

  The world vanished.

  The body — dropped into emptiness.

  Sound — gone.

  Sight — drowned in white.

  And then—

  Hiro and Rosalyn

  alyn stood side by side.

  A narrow stone corridor.

  Uneven sandstone beneath their feet.

  Walls pressing in from both sides, exhaling cold.

  A low ceiling of cracked stone overhead.

  One torch flickered in the distance — dim, weak, almost dying.

  Somewhere deep within the labyrinth…

  Metal clanged.

  And footsteps followed.

  Heavy.

  Measured.

  Hunting.