Aeron POV
If there was a man abandoned on an island somewhere, alone with nothing but his thoughts and a steadily worsening opinion of his own life choices, Aeron suspected he would feel exactly like this.
Unfortunately, Aeron was not on an island.
He was on a battlefield.
A grey sky loomed overhead, flat and heavy enough to feel insulting. Wind scraped across the ruined ground in uncertain bursts, lifting ash only to let it fall again, like even the weather was unsure how it was supposed to behave around a single student standing in the middle of a war-memory by himself. The silence did not settle so much as hover awkwardly, as though it had arrived expecting carnage and found only Aeron.
Which, to be fair, was disappointing for everyone involved.
He looked around once.
Broken stone. Ash. Ruins. No people.
Then he sighed.
The echo forgot me.
Aeron kicked at a loose piece of rubble and nearly tripped over it immediately.
He stared at the offending stone for a second.
At least abandon me with a group.
Another look around changed nothing.
No dramatic reunion. No mysterious guide. No conveniently nearby ally. Just him, the ruins, and the sort of silence that felt deeply committed to making a point.
What exactly is the use of prior knowledge if the story starts freelancing like this?
He exhaled again, longer this time, then dragged both hands down his face and tried to shape the result into something resembling optimism.
"Look at the bright side, Aeron."
He glanced up at the sky.
The sky remained grey.
"…Right."
His voice came out quieter the second time.
Then he paused.
Something was glowing above him.
Aeron squinted.
At first, it looked almost pretty. A streak of yellow cutting through the dull sky like a falling star.
That was concerning for several reasons.
Mainly because it seemed to be getting bigger.
He watched it for another second.
That is getting closer.
Another second.
That is getting much closer.
Another second.
That is absolutely coming here.
His instincts, perhaps still recovering from the fact that his life had recently become absurd, responded with all the urgency of a decorative plant. His trait flared a moment later, less like a graceful warning and more like reality slapping him awake.
Aeron sighed.
"Right. Good talk."
Invisible threads snapped into motion. A Tier 3 spell formed with almost practised ease.
"Nature's Palm."
Five green roots burst from the circle and wrapped around him, curling inward until they formed a tight sphere of woven vines. Small gaps remained between the roots, just enough for him to peer through and watch the blazing object descend.
Aeron plugged his ears.
Then he sat down.
Haah. Another day, another—
The impact hit.
The ground lurched. Heat rushed over the vine-shell. Ash and soot blasted across the roots hard enough to rattle the whole sphere, and some truly disrespectful piece of rubble flew through one of the gaps and straight into his mouth.
Aeron gagged at once.
By the time the shaking stopped, the root-ball was dusted grey with soot and ash.
Inside it, Aeron sat in silence for a moment, then spat grit onto the ground.
—explosion, apparently.
With renewed and frankly unreasonable hope, he stepped out of his green cocoon.
This must be my guide.
A large crater had been carved into the battlefield.
From somewhere near its edge, something moved.
Then a hand shot out of the dirt.
Aeron blinked.
A blue head followed.
For one brief, hopeful second, he thought Xavier would do what Xavier unfortunately tended to do lately and locate him immediately.
But Xavier's gaze passed straight through him.
Aeron patted his own chest.
I am still here, right?
What followed was, admittedly, a little amusing.
Like ducklings climbing out after an especially violent lesson, they emerged one by one from the crater—grunting, coughing, complaining, and in at least one case swearing with real commitment.
Blue hair came first.
Then red.
Even Scarlett didn't notice me.
Then pink.
Then black.
Then, little by little, the rest of the Casting Studies class dragged themselves into view.
Aeron watched them in silence.
Then he counted again.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Kyle, Lyra, Seth, and Will are missing.
He glanced over the battlefield, then up at the red-grey sky.
Right.
That would probably be the echo's doing too.
Then his trait stirred.
Aeron's attention shifted.
No.
Multiple presences.
Up ahead, a group had gathered among the ruins. At first glance, they looked oddly casual—loose grey jumpers, joggers, more like displaced civilians than anything military.
But the longer Aeron looked, the more obvious the structure became.
They were not random.
They only looked that way.
One figure stepped forward.
Is this the echo's mission?
He was old. Bent-backed. Leaning on a cane.
He was also very obviously not weak.
Xavier noticed him too.
So did the rest of the class.
He lifted an arm, motioning everyone behind him to stay back, then asked with typical Xavier politeness, "Can we help you?"
The old man took another step.
Then another.
Each one pulled the tension a little tighter.
Aeron's eyes narrowed.
Something had just been thrown from the crowd behind him.
Xavier's sword came out at once. Mana bloomed.
Aeron blinked.
Eh?
A flip-flop?
It hit the old man squarely on the back of the head.
He dropped face-first into the dirt.
Only the cane remained standing.
A small girl marched out from the crowd with all the authority of someone dramatically too young to have any. She planted one foot on the old man's back and scowled.
"Stupid gramps. You're scaring them!"
Her green eyes turned toward Xavier—
then slid straight to Angelina.
Both of them froze.
The resemblance was immediate.
Same green eyes. Similar features.
Just separated by age.
The little girl frowned, apparently deciding that was a problem for later, then turned back to Xavier.
"My name is Angeline."
She puffed out her chest.
"We are the Ashbound, and you stragglers should be honoured to join our cause."
Then she tilted her head upward and nodded a few times, like she was listening to something only she could hear.
The others looked confused.
Aeron did not.
Two tiny fairies hovered in front of her, clapping excitedly and nodding with fierce approval.
One even spun in place.
Well.
That explained some things.
Xavier smiled gently.
"And what is that cause?"
Angeline deflated instantly.
Her shoulders sank.
A long pout formed.
Clearly, she had not planned that far ahead.
Large watery tears gathered in her eyes.
"Uhm," Xavier said, suddenly sounding much less prepared, "Angeline? What happened?"
Aeron watched one fairy hiss at Xavier while the other rushed to console her.
Beside him, Scarlett had already entered what Aeron privately considered her chipmunk state.
Her cheeks puffed out.
Then she broke.
"HAHAHAHA—"
She doubled over, nearly choking on her own laughter.
"You made a little girl cry!"
More laughter burst out of her before she could recover.
"Oh no. The mighty Lightbearer made a child cry."
She wiped at the tears collecting in her eyes and failed completely to stop laughing.
"Ahahaha— I wish I could record this."
The crowd behind the old man immediately dissolved into whispers.
"Lightbearer?"
"The prophecy has finally arrived."
"A saint has found us."
The change in them was immediate.
Relief spread across old faces worn thin by strain. Shoulders loosened. Some of the younger children started bouncing where they stood, excited by the word saint without understanding the weight chained to it.
The old man finally pushed himself off the ground.
Dirt and soot streaked his face. He ignored it.
His gaze settled on Xavier.
"You are a Lightbearer?"
Xavier answered calmly, but there was the slightest uncertainty underneath it.
"Yes."
The old man nodded once.
"Good. You shall lead us."
Xavier blinked.
"Why?"
"I will explain when we return to camp."
His gaze swept across the ruins.
Then it paused.
On Aeron.
Aeron froze.
He can see me?
"There are eyes and ears of the traitors everywhere," the old man said.
Xavier pressed his lips together, then nodded.
Aeron remained very still.
His trait gave no warning of immediate harm.
Which was comforting.
Slightly.
Though, given recent events, its reliability had started to feel less like a guarantee and more like a polite suggestion.
And if this strange old man really could see him—
then following them had just gone from obvious to unavoidable.
Aeron sighed.
I really hope the clear conditions are easy.
He looked up at the red sky.
Then back down.
...Right. Never mind. This feels like hell-difficulty behaviour.
So Aeron followed.
Not sneakily, either.
He just walked after them in plain sight, stepping over broken stone and ash like a perfectly ordinary extra trailing a refugee column through a dead battlefield.
No one paid him any attention.
No one glanced back.
No one asked why another student had joined the line.
It was almost comforting.
Almost.
Maybe his trait had recovered some of its original sharpness.
Maybe being forgotten by the echo had done him a favour.
Or maybe this entire place had simply decided he was not worth the effort of remembering.
That last thought stayed with him longer than he liked.
Three hours later, after more ruined ground, collapsed stone, and an increasingly personal feud with his own lungs, they came to a stop before a single grey tent.
Aeron stared at it.
Just one.
Small. Plain. Miserable.
He was still catching his breath.
All that walking for a cursed grey tent.
He bent slightly, hands on his knees.
This is why people invented treadmills.
Then, one by one, the Ashbound began entering the tent.
Every single one of them.
Aeron straightened.
His gaze lingered on the canvas walls, the narrow entrance, the complete lack of logic.
Ah.
Illusion formation.
That made more sense.
Or less sense, but in a magical way, which was close enough.
Aeron allowed himself a small smile.
Beyond this tent lies a hidden paradise.
There were no guards.
The moment he stepped through, darkness closed around him.
Not natural darkness.
Not the simple absence of light.
This felt thicker than that. Closer. Like something had folded over him.
And in that instant, Aeron felt it pause.
Not long.
Barely even a moment.
But enough.
Enough to feel the darkness hesitate around the shape of him, as though it had expected someone else. As though, for one brief second, it did not know what he was.
Aeron's smile faded.
Then the darkness parted.
Aeron stopped at the edge of the cliff.
Below him, a village rested in the hollow like something hidden from the rest of the world on purpose.
Small houses sat tucked between winding paths and bright stretches of green, their rooftops neat, their walls warm-toned and clean. Thin streams of white smoke drifted lazily from chimneys, curling upward in soft, unhurried lines that made the whole place feel lived in. Safe. The kind of safe that only existed in stories told to children before bed.
It was green everywhere.
Not the tired green of weeds forcing their way through ruin, but rich, full, impossible green. Grass rolled between the houses in soft sweeps. Trees leaned gently over the village like quiet guardians. Flowers dotted the edges of paths and windowsills in little bursts of colour. In the middle of it all sat a large pond, its surface shimmering beneath the light, clear enough for flashes of orange, gold, and pale white fish to flicker beneath it like moving jewels.
Farther ahead, beyond the clustered homes and the pond's bright edge, a waterfall spilled from the stone in a curtain of powder-blue water.
And above all of it hung a sky that had no business being there.
Blue.
Soft clouds drifted across it in small, lazy shapes, and a warm sun shone down over the village in quiet gold, as though the world beyond the cliff did not exist at all. As though ash, war, and the red ruin outside had been denied entry.
It was beautiful.
Too beautiful.
That was the problem.
Nothing about it felt earned. This place did not feel like shelter found in hell.
It felt like hell had made a copy of paradise from memory and hoped no one would look too closely.
Aeron stood on the circling cliff and stared down at it, uneasy beneath the beauty.
Because the more perfect it looked, the less he trusted any of it.
Aeron's gaze shifted to the class.
All he saw was curiosity. Excitement. Wonder.
Not one of them looked properly wary.
What was wrong with them?
They had stepped out of a battlefield and into a hidden paradise, yet no one seemed remotely concerned by that.
No.
Maybe they were acting.
Yes. That sounded reasonable.
Aeron watched children run in circles around Xavier, their laughter echoing lightly across the village square. Nearby, Angelina's gaze remained fixed on Angeline's back while the little girl occasionally glanced over her shoulder in return.
Aeron. Angeline. Angelina.
He paused.
Triple A.
Aeron shook his head once and forced the thought away.
I need to figure out the clear conditions.
This is getting creepy.
So he followed them into a large wooden hall near the edge of the pond.
Lanterns hung from dark beams overhead. A grey carpet covered the floor wall to wall. The room was warm, symmetrical, and much too neat. Every table was placed evenly. Every chair lined up too perfectly. Every lantern hung at the same height.
It sent a quiet shiver down Aeron's spine.
In the end, only Xavier and the class stood before the old man and his granddaughter.
The old man spread an arm lightly.
"So. What do you think of this humble village of ours?"
The answers came quickly.
"It's like paradise."
"It's beautiful."
"I'd stay here forever."
The elder smiled warmly.
"Yes. I try to keep it that way."
Then he broke into a fit of coughing.
Angeline immediately stepped closer and patted his back, eyes lowered like this was a familiar sight.
"Is everything alright, sir?" Xavier asked.
The old man waved a hand.
"Just call me Nox. No need for pleasantries. Especially not from the Saint."
He coughed again, thinner this time.
"Merely old age. Nothing worth worrying over."
Xavier's expression softened.
"But yes," Nox said, drawing a breath, "let us get to the point."
Aeron straightened slightly.
Finally.
Nox looked around the room.
"This entire region once looked like this. What you saw outside—those ruins, that ash, that broken field—was not always so."
Xavier's eyes sharpened.
"What happened?"
Nox swallowed, and for the first time the warmth in him thinned.
"The Sealward."
The word settled heavily in the hall.
"As their name suggests, they exist to keep *** sealed. And in doing so, they have forced *** to consume paradise in order to sustain itself. We call ourselves Ashbound because we, who once lived in thriving lands, are now bound to the ash *** releases."
His voice grew quieter.
"We do not seek ruin. We seek return. We wish to free it and restore the world to what it was meant to be. Perhaps even more than that."
Aeron stayed still at the back of the room.
So.
Conquest mission.
Nox raised a hand before anyone could interrupt.
"And before you ask the Sealward's reasoning—yes. They believe release would be too dangerous. They believe this world must remain caged for the sake of survival."
He coughed again, one hand pressing against his chest.
"So as my time runs short, I can only place my hopes in the Saint and his companions."
His old eyes fixed on Xavier.
"Free ***. Let me see the world bathed in golden light and living forests once more."
A small silence followed.
At his side, Angeline sniffled softly.
Then Scarlett spoke.
"What are you waiting for, Xavier? Of course we'll help."
Aeron nearly put a hand over his face.
Xavier, to his credit, did not answer at once. He looked into Nox's eyes, searching, weighing, measuring.
Then slowly, he smiled.
A warm smile. A sincere one.
"Sir Nox," he said, "I'll make sure you see that paradise again."
Nox smiled back.
"That is a heavy promise, young Saint."
His voice softened.
"But I will stand with you until the end of it."
Around the room, the class visibly relaxed. A few even smiled.
Only Angelina did not.
Her face stayed unreadable. Her gaze remained fixed on Nox rather than her younger look-alike.
Aeron noticed that immediately.
Angelina.
Please tell me you see it too.
From where he stood at the back, he kept trying to feel past the surface of the scene. Past the warmth. Past the grief. Past the performance.
But every time his trait reached for something deeper, it met resistance.
Not emptiness.
A wall.
Before the room could drift any further into relief, Scarlett raised a hand again.
"Wait."
Everyone turned.
"If the name is being blurred, why not just say it one letter at a time?"
Aeron blinked.
There was a brief pause.
Then another.
Hold on.
Why is that actually smart?
A few students murmured in agreement.
Nox and Angeline looked at one another.
Then both shrugged.
And together, slowly, they began.
"C."
"Y."
"R."
Aeron frowned.
"A."
"V."
"E."
"L."
"L."
"E."
The name settled into the room in full.
No blur.
No distortion.
No resistance.
Just a name.
Aeron's eyes narrowed.
Cyravelle.
For one long second, nothing happened.
Then the lantern flames dipped.
Only slightly.
The air in the hall changed.
The smiles around him remained. The warmth remained. The cosy room, the soft light, the gentle old man, the crying child—
all of it remained exactly the same.
And somehow that made it worse.
Because now the village had a name for the thing beneath it.
And the moment Aeron heard it, the paradise stopped feeling false.
It started feeling hungry.
Then the pair finished together.
"The Bloomed Ruin."
Aeron went still.
Oh, come on.
Slowly, he turned to Xavier.
Xavier only nodded, eyes steady with that same terrible, saintly determination that suggested he had heard absolutely nothing wrong with what had just been said.
Aeron felt something inside him wilt.
What part of Cyravelle, the Bloomed Ruin sounds even remotely safe?
But no one else seemed interested in that question.
The room loosened after that.
Tension thinned. Voices rose. Relief returned too easily.
Plans were already being made.
Questions turned practical. Excitement spread. Scarlett was saying something loud again. A few of the younger Ashbound children had already started orbiting Xavier like ducklings who had accepted him as theirs. Even some of the students were moving with the strange ease of people who had decided, consciously or not, that this place was safe enough.
Aeron stayed where he was.
At the back.
Where he belonged.
People began filing out of the hall.
Not in any real order. Just the natural shuffle of a group leaving a conversation behind. Shoulders brushed. Footsteps crossed. Cloth shifted. Someone bumped straight into Aeron hard enough to rock him half a step.
No apology came.
No glance either.
They just kept walking.
Aeron blinked.
Another shoulder clipped him on the way past.
Then another.
He had been the last to enter.
And now he was the last to leave.
Everyone passed around him like he was something the room had failed to finish remembering.
Everyone except Nox.
The old man had not moved.
He still stood near the centre of the hall with one hand resting lightly on his cane.
And his eyes were on Aeron.
Not drifting over him.
Not catching by accident.
On him.
Steady.
Knowing.
Aeron felt the change at once.
The hall had not altered. Lanterns still burned softly. The grey carpet still swallowed sound. Beyond the doorway, the pond still reflected false sunlight beneath that impossible sky.
But the moment had tightened.
His trait did not scream.
That almost made it worse.
The last of the footsteps faded.
Then it was only the two of them.
Aeron near the back.
Nox near the centre.
For a few long seconds, neither spoke.
Then Nox tilted his head.
His voice, when it came, was quiet.
"You were not invited."