Bel-Yor city
Exterior ward
Spring court
Hidden world, Terra
Tellus solar system
Milky Way Galaxy
Neutral Free Zone
March 8th 2019
The Hidden World of Terra was said to mirror the scale of the mundane realm—an entire world folded into a secondary layer of space, unseen yet immense. Its geography was both elegant and deliberate: four colossal landmasses arranged in a vast, cross-shaped formation, divided by a boundless ocean that consumed nearly sixty-two percent of the realm. From above, the seas carved through the world like intersecting veins of silver, separating the continents into a perfect X.
These lands were known as the Seasonal Continents, each embodying a primal rhythm of nature. At the heart of every continent stood a Seasonal Court—not merely a seat of power, but a living axis of authority where the rulers governed both land and law. The continent Sam and her team now traversed was the Spring Continent, a domain of renewal, where life pulsed with quiet abundance, and the air itself seemed to breathe.
Each continent was further divided into two distinct domains: the Exterior Wards and the Interior Wards.
The Exterior Wards stretched wide across the land—home to cities, towns, and villages where the common inhabitants of the Hidden World lived their lives. These regions, though vibrant and expansive, were carefully veiled from the mundane world by the ever-present shroud known as the Grey—a dimensional barrier that blurred perception and erased intrusion.
Beyond them lay the Interior Wards.
These were not merely districts, but sanctified enclaves—domains of nobility shaped like vast, self-contained castle cities. Here, the aristocratic families of the Hidden World resided, their influence etched into the very fabric of the land. The boundary between Exterior and Interior was absolute. Just as the Grey concealed the Hidden World from Terra, the Interior Wards were sealed behind their own layered barriers—intricate, sovereign constructs maintained and controlled by the Noble Houses themselves. Crossing into them was not a matter of distance, but of permission.
Once Stella's Exodus had been traced to its last known coordinates, the group wasted no time. With urgency guiding their every move, they boarded their vessel, and under the direction of the Golden Dawn agents, a temporary passage was carved through the Grey—a controlled rupture in the veil that allowed their ship to slip between worlds.
Their descent into the Hidden World was smooth… but fortune only carried them so far.
Though they emerged within the Spring Continent, they had not arrived at their destination.
Instead, the airship materialized above a vast, untamed expanse—a forest that dwarfed all sense of scale. It resembled a jungle, yet nothing within it could be called ordinary. The trees rose like titans, their trunks as wide as city blocks and their heights rivaling skyscrapers. Endless canopies stretched outward in layered terraces of green, swallowing the horizon in a sea of living architecture.
Branches the size of highways twisted through the sky, draped in thick foliage that shimmered with faint, natural luminescence. Vines hung like woven curtains between colossal limbs, and the air itself was dense with life—humid, vibrant, and humming with unseen energy.
High above it all, the airship cut through the sky—small against the immensity below.
It glided over the towering forest, its shadow barely touching the vast crowns of green as the crew pressed forward toward their destination:
Bel'Yor.
A city hidden somewhere within the endless breath of Spring.
Sam knew very little about the city of Bel'Yor. The name was not unfamiliar—she had heard it spoken in passing, mentioned in briefings and fragments of reports—but she had never once set foot within it. Her duties as a Guardian anchored her to the mundane side of Terra, where most threats first emerged. The Hidden World was something she brushed against only when necessary.
The only time she had ever entered one of its cities was under Emani's guidance—on a Golden Dawn assignment that had ended far too quickly for her to truly understand the place she had stepped into.
What she did know was simple.
Bel'Yor was one of the many cities nestled within the Exterior Ward of the Spring Court—a place of movement, trade, and quiet intrigue beneath the ever-blooming breath of that continent.
Inside the airship, the atmosphere had shifted.
The vessel hummed softly as it cut through the sky on autopilot, its course already locked toward their destination. Freed from the need to pilot, Emily had joined the others at the rear of the ship, where a circular table emitted a soft, blue glow.
Suspended above it was a rotating hologram of Bel'Yor.
The city unfolded in layers of light—spiraling streets, clustered towers, and districts interwoven with greenery that seemed to pulse even in simulation. It looked alive… almost sentient.
The team sat around it in silence for a moment, each studying the projection, each already thinking ahead.
Then—
"What's Greyhorn?" Henry asked, breaking the stillness.
Leon leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"It's a nightclub," he said casually. "One that caters very… specifically to its clientele."
"Leon," Emily cut in, her tone sharp with warning. "We're not going there for pleasure. We're going there for information."
Leon's smile didn't fade.
"I'm aware," he said, though his eyes glinted with quiet amusement. Then his gaze shifted—to Sam.
"What I'm more interested in," he continued, "is the connection between your aunt… and the Al' Roth."
Sam's expression stilled.
"Al' Roth…" she murmured.
The name stirred something in her memory—old, buried knowledge resurfacing like a ripple through still water. Then it clicked.
One of the Five Great Magical Families of the Hidden World.
Or rather… what used to be one.
"They were wiped out," Sam said quietly. "Fifteen years ago."
Leon nodded once.
"Almost," he corrected. "There's still one left. And we're heading straight to his club."
A subtle tension settled over the table.
Emily folded her arms, her gaze narrowing thoughtfully. "If the McCoys were a vassal family," she said, "then it's possible the Al' Roth were their superiors."
Sam shook her head almost immediately.
"I don't think so. The Al' Roth were Beastmen," she said, recalling Emani's teachings. "I don't see a family like that taking a human house as vassals. Not in the traditional sense."
"Exactly," Leon said, tapping the table lightly. "If there is a connection, it's not a hierarchical one. It's something else."
His eyes flickered back to the hologram of Bel'Yor, watching its shifting lights.
"We'll get answers from Lance when we meet him at Greyhorn."
Then—his tone shifted.
Subtly.
"But before that," he added, turning fully toward Sam, "there's something else I want to understand."
Sam met his gaze, already knowing what he meant.
"The thing attached to you."
A brief silence followed.
Emily leaned forward slightly, her eyes sharp with interest. "That golden deer," she said. "It's not a Mystical Beast. Not even close."
Sam exhaled slowly.
She remembered it clearly—the moment it had appeared during her battle with the Infernal Engine. The way its presence had changed the battlefield. The way the air itself had responded to it… as if recognizing something ancient.
Mystical beasts, she knew, possessed heightened intelligence and mana-rich bodies—but they were still bound to the natural order.
That creature had been something… beyond that.
Leon had seen it too—back on Luna, after the battle with Sinutu and Anuntium. It had appeared without warning, watched in silence… and vanished just as suddenly when Sam lost consciousness.
At the time, he hadn't pursued it.
Now, he had no intention of ignoring it.
"It's an Elemental," Sam said at last.
Leon raised an eyebrow. "You know what that is?"
Sam hesitated for the briefest moment, then nodded.
"I've read about them," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Elementals are a race of naturally formed spiritual beings. Not born… but manifested. They're tied to the fundamental forces of the world itself."
She paused, her voice softening slightly.
"They don't just use energy… they are energy."
"They're Celestials," Leon said, his voice lowering slightly, as if naming something sacred—or dangerous. "Beings born from the Elemental Plane. It exists between layers… adjacent to both the Divine Plane and ours."
The moment the words left his lips, something answered.
A faint pulse stirred within Sam's chest—soft at first, like the echo of a distant heartbeat. Then it bloomed.
A speck of green light slipped free from her body.
It hovered for a breath… then unfolded.
The light stretched and condensed, weaving itself into form until a small bird emerged—its body a striking contrast of white and black, feathers edged in flickers of pale lightning. Six delicate wings fanned out from its back, each one crackling with restrained power, arcs of white thunder dancing across them like living veins. Its golden beak trembled at an impossible frequency, humming with a force that felt sharp enough to rend steel itself.
The creature circled Sam's head once, twice—leaving faint trails of light in its wake—before settling gently on her shoulder.
Leon's eyes narrowed.
There was no mistaking it now.
"Careful, Leon," Emily said quietly, her tone edged with caution. She could feel it—the weight behind that tiny form, the pressure of something vast compressed into something deceptively small.
Sam, however, felt none of that threat.
Only warmth.
Only familiarity.
Her gaze softened as she turned her head slightly, studying the small creature perched beside her.
"Who are you?" she asked.
There was no fear in her voice—only curiosity… and something deeper. A quiet sense of kinship, as though this meeting was not new, but remembered.
The bird tilted its head, its golden eyes glinting with intelligence far beyond its size.
"I am Avis Tontrualis," it chirped, its voice bright and almost playful, yet layered with an ancient resonance. "One of the Twelve Thunder Spirit Kings of the Thunder Elemental Dome."
Silence fell.
Leon's expression hardened.
In every system of power across the universe, there were apexes—limits that defined the peak of existence. For mortals, it was godhood. For Elementals…
Spirit Kings.
Beings that stood at the pinnacle of elemental existence—entities worshipped across worlds, revered as deities, feared as forces of nature incarnate.
And one of them…
…was perched casually on Sam's shoulder.
Leon exhaled slowly, disbelief flickering beneath his composure.
"Why," he said, his voice tightening, "is a Spirit King here?"
Avis fluttered its wings lightly, arcs of lightning snapping softly in the air.
"I heard the call of my Master," it replied simply. "So I came."
It turned its head toward Sam—then began lightly pecking at her ear, the motion oddly affectionate.
Under different circumstances, Sam might have laughed.
But the word Master echoed too loudly in her mind.
She stiffened slightly, her thoughts racing.
Despite the absurdity of the situation, she still felt no hostility from it—no hidden malice, no deception. Only a strange, unwavering loyalty.
Still… she needed answers.
"Do… have we met before?" she asked slowly. "Did Asha send you to me?"
At the mention of that name, Emily's expression shifted.
"Asha…" she murmured under her breath.
One of the Nine Pagan Gods of Terra.
The one Sam believed had marked her… had chosen her.
The bird paused.
For the first time, the playful energy around it dimmed—if only slightly.
Then its wings flickered once more with quiet lightning… as if something deeper had just been stirred.
"Yes," Avis answered.
The single word lingered—quiet, certain… final.
Sam's thoughts spiraled inward.
She remembered the dream—the one that had come to her while the Infernal Engine had tried to consume her. A battlefield drenched in silence and ruin. Countless bodies scattered like fallen petals beneath a crimson sky. And at the center of it all… her.
The warrior.
A figure cloaked in inevitability, moving through the carnage with a blade that seemed to rewrite death itself. Every strike had felt deliberate—ancient, absolute.
Sam had believed that woman to be Asha.
And yet…
Something about that memory felt incomplete.
Like a fragment torn from a greater whole.
There was something she wasn't seeing—something just beyond the edge of her understanding.
Her brows furrowed slightly.
Why does it feel like I'm missing something…?
The questions didn't stop there.
How had she gained such vast knowledge of magic so suddenly? The moment her connection with Avis awakened, it was as if something within her had unlocked. Concepts she had never studied, principles she had never practiced—they had simply… been there.
Waiting.
Even the contract with Avis—it didn't feel new.
It felt old.
Ancient.
Like something that had always existed within her, buried deep beneath layers of silence, only now resurfacing at the moment of their reunion.
Sam inhaled slowly.
She could still feel it—that moment.
When Avis's energy had entered her Soul Realm.
Something had shifted.
No… something had opened.
A gate.
Not a physical one, but something far deeper—etched into the fabric of her consciousness itself. And from beyond that unseen threshold, memories had poured in. Not memories of events… but of understanding.
Comprehension.
Awareness.
It was as if the world had unfolded itself before her, revealing truths she had never been taught—about the Odyllic, about the Mystical and Arcane forces that governed existence, about the invisible threads that bound everything together.
That same phenomenon explained everything else.
The way she had grasped mana control so quickly.
The way she had adapted to Emani's teachings as if she had practiced them for years.
Even the Perfect Counter—a technique that should have taken months, if not years, to refine—had come to her with unnatural ease. In just five days, she had reached a level of efficiency that bordered on mastery.
Not perfection.
But close enough to stand at its edge.
Even her Adamantium Fist martial art…
It didn't feel learned.
It felt remembered.
Like her body was recalling movements it had performed long before this life—like her muscles carried echoes of a past that her mind could not fully access.
Sam's gaze lowered slightly, her thoughts settling into a quiet realization.
This isn't normal…
No.
This wasn't growth.
This was awakening.
And at the center of it all…
Was the Gaea Spell System.
She was certain of it now.
Whatever had changed within her—whatever door had been opened—
It had been the catalyst.
"Master," Avis said, its tone soft yet bound by something ancient, "though I am your contracted spirit, your current Odic force is… insufficient. I cannot manifest my full authority through you."
Its six wings flickered faintly, threads of white lightning dancing between them like restrained storms.
"There are seals placed upon my essence—limitations that prevent me from fully descending into your realm. Because of this, the only spell I was able to grant you… was Sonata Requiem."
The name lingered, carrying the quiet weight of something far greater than it seemed.
"If you wish to wield my power in its entirety," Avis continued, its golden eyes steady on hers, "you must ascend. Reach the Sovereign Realm."
The Sovereign Realm.
A distant summit on the long, merciless ladder of Ascension.
Ascension itself was divided into phases—each one a transformation, each one a threshold that separated the ordinary from the extraordinary.
The first phase was the Awakening Realm.
It was where all Ascendants began—the moment one awakened the dormant soul core buried within their existence. From that point forward, their life diverged from the mundane. They became something more… yet remained bound to limitation.
Most never left this phase.
Even among the long-lived, many spent centuries trapped within its highest stage—Master—never able to break beyond that invisible ceiling.
Beyond it lay the second phase:
The Harmonization Realm.
Here, Ascendants began to unify what had always been separate—body, mind, and soul—refining themselves into a singular, cohesive existence. It was not merely growth, but alignment.
Its stages formed a steady ascent:
Grandmaster.Sage.Great Sage.Semi-Saint.Saint.
Each one a deeper refinement. Each one a step closer to transcendence.
And then…
Beyond even that…
Was the Sovereign Realm.
A domain Sam barely understood.
A realm spoken of more in reverence than in knowledge—where power ceased to be merely wielded… and instead became law.
According to Avis, that was the level she needed to reach.
Only then would she be capable of bearing even a fraction of a Spirit King's true authority.
Sam's fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the table.
She had grown quickly—faster than anyone around her.
In just a single month, she had reached the peak of the Adept rank. A feat that would take most years… if not decades.
And yet—
Compared to what lay ahead…
It was nothing.
The higher one climbed the ladder of Ascension, the steeper it became. Progress slowed. Resistance increased. Each step demanded exponentially more than the last.
And Sam had chosen a path that made that climb even harder.
She walked both Mana Arts and Magecraft.
Two systems. Two philosophies.
One focused on internal refinement. The other on external manipulation.
It was widely known that pursuing both came at a cost—slower growth, divided focus, unstable progression.
Most avoided it.
But Sam…
She didn't have that luxury.
Her strength wasn't coming from a single path.
It was coming from something else entirely.
Something deeper.
Her gaze lowered slightly, her thoughts drifting back to that unseen gate within her mind—the one that had opened when Avis entered her Soul Realm.
The source of her unnatural comprehension.
The reason her body remembered what it had never learned.
The presence behind it all…
The Gaea Spell System.
Sam exhaled quietly.
She had a lot going for her.
But the path ahead—
Was far steeper than she had imagined.
"So… what can you actually do for me?" Sam asked, her voice steady, though curiosity lingered beneath it.
Avis tilted its small head, arcs of lightning rippling softly along its six wings.
"For now," it said, "as you stand within the Adept rank, my role is limited—but not insignificant. I can amplify your mana output, refine its flow, and enhance the structure of any spell you cast."
Sam's eyes narrowed slightly in thought.
Only two spells… for now.
Then something clicked.
The tomes.
The ones she had taken from the Golden Dawn archives.
The last time she had tried to read them, the symbols had felt distant—like fragments of a language she couldn't fully grasp. But now…
Now, it was different.
With her elevated comprehension as an Adept—and the subtle expansion of her Odic force—those same runic sequences no longer felt foreign. They felt decipherable. Learnable.
Accessible.
Her mind was already beginning to map them out.
"A Familiar isn't just a power source," Emily added, leaning slightly forward, her gaze resting on Avis. "They function as an auxiliary processor. They assist with spell construction—calculating runic formulas, stabilizing mana flow, optimizing output."
She paused briefly.
"Witches are especially known for this. Their familiars drastically increase casting efficiency."
There was a faint trace of something in her voice—not quite regret, but close.
Emily had once considered forging such a bond. But Elementals had never favored her. She could have forced a contract through sheer power…
…but that wasn't a path she was willing to take.
Not when her own mastery had long since surpassed the need for external support.
"I wouldn't mind getting one of those," Henry said, his eyes lighting up slightly.
Leon let out a quiet breath through his nose.
"Not happening," he said. "Familiars like that don't just sign contracts with anyone. Witches form those bonds through compatibility—not force."
As the conversation carried on, the airship continued its silent descent.
And then—
The horizon changed.
What had once been an endless stretch of green gave way to something vast… something impossible.
A city.
No—the city.
Bel'Yor.
It rose into view like a vision from another world.
Towering structures pierced the sky, their sharp, elegant peaks gleaming with a metallic sheen that reflected the light of the Spring Continent. Skyscrapers stretched endlessly in every direction, forming a sprawling metropolis that spanned over fifty-four thousand square miles—a scale comparable to the entirety of Nova York.
But what truly set it apart…
Was how alive it felt.
The city pulsed with motion.
Magnetic railways carved glowing lines through the skyline, carrying Mag Trains that shot forward at blinding speeds—streaks of light racing across elevated paths like veins of energy. Below them, countless aerial lanes flowed with traffic.
Shuttles drifted through the air—sleek, car-like constructs that hovered effortlessly, guided by anti-gravity systems rather than wheels. They moved in seamless patterns, weaving through the city in controlled currents, as if the entire metropolis operated on an invisible rhythm.
Massive displays adorned the sides of buildings—shifting holograms that advertised everything from advanced Magitech to luxury cosmetics. Some projections even displayed lifelike models, their forms rendered in shimmering light that blurred the line between illusion and reality.
Sam leaned slightly toward the window, her breath catching.
Henry was already pressed closer, eyes wide.
Neither of them spoke.
They couldn't.
Because for a moment—
It didn't feel like they were still on Terra.
It felt like they had crossed into something else entirely.
A different world.
Even the World Energy felt different here.
Denser.
Cleaner.
Alive in a way the mundane side could never replicate.
It pressed gently against Sam's senses, like an unseen ocean brushing against her soul—rich with potential, humming with power.
And as the airship descended further into the heart of Bel'Yor…
It became clear.
This wasn't just a city.
It was a nexus.
A place where the Hidden World revealed just how far it had evolved beyond everything Sam thought she knew.
"In the heart of the city stands the Golden Dawn Tower," Leon said, his gaze fixed on the skyline as its luminous spire came into view. It rose above the surrounding structures like a pillar of quiet authority, its presence unmistakable.
"That's where the Tower Master resides—the Guardian of Bel'Yor."
There was a pause, then a faint exhale.
"Emani already informed them of our arrival," he continued. "So we won't be treated as intruders. If anything… they'll serve as a contingency."
Emily had already returned to the pilot's seat, her hands gliding across the control interface as the ship adjusted its descent vector. The city lights reflected across the glass before her, shifting like constellations as she guided the airship toward their destination.
Greyhorn.
"This Lance…" Sam said, her voice thoughtful. "Do you know him well?"
Leon gave a short, humorless chuckle.
"I've known him since I was a kid," he replied. "Back when I used to come to Bel'Yor. He had a habit of showing up wherever I was."
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if recalling something distant.
"Annoying. Persistent. Wouldn't leave me alone no matter how many times I told him to."
Sam tilted her head slightly. "And now?"
Leon's expression hardened—just a fraction.
"Now he's still a brat," he said flatly. "Just one who's probably tangled up in something worse."
His mind drifted briefly—back to Lamentias.
Back to the moment everything had shifted.
Back to the incident that had led to his exile from the Divine Federation.
Emily's voice cut through the silence.
"We're here."
Greyhorn – Private Office
"It's unfolding exactly as the Herald described."
The voice was calm. Certain.
Lance Al'Roth stood within the dimly lit expanse of his private office, the shadows clinging to every corner like something alive. He wore a long-sleeved green shirt, loosely open at the collar, exposing his chest where silver chains—each etched with intricate runic patterns—rested against his skin.
His ashen-gray hair was slicked back, sharp and deliberate, while his wolfish yellow eyes—hidden behind dark sunglasses—seemed to pierce through the gloom regardless of the absence of light.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
If not for Lance's heightened perception, the presence by the door would have gone unnoticed entirely.
A shape.
A distortion.
Something that wasn't quite human.
"The Asha'Yee has arrived," the shadow murmured.
Lance let out a low chuckle, the sound echoing faintly against the walls.
"And she didn't come alone," he said. "Leon's with her."
He tilted his head slightly, as if addressing an old acquaintance.
"If I were you," he added, a smirk forming at the corner of his lips, "I'd stay out of sight. I doubt he's forgotten what happened in Lamentias."
From the darkness came a soft, amused sound—almost a laugh.
"Leonard Haravok should be grateful," the shadow replied. "I gave him exactly what he wanted."
Lance's smile thinned.
"I don't think he sees it that way."
A shift in the air.
Subtle.
But unmistakable.
Lance's gaze flickered upward as he felt it—the arrival.
The weight of a vessel settling above.
"They've landed," he muttered, a trace of irritation slipping into his tone. "On my roof, no less. Bold."
He rose from his seat, moving toward the lone window that overlooked the district below.
Wolfshire.
From above, the streets seemed untouched by chaos. Citizens moved freely, laughter and conversation weaving through the air. Shops glowed warmly. Life continued as if nothing were wrong.
As if the world wasn't already beginning to fracture.
"They have no idea," Lance murmured, his voice quieter now.
Behind him, the shadow stirred.
"I assume preparations are complete?"
A pause.
Then—
"Yes. The infected have been isolated. Those aware of the situation have been bound by contract. No information will spread about the virus."
Lance exhaled slowly, his reflection faint in the glass.
Everything was moving too fast.
New York had not collapsed—but it hadn't recovered either. Other cities across the mundane world were beginning to falter, cracks forming beneath the surface. And here…
Here, the storm had already begun.
The attack on Cedar Lake.
The emergence of the Beast Abominations.
Events unfolding exactly as the Herald had foreseen.
Lance's jaw tightened.
As a Beastman, the very existence of those creatures sickened him—twisted mockeries of something sacred. Especially that one…
The feline Beast King.
A presence he could not ignore.
A threat he could not yet confront.
He closed his eyes briefly.
Not yet.
He had responsibilities here.
A role to fulfill.
His gaze sharpened once more as he looked out over the unaware city.
"First things first…" he said quietly.
"The Asha'Yee."
"It won't be simple," Lance said, his tone measured, though a quiet tension coiled beneath it. "Taking the Asha'Yee… not with who she's traveling with."
He turned slightly, the dim light catching the edge of his sunglasses.
"She's under the protection of Golden Dawn," he continued. "And Leon's with her."
A faint, humorless smile tugged at his lips.
"There's no world where he lets her slip out of his reach."
Silence followed—brief, heavy.
Then—
"That's where I come in."
The voice cut through the room with calm certainty.
Lance didn't react immediately. He already knew who it was.
Seated across from him, half-consumed by shadow, was a man clad in white—a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounded him. His cloak draped over his shoulders like a mantle of quiet authority, layered over sleek combat gear marked with the insignia of the Fallen Star.
Titus.
He sat with effortless stillness, as though the chaos of the world outside had no claim over him—his presence steady, deliberate… dangerous.
And in the dim glow of the office, his eyes carried a promise.
Not of conflict.
But of inevitability.