The glow in my palm faded as I let out a quiet breath.
For a moment, the room returned to stillness. Leon had already lost interest, lying back as if what he had just shown meant nothing to him.
But it stayed with me.
That level of control.
That precision.
"…I'll get there," I murmured to myself.
The faintest trace of light flickered once more in my hand before disappearing completely.
——
Far away, in the upper levels of Lumere, where the city seemed quieter and the air itself felt distant—
A man stood before a vast glass window.
The entire city stretched beneath him in perfect order. Streams of light from moving vehicles, towering structures layered upon one another, the rhythm of a world that never truly paused.
He watched it all in silence.
His black hair was neatly tied back, not a single strand out of place. His posture was straight, composed, almost rigid. Cold blue eyes reflected the city below—not with admiration, but with quiet calculation.
This was Silver Ryker.
A name that carried weight across the Federation.
The Ryker family did not simply hold influence.
They defined it.
They were considered as the strongest family of this era.
Soft footsteps echoed behind him.
A maid approached, stopping at a respectful distance before bowing her head.
"Young master," she spoke gently, "the preparations for the academy have been completed."
A brief pause.
"The entrance examination will begin in one week."
Silver did not turn.
"Good."
That was all he said.
Yet the word carried finality.
As if everything had already been decided.
——
Elsewhere—
In a quiet, softly lit room filled with delicate furnishings, curtains drawn just enough to let in the morning light—
A girl lay curled beneath layers of blankets.
Her long purple hair spread messily across the pillow, soft and slightly curled at the ends. Her features were small, almost doll-like, with a natural charm that made her look far younger than she actually was. Even in sleep, there was a faint pout on her lips, as if she had already decided she was against the day ahead.
The door creaked open.
A woman entered.
Her presence was graceful, refined—her beauty mature and composed, carrying the same purple hues in her hair and eyes. Where the girl felt soft and unguarded, the woman carried elegance and quiet authority.
She walked over and sat at the edge of the bed.
"Alyssa, sweetie… wake up."
A soft groan.
"…Mom?"
The girl shifted slightly, rubbing her eyes as she slowly sat up, still wrapped in the blanket.
The woman smiled faintly.
"We've decided to register you for the academy entrance exam."
Alyssa froze.
Then frowned.
"But I told you I don't want to go…"
Her voice was quiet, still heavy with sleep.
The woman sighed softly, though there was warmth in it.
"Come on, sweetie. I even spoke to the headmistress."
Alyssa blinked.
"…About what?"
A small smile.
"You're allowed to take your pillows with you to class."
Silence.
Alyssa stared at her for a moment.
Then clicked her tongue softly.
"…Fine."
This was Alyssa Croft.
The Croft family was renowned for their mastery over magic—one of the most respected lineages in the Federation.
And despite her reluctance—
Alyssa was considered one of their greatest talents.
——
In a sealed chamber deep within a private estate, flames burned without pause.
They did not flicker like ordinary fire.
They roared—dense, concentrated, contained within reinforced walls etched with runic patterns designed to withstand extreme heat. The air itself shimmered, warped by the intensity, turning the entire space into something closer to a furnace than a room.
At the center of it—
A woman sat unmoving.
Her long crimson hair flowed behind her like a living flame, strands drifting weightlessly in the heated air. Her skin carried a faint glow, as though touched by the fire itself, and her sharp features held a quiet, unwavering composure.
The flames did not harm her.
They answered her.
Coiling around her body, rising and falling with her breath, as if she were the core from which they were born.
Outside the chamber, separated by a thick transparent barrier, another woman stood watching.
She shared the same red hair, though hers was tied neatly, her presence more controlled, more deliberate. A powerful aura radiated from her, faint heat distorting the air around her even without the chamber.
Her gaze was steady.
Calculating.
"…Reset the chamber, Nerk."
A man in formal attire appeared behind her, bowing slightly. "Yes, madam."
He moved quickly, activating the controls.
Inside—
The flames began to recede.
Slowly.
Reluctantly.
As the heat lowered, the woman at the center opened her eyes.
They burned.
Not metaphorically—
But truly.
A deep, molten red that held both intensity and clarity.
This was Reina Emberheart.
——
Elsewhere, in a training ground similar to the one Rio was using —
A sharp crack echoed through the air.
A blade cut forward, slicing cleanly through the space before it.
Purple lightning followed.
Violent.
Precise.
A woman stood at the center, her movements fluid yet relentless. Each swing of her sword carried intent, the arcs of lightning dancing along the blade as if eager to be unleashed.
Her long hair swayed with each motion, streaks of violet catching the light. Her eyes—deep purple—remained focused, unwavering, filled with a cold, steady determination.
Her form was flawless.
Refined through repetition.
Through discipline.
Through something deeper.
Behind her, a man watched in silence.
His presence was heavy, his posture firm, though his expression carried something softer—concern.
"Yelena," he spoke, his voice gruff but not unkind. "You're pushing yourself too hard."
Her sword didn't stop.
Another strike.
Another burst of lightning.
"I have to," she replied, her tone calm but firm.
A brief pause.
"For mother."
The man exhaled slowly.
"…I thought you'd say that."
He didn't stop her.
He knew he couldn't.
The woman continued her training without hesitation.
This was Yelena Zephyr.
——
In another part of the capital—
A spacious room bathed in warm light.
Silk curtains, polished floors, and quiet luxury that spoke of status without needing to declare it.
A man sat comfortably on a large sofa, one arm resting along its edge as several attendants lingered nearby.
His uniform was immaculate—white layered with subtle gold, the emblem of a radiant sun resting over his chest. The fabric itself seemed to carry a quiet authority.
He ran a hand through his dark hair, slightly messy yet deliberate, giving him a composed but effortless appearance. His face was sharp, mature, with defined features that carried both charm and confidence without excess. His onyx eyes held a steady, thoughtful depth, observing more than he let on.
"…The academy, huh."
His voice was calm.
Measured.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Interesting…"
This was Reinheart Virelian.
The second prince of the Virelian Empire.
Across the Federation—
Different paths.
Different lives.
Each shaped by power, expectation, or ambition.
Yet all of them—
Were beginning to converge.
Toward a single place.
The academy.
And soon—
Their stories would no longer remain separate.