Rain fell steadily across the ruins of Four Stars Academy.
It drummed against shattered rooftops and slid down the fractured walls of towers that had once stood proud above the grounds. Water gathered in the deep craters left behind by the battle, turning the scarred earth into pools of dark reflection where broken stone and burnt beams lay half-submerged. Through the drifting grey mist, the academy looked less like a place of learning and more like the remains of some ancient structure that had long ago collapsed under the weight of time.
For generations it had stood as a symbol of excellence, discipline, and strength.
Now it resembled a graveyard.
And those who remained understood what that meant. Whether they wished to acknowledge it or not, an era had come to an end.
---
Keel Kun wiped the rainwater from his brow as he stepped back inside the academy's administrative building.
The halls had grown crowded in the last hour. Injured trainees had been laid across desks, benches, and even the bare stone floor wherever space could be found. Some groaned softly in pain while others lay unconscious as instructors moved hurriedly between them, applying what treatment they could with the limited supplies that remained.
The smell of blood hung thickly in the air.
Every now and then someone would cry out as a wound was cleaned or set, but for the most part an unnatural silence lingered over the building. It was not the quiet of peace, nor the calm that followed victory.
It was the silence of people trying to understand how they had managed to survive.
They had lived.
That simple truth should have brought relief, yet the feeling never fully surfaced. Each time it threatened to rise, the memory of those who had not been so fortunate dragged it back down again.
More than fifty trainees and instructors had died that day.
Friends they had trained beside.
Mentors who had guided them.
People whose voices and laughter had filled these same halls only hours before.
The knowledge settled inside every survivor like a heavy stone.
No one knew what to say to one another.
And so they said nothing at all.
---
Rose sat apart from the others near the far wall, her hands resting stiffly in her lap as a faint tremor ran through her fingers. Since returning to the academy grounds she had spoken little, answering only when someone addressed her directly before retreating once more into silence.
Her mind refused to settle.
Thoughts churned endlessly, colliding with one another until they formed a storm she could barely contain.
She did not want to accept what had happened.
She did not want to believe that Avery had truly left with her—that he had chosen to follow her without resistance, willingly walking back into the grasp of the very family he had once tried to defy.
Had he simply given up?
Had the struggle become too heavy for him to continue carrying?
Perhaps he had decided it was easier to bow his head than to keep fighting against a fate that seemed determined to drag him back regardless.
Rose's teeth clenched as the thought formed.
If that was true, then what had any of it meant?
What meaning could possibly be found in the blood that had been spilled here today if the one who had resisted the most had ultimately surrendered?
And what of the people who had died because he resisted in the first place?
The questions gnawed at her without mercy.
What did his decision say about him?
About the family that had raised him?
Her thoughts darkened further as they wandered toward a possibility she had tried not to consider before.
Did all Ransthrols truly see themselves as something greater than the rest of humanity?
As though their blood alone granted them the right to dictate the course of other people's lives?
Did they look upon the world as though it were nothing more than a board laid out before them—
And the rest of humanity as pieces to be moved, sacrificed, or discarded whenever it suited them?
Her breathing began to grow uneven.
The questions circled endlessly through her mind, each one more poisonous than the last. She forced herself to remain still, drawing slow breaths as she struggled to organize the chaos within her thoughts.
But the pressure inside her mind refused to ease.
---
By the time the last of the injured had been brought inside, Kime Auburn had already called for the remaining trainees and instructors to gather.
They assembled slowly in the open courtyard outside the building, allowing the rain to soak through their clothes without complaint. None of them seemed to mind the cold water or the wind that tugged faintly at their sleeves.
In a strange way, the rain felt appropriate.
As though the world itself had chosen to mourn alongside them.
Kime sat before the group in silence for several long moments. His posture remained straight, yet there was a heaviness about him that had not been there before.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of something far deeper than exhaustion.
"I owe each of you an apology."
The words drifted through the rain-soaked air, drawing the attention of every person present.
"For everything you have endured today… it is the result of my failure."
A few heads lifted in quiet surprise, though none of them interrupted.
Kime's gaze moved slowly across the gathered faces as he continued.
"As the one entrusted with the responsibility of this academy, it was my duty to ensure your safety. Yet many of you have lost things today that can never be replaced."
His voice softened slightly.
"Friends. Teachers. Family."
"And for some of you… the place you once called home."
Rain ran freely down his face, though he made no effort to brush it away.
"In moments like these it is natural for something inside you to feel broken. You may find yourself overwhelmed by anger, confusion, or grief. Some of you may even begin to question why you survived while others did not."
Several trainees lowered their heads as his words struck uncomfortably close to the truth.
Kime closed his eyes briefly before continuing.
"And in the darkest moments, when the weight of those thoughts becomes too heavy to bear… some of you may feel the urge to give up entirely."
The courtyard remained silent except for the steady rhythm of rain against stone.
"When those thoughts come," Kime said quietly, "remember this."
"Every life that was lost today carries a weight."
His eyes opened again.
"And that weight belongs to me."
The statement was calm, yet utterly resolute.
"It is not your burden to carry, nor is it your sin to bear. What happened here today is a consequence of my own inadequacy."
He lowered his head slightly.
"And I will spend the rest of my life atoning for it."
---
Rose stared at him as he spoke.
Really looked at him.
And what she saw caused something inside her chest to twist painfully.
This man—this Legend who had stood at the pinnacle of strength for so many years—had always appeared unshakable. In her mind he had been a figure larger than life itself, someone who faced danger with unwavering certainty and emerged victorious regardless of the odds.
Yet the man before her now looked… smaller.
Not in body, but in spirit.
The weight in his voice and the quiet sorrow in his eyes revealed a vulnerability she had never imagined he possessed.
And somehow that made the scene far more painful to witness.
No.
Her thoughts recoiled instinctively.
You're not allowed to look like that.
Before she fully realized what she was doing, Rose had already pushed herself to her feet.
"It's not your fault!"
Her voice cut sharply through the rain.
Every head in the courtyard turned toward her.
"How could anyone possibly blame you for this?"
Her chest rose and fell rapidly as the words poured out.
"You've saved us more times than we can count. You protected this academy when no one else could, and today if you hadn't come when you did we would probably all have died."
Her fists clenched tightly at her sides.
"So don't stand there acting as though all of this rests on your shoulders alone."
For a moment the courtyard fell completely silent again.
Then another figure stood.
Gerald Stecham stepped forward from the group, his expression firm.
"No matter what anyone else may say," he declared, "I will never blame you either."
He folded his arms across his chest as he continued.
"You're the only reason many of us are still breathing."
That single voice was enough.
Like a crack forming in a dam that had been holding back an immense pressure, the silence broke apart.
Another student stood.
Then another.
Soon voices began rising throughout the gathering as trainees and instructors alike echoed the same sentiment.
One after another they spoke, each declaration reinforcing the same message.
Kime Auburn was not responsible for what had happened here.
Not for the attack.
Not for the deaths.
Not for the suffering they had endured.
The rain concealed the tears that slid quietly down Kime's face as he listened.
For a long time he had carried the burden of the future he had seen and the decisions he had made because of it.
But hearing their voices now, something inside him finally began to loosen.
The weight he had held alone for so long started to fracture.
Slowly he lowered his head.
"So this is it…"
His voice was barely louder than the rain.
He lifted his eyes toward the grey sky above the ruined academy.
"This was the best path… wasn't it, C?"
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