It had been a week since the Freshies' Orientation.
The academy grounds had quieted again, the flurry of stalls and laughter fading back into the rhythm of daily lessons. Students settled into new schedules, yet the hum of excitement still lingered—especially among the new batch.
Wads walked along the marble-floored corridor, a single book in hand. The silence around him was a strange comfort, though the faint chatter of freshmen echoed in the background. He sighed, shoulders slumping slightly.
Second year already.
He had spent the entire one-month vacation training relentlessly. Day in, day out, sparring with Klyden until his arms were numb, until sweat drenched him to the bone. His body was still catching up to the demands of the blade, but he had made progress—tiny, yet undeniable. He now moved more fluidly with the sword, though his instincts told him it was never enough.
As he turned a corner, his eyes flicked down to the black ring on his index finger. His fingers tightened against the book.
The second-year curriculum was different—no longer theory-heavy lectures like before, but application. The first semester was all about team-based combat, field tactics, and real-case simulations. Everything they had learned so far would be tested.
Wads tilted his head slightly, gazing at the high-arched ceiling of the corridor. His thoughts drifted again, not to the classes ahead, but to the lessons of the past year—specifically, the history that still gnawed at him.
The Old History of the World
The historians wrote of a time beyond comprehension. Long before humans carved cities, before kingdoms rose and fell, there were only two beings who ruled a realm unseen—the Empress of the Unknown and her eternal adversary, the Abaddōn.
Their clash spanned eras uncountable, battles fought not in years but in millennia. Each encounter scarred their realm, each victory hollow, for neither could destroy the other. Their war was ceaseless, their hatred consuming.
But at last, both deities grew weary. Endless conflict had dulled even their divine wrath. So they devised a cruel solution: instead of endlessly striking each other, they would let mortals bear the weight of their enmity.
The Empress and the Abaddōn descended their gazes upon the human world. From among the countless souls, they would each choose one vessel—a single mortal to bear a fragment of their immense power. These chosen would then clash in their stead.
The agreement was twisted in its logic:
Should one chosen human defeat the other, the vanquished deity would be forced to withdraw, ending their interference.
But if both endured, if neither triumphed, the cycle would continue indefinitely—mortal after mortal, generation after generation, cursed to inherit a war that was never theirs.
The records called it a pact, but to Wads, it was nothing but cruelty.
He furrowed his brow at the thought. What sense was there in dragging humans into a divine quarrel? Why burden lives that only wished for peace?
...
Wads blinked back into the present as footsteps approached him.
A girl in the crisp white-and-black Zheno uniform stopped just a pace before him, fiddling with her sleeves. Her violet hair fell loose around her shoulders, framing her shy smile. Her eyes, a deep black, glanced up hesitantly.
"Excuse me…" she asked softly.
Wads halted, giving her his usual blank stare, waiting.
"Do you perhaps know where the library is?" she continued, more certain this time.
He gave her a short direction, voice low but clear.
Her face brightened. "Thank you. I go by Euphelia Lestriges," she said politely, extending her hand for a shake.
Wads raised an eyebrow. Not many in the academy introduced themselves so directly. He considered her hand briefly, unsure if he should even take it—
"Euphelia, what are you doing?"
Another figure stepped into the corridor. A boy, also in the freshman's uniform, his orange hair catching the torchlight like fire. His green eyes narrowed as he strode up, placing himself between Wads and the girl.
"Christoff?" Euphelia blinked.
The boy's gaze sharpened on Wads, a flash of arrogance in his stance as he tugged Euphelia lightly by the arm. "You shouldn't be speaking to strangers."
Euphelia frowned, caught off guard. "C-Christoff, I was just asking for directions…" she said, embarrassed. Her cheeks flushed as she glanced apologetically at Wads.
"Still," Christoff insisted, his tone clipped.
Wads exhaled softly through his nose, his patience thinning. What's his deal?
Christoff stepped forward slightly, chin raised in superiority. "What is your name?" he demanded.
Wads didn't even grace him with a reply. He simply nodded once toward Euphelia in acknowledgment, shifted his book under his arm, and walked past without a word.
Christoff's lips parted in disbelief. His voice rose behind him. "Hey! I asked you your name!"
But Wads never looked back. His footsteps echoed down the hall, steady and unbothered.
Christoff gritted his teeth, fists tightening. He was a son of the Ophelic family, a noble line respected throughout the kingdom. Never in his life had he been ignored so blatantly.
Euphelia exhaled, shoulders dropping. She turned to him with clear disappointment in her eyes. "Next time, stop jumping in when I'm talking to someone."
Without another word, she walked away, violet hair swaying behind her.
"Euphelia—wait! He was being disrespectful!" Christoff called, rushing after her, still ranting about the dark-haired boy who had dared to dismiss him.
But in his mind, Wads had already forgotten the encounter.