Chapter 49
Low – Medium – High
Another member of the group—a guy with a straight nose and a slightly worn uniform—snapped his fingers.
"Right." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, as if the memory physically pulled him back into a classroom. "History lessons mentioned Aura was discovered during the southern expeditions… before the founding of the third and fourth Citadels."
Several heads nodded. That fact, it seemed, was still fresh.
Before the silence could resettle, another raised his hand, looking straight at Teo, almost seeking approval.
"And Alchemy…" he said, not hiding the 'we-all-know-this' tone, "is the newest of the five. It's, what… almost fifty years old?"
"Thirty-something," Teo clarified automatically, eyes still closed.
"Right," the boy repeated, satisfied by the correction.
The murmur dispersed through the group as some processed the comparison between modern and ancient powers.
Until a young woman with red eyes—perched on a crate, legs dangling—raised her hand a little higher than the others.
"Actually, it would be four, wouldn't it?" she said, tilting her head.
"How do you mean four?" someone asked.
She shrugged.
"I mean… the dark green eye power is still unknown." Her tone wasn't dismissive, but practical. "Besides, those with that color are always helped to acquire another power as soon as they enter the academy… until it's known what kind of power it represents. Right?"
Teo opened one eye, just one, like a tired animal that still pays attention.
The comment landed with more weight than expected.
Some stared at the girl: not in disagreement, but in recognition. The phrase touched on a topic few spoke of openly.
Eli frowned, thoughtful.
Eilor tensed his jaw, looking at the floor for a second.
The boy in the blue coat crossed his arms, more serious than before.
The young woman continued, seeing no one stopped her:
"And as far as I know, no dark green-eyed individual has developed their own 'branch.' No exclusive technique. No special organ like the others." She looked around, seeking support. "So… technically… they're not a fifth branch. Are they?"
A couple murmured in agreement.
Another shook his head.
The tension solidified, as if everyone felt they were touching a delicate point in the system they'd always accepted without question.
Teo finally spoke:
"The problem…" he said, now resting both hands on his knees, leaning toward them, "is that the unknown became a habit. Dark green eyes have existed far longer than Alchemy. Much longer. But no one has deciphered a consistent manifestation, nor an organ, nor a stable transformation. Beyond the small tattoos."
The group waited in silence, attentive.
"So…" Teo narrowed his eyes, "as long as there are no results, I suppose it will remain just a branch."
The red-eyed girl scoffed.
"That's the same as saying 'we know nothing.'"
"Exactly," Teo replied, not softening it.
The comment left several staring into space, as if they'd just discovered part of their education was built on a void.
Then…
A boy sitting on the edge of a table raised his hand with a genuinely puzzled expression.
"What about Officer Bairon?" he asked, looking around as if needing support. "He has green eyes, right?"
A second answered almost immediately, waving his hand as if shooing away confusion.
"Yes, but his are light green. It's not the same."
That detail opened a murmur among several. Glances crossed, trying to discern the difference.
Another in the group—younger, with a calm expression—intervened:
"Oh… right." He scratched the back of his neck, as if searching for the exact memory. "The adventurers talk about that. They say it's a special variant of Aura." He raised his eyebrows, imitating the sensationalist tone of tavern tales. "That it has regenerative qualities… that makes them very hard to defeat through wounds or exhaustion."
A low whistle escaped from someone in the back.
Another, seated on a stack of crates with legs crossed, added while moving a hand as if weaving the explanation in the air:
"I heard that variant also retains all the qualities of red Aura." He clenched a fist to emphasize the strength. "And that its energy consumption is more efficient. Like it burns less to do the same."
A couple nodded.
Then another spoke from near the central group, pointing at himself with his thumb:
"I once saw him training with a Marked from our generation." He made an impact gesture. "I was surprised to see he could alternate between red Aura… and green Aura." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that. Like it was nothing."
"I remember that took the Marked by surprise," he added with a contained smile. "Changed his guard in two moves."
The comment landed with more weight than it seemed.
Eli's eyes widened.
Eilor lifted his head, attentive.
The boy in the blue coat leaned an elbow on the table, interested.
Some in the group leaned forward.
Teo, who had listened without interrupting, opened one eye with visible professional interest.
And so it continued.
The conversation flowed for a good while—two hours, maybe more—dissolving into anecdotes, weird theories, corrections between laughs, and impromptu little debates about eras, colors, and power. At times it seemed like a class, at times a meeting of survivors trying to reconstruct the world with what they remembered.
Eli talked with her hands.
Eilor took new notes, now legible.
The apprentice in the blue coat corrected details with a sour face every time they mentioned the pen.
And Teo… Teo listened.
Not too much, not too little.
Just enough that when he stood up, the entire room fell silent without him asking.
And that happened.
Teo rose without hurry, a single fluid motion. The dawn light now filled the room completely, and in that golden frame, he stretched and took his satchel from the table.
He opened the buckles with two dry clicks.
Reached inside and started searching for something.
Most of the group stopped talking without realizing it.
First those in the center.
Then those on the edges.
Until only the sound of the ship moving remained.
Teo, a little uncomfortable with the silence, pulled out a book first.
A thick tome, bound in dark blue leather, with worn metal corners and use marks that spoke of long journeys and worse days.
And then, beside the book, a metal pen.
Similar to the one Eilor held in his hand.
The air changed.
Enough for everyone to feel it, even without looking at each other.
One of the group, a young boy with yellow eyes, raised his hand as if in a class:
"Is that one like the other?" he asked, pointing with his other hand at the instrument.
Teo barely lifted his gaze. A minimal, almost lazy gesture.
"No," he responded with a brief negative. "This is a normal pen."
The apprentice let out an audible sigh, almost of relief.
Eilor lifted his own pen, comparing them.
Teo closed the satchel.
Placed the book on the table.
Set the pen right beside it, aligned with perfection.
His expression changed just enough—enough for everyone to feel the weight.
"I don't know how or why my apprentice had something like that," he said, glancing sideways at the pen Eilor held. "But…"
He tapped the book with two fingers.
Tap. Tap.
"…for now, we have something more important to talk about."
The way he said we…
The pause he left after…
The emphasis on the word all…
It was enough to make the atmosphere tighten.
Something in his tone said that what came next wasn't a simple comment, nor an improvised class, nor a curious note to pass the time.
It was something that concerned every person in that room.
Something Teo had heard, calculated, and decided to share only now.
Eli straightened her back without thinking.
Eilor gripped the pen, alert.
The apprentice swallowed.
Others moved closer, dragging chairs and crates.
The room closed in on itself, compact, expectant.
And Teo, with absolute calm, opened the book with a slow gesture.
The pages—yellowed, worn at the edges—spread with a rough sound.
He placed it on the table with both hands, making sure it was firm.
Then he took his pen.
The grip was different from writing notes; it was a secure, deliberate hold, fingers positioned like someone holding a scalpel.
He removed the cap with a metallic click.
That sound, small and sharp, cut through the room like a blade.
"Now," Teo said, without raising his eyes from the book, "let's talk about the danger these monsters represent."
There was no murmur.
No laughter.
No heavy breaths.
Silence fell so fast it seemed the room had inhaled at once.
The gravity was in the phrase, in the calm with which he let it drop.
…
After a brief silence—tense, dense, uncomfortable—someone spoke.
A young man with a bandage on his forehead, seated against a column:
"First… let's start with the fact that we… those who remain, are between third grade and first grade," he said carefully, as if afraid of being wrong. "Without a single Champion."
The comment left a void in the air.
Another, from further back, let out in an attempt to lighten the mood:
"How easy it would be if we had one with us…"
Some heads nodded reflexively, others didn't even move.
The thought was tempting. Necessary. Painfully logical.
But then another voice—dry, bitter, with the tone of someone who had already imagined the worst scenario—responded:
"No. Maybe it was better this way. Imagine if a Champion became one of those monsters."
The phrase fell like a stone in a pond.
Teo lifted his gaze from the book.
Several throats swallowed.
Someone in the back lowered their gaze, hugging their arms to their body.
Another muttered a curse under their breath.
Eilor felt a chill run down his spine—and it wasn't just the idea.
It was how Teo had reacted to that idea: without surprise.
As if he had considered it too.
As if it were a real possibility.
Teo set the tip of the pen against the page.
Teo readjusted in his chair.
It wasn't just moving his body: it was a complete adjustment, as if preparing to enter more delicate territory. He straightened his back, lowered his shoulders, and rested the pen on the edge of the book, not writing, just holding it with his fingers.
His eyes scanned the table, then looked beyond, at those standing or leaning against the walls.
When he spoke, he did so in a lower tone than before… too soft for what he was about to ask:
"Tell me… in your dreams, did you also appear in a white space?" he asked, letting the silence stretch for a second before continuing. "And did you encounter a dark figure… deformed… similar to those monstrous fish?"
The effect was immediate.
A muffled murmur—like air escaping many mouths at once—swept the room.
Some straightened abruptly.
Others tensed.
Those seated exchanged quick glances, seeking confirmation they weren't the only ones.
The answer came in waves.
"Yes…"
"I saw something like that too."
"White… all white…"
"And that thing, the shadow…"
Eli frowned, nodding without realizing it.
One of the mages raised his hand slightly, as if asking permission before speaking:
"In my dream… I was under a golden light. Like… like a circle protecting me."
"Me too," added a psychic, voice tense. "That thing couldn't cross it. Every time it got close…" He made a gesture with his hand, as if pushing something away from his face. "It burned."
"It writhed," added another with a visible shudder. "As if that light was melting it."
More nods, more murmurs confirming the same.
A luminous aura described the scene in more detail, moving his hands as he spoke:
"They stayed outside… as if the light marked a boundary. And I couldn't move. It was like being trapped… but safe."
Teo listened in silence, without interrupting, but with a furrowed brow and a strange shadow in his eyes.
Each testimony seemed to approach something he already suspected.
The group's words filled the room like a disturbing echo.
Only one person didn't speak.
Eilor.
Outwardly, he kept a neutral face, looking at Teo's book, as if the topic only half-interested him.
But inside…
Inside, a crack opened.
A white space… a golden light… a burning figure?
No.
None of that was what he had experienced.
The liquid surface.
The night sky full of stars.
The edge of the world falling into a surface that devoured it.
The pursuit.
The attack.
The voice that wasn't a voice.
None of it matched.
He felt a faint, irregular throb in his throat.
Involuntary.
Could it be that Kaep didn't go through that… because I acted first?
Because I took control using that starry sky space…?
Could it be that I broke an order all the others followed… without knowing it?
He kept his gaze down.
Didn't move.
Didn't breathe faster.
Didn't swallow.
Outwardly, Eilor was just another point in the group.
Teo ran his hand over the page of his book, smoothing it first with the back of his hand as if to erase any invisible wrinkles. Then he lowered the metal pen, and with short, precise movements, wrote:
3rd grade — 2nd grade — 1st grade
The three words aligned at the top of the page, firm and symmetrical.
Then, under each, he drew three descending arrows.
One after another, without pause.
The soft sound of metal scraping paper accompanied each stroke.
Finally, under each arrow, he wrote:
low – medium – high
And without looking up from the book, he commented with naturalness:
"From third grade, we can discard low and medium."
He drew two large, clear crosses, one over 'low,' another over 'medium,' both under the 3rd grade column.
A boy in a wrinkled blue shirt with a rebellious lock of hair raised his hand slightly and said:
"Okay, how many here are third grade? Raise your hands."
The movement propagated like a wave.
First one hand.
Then two.
Then four more.
In total, six arms rose in the air.
Among them, Eli raised her hand with a sober but confident gesture.
Eilor raised his too, though with a more cautious movement, as if still doubting whether he belonged in that category.
The boy with the lock nodded, counting mentally, then pointed at one of those present:
"Kaep? Sure, you're a Marked, right?"
Teo stopped writing.
He looked up for the first time in several seconds.
"They'll probably promote you when we reach Inter-Gate, won't they?" he said in a neutral, almost administrative tone. "For now, we'll count you as a second grade."
Eilor, who still had his hand raised, lowered it slowly while nodding in agreement.
The same person—the one keeping the mental count from the start—spoke up again:
"Good… how many second grade?"
The air tensed slightly as hands began to rise.
First two.
Then five more.
In the end, seven hands total.
Among them, the boy asking the questions… and Eilor's.
The movement was almost synchronized, as if his arm had responded before his head.
"Adding Hanz's squad," said another from the back, a young man with bandages on his forearm and a sharp gaze, "that would be four more. Plus Officer Bairon, makes… twelve second grade."
A murmur crossed the room.
Some nodded; others counted mentally to check if the number added up.
Teo lifted the pen, held it in the air for a second, and spoke before anyone could continue:
"And lastly, me. First grade."
He said it without grandiosity, without a superior tone.
The boy keeping the count slowly lowered his hand and, looking at the group in general, announced:
"So we are… eighteen survivors."
A simple phrase.
But spoken aloud, the number felt small.
Teo didn't comment.
He just returned his attention to the book.
With the pen in hand, he began writing numbers under each category of the chart he'd made.
First, under 3rd grade — high, he wrote a 5.
The metal scraped the paper with a rough, firm sound.
Then he took a quick glance around the room, counting eyes, backs, expressions.
He lowered the pen and, under 2nd grade — high, traced another 5.
Someone's reflexive sigh escaped.
Then, under 2nd grade — low, he wrote a 4.
Three short taps of the metal marked the number.
Next, he added a 3 under the 2nd grade — medium column.
Finally, under the 1st grade — medium category, Teo wrote a single number: 1
Himself.
The silence that followed was different from the others.
It wasn't tense, nor scared, nor uncomfortable.
It was… evaluative.
Everyone looked at that chart as if it were a warped mirror of their own situation: ranks, levels, possibilities… and the crude reality of how many were left standing.
Teo looked up from the book for the first time since he started noting.
His gaze swept over the improvised board and then over the eighteen present.
No one spoke.
No one breathed too heavily.
"So… this is our level right now," Teo said.
Not a murmur responded.
Only the creak of the ship and the faint, irregular knocking of something against the outside hull.
Teo lifted the pen and tapped the table with the metal tip, tap, tap, tap, as if marking a rhythm.
Then he raised his gaze to the group.
"If the third grades struggled," he said clearly, "then there's no doubt: those things are Beast rank."
Equal to or stronger than a third grade high.
Some tensed.
Others looked down.
Eli narrowed her eyes, remembering her own exchange with those creatures: the speed, the strength, the way they shredded wood like wet cloth.
Teo turned his head toward the bed where Körper still lay, bandaged and marked with dried stains.
"And the six-limbed ones, the ones Hans mentioned…" He paused, as if calibrating the phrase. "Are at least Demon rank. Equal to or stronger than a second grade high."
A heavy silence followed those words.
Heavy, but without resistance.
No one argued.
Everyone could intuit what those creatures could do. Seeing what they did to someone like Körper.
The absolute lack of disagreement was the crudest confirmation.
Teo exhaled, slow, almost resigned, and brought the pen to his temple.
He began tapping it lightly, tic, tic, tic, just enough for the vibration to travel through his brow.
The entire group watched him in silence.
First one.
Then all.
Not because it was strange, but because the way he did it now felt different.
There was a pattern.
There was intention.
Each tap seemed to mark a thought he hadn't yet spoken aloud.
Some exchanged glances.
Eli furrowed her brow, as if expecting a revelation.
Eilor leaned forward slightly without realizing it.
Everyone believed the same thing during those long seconds:
Teo had noticed something. Something important. Something missing.
Breaths synchronized.
Eyes fixed on him.
And Teo kept tapping his temple with the pen, one, two, three more times…
As if ordering thoughts that could change everything they had assumed until now.
Then, Teo stopped.
The pen hovered for a second, barely trembling between his fingers.
And in that same instant, he murmured… but not like someone thinking out loud.
He did it with the clear intention of being heard by all.
"All these monsters… are people," he said, the word people dragging through the air. "But the crew were civilians. Most… at best, would be third grade medium."
Some exchanged glances, others tensed in their seats.
Teo tilted his head slightly toward the book.
"And yet… after transforming into those things…" His voice lowered, but the tension in it rose. "They can pressure a third grade high."
His hand tightened on the pen.
"And probably also… a second grade low."
The group's muffled murmurs dissolved into the air.
One swallowed with a sound that was too loud.
Another shuddered openly.
Teo continued, each word heavier than the last:
"So high is the power leap… upon transforming into those monsters?"
Eli wrinkled her brow.
Eilor felt a lurch in his stomach.
The rest remained frozen, as if no one wanted to breathe too loudly.
Teo lifted his gaze, and his eyes scanned each face in the group one by one.
"Then…" he whispered, softening nothing, "what would happen if a second grade high… transformed?"
The words hit like a cold wave.
Immediately, someone inhaled sharply.
Another braced a hand against the table to steady themselves.
A girl with yellow eyes bit her lip.
The idea hung in the room like a suspended blade:
if a transformed civilian was already a threat… what kind of horror would it be if someone truly strong transformed?
And no one, absolutely no one, wanted to say aloud the answer they all imagined.