The night pressed quietly over the academy, but Eryndor's mind wasn't resting.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, a dream pulled him under again—sharp, vivid, and far too real to mistake for imagination.
The Black Sun.
It hovered above a horizon that didn't exist, glowing with that strange, flickering corona made of pure elemental resonance—a celestial anomaly tied to him and him alone. Not darkness, not void… but compressed elemental radiance, so dense and unstable that light itself bent around it.
Below it sat the two old men of Noxis, their presence warping reality the way a boulder bends the surface of water.
They were playing Go again.
Stone… stone… stone…
Each placement echoed like a rumble through dimensions.
One of them looked up, eyes like twin storms trapped inside an ancient vessel.
"So," he murmured, voice calm but carrying across impossible distance, "the boy sees it again."
The other chuckled, tapping a piece between his fingers.
"It was bound to happen. The Black Sun reacts to his growth."
"Do you think he realizes what he carries?" the first asked.
"No." The second old man placed a stone, and the entire board shifted as if the game itself were alive. "But he will… soon. He must."
They glanced toward Eryndor—not directly, but through him.
"He's climbing quickly," the first whispered.
"But Noxis will move. And when it does, this world will shake."
The Black Sun pulsed—once.
The dream shattered.
Eryndor snapped awake, sitting up with a sharp breath.
A cold sweat ran down his neck.
No hesitation—he got out of bed silently, slipped past Kaelus and Darius, and stepped onto the balcony.
The night air hit him like a whisper.
He closed his eyes.
In an instant, he dropped into the Astral Sky.
Up here, everything felt sharper. Clearer.
Stars swirled like living currents. Ether drifted like thin streams of light. His Storm affinity pulsed with every breath.
He crossed his legs.
Slowly, he moved from thought… into silence.
Eight Fold Flow Martial Arts.
He began going through each form, one transition at a time.
Wind. Lightning. Balance. Pressure. Acceleration. Rhythm. Redirection. Impact.
Moves he'd polished for years.
But tonight…
Tonight he slipped deeper.
Something clicked.
Thought dissolved.
Instinct took over.
His astral form moved on its own — precise, fluid, lethal.
Every shift of weight, every strike, every step flowed as though his body were remembering something older than his life.
A trance.
Not learned.
Awakened.
His fists blurred.
His steps left streaks of lightning.
Wind spiraled around his limbs, responding instantly to impulse rather than command.
This was martial arts beyond technique.
This was pure intuition.
A place only prodigies—or monsters—ever touched.
He exhaled, opening his eyes.
And in the quiet of the Astral Sky, he spoke softly:
"Rein Clark… and every god candidate should prepare themselves."
A pause.
"For a storm can become a hurricane."
He stood.
And that was when he felt it again.
High—far above the academy—so far it was nearly invisible… yet unmistakably there.
A figure.
Watching.
Still. Smiling.
He'd sensed them for two days now.
And tonight, their presence was clearer than ever.
Eryndor narrowed his eyes.
Not afraid.
Not intimidated.