Princess Nyreal began to fume like a boiling pot at its limit, her anger simmering at a dangerous edge, ready to scald anyone who dared come close. The heat of her rage was not hidden; it radiated from her presence, sharp and unyielding, as though the very air around her had thickened. Every breath she took trembled with restraint, yet her eyes betrayed the storm rising within.
She turned, her gaze sweeping across the teachers and security guards who stood nearby. Their faces were unreadable, masks of indifference that only stoked her fury further. To them, the chaos unfolding seemed little more than a spectacle, something to be observed rather than stopped. Princess Nyreal could not fathom their silence — the way they watched as if detached from the suffering before them.
Students gasped and clawed for air, their bodies straining against an invisible weight, and yet those charged with authority did nothing. The sight twisted inside her, a cruel paradox: air was free, abundant, and all around, yet here it was denied, stolen by afflictors. Princess Nyreal's heart pounded, her mind racing with questions that had no answers. Why did they allow this? Why did they stand idle while life itself was being suffocated?
Her fury deepened into something darker, something divine. It was not merely anger at injustice but a rising force that whispered of judgment. The silence of the teachers and guards became unbearable, a betrayal that cut deeper than the violence itself. Princess Nyreal felt the weight of the moment pressing upon her, as though the world demanded she act where others had failed. And in that silence, her presence grew — no longer just a princess, but a figure poised on the edge of revelation.
She turned to Lucen beside her, and the sight of him struck her with a quiet intensity. His face was pale, his eyes wide, and his body stiff as though the weight of the moment had frozen him in place. He was completely mortified by the scene, unable to disguise the horror that pressed against his chest.
Princess Nyreal could not read his thoughts, yet his silence spoke volumes. The way his gaze shifted — first to the students gasping for air, then to the teachers and guards who stood idle — revealed a turmoil that mirrored her own. He was not merely disturbed by the violence; he was shaken by the hypocrisy of those who watched and did nothing.
Lucen's expression carried a kind of fragile disbelief, as if he were seeing the world unravel before his eyes. His lips parted slightly, but no words came, only the faint tremor of breath that betrayed his unease. In that moment, Princess Nyreal realized that his quiet nature did not shield him from the cruelty around them; it only made his pain harder to voice.
And yet, despite his silence, it was clear he felt the same as she did. The disgust, the confusion, the rising sense of judgment — all of it flickered in his eyes. Princess Nyreal saw in him not just a companion but a reflection, someone who understood the weight of what was happening even if he could not name it. Together, they stood in the midst of chaos, bound by a shared revulsion that set them apart from the crowd.
The fight got serious by the moment, force fields shattering and bystanders getting injured. As much as Princess couldn't care less about them being dragged into the mess, she couldn't just stand by, she had to do something.
The air became chilling, the tense energy from the fight completely masked by the foreign power. It felt intense, strong, almost devine. No birds in sight as the air shifted dangerously, its intent balanced. Then it fell.
Everyone fell silent. The fighters froze mid strike, their spells suspended in the air like unfinished thoughts. Even the bystanders stood motionless, caught in a stillness that felt unnatural, as if the world itself had paused. The sudden halt pressed against the scene with a weight that no one could explain.
Only Lucen remained apart from it. His eyes moved from face to face, searching for meaning in the frozen expressions, confusion etched deep across his features. He could not understand why everyone else had stopped, why the air itself seemed to hold them captive. And then, without warning, it began.
One by one, screams tore through the silence. Bodies shook violently as students collapsed to their knees, the fighters crashing to the ground mid spell. The scene was overwhelming, a wave of agony spreading across the crowd with no escape.
Their cries carried far, raw and unrestrained, as if the pain itself could be heard from miles away. Each voice begged for the torment in their minds to end, pleading against a force they could neither see nor resist.
That wasn't the most horrifying part. Fresh wounds began to bloom across their flesh, appearing where no blade had touched. The shallow cuts stung with a burning intensity, sharp enough to make them flinch and cry out.
Then the deeper wounds followed. They opened in silence, painless at first, as if the body did not even recognize the damage. But within seconds, blood poured freely, staining the ground and soaking their clothes in a way that could not be ignored.
The sight was unbearable. Fighters and bystanders alike collapsed under the weight of invisible torment, their screams rising with the flow of blood. It was not a battle anymore, but a nightmare made real, each wound a judgment carved into their skin.
Lucen couldn't believe what was unfolding before his eyes. The scene shifted as if the world itself was being rewritten — first the fight, its cause still unclear, then the bystanders who seemed to take pleasure in the chaos, their faces lit with cruel amusement now different.
The shift was very unsettling. The air filled with screams, pain spreading in every direction, a scene one couldn't bear to watch. Agony clung to every corner, fighters and spectators alike collapsing under its weight. No one was spared, and Lucen stood frozen, unable to grasp how everything had changed so quickly.
Lucen turned to Princess Nyreal who appeared to be in a trance, her breathing steady, her expression serious and unforgiving, and her psyche set on finishing what she had started and she sought to see it through…. All the way.
Just then, the professors and principal who's whereabouts were not known finally showed up at the scene.
"What is going on here?" One professor asked, his gaze fixed on the tortured students.
"Lucen?" Headmaster Virell turned to the frozen boy. "What happened here?"
"There was a fight… Then… Then…" Lucen tried to explain, but the words couldn't come out.
"How do we calm her?" Another professor asked.
"This power is too different… almost divine, hence it must be treated as such." Headmaster Virell said, turning to Monk Vaelen.
Monk Vaelen nodded and turned to Lucen. "Lucen…" he called, but the boy stood stiff, eyes glued to the chaos before him. "Lucen…" he tried again, louder, but Lucen didn't even blink. Vaelen sighed, muttering under his breath, "Saints preserve me…" Then, with the patience of a man at his limit, he slapped Lucen hard across the face. The sound cracked like a spell gone wrong. He grabbed the boy's collar, yanked him close, and bellowed right into his ear: "Lucen! For the love of the gods, blink!"
That seemed to do the trick because Lucen finally snapped out of it. "Professor… Yes, professor." He stammered.
"What happened exactly?" Monk Vaelen asked.
"There was a huge fight earlier. We came to check it out, but it escalated so quickly." Lucen explained.
"That can not be all, boy." Monk Vaelen insisted. "Princess Nyreal's spell has affected everyone except you, which means you felt what she did. What was it?"
"I did?" Lucen said, confused.
Monk Vaelen sighed. "Lucen, focus! What did you feel when you got here? What were your emotions?"
Lucen took a deep breath as he tried to recall. "Emotions…" He repeated. "Dumbfounded, speechless, disgusted." He finally said.
"Disgusted? What disgusted you?" Headmaster Virell asked.
"The students… They just stood there and watched as the fight got serious. Students bleeding, hurt, in a terrible state, but they watched and cheered like animals." Lucen said, the disappointment from earlier resurfacing.
"She felt that too…" Monk Vaelen said.
"What is happening to the students?" One professor asked.
"If the archives are right, she is delivering judgment." Headmaster Virell said.
"Judgment? But that is a forbidden Talent." A professor argued.
"She is called 'Noxmere's Treasure' for a reason." Headmaster Virell reminded, looking back at the wailing students.
"How do we stop it then?" Lucen asked.
"Repentance." Monk Vaelen said.
"What?" The professors with Lucen chorused.
"She is punishing them for a wrong deed, turning their 'sin' into physical torture. The only way to stop this is if there is no 'sin' to be turned." Monk Virell explained.
"So she mainly feeds on sin?" Lucen asked.
"Yes." Professor Virell answered.
"So what do we do to get the students to repent. This is a mental warfare where the physical can not interfere." A professor asked.
"Then we join them in the mental." Headmaster Virell said, his stance unwavering. "Monk Vaelen, Lucen, we are going inside. The rest of you, make sure the students are still alive."
The professors nodded as Headmaster Virell turned to the two. "Let us go." He turned to Lucen. "Time to apply what you learned in class today."
Lucen gulped as they sat on the ground, legs crossed, across each other.
"Ready, child?" Headmaster Virell asked Lucen.
Lucen took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes…"
Headmaster Virell nodded in response and turned to Monk Vaelen. "Go ahead."
Monk Vaelen drew a long, laboured breath, his eyes shut tight as though bracing against the weight of what he was about to summon. Then he began to recite incantations — words Lucen could not decipher, for they felt foreign, primordial, sacred. The air shifted, swirling in a circular motion above them, forming a barrier that sealed them off from the outside world. In that moment, Lucen knew it was time to focus, to free his mind.
He inhaled deeply, steadying himself, and soon felt his soul rise from his body into the whirlpool Vaelen had conjured. The sensation was surreal, beyond ordinary — a liberation so complete it seemed to strip away every earthly tether. Yet as they descended deeper into the whirlpool, the atmosphere thickened, becoming dense, concentrated, and dark.
Grief and pain pressed against them from every side, saturating this strange new world. And when they looked ahead, they saw it: an enormous golden beam balanced at the center of the vast expanse, and before it stood a woman clad in gold, radiant and terrible.
"Princess Nyreal…?" Lucen called out.
The woman turned, and she looked exactly like Princess Nyreal — yet not the same. Her hair floated in strands of molten gold, drifting as though moved by a current unseen, each shimmer echoing the glow in her eyes and the brilliance of her dress.
Her presence was overwhelming, a vision both familiar, alien, and ethereal even. The coldness in her gaze mirrored Nyreal's, but here it was sharpened into something absolute — divine, unchallenged, as if the very air bent beneath her authority.
Even the silence around her seemed alive, heavy with judgment. She was Nyreal, and yet more than Nyreal — a reflection elevated into something untouchable, radiant and terrible in equal measure.
Her gaze carried the same coldness as Nyreal's, but it was different: far more divine, absolute, and unchallenged, as though no mortal will could stand against it.
"That is not Princess Nyreal…" Monk Vaelen said.
"Then who is…" Lucen stuttered, completely confused.
"That is Lumen, The Unveiler, or in this case… Nyreal Lumen." Monk Vaelen answered.
"What does she do?" Lucen asked.
Headmaster Virell's voice was low, almost reverent, as if speaking risked summoning her power. "You know her already… Lumen. She does not simply punish — she drags truth into the open, rips guilt from the soul, and turns sin into torment. No mortal can hide when her gaze falls."
"And what happens if her victim is guilty?" Lucen asked with an unsettling gulp.
Monk Vaelen braced himself for what he was about to say. "Her Judgement descends; Destruction."