---
Prince's voice echoed through the ancient library like someone reading from a script he'd memorised a hundred times.
"…and these ruins were once home to hundreds of temples, each devoted to a god whose power shaped the flow of early civilisation—"
I barely suppressed a sigh. Noir had warned me: "Everyone takes this class. Prince repeats the intro so much the walls could recite it."
And honestly? He wasn't wrong.
Half the students looked mentally checked out. One boy mouthed Prince's words along with him, and another looked like he might stab himself with his quill just to escape.
If this is what every morning looks like, I'm running away the second first year ends. No hesitation.
Prince walked slowly in front of the projection crystal, his voice dipping into that dramatic storytelling tone teachers use when they want to feel important.
He started describing the temples of the ancient gods:
— the Water God, who sailors prayed to for safe journeys and merchants worshipped for prosperity
— the Fertility Goddess, beloved by mothers and feared by anyone who owed her a favour
— the Mountain God, who shaped entire towns and protected them like a stubborn grandfather
— the Moon Goddess and her brother, the Crescent Moon God, both impossibly beautiful according to old temple murals
— the Goddess of Reincarnation
— the Sun God, Wind God, Earth Father, Fire Lord…
And more. So many more.
I already knew half of them, thanks to Grandma's endless bedtime stories that I didn't appreciate until painfully recently.
But for every good god there was a dark counterpoint.
Prince shifted uneasily before discussing the devil cults—
the Lord of Melancholy, the Mother of Wrath, the God of Sloth, Pride, Envy, Lust… basically the entire Seven Deadly Sins parade.
Because of course they had fan-clubs in ancient times. Why wouldn't they?
Then he lowered his voice.
"And finally… the Lumenfallen."
The room stirred. Even the bored guy stopped chewing his quill.
The Lumenfallen.
Not holy, not evil—just cosmic beings who moved according to their own rules. They never took everything, never required blind devotion. They granted what you asked for but always took something small in return. Enough to remind you: nothing is free.
Grandma never told me their names, but hearing Prince say them made something cold brush down my spine.
Not bad.
Not good.
Just… watching.
And then—finally—Prince announced the end of class.
"Alright kids, head to the cafeteria for breakfast."
Bless the gods—ALL of them. Even the greedy ones.
---
Breakfast Chaos
I stuffed my jotter into my bag and escaped the library. No sign of Noir. Maybe he'd vanished into the shadows like he usually does, dramatic bastard.
The dining hall buzzed with soft chatter, not nearly as loud as last night. Students sat wherever they wanted, mixed by personality… or vibes, apparently.
I sat exactly where I did yesterday.
Breakfast was beef sandwiches and cocoa tea.
Not pancakes—but three sandwiches sounded good enough. And extra milk.
As I ate, I realised:
This place is disorganized.
Completely chaotic.
Honestly? If Hogwarts had a feral cousin, this would be it.
Somehow the top student came out of this battlefield every year. Shocking.
---
The Main School Building
The school building was a trek from the dorms. Luckily the morning was cool or I would've been sweating like a Christmas turkey.
I followed the crowd of first-years into the west wing and climbed up to a classroom filled with… bottles. Jars. Pots. Suspicious powders.
A pot that definitely looked like it had cooked something alive once.
Ah. Potionology.
Our timetables were handed out:
History of Gods
The Dark Arts
Potionology
Spells
Ancient Ruins & Language
General History
General history of what? No clue. Whatever it was, I already hated it.
"Priest!"
I looked up. Art squeezed between students to sit beside me, his Ravenclaw badge shining proudly.
I smirked.
"So you ended up in Ravenclaw after all. Too bad."
He groaned dramatically.
"My roommate is a regulation-obsessed demon. Forced me to sleep at 8 pm. Eight. PM."
I laughed. "At least you know who your prefect will be in fourth year."
"Oh shut up."
I opened my mouth to tease him again but something tugged at my chest.
Don't act like some flustered teen girl, Priest.
Genetics is cruel. Being cute is worse.
He was still complaining.
"It's grandma's hour! I'm a grown man. I should decide when to sleep."
"This is Mordsith," I said, shrugging. "Your house is the strictest one. Follow the rules unless you want your butt displayed at the front gate."
He groaned.
"Which house did you end up in?"
"Blackwood."
He blinked, stunned—maybe too happy.
"Priest… buddy… I heard they allow house switches. We could write a memo! Just say yes."
Oh gods.
If only he knew—Michael secretly swapped our placements, putting me in Blackwood instead of Ravenclaw.
But a switch meant staying at this school willingly.
And I had zero intention of becoming an honour student here.
"Sorry, bro. No can do."
His face fell.
Then he pointed suddenly. "That's him—my roommate."
A boy with curly brown hair and round glasses walked toward us.
I stifled a laugh. He really did look like Art's type of misery.
He stopped beside us and stared at Art.
"Lightweights aren't allowed in our dorms, Art. Grow up a little."
Art covered his face dramatically. "Let me live!"
The boy shifted his gaze to me—calm, uninterested, a little too observant.
"So you got a girlfriend already?"
My eye twitched. Art burst into laughter.
"He's not a girl," he wheezed. "He's a cutie pie."
"How is that supposed to help?!" I hissed.
Light nodded once.
"We agree he's cute then. I'm Light Will. You are?"
"Priest White. And I'm a guy."
He pointed at the seat beside me. "That free?"
I shoved Art aside and nodded. He sat down.
Art asked, "Are you Hope's brother?"
Light nodded but didn't add anything. Didn't smile either. Just… existed like a quiet storm cloud.
Actually… I think we'll get along.
Art huffed. "I'm two years older than him. Why can't he respect me?"
Light didn't even blink.
"I'm already respecting you. I'm not eating you for being in first year when you should be in second, dumbass."
"Whatever. I'm not listening to you tonight," Art said.
Light shrugged. "Then sleep in the hallway."
They really did look like an old married couple.
---
Potionology Disaster
The teacher entered and everyone went silent.
He launched into a lecture about poisonous herbs—something important, I think.
I wouldn't know.
Because I slept.
Hard.
Like dead-to-the-world, dreaming-about-nothing kind of sleep.
Three hours later something tapped my head.
I opened my eyes to Light's unimpressed stare.
Art grinned. "Bro, you slept through the whole class."
"Oh. Did I?"
Light picked up his phone, snapped a picture of my face, and showed it to me.
My soul left my body.
Ink.
Everywhere.
On my cheek. On my forehead. Somehow on my nose.
"ART!"
He sprang up. "Don't kill me please—"
"Come wipe this off, you possessed cow!"
He panicked, grabbed Light's water flask, begged him for permission, then dampened his handkerchief and scrubbed my face clean.
I smacked his butt with my book afterward.
Light snorted. "Good for you."
---
Late. We're Late. We're SO Late.
We grabbed our bags and rushed out.
Everyone else had already left.
Light muttered, "History of Gods is next. The teacher hates lateness. Like—actually hates it."
We looked at each other, then ran.
Because of course we were late.
---