The Academy of the Elite was a fortress of knowledge, filled with students and teachers whose powers defied reason, a place where the impossible was merely an inconvenience. But today, it was silent. No whispers of arcane wisdom, no flashes of elemental power—only a somber hush that blanketed the once-vibrant halls. The sky outside mirrored the mood inside, a thick layer of dark clouds covering the sun, casting long, heavy shadows over the academy grounds.
Inside one of the many common rooms, the tension was palpable. Leona sat on the edge of a plush armchair, her normally regal composure shattered. Her long hair cascaded around her like a curtain as she stared blankly at the floor, her eyes rimmed with red from tears she had fought so hard to suppress. The room was filled with other students, some standing awkwardly against the walls, others sitting in silence, all of them unwilling to break the heavy quiet.
Tier, Cron, and Gilmuar were gathered in the room as well, each dealing with the news in their own way. Tier stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the stormy sky outside, but his thoughts were far from the weather. Cron, leaning against a bookshelf, clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He was a master of control, but now, control felt like sand slipping through his fingers. Gilmuar, sitting in the corner, stared at his hands, the weight of the news making his normally confident demeanor crumble.
They had all heard it—Dark was dead.
It had come through the academy's magical news network, a special broadcast reserved for the most important announcements. There, on the screen, they had seen the words that had broken something inside each of them: Dark, the nature-powered prodigy, had fallen in battle against his brother, Nen.
The broadcast had gone on to list the details—how Dark had been the last hope against his brother's cosmic wrath, how the battle had shaken the heavens themselves, but ultimately ended in Dark's death. The news anchor's voice had been emotionless, detached, as if reading the results of a trivial game, not the death of someone who had changed their lives.
For Leona, the words had been a knife to her heart. She had been cold to Dark, had pushed him away when he had tried to get close. Now, the weight of that choice crushed her, making it hard to breathe. Every memory of him—every glance, every word exchanged—flooded her mind. She thought of the time she had slapped him, rejecting his affections, not understanding how deeply that cut had gone. Now, she would never have the chance to take it back.
Leona: (whispering) I didn't even get to say I'm sorry...
Her voice was so quiet that the others almost didn't hear it. But when they did, it was like a dam breaking. The reality of Dark's death hit them all over again.
Cron let out a deep, ragged breath and uncrossed his arms. He had always been the one with a plan, the one who could see the angles no one else could. But now, there was nothing to plan for, no strategy to save Dark. He felt useless, like all his power meant nothing.
Cron: (grimly) He wasn't supposed to die. He wasn't... this wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Tier turned from the window, his eyes filled with a rare vulnerability. He was the tech genius, the one who could create solutions out of thin air. But no technology, no future weapon or gadget could undo death. He had spent so long working on his machines, but none of them could bring Dark back.
Tier: (quietly) I should have done more. Maybe if I had been there...
Gilmuar's head remained lowered, his expression unreadable. He was always the one with the most bravado, the one who laughed in the face of danger. But this... this was something different. Dark had changed him, had turned him from a bully into something more. He had looked up to Dark, even when he wouldn't admit it. And now, that source of strength was gone.
Gilmuar: (bitterly) Damn it, Dark... You weren't supposed to go out like this. Not like this.
Around them, the academy seemed to breathe with a heavy sadness. Word had spread quickly, and it seemed as if the very walls mourned. Some students wept openly, their sobs echoing down the empty halls. Others sat in stunned silence, too shocked to react. Even the teachers, beings of immense power and wisdom, seemed shaken. Dark had been more than just a student—he had been a force of nature, someone they had all believed was destined for greatness. His loss was felt deeply, by everyone.
But not everyone was mourning. In the darker corners of the academy, where shadows lurked and whispers carried malicious intent, there were those who celebrated. Dark had made enemies, both inside and outside the academy. There were those who had seen him as a threat, a rival who needed to be eliminated. For them, this was a victory, a moment to relish. They watched the sadness of others with cruel smiles, content in the knowledge that Dark was no longer a problem for them.
Among these shadows was a group of students, those who had once tried to undermine Dark at every turn. They gathered in secret, their laughter sharp and cold as they toasted to his death. To them, Dark's fall was just another step in their rise to power. They had always believed he was too strong, too favored by fate. Now, with him out of the way, they felt the path was open for them to seize control.
But even their celebrations were muted, as if some part of them knew that this victory was hollow. Dark had been a constant force in their lives, a presence that couldn't be easily replaced. And though they laughed now, in the back of their minds, there was a lingering fear—what if this wasn't the end? What if Dark wasn't truly gone?
Back in the common room, Tier, Cron, Gilmuar, and Leona remained silent, each lost in their own thoughts. The television continued to broadcast the news, the images of the battlefield where Dark had supposedly fallen flickering on the screen. The announcer's voice droned on, detailing the aftermath, the burial of his body in a secret location that no one could find.
Leona: (softly) I rejected him... I didn't give him a chance... What if he died thinking... thinking I hated him?
Her voice broke on the last word, and she buried her face in her hands. Gilmuar moved to her side, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, but his own eyes were filled with unshed tears.
End of Arc 2 Chapter 6.