A wave of pure, white heat slammed into Ren, and for a moment, the world disappeared into a stream of light.
The white light wasn't just a bright, it was like a physical force on Ren.
It roared in Ren's ears like a hurricane.
The sheer volume of the Prince's mana signature screaming through the air.
As the obsidian doors sealed shut behind him with a heavy, final thud, the official's warning echoed in his mind:
Don't let go of his hand.
Ren's vision began to adjust, the spots of violet and red clearing just enough for him to see the carnage of the room. The room seemed like battle field.
Infact it was a battlefield.
A four-poster bed made of weir-wood had been splintered into smithereens. The heavy velvet curtains were smoldering, and the air was thick with the scent of singed fabric and something metallic, like blood and copper.
In the center of it all sat Cian von Valerius.
The Crown Prince was slumped against the base of a marble statue that had had its head blown off by a stray surge of mana. He looked less like a royal and more like a dying star. His skin was so pale it was translucent, mapped with glowing blue veins that pulsed with a frantic, irregular rhythm.
It was like every time his heart beat, a ripple of white-hot static discharged from his body, cracking the floor tiles beneath him.
Ren's breath hitched. He had seen "Resonance" before, but never like this. This wasn't the controlled, arrogant glow of the students in the hallway.
This was a man being eaten alive by his own status.
"What... are you... waiting for?"
Cian's voice was a jagged rasp. He didn't look up. His head was bowed, his golden hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. One of his hands was clawing at the marble, the stone literally melting beneath his fingertips.
"I—I'm Student 4092, Your Highness," Ren stammered, his voice sounding pathetic and thin against the roar of the mana.
"I've been sent to—"
"I don't care who you are!" Cian's head snapped up. His eyes weren't sapphire anymore; they were twin pits of blinding white fire. "Touch me... do your job or leave. Just... stop the noise."
Ren flinched visibly.
The "noise" Cian was talking about was the sound of his own magic—a sound only those with high resonance could hear. To a Null like Ren, it was just a heavy pressure, but to the Prince, it must have been like a thousand bells ringing at once.
Ren took a step forward. His boots crunched on a piece of shattered crystal.
The closer he got, the more his skin began to sting.
Tiny arcs of electricity jumped from the air to his uniform, turning the grey threads of his scholarship jacket black. He felt the "Empty" space in his chest begin to throb—a dull, rhythmic ache that seemed to be reacting to the Prince's proximity.
Don't look him in the eye. Don't let go.
Ren reached the edge of the Prince's personal aura. The heat was staggering. It felt like standing in front of an open furnace.
He knelt down in the debris, his knees biting into the glass shards, but he didn't feel the pain. His entire focus was on the Prince's right hand, which was shaking violently on the floor.
Ren took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and reached out.
The moment his fingers brushed Cian's skin, Ren didn't feel heat.
He felt a vacuum. One that had been waiting so long to be filled.
It was as if a dam had burst inside the Prince.
The white-hot mana that had been destroying the room suddenly found a path of least resistance. It didn't just flow into Ren; it screamed into him.
Ren's head snapped back, his mouth opening in a silent cry. His entire nervous system lit up like a lightning rod.
Usually, a "Ground" was supposed to slowly bleed off the excess energy, not like he'd done it before, but Ren's body was doing something different. He was sure.
He was swallowing it.
Inside Ren's chest, that "Void" he had been told was a defect suddenly expanded. It felt like a great, dark mouth opening wide, catching every spark of the Prince's energy and pulling it down into a bottomless pit.
Cian's body jerked.
His fingers clamped down on Ren's hand with bone-crushing strength. The Prince's head fell back against the headless statue, a long, ragged groan of relief escaping his lips. The glowing veins on his arms began to dim, the blue light fading to a dull, manageable throb.
For Ren, however, the world was dissolving.
He could see things—flashes of memories that weren't his. He saw a golden throne room. He saw a man with a crown of iron shouting. He felt a crushing sense of loneliness, a weight so heavy it made his soul feel bruised. It was like memories—the emotional weight of his social standing, pouring into Ren along with the magic.
'It's too much.' Ren thought, his mind beginning to fray.
'I'm going to break.'
But then, something happened in his mind.
Deep in the center of the darkness in his chest, a single thread of light appeared. Something only him could see.
It wasn't white like the Prince's magic.
It wasn't gold like the Academy.
It was a soft, pale silver—the color of moonlight on water.
The silver thread wrapped around the Prince's violent mana signatures, taming it. It didn't just ground the energy… it filtered it.
The agonizing heat in Ren's veins turned to a cool, soothing hum.
Ren's eyes flew open.
He was still kneeling on the glass, still holding the Prince's hand.
The room was quiet now. The white static was gone. The only sound was the heavy, synchronized breathing of two boys sitting in the ruins of a disaster.
Cian was looking at him.
The white fire had vanished from the Prince's eyes, leaving behind a deep, dark blue that was filled with an intense, predatory confusion. He didn't pull his hand away. He stared at Ren's fingers, then at Ren's face—the dusty, unremarkable face of a scholarship student.
"You're still alive," Cian whispered.
It wasn't a question.
It was a statement of impossibility.
No scholarship Ground had ever taken a surge that large without passing out or bleeding from the ears.
But Ren?
Ren looked perfectly fine. In fact, there was a faint color in his cheeks that hadn't been there before.
"I... I think so, Your Highness," Ren said, his voice trembling. He tried to pull his hand back, suddenly aware of how close they were, but Cian's grip tightened.
"Wait." the Prince commanded.
He leaned in closer, his nose almost touching Ren's. He sniffed the air, his brow furrowing.
"The resonance... it's gone. All of it. Even the echo."
Cian's eyes searched Ren's, looking for a spark of magic, a hint of status, anything that could explain what had just happened. but he found nothing. Ren still felt like a "Null" to him—a blank space in the fabric of the world.
"What is your name, 4092?" Cian asked. His voice had lost its jagged edge, replaced by a cold, sharp curiosity.
"Ren, sir. Just Ren."
Cian let go of his hand then, as if the contact had suddenly become too much.
He stood up, his regal bearing returning even though his clothes were torn and his hair was a mess. He looked down at Ren from his full height, the weight of his royal status settling back over him like a cloak.
"Ren," the Prince repeated, testing the name on his tongue. "You will not leave this tower without my permission. If anyone asks, you are my personal attendant. Do not speak to the other Grounds. Do not speak to the guards. And also?"
Ren looked up, his heart sinking into his stomach. "Yes, sir?"
"If you are a spy from my father's court, I will kill you myself… painfully." Cian said his blue eyes turning icy.
"But if you are what you claim to be... then you might be the most valuable thing in this wretched academy."
Cian turned and walked toward the inner chambers without a second glance.
Ren sat on the floor, his hand still tingling where the Prince had held it. He looked down at his palm. For a split second, he thought he saw a faint, silver thread shimmering beneath his skin, but when he blinked, it was gone.
He stood up shakily, his mind racing.
He had survived.
As he looked at the obsidian doors, he realized he was no longer just a student. He was a prisoner of the North Tower.
Just as he reached for his bag, a soft, melodic chime echoed through the room. It wasn't the Iron Cathedral bell. It was coming from the hallway.
The doors swung open, and a second boy stepped in.
He was taller than Cian, with dark, wavy hair and a mischievous smirk that didn't match the carnage of the room. He wore the emerald green of the High Socialite class, a silk cape draped carelessly over one shoulder.
He stopped, looking at the broken marble, the melted floor, and finally, at Ren.
"Oh dear," the newcomer said, his voice smooth as silk.
"Cian really did a number on the place this time. And who are you? The new sacrifice?"
He walked toward Ren with a grace that felt like a dance, his eyes—a bright, emerald green—sparking with a dangerous intelligence. And smugness.
"I'm the Ground, sir," Ren said, bowing his head quickly.
The boy laughed, a light, airy sound. He reached out with a gloved hand and tilted Ren's chin up, forcing him to look into those green eyes.
"A Ground? No, little bird," the boy whispered, his smirk widening into something hungry.
"I've seen Grounds. They look like they're about to break. You... you look like you just ate a feast."
The boy's grip on Ren's chin tightened just a fraction.
"I think I'm going to enjoy having you around," the boy said. "I've been needing someone to keep my secrets. My name is Julian, by the way. But you can call me 'Master' if you're feeling polite."
Ren's heart hammered. Two of the Triple Crowns in one hour. It all felt too rushed.
'What had his life turned into?'
Before he could respond, a third shadow fell across the doorway. A massive, silent figure stood there, the air around him distorting like heat on a highway.
The third heir.
The Weapon.
Ren realized then with a jolt of pure terror: he wasn't just grounding one Prince.
'A living hell.' He answered his own question.
He was trapped with all of them.