The world had never been ruled by magic in a chaotic manner.
Contrary to popular legend, magic was neither a capricious gift nor a wild force offered at random; it was an ancient science, a structured, codified system governed by immutable laws that scholars called the Universal Arcane Principles. Every magical manifestation, from the simplest spark to the most destructive invocation, obeyed these fundamental rules: the conservation of mana, the balance of flows, and the correspondence between the soul and the source.
Every living being possessed a mana core, a kind of invisible spiritual organ responsible for the circulation and transformation of mana. This core determined not only the raw amount of magic an individual could wield, but also their sensitivity to the elements and abstract concepts. However, within this seemingly fair logic, there existed an indisputable hierarchy, for some were born connected to something greater.
Since times so ancient that no chronicle recorded their exact origin, the world had been placed under the protection—or, according to some, under the surveillance—of the Celestial Temples. These Temples were not mere religious institutions; they represented lineages, ancestral families linked to specific cosmic forces, each embodying a celestial sphere of the known astral system.
Earth, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto, the Sun, and the Moon, and above them all... the Queen Star.
Each Temple passed down, from generation to generation, a unique affinity called Guardian Magic. Unlike conventional magic—elemental or structural—this magic could not be learned, imitated, reproduced, or stolen; it was inherited, inscribed in the very soul of the heir.
When the rightful bearer reached the necessary maturity, this magic manifested itself fully, making him or her a Guardian. Guardians were not simply powerful mages; their magic transcended the elements to touch on fundamental concepts: time, space, domination, death, attraction, war, and oblivion. Each represented a pillar of cosmic order, and together they formed what the sages called the Astral Circle, a fragile balance that maintained the world in its current stability.
The Guardian of Earth embodied permanence and matter, Mercury dominated movement and speed, Venus influenced harmony and desire, Mars represented war and conflict, Jupiter imposed law and authority, Saturn ruled time and wear, Uranus bent space, Neptune commanded the abyss and the depths, Pluto watched over the end and death. Above them, the Sun symbolized absolute domination, the light that judges and burns, while the Moon embodied flux, illusion, and the invisible tides of the soul. And finally, the Star Queen.
No other Guardian Magic was as mysterious as hers. It was said that it did not represent a single sphere, but rather all the stars, infinity, the primordial chaos from which everything was born. Few texts dared even to describe it, let alone claim to understand its true role.
As for the Void... it was mentioned only in censored fragments, forbidden archives, or myths considered heretical. A force without an official Temple, without a recognized lineage, an absence more than a presence, a concept that the world order refused to admit.
To supervise these heirs and prevent their power from plunging the world into ruin, the Academy of Vanya was founded.
Located in the heart of neutral territory, far from the direct influence of the Temples, Vanya was not simply a school, it was a filter, a melting pot. All children from the great bloodlines were sent there, sometimes from a very young age, to learn to control their mana, understand the laws of magic, wield traditional weapons, and above all, coexist.
For history had proven one thing: when the heirs of the Temples fought each other without restraint, the world always paid the price.
At Vanya, fundamental magic was taught: body strengthening, basic elemental manipulation, barriers, detection spells, simple invocation. Guardian Magic, however, was never officially addressed; it was considered too dangerous, too unstable, and above all, too political.
The teachers knew, the directors knew, but they pretended to be unaware.
Each student wore an identical uniform, a symbol of apparent equality. The boys wore dark jackets with gold trim, while the girls wore similar outfits that were elegant but strict. At Vanya, titles did not exist, at least not officially. It was in this rigid, almost oppressive environment that a new student walked through the doors of the Academy on the day of the admission ceremony.
He did not immediately stand out. His uniform was perfectly fitted, without any particular adornment. He was of average height, neither frail nor imposing, with slightly unruly, medium-length black hair framing a calm, almost indifferent face. What really caught the eye, however, were the bandages covering his eyes completely. They were clean and carefully wrapped, as if they were an integral part of him.
Some students whispered as he passed by, others looked away, uncomfortable. A blind student in a magic academy was not a common sight. It wasn't impossible, of course, but it was rare enough to arouse curiosity.
He, however, walked forward without hesitation. He didn't stumble or reach out for support. His steps were confident and measured, as if he already knew every corner of the paved courtyard leading to the great hall.
When he was called for registration, he stopped abruptly, turned his head slightly in the right direction, and replied in a calm voice:
"Akaris Blackarya."
No particular murmur followed his name; it seemed to evoke nothing, neither a prestigious temple nor an influential family. The archivists simply noted: average magical affinity, standard mana reserve, nothing exceptional.
During the initial tests, Akaris confirmed this impression. His mana manipulation was adequate, nothing more. He was able to cast basic spells with acceptable precision, but without brilliance, without excessive power, without prodigious talent, just... normal, except for one detail.
During the martial arts test, when he was handed a training sword, something changed. His posture improved, his breathing became steady, and his body suddenly seemed perfectly aligned, as if he had entered a familiar state. Facing him, his opponent—a taller, visibly confident student—hesitated.
The exchange was brief. Akaris did not deliver any spectacular blows, no brute force, no flamboyant technique. He simply read his opponent's movements, anticipated them, and positioned himself exactly where he needed to be. In a matter of seconds, his opponent's blade was disarmed, and the tip of Akaris' sword was just a few inches from his throat.
Silence fell over the large hall, and the instructors exchanged glances. This level of mastery was not that of a beginner.
When questioned later, Akaris offered a simple explanation:
"I use a passive magic skill called 'detection.'"
He calmly explained that this spell allowed him to sense his surroundings within a radius of about ten meters—not fine details, not faces, just shapes, masses, movements. A kind of rough perception, sufficient for orientation, but far from perfect. Nothing exceptional, once again.
And yet... As he left the assessment room, no one noticed the slight vibration of mana around him, no one felt the space contract imperceptibly as he passed, no one except, perhaps, something ancient, buried deep in the very foundations of the Vanya Academy.
Akaris Blackarya entered the first-year dormitory unaware that he had just taken the first step on a path that the world had sworn to forget, and the Void watched silently.