When I woke up, the sphere was glowing softly—
which meant a message had arrived.
I touched it.
“The King has given his consent.
But we will continue to grow in the shadows.
Without drawing attention.”
I breathed in more slowly than usual.
That meant a lot.
Too much.
The Forest has made its move.
Quiet.
Careful.
But a move nonetheless.
While I was processing the message, the sphere lit up again.
This time—with a warm, homely glow.
“Zen, we have news!
The elves are buying up all the hay and food from the village.
Everyone’s happy.
They’re so calm, polite, honest.
We think good cooperation will come of this.”
I replied:
— I’m glad for you.
— I’m doing well.
— My studies are going fine.
But something inside pricked painfully.
The elves are stepping out of the shadows.
And the kingdom is creating new Orders.
And all of this is happening at the same time.
Too many coincidences.
Earth lessons passed calmly.
We created walls—
fast, sturdy, combat-ready.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
The teacher explained how to use density and structural pressure,
and most of the students had already confidently moved up a level.
But all day long, the classroom buzzed with one topic:
— “The Order of the Gryphon is the best!”
— “The Dark Order is the highest honor!”
— “Scouts are so cool…”
— “What do mages even need?”
— “Dark swordsmen are legends!”
The mages twirled fingers at their temples:
— “Nonsense. We have no reason to die for the crown.”
The swordsmen snorted:
— “You’re just cowards.”
A conflict was being born quietly.
Not openly yet—but unmistakably.
And I…
at some point, caught myself thinking:
Was I wrong to stay here?
I could already be in the Forest.
Teaching children.
Writing textbooks.
Doing something useful.
But it was only a shadow of a thought.
Uncertain.
Unformed.
When I returned to my room—
Elinia wasn’t there.
For the first time in a long while.
No textbook.
No apples.
No her constant, “Zen, this is wrong, let me rewrite it.”
Strange.
I sat down on the bed,
and fatigue washed over me like a wave.
I almost drifted off to sleep when suddenly—
A surge of mana. Strong. Sharp. Near the Academy.
I opened my eyes instantly.
These were adult mages.
And one of them—very familiar.
I slipped out quietly.
No light.
No footsteps.
Familiar stealth.
As I drew closer, I could already feel them clearly:
— an earth mage,
— a wind mage,
— and another—heavy, deep, like dark water.
I slipped through the bushes.
In a clearing behind the Academy,
under the moonlight,
stood several figures.
The Earth teacher
was hurling boulders as if they were pebbles.
Every movement precise, honed.
The Wind teacher
created gusts so sharp that the grass bent into a single line,
as if a blade had passed over it.
And the third—the fencing instructor—
but now he was no swordsman at all,
he was a dark mage.
Darkness thickened around him,
like fog.
Silhouettes blurred.
Every movement smooth—but deadly.
Nearby stood another—
a water mage, a healer,
watching the others’ condition.
I stayed in the shadows, barely breathing.
Why would they train at night?
Like this?
In secret?
Mages of this level don’t train without reason.
Not secretly.
Not at night.
Not together.
Something is happening.
I quietly retreated,
careful not to give myself away,
and returned to my room.
When I went to lessons the next morning,
walking at an ordinary pace,
I noticed what confirmed my suspicions:
The Earth teacher swayed slightly,
like after prolonged strain.
The Wind teacher kept rubbing his eyes—exhausted.
And the dark mage wasn’t visible at all.
Lessons went on as usual,
but tension hung between the lines.
With each passing day…
I felt everything around me growing denser.
By evening, I simply told myself:
— Tonight… I’ll go into the city.
— I need some air.
— And to understand what’s really going on.
An empty room.
The lights of the Academy.
Silence.
And a strange feeling that the night would bring new answers.
