As the night deepened, Areion and Romona returned to his chamber, exhaustion evident in their movements. Areion shrugged off his Order blazer, draping it over a chair before settling onto his bed. Romona, still wearing hers, hesitated before sitting on the cushioned bench near the window. She absentmindedly traced the emblem on her blazer, her thoughts still lingering on the day's events.
"I still can't believe I was tested," she murmured, shaking her head. "I was just supposed to be your attendant."
Areion glanced at her, his expression calm as always. "And yet, you passed," he pointed out. "Because you belong there, whether you expected it or not."
She scoffed lightly. "Still feels strange."
He leaned back, resting against the headboard. "We should go over the others who passed."
Romona sighed but nodded. "Alright. Who first?"
Areion folded his arms. "Edrin Vale."
Romona tilted her head. "The shy one from the Northern Province?"
He nodded. "Son of a duke, wind affinity. He was nervous, but his control was excellent. Even Lady Belladonna seemed intrigued by him."
"He's telented," Romona admitted. "Even if he doesn't act like it."
Areion hummed. "Next… Vixen Sorrelwind."
Romona's lips curled into a smirk. "That feline girl. She's… something else."
"She doesn't use traditional magic," Areion mused. "Beast Will is entirely different."
Romona nodded. "Her instincts were sharp. She moves like a predator."
"She'll be an unpredictable one."
They moved on. "Kinet Zenith."
Romona exhaled. "storm and gravity magic. He barely spoke, but when he moved… he was fast."
"Too fast," Areion agreed. "He uses gravity to accelerate himself, not the usual ways speedsters use lightning or physical attributes. If he masters it further, he'll be untouchable."
Romona tilted her head. "What about Ignacia Steelheart?"
Areion let out a chuckle. "That one's going to be trouble."
Romona raised an eyebrow. "You think?"
"She's got a strong presence, no doubt. The way she carried herself—like she's already a seasoned warrior. Her fire magic was overwhelming, but the way she used it was precise, controlled. No wasted movement. Buffed more than male candidates, a true warrior."
"Yet a reckless meathead," Romona added.
"Gavriel Duskbane," Romona continued.
Areion's eyes darkened slightly. "That white-haired boy… he has a sharp tongue for sure, even when he doesn't have the right answer. He speaks wrong answers confidently and stacks mist illusion on top of that."
"He felt different from the others," Romona admitted. "Like he was holding back."
Areion nodded. "We'll have to keep an eye on him."
"Selene Draymoor."
Romona frowned. "Didn't she use spatial magic?"
"She did," Areion confirmed. "And she was precise. Every spell was calculated."
"She reminds me of someone," Romona began, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Areion narrowed his eyes. "Don't say it."
"Calm, strong presence, confident, still borderline clumsy—"
He didn't respond, just moved to the next name. "Varian Blackthorn."
Romona scoffed. "That guy's intense."
"He has Earth affinity," Areion recalled. "But his magic was more than just brute strength."
"He seemed strategic," Romona agreed. "More of a tactician than a brawler."
"Born in the wrong body, I guess," Areion added, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
Romona burst out laughing. "That's a good one."
"Sylphie Crestwell," Areion said next.
Romona's expression softened. "She had wind magic like Edrin."
Areion nodded. "But her spells were different from his wind magic. More on the internal side, like she's manipulating the wind within living beings."
"She's going to be one of the toppers," Romona said. "You can just tell."
"Orin Gravesend."
Romona leaned back, a shiver running down her spine. "That horror abomination?"
Areion sighed. "Yeah, even the instructors found him interesting."
Romona nodded. "He doesn't seem to acknowledge anyone."
Areion allowed a small smile. "That makes eleven of us."
A brief silence settled between them before Romona stretched. "That was a long day."
Areion's expression shifted slightly. "That's true."
She looked at him curiously. "Do you have something on your mind?"
He looked at her, conflicted if he should reveal his thoughts or not for a second. "...Maa."
Romona frowned. "What about her?"
Areion sat up. "She's different."
Romona hesitated. "You mean tired because she was meditating for so long?"
"No," Areion said firmly. "It's more than that."
Romona considered his words. "She did seem… intense."
Areion's fingers drummed against his knee. "She's always had a powerful presence, but now it feels different. Like there's something else beneath the surface. I couldn't shake this feeling."
Romona exhaled. "Maybe it's just your imagination."
"Maybe," Areion murmured, but his expression remained unconvinced.
Romona stood. "You're tired. But for now, you should rest now, and we need to go through the tome tomorrow so that we don't make mistakes, day after tomorrow at order."
Areion nodded, lying back down.
As she left, his thoughts lingered on Vivienne. Something had changed, a subtle shift in her demeanour that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He felt a sense of unease, a feeling that something was amiss. He knew his mother held secrets, that she was more than just a queen, but tonight, he sensed a weight, a burden that she carried alone.
As Areion drifted into sleep, he found himself once again surrounded by an abyss of eternal darkness. An overwhelming sense of familiarity settled in his chest.
"Again?"
He stood still for a moment, scanning the void for any sign of light. His thoughts swirled as he tried to recall why this place felt so known yet so unrecognisable.
Then, he saw it.
A floating bubble of radiant light shimmered in the distance, a fragile beacon amidst the vast emptiness. Without hesitation, he began walking toward it.
"Can I reach it this time?"
Each step felt weightless, his body an echo of itself. He could not feel the ground beneath him, nor the movement of his limbs. Yet he advanced, the distance between him and the light closing with every breath.
But something gnawed at the back of his mind—an unshakeable certainty.
He stopped abruptly, gazing downward. There was nothing. No floor, no ground. Just an empty, depthless void stretching beneath his feet.
A hesitation gripped him. He knew—the moment he stepped forward, he would sink.
His eyes flickered back to the light.
Measuring the distance carefully, he took several steps back, his muscles tensing in preparation. If he hesitated, he would fail. If he leaped with doubt, he would fall.
With a deep breath, he launched himself forward, pushing off with everything he had.
For a brief second, he soared toward the light.
But then—
The light moved.
It drifted away, evading his grasp, as if mocking his attempt to reach it.
His momentum carried him forward, but there was nothing left to hold onto.
And then—he fell.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
A searing pain erupted from within his very being. It was not the sensation of falling—it was something far worse.
His body was ripping apart.
Every fibre of his existence unravelled as unseen forces shredded through him, stripping away flesh, bone, and even thought. He could not see. He could not move. He could only feel the excruciating agony of being unmade, over and over again.
He tried to scream.
But in this abyss, there was no sound.
Only silence.