Winter's breath seeped through the stained-glass windows of the Sanctum, cold and quiet. Frost clung to the marble floor, snapping beneath each of Otoku's steps as he entered the grand hall. The scent of old stone and distant magic mingled in the air, but his thoughts remained tethered to the memory of what he had done. Of what he had become.
The transformation of the rat still echoed in his fingertips.
The hall, usually serene in its solemnity, now vibrated with a tension that sat just beneath the surface—unspoken, but tangible. Today marked the arrival of the academy's most closely guarded guests.
The elves came in silence.
Clad in cloaks of silver-threaded frost and ice-blue satin, they moved like winter incarnate. Each step was deliberate. Each gaze, cold and piercing. At their head walked a figure who commanded presence effortlessly—tall, eyes sharp with centuries of judgment, and a blade at his side that shimmered faintly, as though forged from frozen starlight itself.
"You harbor an abomination," the envoy said, voice cutting through the air like sleet. "The Star-Eater child."
Otoku's grip tightened on the Codex strapped to his waist. Its familiar hum steadied him.
Veyra stepped forward, her jade mask unreadable, yet her presence undeniable.
"I harbor a scholar," she answered, voice calm but layered with iron. "Knowledge is not abomination until fear claims it."
The envoy's gaze shifted toward Otoku, assessing him as one might a cursed relic.
"His power will unravel all."
Before tension could solidify into action, a low growl stirred the stillness.
From the shadows at Otoku's flank, Noctis emerged—silent, coiled in motion, silver eyes alight with something ancient. The very air recoiled from him. Even the elves, cloaked in centuries of frost, stiffened at the creature's presence.
Otoku stepped forward.
"He's mine," he said, voice steady, echoing in the silence like a thrown gauntlet.
The envoy's eyes narrowed. He unsheathed his blade. Lightning crests shimmered at its tip—too sharp, too bright.
"Then step aside, child."
The Codex pulsed. Power surged beneath Otoku's skin—familiar now, like breath in cold lungs. He whispered a single word, one not taught in any sanctioned tome.
The flames in the torches inverted, turning ghost-pale. Heat fled the room. A numbing cold spiraled outward, and frost bloomed along the envoy's armor—too fast, too wild. Even his own frost magic struggled to obey.
The elf staggered.
Otoku's gaze, silver and unflinching, met his.
"We do not let fear write our fate."
The envoy hissed in breath, sharp as the winter wind, and lunged. His blade arced down in a streak of starlight—
But Noctis was faster.
A blur of shadow and silver. Jaws clamped around armored limb. A crack, a snarl, then the sound of metal giving way beneath divine force.
The envoy screamed.
His blade clattered to the floor.
Veyra raised her staff.
Lightning coiled around it—alive, waiting—and then struck. One arc. One moment. The envoy froze in place, ice swallowing his form. Crystalline. Fragile.
With a sound like glass shattering, he was gone—reduced to shards scattered across the frostbitten floor.
Silence settled once more, deeper now, more aware.
The cold receded.
Otoku exhaled. His breath fogged before him.
Noctis returned to his side, brushing a sleek tail against his leg like a whispered oath.
The moment lingered.
The taste of power remained—bitter at the edges, laced with something cold and dangerous. But beneath it all… was exhilaration.