Ouro shoved open the large doors into the classroom with a dramatic flair.
"Today… we learn of dark magic!" he declared, arms spread wide.
"I'm getting flashbacks," Reid groaned, slumping into a desk. "I'm already hating this."
"Get over it." Lyra dropped into the seat next to him.
"Oh, no need to worry!" Ouro said cheerfully as he strolled to the podium. "It'll be over quickly—quick enough to fit between naps!"
He wagged a finger toward a tall bookshelf. A heavy tome slid off the shelf and floated into his hand before landing with a thud on the podium. The pages fluttered open on their own.
"Think this'll take long?" Reid whispered to Sosuke. "Maybe he won't notice if I sneak out."
Sosuke sighed. "Pay attention, will you?"
"Fine…" Reid groaned and slumped even further.
Gabriel stood at the back, arms folded, watching in silence.
"Dark magic!" Ouro flung his arms up like a showman. "Where does it come from, you ask? The Archmage Silverus invented it. Of course, it consumed him quickly—surprise, surprise."
Arthur raised a hand. "Why did he even make it? Didn't he realize it was dangerous?"
"Good question!" Ouro pointed. "He didn't. He lacked vision. Or maybe he had too much. Either way, he paid the price."
He flipped to another page.
"Dark magic excels when you're outnumbered. The more enemies, the stronger the spells. Weakness? Light magic. Pretty on the nose, right?"
Sosuke stretched his hand over his desk, channeling mana into small sparks of lightning that twisted into shapes. "Still works," he muttered.
"Light magic is extremely complex," Ouro continued. "You can't just learn it. It requires total devotion. So the real weakness? Turning dark magic against its user. It drains energy like all spells, but also corrupts. Use it too much, and it'll kill you."
Gabriel finally spoke. "Then how did Lance Sterling learn it, if the knowledge is kept with you?"
Ouro tilted his head. "Silverus spread its concept far and wide. Though forbidden, it lingered. Pockets of knowledge survived."
Milo raised his hand. "Why can't we learn magic like that, then? We can learn fire and water, right?"
Clyde shot up, hands on his desk. "Then we need to go. We've learned enough. No point wasting more time on this island."
"Winslow. Sit," Gabriel ordered.
Clyde hesitated, then obeyed.
Ouro eyed him, narrowing his gaze briefly before continuing.
"Magic is one big web. That's why core techniques exist—they're distilled forms of these complex magics. Core techniques give you instinct. Replicating that with outside forms is pointless. Spells alone won't win against someone who feels their magic."
He looked around. "If there are no more questions, I'd like a word with Estrella."
Gabriel nodded. "That's all, Grand Wizard."
The others rose and filed out. Gabriel closed the door behind him, leaving Sosuke seated alone.
Sosuke leaned against one hand, fingers tapping the desk.
"What's on your mind, Sosuke?" Ouro asked, stepping toward him.
"It's nothing," Sosuke muttered.
"It's never nothing." Ouro stopped in front of him. "Speak your mind."
After a moment, Sosuke stood and held out his hand.
A violet flash burst from his palm—his katana formed out of mana, glowing faintly.
Ouro's eyes widened. A grin slowly spread across his face.
"This katana, this weapon, it—"
"—resonates with your core, doesn't it?" Ouro cut in, stepping forward with an eager gleam in his eyes. He plucked the blade from Sosuke's hands, his movements swift and practiced.
Sosuke's fingers clenched involuntarily, as if some invisible tether had been severed.
"Is it… special?" Sosuke asked, his voice tinged with cautious curiosity.
"Oh, it's far beyond special." Ouro placed the blade on the table like one might handle a sleeping beast—careful, reverent. "It was born from divinity. Forged from the blood and mana of a god."
Sosuke's breath caught. "A god?"
Ouro nodded solemnly. "The Thunder God. One of the few who walked among mortals after the heavens fractured. Most feared them. The survivors were hunted down like animals. But this one… they bled him dry. His essence was melted down and poured into the steel of this blade."
The room seemed to shrink around Sosuke. The air thickened with something metallic, like the echo of lightning before it strikes. His pulse thudded in his ears.
"A weapon made from the Thunder God's power…" He whispered, awe and horror threading his tone. "This… this could be the key."
Ouro cocked his head. "Possibly. But power like that doesn't come without consequence. That energy—it seeps into you. It fuels your growth, yes, but distorts it too. Your chaotic surges? Your lack of control? This sword feeds it."
Sosuke stared at the katana. The steel hummed quietly, like distant thunder in his bones.
"It was sealed away by your bloodline," Ouro continued. "Locked deep beneath earth and ruin. Even so, I always suspected you'd be the one to find it."
"I was told where to look," Sosuke muttered, "but… it felt like the blade was calling to me."
Ouro laughed, the sound light but strangely hollow. "You've ruined the surprise. This was meant to be my gift to you—one final push. Still, there's something else. Something far more important."
He turned, gesturing toward a high shelf. A book slid free and dropped into his open palm. The pages crackled as he thumbed through them, worn parchment rustling like dead leaves in a storm.
"Have you heard the prophecy of the Estrella line?"
Sosuke eased back into his chair. "I found a version of it… where I found the sword."
"Figures. They never did hide things well." Ouro's voice dropped. "But what you read was likely a diluted echo. The true prophecy… was almost lost. I wrote it down before time buried it."
Sosuke narrowed his eyes. "Wait. What are you talking about?"
Ouro's voice deepened, as if reciting something far older than memory:
"When light is born from void and the world forgets its shape,
a star veiled in silence shall awaken the fracture.
The mask of divinity shall crack, and one who devours the breath of power shall rise.
Neither chosen nor cast aside, he shall walk between ruin and redemption.
Only when the holy star dims shall the false god fall."
The final words lingered in the air, heavy and cold.
Ouro slammed the book shut, the sound sharp as a crack of lightning. He stepped forward, gripping Sosuke by the shoulders with both hands. His smile stretched wide—too wide. "It was once believed your father would fulfill it. But it never came to pass. And now—now I see. You. You could be the one. You could be the Holy Star!"
Sosuke recoiled, shoving Ouro backward. "You're insane."
His voice trembled. He backed toward the door, the air around him pulsing with unease.
Ouro raised his arms theatrically, his eyes burning with manic fervor. "Not insane—enlightened! I've waited centuries to witness this moment! The rise of the one who would pierce the heavens and bring down the false god!"
Sosuke hesitated, hand resting on the doorframe. His expression was conflicted—caught between fear and possibility.
"I don't believe in your prophecy," he said slowly. "I'm not my father. I don't have that kind of strength. But… if you're offering to help me grow stronger—"
He turned, spine straightening, gaze sharp.
"—then I won't refuse that."
Ouro stepped forward, placing a hand on Sosuke's shoulder with surprising gentleness. "Good. One step closer."
⸻
Clyde and Arthur wandered through the spectral town, where every building stood askew, shaped by the spirits who inhabited them. The air was tinged with the scent of something sweet but decayed, like fruit left too long in the sun.
"Why are we even here?" Clyde asked, glancing warily at a spirit that drifted past—hollow-eyed and translucent, its form flickering.
Arthur shrugged. "To explore. Obviously."
"I could be training."
Arthur folded his arms. "And waste the vacation we were gifted? You need to learn how to let go."
"If I do that, I'll forget why I'm fighting in the first place."
Arthur studied him. "You sound like I did when I was younger. Gods, I was a buzzkill." He smirked. "You're no fun."
Clyde blinked. "What? I can be fun."
He darted toward a small, bobbing spirit and yanked a glowing drink from its grip. "See!" He held up the bottle triumphantly.
Arthur's eyes widened. "What are you doing? Just—put it back."
Clyde looked at the spirit's blank expression, then at Arthur, then carefully pressed the drink back into its hands. "That wasn't fun?"
"Why do I even have to explain that to you?" Arthur groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're supposed to be the smart one."
"Guys! Over here!" Reid's voice called from down the street.
They turned to see him lounging at a crooked stand, casually licking a cone of spectral-blue ice cream.
"Why are you always everywhere?" Arthur asked, squinting at Reid like he was a bug that kept reappearing on his shoulder.
"I dunno," Reid said with a shrug, lazily licking at his rapidly melting ice cream. "I like the vibes. Peaceful. Weirdly floaty. Kind of reminds me of a dream I once had where I was a turnip."
Wubbin popped out from under his chair, did three chaotic circles around the legs, then plopped down and started gnawing on a rock.
"Don't mind him," Reid added. "He gets like this when he's had sugar… or dreams about sugar."
Clyde sighed, his arms folded. "You were right, Arthur. I've been too uptight lately. Too rigid. Everything feels… stuck. We fight and fight, but nothing really changes. It's like punching smoke. Years of war and what do we have? A world just as broken."
Arthur raised a brow. "That's what's bothering you? So all that drama earlier about Sosuke was just a stress tantrum?"
"…No," Clyde said flatly, turning toward him with the intensity of a man reciting his grocery list like a battle hymn. "I meant every word. I'll make sure Sosuke Estrella pays in the end."
"What'd he even do again?" Reid asked, blinking slowly like he was waking from a nap. "Did he, like, step on your sandwich or something?"
Clyde's tone sharpened like a blade. "He abandoned order. Defied authority. Went rogue without clearance. When people act outside the system, they invite chaos. That must be punished."
Reid stared at him for a second, then slowly lowered his ice cream cone to Wubbin.
The beast opened its mouth wide—unnaturally wide—and devoured the entire cone in one massive chomp.
"I'm gonna go… look at haunted fruit stalls or whatever this place has," Reid muttered, hoisting Wubbin under one arm like a wiggling backpack and wandering off without another word.
Clyde watched him go, nodding sagely. "That went surprisingly well. He seemed receptive to my point."
Arthur coughed and looked at him sideways. "He fed his ice cream to a gremlin and ran."
"Exactly. That's how people express approval in informal conversations, right?" Clyde replied with full sincerity.
Arthur groaned, rubbing his temple. "You're lucky you've got good sword form, because socially? You're a wreck."
"I'll study harder," Clyde said with solemn conviction.
Arthur patted his back and muttered, "You've got a long road ahead, my friend. A very long, socially awkward road."