The classroom was a semicircle of stone benches carved into the hillside, open to the wind and sky. Beyond the terrace, the plains of the Goldenstar domain rolled toward the horizon, golden and unshaken.
Simon sat among the other clan youth, watching the dust shift along the path below. The morning air was cool, and the sun crept slowly across the valley, casting shadows that grew longer behind the rows of students.
At the front stood a man in a long black coat, spectacles catching the light. He held no staff, no scroll — just a voice that had once lectured halls of stone and scholars. His name was Edran, once a professor at Dravkar University. Now, he was Lucen's right hand — and that day, he had been specially invited to give a lecture to all the clan's youth gathered together, a rare and formal occasion.
"Let's start simple," Edran said, raising his voice just above the wind. "Name the four founding races of the Alliance."
"Humans!" someone called.
"Elves!" added another.
"Stoneborn," said Lyra.
A pause.
Thomas scratched his head, frowned, and offered with great confidence, "The... rock dwarves?"
A beat of silence.
"The Draelin," Edran replied, nodding patiently.
"Right," Thomas nodded back. "That's what I meant."
Simon stifled a smile. Thomas, the son of Granor, was not known for his brilliance. In truth, Simon was fairly certain he was the least intelligent person he had ever met. The boy once asked if the stars could be turned off.
But strength? Loyalty? Work ethic? Thomas had those in abundance.
And then there were the tests.
It was whispered — and reluctantly confirmed — that Thomas might become the strongest Forged in the clan. His body had absorbed early augmentation trials with unprecedented compatibility. Some doctors — speaking a little too freely after long hours — even said he had the potential to surpass Lucen himself.
Everyone laughed. Even Thomas did.
But no one denied the numbers.
Edran turned back to the slate board behind him.
"The Alliance is not a single nation. It is a union — one born during the Great Galactic War, what we now call the Time of Chaos. While the Earth Theocracy and the Elven Circles waged their holy and ancient wars, smaller nations caught in between began to collapse."
He gestured to a map of stars carved into the stone.
"In desperation, those scattered powers joined forces. They built something new. Today, we call it the Alliance."
He paced slowly in front of the class.
"We share currency. We share military command. We share many laws. But each member still governs its own land."
"The Alliance is not an empire. It is a federation of nations, fragile and vast. Its capital world is Concordia. Every nation sends representatives there. Together, they negotiate trade, war, borders. And, when necessary, survival."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"The Draelin and the Stoneborn are very few in number today. Their people are rare — you may never meet one in your entire life. But they are not our focus this morning."
Edran's hand returned to the map.
"Let's talk about Dravkar."
Simon straightened slightly.
"This planet is ruled by nine clans. Seven of them are human. Two are Elven — the Northern and Southern Circles."
"The seven human clans founded Dravkar City. Each holds a seat of power there, and each believes it earned that right through blood and labor."
"Dravkar is not governed by popular vote. Each of the nine ruling clans holds a single vote — and that vote controls the entire planet. The rest of the population has no voice in the process."
Simon glanced to the side, unease creeping into his thoughts. It didn't seem right — nine clans holding the power of an entire world, while millions had no say at all.
Just as Edran turned toward the next part of the board, Lyra raised her hand. "Professor, can you explain why Elves seem to have more mages than we do?"
Edran paused, tilting his head slightly in appreciation. "That's a good question."
"Elves are not like us. Their kind cannot form a Mana Core the way human mages do. Instead, they perceive and manipulate the mana already present in the environment — what we call ambient magic. While a human mage forms an internal source of power, an elf shapes what flows around them."
He gestured to the trees beyond the valley. "They live longer than we do — centuries longer — but they are born slowly. In some cities, only a handful of births occur in a decade. And though their science mirrors ours, their culture values harmony. Elves build ships and towers like we do — but always with care not to disturb nature around them."
He raised a finger. "In most mana-scarce environments, only one in a billion humans might awaken as a mage. But that number shifts dramatically with exposure to concentrated mana — like in certain foods, artifacts, or even locations. Among clans like ours, where such exposure is more common, the rate is far higher."
Another student raised a hand. "Can humans and elves cast spells together?"
"In rare cases, yes," Edran replied. "But the connection is fragile. Elves rely on the harmony of nature. Humans, on internal reservoirs. The difference makes fusion complex — but not impossible."
He turned back to the board and drew a ring of dots.
"Now, what elves have that we do not is something called a Circle. An Elven Circle is a group of mages who channel their power together. Their spellwork is layered, synchronized, and sometimes — devastating."
He stepped aside and looked up at the sky.
"And that is why the Elven Circles are both feared and respected."
Edran glanced at the sun. "Now then... tomorrow is the big day."
Simon straightened, heart quickening.
The magical beast hunt.
Once a year, all clan members aged twelve to eighteen were gathered for a test older than most traditions — a rite of passage that marked their place among the Goldenstar.
It was the season when the mana shifted and the northern reaches of their territory brimmed with beasts — animals that resonated with magic, some of which could bend mana to their will. Materials harvested from them could be used for enchantments, potions, even weapons.
No weapons were allowed in the hunt. Each youth would be dropped into the forest with nothing but their clothes and what nature offered. They would craft tools by hand, rely on instinct, and face the wild with courage alone.
Simon felt the weight and thrill of those words settle deep in his chest. Eron and Lyra had each caught a single magical beast during their time — and both had only managed the lowest-tier prey: the blue-horned rabbit. But even the excitement didn't mask the truth — in most years, not a single youth returned with a catch. The beasts were elusive, cunning, and disturbingly clever for creatures without speech.
It would be his first hunt.
And Eron's last.
Lyra, now nineteen, had watched her final hunt come and go. Tomorrow, she would remain behind. But Simon — he would step into the wild.
He could already feel the wind in the trees and the crunch of dried leaves beneath his feet.
And maybe, just maybe, he'd return with something worth telling.