CHAPTER 25
The morning light poured into the Academy's wide stone halls, painting golden streaks across the polished floors. As Sorayael and the others walked side by side toward their classroom, whispers trailed in their wake like dust kicked up in silence.
Sorayael didn't flinch. Her expression remained placid, eyes forward, lips pressed into their usual calm line. Karsen stretched beside her, unfazed.
And with that, the seven of them strode through the corridor like the whispers didn't exist. They attended their classes like usual.
The air was cool and crisp as they swept brooms across the marble floor of the East Wing. Sterella Academy was hauntingly quiet at night, the kind of silence that made even footsteps echo like whispers. Their shadows flickered in the lamplight.
They all laughed softly, their voices bouncing gently in the stillness of the empty corridor.
Sorayael moved quietly at the end of the hall, her thoughts distant, until-
The voice came from behind her, smooth, playful, and instantly recognizable.
She turned around sharply, eyes narrowing.
Standing there with one hand in his coat pocket, tousled white-black-blue hair falling over his eyes, was him.
The so-called mercenary.
The mercenary shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I wasn't going to let a bunch of loud, dramatic first-years get mauled by the Dreadmaw. That'd be a shame."
They all laughed again, and even Sorayael cracked a smile, just a little.
The hallway that once echoed with rumors now echoed with soft laughter, the sound of brooms moving slower than before, and a strange, lingering warmth that no one commented on but all of them felt.
And when Sorayael snuck a glance back at him, at the way his white-black-blue hair shimmered under the lamp, at the smile he wore without knowing why, she felt something odd twist quietly in her chest.
She didn't know what it was.
And neither did he.
'But.. is he a senior here?' Sorayael thoughts.
..........
They finished cleaning past midnight, the faint clatter of mops and laughter now replaced with yawns and dragging feet. One by one, they peeled off toward their dorms, exchanging waves and tired goodnights.
Sorayael walked in silence, the cold air brushing against her skin, soothing her sweat-dampened brow. Her steps echoed softly in the quiet halls.
But she wasn't alone.
She stopped.
Without turning around, she said, "Why are you following me?"
A few steps behind her, the man also paused. "Hey, I wasn't. We're in the same building," he said with a slight scoff.
Sorayael turned to face him, one eyebrow raised. "Same building, huh? You just happen to walk exactly behind me?"
He put a hand on his chest, pretending to be offended. "Coincidence. I swear. Unless... you want me to follow you?"
She blinked. "What?"
Sorayael narrowed her eyes but couldn't fight the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "You're really annoying."
He smirked. "Maybe both. It's what I want you to call me."
Sorayael paused, studying him. His white-black-blue hair caught the moonlight filtering through the window, making his eyes glow strangely soft.
'it's impossible if he didn't hear my name from the students here'
She shrugged. "Too bad."
He tsked under his breath. "Alright then. If you won't give me a name..."
He stepped a little closer, giving her that maddening grin. "I'll just make one up for you."
Sorayael blinked. "Feisty?"
She gave him a flat look. "That's the worst nickname I've ever heard."
She rolled her eyes and turned away again, quickening her pace but her lips twitched at the corners.
Behind her, Azi smirked, his voice light as he called, "Goodnight, Feifei."
She didn't look back, but he didn't miss the way her shoulders shook with quiet laughter.
The next morning arrived cloaked in electric anticipation.
Whispers buzzed around the classroom like charged mana, today was the day they would test their powers at the training hall. A day many had been both dreading and dreaming of.
Karsen sat with his usual reckless grin, practically bouncing in his seat. "Finally, I can swing properly without holding back! Hope they let us duel."
Celene twirled a small orb of water between her fingers, eyes glinting. "Let's see how the others handle pressure."
Kieran leaned back lazily, spinning an arrow between his fingers. "I've already calculated every scenario. Piece of cake."
Beside him, Silas hummed calmly. "Just don't get too cocky. Some of us might actually need healing after."
Ravelia, icy and composed as ever, crossed her arms. "Let's just get this over with. I don't like wasting time."
Zarethian chuckled quietly to himself, one gloved hand tapping his desk. "I wonder how strong the mana flow will be this time. The constellation's pull is getting.. sharper."
And then there was Sorayael, slumped in her chair, cheek resting in her palm, eyes half-lidded.
She yawned.
Karsen blinked at her. "Oi, Ms. Sorayael. You look like you fought a Dreadmaw last night. You good?"
Silas raised a brow. "Nightmare?"
She shot him a blank look. "Worse."
Ravelia smirked knowingly. "Ah... must've been that charming mercenary."
Kieran blinked. "Mercenary?"
Sorayael narrowed her eyes at Ravelia. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Zarethian, oddly amused, chuckled under his breath. "Interesting.."
Sorayael huffed and turned away, trying to hide the slight warmth creeping up her cheeks.
They prepared themselves because today, they'd all reveal just how high, or how far they could rise.
..........
In the world of Earth X, magic and constellation blessings may appear similar on the surface, but they are vastly different in origin, nature, and potential.
Magic is the innate ability one is born with.
It flows through the veins like blood, a product of lineage, training, and affinity.
Everyone has some trace of mana within them, though not all are capable of wielding it effectively.
Magic is molded, refined, and mastered through years of discipline.
It is bound by the user's knowledge, experience, and stamina.
A fire mage may manipulate flames, but only through deep understanding of how mana interacts with elemental forces.
A swordsman who uses enhancement magic can only amplify their strength for a limited time, governed by their will and control.
Magic is, in essence, personal. It is a skill, powerful, but limited by the mortal framework.
But the Blessing of the Constellation is something else entirely.
When one is blessed by a Celestial Constellation, they are no longer just a wielder, they become a vessel.
This blessing is not earned through training. It is given, chosen. Constellations are remnants of ancient divine entities that once roamed the skies, beings of purpose, war, knowledge, chaos, or balance. When they favor a mortal, they bestow upon them a fragment of their power.
A student born with wind magic may create gales, but a student blessed by the constellation Virellion, the Tempest Drake, could summon hurricanes that bend reality itself.
A swordsman may be skilled with a blade, but one marked by Arcael, the Eternal Blade, may cut through enchantments, lies, and even time itself.
The blessing is not learned, it awakens.
And when it does, it often comes with a price. Headaches. Visions. Flickers of lost memories. Some say it's the cost of housing something too great for the mortal soul. Others believe it's the constellation leaving pieces of itself behind, memories, instincts, warnings.
The world sees constellation-blessed individuals as both miracles and threats. They are rare, unpredictable, and capable of things no ordinary mage could ever dream of.
That's why, at places like Sterella Academy, they're carefully monitored. Tested. Feared. And revered.
But they still haven't discovered that Zarethian has his constellation.
For while magic is a gift, a constellation's blessing is fate.
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