King Solomon stepped heavily forward onto the rocky ledge. The purple glow at the horizon twisted into a churning tempest of dark energy, tearing the clouds above the valley wide open. The group’s liberating laughter died instantly. The silence that followed was so absolute that the soft crackle of the smoldering crater cut through the air like a whip.
With a slow, deliberate movement, Solomon raised his right hand. No destructive force unleashed; instead, a torrent of golden-yellow light erupted from his palms. The beams shot directly into the center of the circle, warping reality itself. The flattened mud and scorched tree trunks were swallowed by a colossal magical illusion.
The surroundings transformed into a breathtaking, three-dimensional projection filling the entire valley. A floating, gigantic citadel academy arose in phantom light before their eyes. The details were so crisp they could see miniature students sprinting across the inner courtyards, floating staircases revolving, and castle spires glistening beneath an imaginary sun.
“Look closely,” Solomon spoke, his deep voice trembling with historical authority. “This is what we are building toward. This is the University. Not a dusty sanctuary for bookworms, but the absolute beating heart of the God Realm’s military force. An academy designed to obliterate the thin line between a promising student and a battle-hardened warrior.”
Faustus stepped up to the edge of the projection, arms tightly crossed over his chest, his gaze icy as he studied the luminous model.
“The design is ruthless,” Faustus added, his voice slicing through the cool air. “It is a blend of a classic guild, a magical academy, and a military barracks. The university operates across eight strictly separated Faculties.”
Solomon gestured with his fingers. Eight glowing symbols shot upward from the floating building miniatures, circling the virtual campus.
“Everyone who crosses the university threshold is subjected to a Core Discipline, a Secondary Discipline, and mandatory foundational combat doctrine,” Solomon explained, pointing out each symbol. “The Arcane Faculty governs pure magic and elemental mastery. Combat Faculty focuses purely on physical martial arts and weapon prowess. Beast and Biological handles mythical creatures, biology, and genetic experimentation. Tech and Generation Netix targets advanced combat technology. The Occult Faculty dissects demonology and the Hellverse. Spiritual Faculty commands soul forces and frequencies. Anomaly and Cryptid investigates unexplainable entities. And finally, the Research Faculty, dedicated to the deepest studies and runic crafts.”
Nicola adjusted his glasses with a swift, sharp movement, his eyes reflecting the golden projection light. “A multidisciplinary network,” he muttered under his breath. “A perfectly balanced structure to maximize every form of power.”
Balamore slowly shook his head, his hand gripping the head of his staff. “Eight branches of knowledge,” Balamore whispered in his rasping, battle-worn voice. “No single warrior can master them all, but the harmony between these disciplines creates an invincible army. This is how we keep the darkness outside the gates.”
“Yet the Faculties are merely the foundation,” Solomon continued as the magical array shifted. The individual structures merged, dividing into vast, walled districts within the virtual city. “What truly matters are the Wards.”
Silarias stepped closer to the shimmering miniatures, absently rubbing his tunic right above the spot where the leader of the Hellverse had left his ash mark. “And those Wards… those are the living sectors?”
“Far more than that, Silarias,” Solomon replied with a heavy nod. “The Wards are autonomous houses within the academy. They are your living quarters, your dorms, your training grounds, and your social home base. Each house commands its own culture, its own combat identity, and a rigid hierarchy. When I say the Wards have assembled, it means the lines are drawn.”
Faustus scanned the circle of youths. “And make no mistake: inside the university, you are not safe behind high walls. Teams are assembled directly from these Wards for real-world missions. Operations that decide the survival of entire realms. These assignments are graded by rank: from F rank reconnaissance to S rank and Special Rank for pure hell.”
In the exact center of the miniature academy, a tiny gold-and-black altar began to glow. Hovering above it was a razor-sharp, raw gemstone radiating a pulsing gold-and-blue aura. It resembled an ancient, weathered relic, polished by centuries of elemental force yet filled with immeasurable magical intelligence.
“When a warrior enters the university,” Solomon spoke, his voice dropping to a heavy whisper, “they stand before Oculum Castaway. An ancient, infallible artifact that scans the deepest layers of your soul. It reads your true combat class, analyzes your potential, and assigns you to your proper Faculty and Ward.”
Ren and Miki stared at the tiny hovering crystal from the sidelines, mesmerized.
“Oculum Castaway?” Miki giggled, wrapping her arms around her knees. “That sounds like a fancy optometrist for wizards!”
Ren nudged her with his elbow, pulling a ridiculous face. “Nah, that sounds like a magic rock that gives you an F before you even hand in your homework! You think it keeps us together, or does it kick me to the Beast division and send you to the Pyromaniacs?”
“If you end up with the beasts, I’m tagging along,” Miki laughed playfully. “Someone’s gotta chase off the wild animals when you climb a tree again!”
Solomon clenched his fist. The magical projection shattered into a soft shower of golden sparks against the night sky. The grim reality of the destroyed valley returned in all its raw weight.
“You fought like lions,” King Solomon declared, extending his hand toward the horizon. “But the real test begins when we step onto the soil of the God Realm and stand before Oculum Castaway. Prepare yourselves.”
As everyone braced to move out, Silarias suddenly looked up. He nudged Vulkan, whose eyes widened just as quickly. Both boys stared back in shock at the towering face of the prehistoric giant. Uktar was still sitting there on his massive hindquarters, contentedly chewing on a final tree stump, his big puppy eyes turned curiously toward the group.
“Hold on a second…” Silarias started frantically, waving his hands about. “What about Uktar?! King Solomon, we can’t just leave him behind or stuff him into the university?! He won’t even fit through a normal gate! We can’t just—”
Solomon burst into a sudden, booming laugh that rolled across the rocks.
“Haha! Easy, young lion!” Solomon cut him off with a broad grin, chuckling at the panicked faces of Silarias and Vulkan. “Did you truly think we would abandon an ancient berserker to his fate? Uktar will be taken care of down to the last detail! The Beast and Biological Faculty maintains specialized, protected sanctuaries within the Deep Ward. He will have his own territory, handlers, and more than enough meat to feed an entire legion for a year. He is in excellent hands, haha!”
Solomon swept his arm out, making a sharp, commanding motion that cracked over the flattened terrain. “And now: to your quarters! The night is shorter than you think!”
Everyone exchanged glances. The pent-up, raw tension of surviving on the edge of death dissolved instantly into a heavy, liberating release. It started with a single chuckle off to the side, but within seconds it escalated into roaring laughter echoing through the valley. It was the sound of teenagers briefly forgetting that the fate of the world rested on their shoulders.
Across the broken black earth, magical portals began tearing open. Massive, spinning rings of liquid gold, deep violet, and azure light crackled with pure, unbridled energy. The vibrant light illuminated the ruined valley, painting the mist clouds above and casting long, dancing shadows against the fractured cliff faces.
Balamore and Izamaru stood shoulder to shoulder. Balamore leaned heavily on his oak staff, his weathered face relaxing into a wide smile. Izamaru slapped his shoulder hard enough to knock the dust off Balamore’s cloak, their booming laughter ringing against the steep rock walls. Beside them stood Vulkan and Valeria. Vulkan, still battered, with a swollen cheek and dust in his teeth, shook his head as Snicky, Zax, and Nyco circled them with wide grins, re-enacting the fights with energetic gestures.
On the other side of the field, Nyx, Silarias, Aurelius, Beat, Apollo, Miki, Jane, and Lila shared in the joy. Apollo laughingly poured out the last drop from his wooden cup, while Beat ran a hand through his messy hair, animatedly describing how absurd the battle had been. Right behind them stood Nicola and Lyn. Nicola used his thumb to wipe a thick streak of soot from his glasses, while Lyn watched him with a laugh, tossing her shoulders back.
Amid this chaotic explosion of relief, King Solomon stepped forward. He took a deep breath, expanded his massive chest, and let his voice drop with full power, loud enough to make the marble beneath their boots vibrate and loose pebbles dance across the stone.
“TWELVE HOURS REMAINING… before the opening begins!”
The laughter froze dead on everyone’s faces. Mid-laugh, several teenagers nearly choked on their own breath. Eyes went wide as saucers. Mouths hung half-open, smiles still pinned to their lips. In a single fraction of a second, relief flipped into pure, hysterical, unadulterated panic.
“Twelve hours?!” Lila shrieked, clutching her head in despair. “That’s nothing! We haven’t even gathered our gear! My cloak is literally half-incinerated!”
“My chestpiece is snapped in two!” Vulkan roared, spinning around like a headless chicken as if he could manifest a forge out of the mud. “Who’s fixing my plate in twelve hours?! Who?!”
Everywhere, the youths began sprinting in pure, mindless chaos. They tripped over loose rocks, slammed shoulders into one another, and shouted over each other about unfinished combat conditioning, bleeding wounds, and gear that desperately needed packing.
Solomon shook his head with a faint smirk. With a swift, powerful wave of his palm, he conjured a fresh, golden portal hovering right before the group. The magical edges crackled like lightning, its interior swirling like a golden vortex.
Silarias saw the portal ignite, and his adrenaline-soaked teenage brain immediately defaulted to action. Dive in, now! he thought. With a wild, heroic leap, he launched himself through the air, arms spread wide, ready for a legendary entry.
His timing and spatial awareness, however, were completely atrocious. He missed the magical threshold by a mere inch. With a dull, brutal impact, his chest and face slammed hard into the stone ground right beside the light circle. Upon impact, his own knee whipped upward with full, merciless force, catching him right under the chin.
BANG!
“Ugh…!” Silarias groaned. His eyes rolled back instantly, his jaw snapped shut with a crack, and he collapsed half-unconscious in the dark dust, his legs twitching faintly like a freshly downed deer.
Solomon stared at the motionless sixteen-year-old lying lifeless in the mud. He raised an eyebrow, lowered his chest, and turned slowly toward Nyx, who was standing right next to the portal.
“…Really?” Solomon sighed with a look of absolute, regal disbelief.
“Dad…” Nyx interrupted instantly. Her voice was steady, razor-sharp, and devoid of hesitation. “I don’t know how… but he’s the one. I just know it, Dad. And we are going to fix this together.”
Without missing a beat, the seventeen-year-old princess bent forward. She grabbed the unconscious Silarias by his tunic collar and belt line, hoisting his limp, heavy teenage body effortlessly as if he were a sack of grain, and pitched him through the floating light circle with a swift, powerful toss.
As she stepped through after him, she swept her long dark hair over her shoulder with an elegant, royal motion. She cast one last look over her shoulder at the king, her eyes softening with a rare, deep warmth.
“See you soon, Dad. I missed you…”
And then Nyx was gone. The portal snapped shut behind her with a low magical vacuum crack that sent a shockwave through the dust clouds below.
Solomon was left alone on the ruined field. The rigid, unyielding royal composure he had maintained for so long suddenly developed a deep, painful fracture. His chest heaved heavily. The silence of the valley crashed over him, and the pent-up emotions of past years surged like an uncontainable, burning wave.
His eyes glistened in the pale light. He couldn’t hold it back any longer. Thick, shimmering tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and tracked slowly down his battle-worn cheeks. Visibly crumbling, his lips trembling, he turned his face away to his right to hide his vulnerability, directly toward the shadow where Faustus still stood motionlessly beside the rocks.
When Solomon noticed him, he flinched slightly, hastily wiping the back of his hand across his wet cheeks.
“WHOA! Hey… Faustus… I didn’t see you there.”
Faustus looked at him quietly. There was no trace of mockery, judgment, or detachment on his stern face, only a profound, respectful understanding between two ancient warriors bearing the same heavy burden. He stepped forward with calm, heavy strides and placed a solid, warm hand firmly on the broken king’s shoulder.
“Solomon… my King… why fight it?” Faustus spoke in a low, muffled voice rich with empathy. “You are who you are. Let your tears fall, man. Perhaps this is precisely what your Void requires to keep from burning out completely.”
Faustus offered him a swift, meaningful wink. Without another word, he spun on his heel and teleported away in a dark flash of purple-black energy, vanishing straight toward the Bastion.
Solomon stood alone, emotionally overwhelmed by his brother’s words. He drew a deep, shuddering breath, wiped his face, and attempted to regain his royal stature when the magical ether around his ears violently began to vibrate. The air crackled with static, hellish pressure, and the frantic, panicked voice of a guard resonated through the magical comms line.
“Your Highness! We have an intruder… someone is coming! He bypassed every outer defensive perimeter, and he is fast! Unhumanly fast!”
Miles ahead of the university’s imposing borders, high above the rolling landscape where the massive towers, floating platforms, and magical domes of the academic complex glittered like golden pinpricks on the horizon, a figure sliced through the sky.
It was seventeen-year-old Ren, designated as Ren the Beast Master, senior veteran of the Beast Anting and their former classmate from the Goated Outcasts. He was notorious for his ability to not only command wild beasts, but to physically fuse his own human anatomy with the most lethal creatures in the realm.
At this exact moment, he flew through the sound barrier as a brutal, hybrid humanoid-dragon. His muscular chest was armored in thick, gleaming scales of a deep blood-red hue. Sprouting from his shoulders, two massive, terrifying dragon heads were physically fused into his neck and head structure.
From the gaping, razor-fanged maws of these draconic heads, continuous compressed streams of bright blue fire erupted. They acted as a violent, chemical-magical thruster system, propelling him forward at insane speeds of Mach 4, straight toward the university. The titanic shockwaves of his flight tore the clouds below into a thousand shreds and flattened the canopy of trees on the ground.
There was no panic in his mind, only an urgent, razor-sharp focus.
I have to tell Sil about this… Ren thought to himself, the icy wind roaring deafeningly against his red-gold scales. Not that something is wrong… actually, things are going really well! But yeah, I’m the temporary messenger now that the group got moved to the university. Silarias needs to know what’s coming… he isn’t ready for what those guys are going to demand from him.
Ren flexed his neck muscles to force even more firepower from the fused dragon heads, preparing to close the distance to the university walls within seconds—
BANG!
In a single millisecond, he froze dead in mid-air.
No deceleration. No drift. No stopping distance. His insane Mach 4 speed was brought to an absolute, ruthless standstill. The compressed blue flames erupting from the dragon heads froze mid-blast like sculpted glass.
What…? Ren thought, a wave of pure shock cutting through his brain. Did someone just grab me right out of the sky mid-flight?! How is this possible?!
He tried to flex his muscles to turn the dragon heads, but something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Right beside him, at the exact same altitude in the freezing air, a small mountain bird hung motionlessly, its wings fully spread. Not a single feather stirred. The wind had vanished entirely. Below him, the majestic contours of the university lay equally still, frozen and silent.
“Interesting…” he muttered under his breath, feeling the magical, ancient pressure locking down the space around him. “Feels like…”
Gleams of golden light swept across his field of vision. Right before his eyes, the sky began to solidify. The light formed a transparent, invisible floor floating miles above the ground ahead of the academy. Two figures walked calmly across the glass surface, as if taking a casual afternoon stroll.
Doppo stepped forward first, his hands resting casually in the pockets of his wide-legged trousers. He fixed his sharp, amused eyes on the monstrous hybrid form, inspecting the fused dragon heads with a dry, quiet chuckle.
“Ahh, yes… Beast Boy,” Doppo said dryly, his voice crisp and unmarred by the frozen air. “You’ve grown. And you’ve done something with your hair, I take it, hahaha!”
Beside him, King Solomon stepped across the transparent surface. His royal aura was calm, composed, filling the entire stratosphere with a golden-yellow radiance.
“Ahh, yes… Ren… Renuardo, was it?” Solomon spoke with a deep, acknowledging nod. “You truly have changed, boy.”
With a simple, elegant snap of Solomon’s fingers, the time lock on Ren was lifted. His scaled boots hit the invisible platform with a heavy thud. He gasped for air, his wide, shocked eyes locked onto the two legendary figures.
“Heh… the people back there, they’re doing really well… heh…” Ren managed out of breath, rubbing his muscular chest. “Though you wouldn’t expect… Wait a second. RENUARDO?! Nobody’s called me that in a really long time, haha! But… things are blowing way out of proportion! The Ward is growing crazy fast right now. I thought I had to come as the temporary messenger, I got word that I had to go!”
Solomon looked at him calmly, his expression majestic and unreadable.
“Yes, that’s right… that was me,” Solomon said. “The only problem is… they are being transferred directly to the university tomorrow morning. That is where the initiation takes place, including the orientation tournament. Tryfest. A trial for the first-years to test their absolute limits. Renuardo, that will be the only moment you can speak to them directly.”
Doppo stared at him with a completely dry, unbothered expression. “You’re already here anyway. With a bit of luck, they might just let you tag along.”
At those words, the heavy, formidable hybrid dragon form of Ren began to dismorph completely. The red-gold scales retracted into his skin with a soft hissing sound. The fused dragon heads dissolved into fine plumes of gray smoke, and his anatomy shrank back to its normal state within seconds.
He returned to his form as a seventeen-year-old boy with a sharp, alert gaze. He wore a loose, layered shaman outfit made of rough, dark fabrics, richly adorned with ancient predator teeth and thick woven runic bands hanging loosely over his shoulders, wrists, and waist.
Ren scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, laughing sheepishly, his confident monster persona completely gone.
“I… uh… admission? Honestly, I didn’t sign up for that… I’m just an outcast like them.” He let out a deep sigh. “Well, whatever. What must be done, must be done. At least then I can explain to everyone right away that my name is Renuardo…”
Doppo turned his head to Solomon, letting out a short, dry laugh. “His mother did say on her deathbed that he should stay hidden until his eighteenth birthday… What difference does one year make now anyway?”
King Solomon released a long, deep sigh. He turned around and, with a broad, regal sweep of his arm, opened a colossal gold-and-black portal across the floating platform. It tore through the icy air with the sound of an approaching thunderclap.
Solomon took a step toward the swirling vortex of light, but right before entering, he glanced back over his left shoulder at the young shaman.
“Are you coming… Renuardo?”
A genuine, wide smile broke across the young warrior’s face. Renuardo straightened his posture, pulled the woven runic bands tight around his shoulders, and stepped forward with renewed energy to follow the king.
The portal snapped shut with a blinding flash of light. The time barrier above the valley before the university was lifted in a split second, allowing the trapped wind to roar back through the expanse as the mountain bird resumed its flight.