Around the hall, the final battles played out. At several tables, students remained locked in extended stalemates—Royal forces clashing against identical Royal formations, Church units mirroring Church units. Without diversity in their armies, neither side could gain a decisive advantage.
Instructor Lyvenna circulated among these tables, exchanging glances with other examiners before making sweeping gestures. One by one, the war tables reset as matches were declared complete.
"Time!" she announced, her voice carrying across the hall. "All simulations conclude now."
A collective groan rose from students still caught in their deadlocked battles. Arguments erupted at several tables as students protested, claiming they needed just a few more minutes to secure victory.
The instructors consulted their notes, tallying points based on objectives secured, losses sustained, and tactical decisions. Vel noticed how efficiently they worked, suggesting this outcome was not unexpected.
The Archmagister approached the podium at the front of the hall, her presence immediately commanding silence. Her silver-embroidered robes shifted with an ethereal quality as she surveyed the gathered students.
"I hope you all learned what this test was meant to teach," she began, her voice carrying effortlessly throughout the chamber. "For those who chose only one faction, you were doomed from the start."
Her gaze swept across the room, lingering on those students who had opted for pure Royal Forces or Church-only strategies.
"That is why at the Academy, we value all aspects of power. That is why our three factions came together." She gestured to the banners hanging above—Kingdom, Church, and Guild. "We cover each other's weaknesses. We complement each other's strengths."
"The Kingdom provides structure and numbers, the Church offers spiritual and magical guidance, and the Guild contributes innovation and adaptability."
She waved her hand across the three banners in a ceremonial gesture, causing them to glow briefly with magical light. "Balance is not merely a theoretical concept—it is the foundation of true strategy."
Vel nodded slightly, understanding dawning on many faces around him. The test hadn't just been about winning battles—it had been about recognizing the value of diversity and cooperation.
"Your test results will be available in three days from now. Until then, reflect on what you've learned here today."
The students responded with enthusiastic applause, though Vel noticed several disgruntled expressions among those whose single-faction strategies had failed.
Vel and his friends exited the assessment hall, joining the steady stream of candidates leaving the Academy grounds. The afternoon sun beat down on the cobblestone paths as they made their way toward the main gate.
"That was something else," Tomas said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I never imagined the assessment would test us like that."
"At least we did better than expected," Mira added. "I thought we unstable types would be fodder."
Celia joined their group as they approached the main courtyard, looking exhausted but pleased—a sign her assessment had gone well too.
As they walked together, Vel noticed students slowing their pace, heads turning toward something ahead. A gleaming white carriage stood near the gates, its polished surface catching the sunlight. The vehicle bore the unmistakable symbol of Shizka's sect—a radiant sunburst etched in gold.
Two figures flanked the carriage door: a woman in pristine white robes with her hood drawn up, and a guard whose armor displayed the distinctive insignia of a Crusader rank. Both stood at attention, their presence commanding respect from passing students.
"Is that...?" Celia whispered, stopping beside him.
The carriage door swung open, and the crowd of departing students grew completely still. Even the instructors paused, watching with undisguised interest.
Then she emerged—a familiar figure Vel hadn't seen in years. Landre.
But not as he remembered her. She moved with an ethereal grace, each step deliberate yet flowing like water. Her golden hair caught the sunlight, seeming to glow from within. The white and gold robes of a full Saint draped elegantly around her form.
Most striking was her face—the same features he knew so well, yet transformed. Her expression radiated a serene warmth that seemed to touch everyone in her presence. The light of Shizka himself emanated from her very being.
Whispers erupted among the students.
"That's her—the Saint from the western provinces!"
"I heard she passed the Trial of Light without preparation..."
"They say the Goddess herself appeared during her consecration..."
"The purest soul to serve the Church in centuries..."
Landre's eyes scanned the crowd until they found Vel. For a moment, he saw the briefest flicker of his sister's usual excitement, quickly tempered as she composed herself. She walked toward him with measured steps, conscious of the many eyes watching her every movement.
"Brother," Landre said, her voice carrying the musical quality of practiced reverence yet still unmistakably belonging to the sister he knew.
Vel felt the weight of dozens of stares suddenly shift to him. The murmurs grew louder around them.
"Brother? Wait, he's Novalance? THE Novalance?" someone whispered too loudly.
"Saint Landre's brother is here at the Academy?"
"How can someone with unstable attunement be related to her?"
Landre's serene smile never faltered as the whispers swirled. "I am pleased the Light guided me to find you here, Velarian. Shizka's blessing upon your endeavors at this hallowed institution."
The formal, measured cadence of her words was so different from the sister who once teased him about fishing. Yet beneath the carefully chosen words, Vel could still hear traces of her genuine joy.
Landre surveyed the crowd of watching students, her serene gaze taking in the many curious faces surrounding them.
"Shall we speak somewhere more private?" she asked, then gestured gracefully toward the waiting carriage.
Before turning, she looked past Vel to where Celia stood frozen in surprise. Landre offered her a gentle nod of recognition, a silent acknowledgment of their shared past in Elnor. Celia managed a clumsy half-bow in response.
Landre turned, her robes flowing like liquid light as she walked toward the carriage. Vel followed, acutely aware of how every step he took was being scrutinized by the crowd. The whispers grew more intense.
"Did you see that? The Saint came just to see him!"
Vel glanced back to see Tomas and Mira staring at him with wide eyes and dropped jaws.
As they approached the carriage, the robed woman and the crusader who had been standing guard both gave small, respectful bows, their heads lowering just enough to show deference without taking their attention fully from their surroundings. The crusader's hand remained near the hilt of his sword, ever vigilant despite the seeming peace of the Academy grounds.
Vel stepped into the carriage, and the door closed behind him with a soft click that seemed to shut out the world. The interior was plush with white velvet cushions and gold trim—far more luxurious than anything he'd experienced in Elnor.
The scent of jasmine and something distinctly church-like—perhaps sacred incense—filled the small space. Landre sat across from him, her posture perfect as she regarded him with those serene eyes. She said nothing, simply studying his face with an expression he couldn't quite read.
The silence stretched between them. Vel shifted uncomfortably on the cushion, suddenly aware of how different they had become. The sister who had taught him letters and dreamed of becoming a Saint now embodied that dream so completely she seemed almost untouchable.
"It pleases the Light to see how you have grown in wisdom and strength, dear brother," Landre finally said, her voice maintaining that practiced, musical quality. "May Shizka's radiance continue to guide your path through the hallowed halls of learning."
She maintained the façade for three more seconds before her lips twitched. Then, like sunshine breaking through clouds, her formal expression cracked into a mischievous smile—the same one she had worn when they were children.
Without warning, Landre lunged forward, throwing her arms around him with such enthusiasm that Vel nearly fell backward against the carriage wall. Her formal robes rustled as she squeezed him tightly.
"You don't know how long I've been waiting to do that!" she exclaimed, her voice suddenly free of its measured cadence and full of the familiar warmth he remembered. "All that standing around looking saintly—do you have any idea how hard it is not to scratch your nose when you're blessing people?"
The gesture took Vel by surprise. The formal Saint who had glided across the Academy courtyard with ethereal grace now clung to him like the sister he remembered from their childhood in Oakhaven and Elnor. For a moment, he almost didn't know how to process the sudden shift—this mingling of the divine figure she had become with the familiar sibling he knew.
Then he let out a smile and returned her hug, feeling the tension leave his shoulders.
"That!" Vel said with a chuckle as they separated, "was not necessary. I understand you have to maintain appearances in front of people, but you could just meet me at the lodging, you know."
Landre pulled back, adjusting her slightly rumpled robes with a sheepish grin. "And miss the chance to see your face when I stepped out of the carriage." She attempted to mimic his expression, widening her eyes and dropping her jaw in exaggerated shock.
"I didn't look like that," Vel protested.
"You absolutely did." Landre laughed, the sound light and musical even without the affected saintly tone. "I've missed you, Vel."
The honesty in her voice touched him. Despite the grand robes and the reverent whispers that followed her, she was still his sister underneath it all.
"Well, you're just Lan-neechan to me," Vel said with a grin. "No matter how many fancy titles they give you."
Landre's expression softened as she settled back into the plush cushions, her earlier formality completely dissolved now that they were alone. "The academy gave you any trouble?"
Vel shrugged, thinking about the whispers that had followed him since the assessment began. "Nothing I can't handle."
"Is it true that you were sorted into unstable attunement?" Landre asked, leaning forward with concern in her eyes. "I heard the whispers back there. How could that happen?"
Vel hesitated, weighing how much to reveal about his unique circumstances. The truth would be impossible to explain, but he didn't want to lie to his sister either.
"If I said those orbs made a mistake, would you believe me?" Vel said, watching her reaction carefully.
Landre tilted her head, considering his words. She didn't immediately agree or disagree, which told him she was giving his question genuine thought rather than offering blind faith.
"Hm...". She tapped her fingers lightly on the velvet cushion. "If you said so, then it must be. Though I never heard of the artifact making mistakes before."
Silence settled between them again, comfortable this time.
"How are father and mother?" Landre asked, changing the subject.
Vel smiled, seeing an opportunity. "They're fine. There's one thing though... you have... a little sister now."
Landre's eyes widened with surprise, her composed saintly demeanor completely vanishing. "What?"
"Yeah," Vel said, enjoying her reaction. "Eight months after you left Elnor. You made them feel... lonely."
"I left for a higher purpose!" Landre protested, then pointed at him accusingly. "Besides, they had you, didn't they? Clearly you weren't entertaining enough."
"That's ridiculous!"
Landre grinned, clearly pleased with herself for turning the blame around. "Is it though?"
Vel let out a sigh, seeing no point in arguing with his always teasing sister. Some things never changed, even when wrapped in the formal robes of a Saint.
"Lyra," he said, offering the name as a peace offering.
"Lyra," Landre repeated softly, testing the name of a sister she had yet to meet. Her expression softened with genuine warmth. "That's a beautiful name. Like the constellation."
Landre's expression softened into wonder. "I have a baby sister... and I haven't even met her." A hint of sadness crept into her voice. "What is she like? Does she look like mother?"
"She has Dad's eyes but Mom's smile," Vel replied. "And she's loud. Really loud."
Landre smiled as Vel recounted the nights he'd been woken by Lyra's crying, how he'd helped care for her while Mari recovered and Von worked. Her expression softened with each detail, the teasing sister replaced by someone genuinely touched by his thoughtfulness.
"When did you get so responsible, little brother?" she asked, reaching over to ruffle his hair affectionately.
As memories of Lyra's midnight cries faded from his thoughts, Vel noticed a shadow cross Landre's face. Her fingers traced invisible patterns on the velvet cushion, and her gaze drifted toward the carriage window.
"I really want to visit them," Landre said, her voice carrying the longing of someone separated too long from loved ones. "But the life of a Saint is hardly my own. Every moment is scheduled, every appearance planned." She gestured vaguely at the carriage, the guards, the entire production that had accompanied her arrival.
She smoothed an invisible wrinkle in her pristine robes, a nervous gesture that reminded Vel of the girl who once fidgeted with her amulet when discussing her dreams.
"Even for today, I had to plan weeks before. I just wanted to meet you, but the church saw this as a chance to improve influence to the church candidates."
Vel listened, recognizing the familiar constraints of fame. She sounded like a celebrity back in his old world, with a full schedule, bodyguards, and managers dictating her every move. In a way she was—in this world, Saints were essentially spiritual celebrities, their time and presence carefully controlled and allocated.
"That's why you came with all this," Vel gestured at the ornate carriage, understanding dawning on him. "The grand entrance wasn't just to see me, was it?"
Landre sighed, leaning back against the cushions. "The Church never wastes an opportunity. My visit to see my brother conveniently doubles as a reminder of Shizka's presence at the Academy." She offered a small smile. "But I insisted it be today—I wanted to hear how your assessment went."
"The High Priest assigns me two guards at all times," Landre continued, nodding toward the door where the armored Crusader stood vigilant outside. "Sister Imelda—the woman in white—serves as my attendant and, honestly, makes sure I don't say or do anything 'unsaintly.'" She rolled her eyes at this last part, briefly looking like the sister he remembered from Oakhaven.
"Sounds exhausting," Vel said.
"It is. But I shouldn't complain." Landre straightened, her momentary lapse in saintly demeanor vanishing swiftly."Serving Shizka is the greatest honor I could hope for."
Landre's expression shifted, a mischievous spark lighting up her eyes. "But I did tell them, if they push too far, I'd just head back home," she said with unexpected defiance. "You won't believe the look on their faces when they heard that."
Vel could imagine the scene—his proper, saintly sister suddenly dropping her formal demeanor to deliver such an ultimatum to the Church elders. The thought made him grin.
"Try not to get burned out," he advised. "You'll find time eventually. Maybe they'll come visit me...us when Lyra's old enough."
They shared a warm smile, an unspoken bond intact despite years and diverging paths.
As the moment settled, Vel grew curious about Landre's experiences with the Church—its politics, ceremonies, and inner workings.
"How about you?" he asked, leaning forward slightly. "Did you have any trouble within the Church? Or anything cool happened?"
Landre's eyes sparkled, eager to share her personal journey within the Church. She shifted on the cushion, readying for a tale.
"The Church is more complicated than I expected," she began. "Six different sects with their own agendas, plus the politics with the Kingdom and Guild factions." Her voice dropped conspiratorially. "You should be careful here at the Academy too. I've heard the faction rivalries run just as deep."
Vel nodded, grateful for the warning. The confrontation between Celia and Lysithea proved as much.
"Luckily, I just need to follow guidance within Shizka's sect," Landre continued, "The High Priestess has been particularly protective of me since my... unusual consecration."
She paused, a smile spreading across her face as an idea seemed to strike her.
"Let me show you something," Landre said, her eyes brightening. "Give me your hand."
Vel extended his hand toward her, palm upward. Landre held it gently, her fingers cool against his skin.
She closed her eyes, reciting a short incantation under her breath. The words flowed with practiced ease, soft and melodic.
"Luxis minorem temporus."
A small mote of light appeared above Vel's palm, no larger than a firefly at first. It slowly expanded, growing to the size of a small apple, pulsing with gentle radiance. Then it seemed to hover in a fixed space where Landre positioned it.
Vel was surprised at the sight at first, but his old-world memory quickly identified it—the Conjure Light spell, a basic utility magic that had been among the first spells beginners learned in the game.
"Cool, right?" Landre grinned, looking like her old self rather than the formal Saint. "I use these when I need to read at night. It can stay for hours."
As Landre demonstrated the glowing orb, a familiar chime sounded in Vel's mind—soft and distinct, like a crystal bell ringing. His interface had registered something new.
Spell Acquired: [Conjure Light] - Luxis minorem temporus
Vel kept his expression neutral, not wanting to reveal the notification only he could perceive. But beneath his calm exterior, excitement surged through him. This wasn't just any spell—it contained two magical principles he'd been seeking.
Static positioningExtended duration.
He silently accessed his interface, examining the spell's structure while maintaining conversation with Landre. There they were—the anchoring sigil that fixed the light in place and the sustaining sigil that maintained it without continuous focus.
These weren't just components for a simple light spell. They were fundamental building blocks that could revolutionize his entire magical arsenal. Ice platforms suspended in midair, flame walls that burned independently—the possibilities were endless.
"This is incredible!" Vel said, genuine awe in his voice as he moved his hand across the light orb, watching how it remained perfectly stable despite his movement. The light cast a warm glow across his fingers without heat or fluctuation.
"Thank you, Lan-neechan," he added with heartfelt sincerity. "You don't know how much this helps me."
Landre smiled warmly, the pride of an older sister clear in her expression. "Anything for my brother."
Landre reached over and ruffled Vel's hair affectionately, her fingers gentle as they messed up his carefully combed strands.
"When did you get so smart, little brother?" she teased.
Vel pretended to duck away from her hand, but secretly enjoyed the familiar gesture. It reminded him of simpler days in Elnor, before either of them had discovered their unusual paths.
As her hand withdrew, Landre's gaze drifted toward the covered window. The light filtering through the curtains cast mottled patterns across her face. Before Vel's eyes, her expression transformed—the smile fading, replaced by the composed, serene mask she wore as Saint Landre.
"I think it's time I have to go," she said, her voice carrying a hint of sadness despite the practiced composure.
Vel nodded, understanding the weight of duty that pulled at her. The brief reunion had been stolen time, precious moments carved from rigid schedules and solemn responsibilities.
"Don't worry, Lan-neechan. Now that I'm in Lona, we'll have more chance to meet each other," Vel reassured her, though he wasn't entirely certain if that was true.
"I leave Lona tomorrow," Landre admitted, confirming his doubts. "There's a village in the northern provinces suffering from a strange illness. That's why I wanted to see you today, right this moment."
Her hands folded primly in her lap, but Vel could see her fingers twisting the fabric of her robe—a nervous habit she'd had since childhood.
"I'll be here when you come back," Vel promised, reaching out to still her fidgeting hands with his own. "The Academy isn't going anywhere, and neither am I."
Landre's smile returned briefly, small but genuine. She squeezed his hand before letting go and straightening her robes.
"Let's not keep your fellow candidates waiting," she said, composing herself fully into her saintly persona once more.
Vel stepped down from the carriage and offered his hand to Landre. As she descended, the sunlight caught the intricate embroidery on her white robes, making them shimmer with an ethereal glow. Vel couldn't tell if it was enchanted fabric or cleverly designed threads, but the effect was unmistakable. The Church certainly knows how to make an impression, he thought.
They walked toward his waiting friends, Landre following at a measured pace behind him. The reaction was immediate. Academy candidates stopped their conversations mid-sentence, turning to stare. Even instructors, particularly those with Church affiliations, showed intense interest. Several people bowed deeply as Landre passed, and she responded with graceful blessing gestures—each movement precise and practiced.
When they reached the group, Celia dipped her head respectfully. Landre greeted her with a warm smile, clearly recognizing her from their time in Elnor. Her gaze then shifted to Tomas and Mira, who stood awkwardly, unsure of proper etiquette when meeting a Saint. Landre's attention lingered longest on Hileya, something questioning in her expression as she took in the half-elf's presence.
"May your path be true, your spirit unbroken, and your light undimmed by those who see only shadows," Landre offered formally, her voice carrying just far enough for nearby students to hear the blessing.
"Until we meet again, brother," she added in a softer tone meant only for him.
Vel bowed his head slightly, maintaining proper decorum for their audience. "Thank you, Saint Landre," he replied, his tone formal but with a subtle undercurrent that only siblings would recognize.
A flicker of amusement crossed Landre's face, her composure briefly breaking into a subtle smile as she recognized his playful mimicry. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the smile faded back into her serene expression. She turned gracefully, white robes swirling around her ankles, and made her way back to the waiting carriage.
The crusader took his position on the front seat beside the driver while the woman in white robes entered after Landre, maintaining her vigilant supervision even in these final moments.
Vel watched as the carriage carrying Landre pulled away, her guards maintaining their stoic expressions even as they departed. The crowd that had gathered during her visit remained, their whispers growing louder as the carriage disappeared from view.
"Did you see her robes?"
"I heard she healed an entire village..."
"They say she was chosen directly by the goddess, not through the normal trials..."
Tomas appeared at Vel's side, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"I almost didn't believe you when you said you're the brother of Saint Landre!" Tomas exclaimed, his voice a harsh whisper. "The youngest consecrated Saint in centuries!"
Vel shifted uncomfortably as whispers rippled through the crowd. The attention made his skin crawl—exactly what he wanted to avoid. He glanced at the students whose eyes tracked his every move.
"I didn't... we didn't plan this," Vel muttered to Tomas. "She just wanted to visit."
But it was clear the Church had other ideas. The grand entrance, the formal robes, the timing during the assessment period—it couldn't have been more perfectly orchestrated to showcase the connection between an Academy candidate and one of the youngest Saints in the Kingdom's history.
Mira leaned closer, her voice low. "Is it true she was chosen directly by Shizka? The stories say light came down from the heavens during her consecration."
Vel nodded slightly, not wanting to elaborate but unable to deny what had become public knowledge.
"She's my sister first, Saint second," he said simply, hoping to end the conversation.
Students from all factions were watching him now. Some from the Church faction looked impressed, even reverent by association. Others—particularly those aligned with Royal or Guild interests—were eyeing him with newfound suspicion or calculation.
"You realize what this means, right?" Celia said as they passed through the Academy gates. "Everyone's going to be watching you now."
Vel grimaced at her painfully obvious observation. "Let's get out of here before anything else happens," he muttered, quickening his pace. "I've had enough attention for one day."
He could feel the weight of dozens of stares on his back as they walked, each gaze carrying different expectations, different judgments. Some would see him as an ally to cultivate, others as competition to eliminate. A connection to a Saint could open doors—or paint a target on his back.
The peaceful anonymity he'd hoped to maintain had vanished in the space of a single visit. Whatever challenges he'd anticipated at the Academy had suddenly multiplied, all because his sister couldn't visit without the Church turning it into a spectacle.