Mercedes Caulis – 50th Floor:
At the round table, Ellenor straightened in her seat, sighing as she nodded to Patri across from her.
"Fana's doing fine. As for Selia… well, it's complicated."
Patri raised a brow, hiding his grimace expertly. "Your people still find it hard to accept her?"
Ellenor rubbed her forehead, groaning slightly. She didn't want to go through this conversation again, so she looked to her left.
Offering her Vander a slight smile from her seat, Lefiya nodded and explained patiently.
"As a High Elf capable of summoning the Kingswood—and the only elf, well, besides you, possessing light magic—Selia's existence should be a cause of celebration and pride for our people."
Patri scoffed. "Then why isn't she?"
He already knew the answer, yet he hoped that after six long years, it might have finally changed.
Ellenor snorted.
"You know why. She's a half-elf. Her existence itself is taboo. Her talent for magic is great… not as good as mine, mind you, but few of our people can match her."
She leaned back, arms folding.
"And that would be fine if she were fully elf. But…"
"But her human side—her human bloodline—makes the oh-so-prideful and purist elves, especially the royal family, uncomfortable."
Patri finished for her, darkly.
Ellenor nodded again before sighing.
"Honestly, this is your fault."
Patri smiled, unpleased. "And how so?"
Ellenor pointed a finger at him. "You're a light mage."
Patri nodded. "Yes, I am."
"You've also demonstrated your ability to summon the Kingswood, making you a High Elf."
Patri nodded again, this time lying through his teeth. "Yes, I did."
He honestly didn't think he could be considered a High Elf.
Sure, Selia definitely seemed to be—effortlessly performing the feat after one look in a storybook, much like Ellenor had done years ago.
But his case was unique.
Selia Silvamillion was from Elysia.
One of the descendants of his old world's elf chief, Licht, and his human wife, Tetia.
After Tetia escaped the elf massacre, she took refuge under the tree spirit Dryad, at the edge of Heart. There, she founded the village of Elysia and gave birth to her twins.
Her son—whose soul would one day reincarnate into Yuno—was stillborn.
But their daughter was miraculously born healthy, thanks to Nero's timely aid.
Tetia gave her the last name Silvamillion, feeling betrayed by her people and alienated by her kingdom after learning of her brother's death—killed in battle against her husband, who had turned into an Ancient Demon.
She believed Clover was no longer worthy of its name.
Instead, she saw her daughter as her brother's true descendant.
That daughter eventually grew up and married someone from Heart.
Their lineage continued, and over the decades, intermarriage—and eventually incest—to preserve both the Silvamillion bloodline and the remnants of elven heritage, gave rise to the half-elf clan of Elysia.
But like most of the world, they were devastated during the Celestial Hosts invasion.
Only two elves—Patri and Fana—and two half-elves managed to escape alive.
Selia and her older brother.
The two youngest residents of Elysia. Just seven and sixteen when they fled their home.
Selia inherited her ancestral uncle's light magic.
Her brother, their ancestral mother's wind magic.
The two of them bore the blood of Licht and Tetia—the final legacies of the elven age.
So when they uncovered their status as High Elves during their travels to Alfswood, upon arriving in Paradise, Patri thought it only natural.
Licht may have been the chieftain of their tribe, but to his people, he was a king.
So it made sense that the descendants of the Elven King and the Royal Princess would be elves of the highest order.
But for Patri, his existence as a High Elf—well, he attributed that to something else entirely.
Fana, for her part, wasn't one.
She was by Alfswood's standards, merely a normal elf, despite being an Apostle of Sephira.
So that clearly wasn't a criterion for High Elf status.
Because he was one too.
There were two possibilities.
One: it was due to him also being a "chosen one," a former holder of a four-leaf grimoire.
Or two—and perhaps the more likely reason—was that he once shared a body with the wielder of World Tree Magic, a magic so vast that the Kingswood paled in comparison.
Whenever Patri summoned the Kingswood, what he actually pictured through his fantasies were fragments of William casting spells—almost as if seen through his own eyes.
First-person memories.
Perhaps it was a mix of both possibilities in play.
Still, in his case, Patri just thought he was cheating.
So, he had no reason to bring that up.
He wondered what the elves would think if they ever met his soulmate in person—especially when he undoes his curse.
Would they venerate him like some kind of elven god?
Well… that was a thought for another time.
Shaking his head clear, he frowned.
"So what do these things have to do with Selia's acceptance?"
Ellenor rolled her eyes, looking to Lefiya once more.
The adjutant responded on her behalf.
"The main issue surrounding Selia, beyond her human side, is that her lineage is unknown."
"You could've easily passed as her father. If you and Fana had just declared yourselves her parents—claimed to be descendants of some elves who fled Alfswood centuries ago—things would've been simple."
"Sure, there'd be curiosity about the how or why, but Lady Ellenor could've shut the High Council up by force. They wouldn't even know she was a half-elf."
"But you two insisted on emphasizing that you were her aunt and uncle, and that she was a half-blood—putting her under a spotlight of scrutiny."
"Now the Council demands to know who her parents were. And not just hers, but where all of you came from."
Patri frowned but crossed his arms and resolutely shook his head.
"Annoying, but I don't regret it. I won't deny that child her parents—even for her sake—through some ruse. She loved them deeply."
Ellenor shrugged.
"Well, I don't know anything about parental affection, so I can't really say I understand. But the bigger issue on the table is—what are you going to do?"
She chuckled.
"Are you going to fess up that you're from beyond the Great Barrier or something? That'd certainly render them speechless."
Ellenor could almost picture their faces—imagining how they'd react to learning that elves weren't such a special race after all.
There were more of them once.
In another realm. Maybe even in several realms and dimensions across the cosmos.
She looked forward to their pride being shattered.
Those pieces of shit, making me push away my dear Wignall… I can't wait to see the looks on your faces…
Patri shook his head. "Not at all. Well, at least not anytime soon."
Ellenor pouted, disappointed. "Then? What will you do?"
Patri shrugged. "Nothing."
Filvis blanked behind her mask.
"Nothing?"
He nodded. "You elves only care for strength. The fact that you still touch and talk to Selia proves your people do acknowledge her, at least to some extent."
"Her abilities are second to few among your kind."
"If there are still doubts, let her settle them herself. The new batch of graduates will arrive at the tower in a week or so, correct?"
Ellenor nodded, maintaining her indifferent facade—though inwardly, she was already anticipating her reunion with her brother.
"Yes. What of it?"
Patri smiled. "Selia's thirteen now. Call Fana back from Alfswood and have her bring Selia into the tower."
Although that made her decades younger than most elves, the Vander in front of him was only about thirteen or fourteen mentally—making her not much different than Selia.
Sure, Selia and her brother had mutated upon arrival in Paradise.
They'd gained fantasy magic and extended lifespans, just like him.
But the extent of that latter change seemed slightly reduced due to their half-elf origins.
Their physical and mental ages remained far closer to normal—especially considering their mature upbringing in Elysia.
It wasn't unheard of to enter the tower as young as ten.
So Selia was more than ready.
"She will shut them up by displaying her strength and talent. Her lineage will become irrelevant."
Ellenor blinked but nodded.
"Sure. I heard she's been missing her brother dearly. So it's certainly time for a reunion."
She tilted her head slightly. "How's Sylor doing, anyway?"
Patri shrugged again. "I don't know."
Ellenor sneered. "You seem to know everything—except when I ask."
"Honestly, why do I even take heat for a jerk like you?"
The eye-patched, blonde-haired elf sighed and parted his mouth to explain.
"I was out, running around with that dwarf—doing Aaron's bidding and errands. Last I heard, he left with the Wind Chief and one other for a dungeon dive and a trip to Samios."
"They're not picking up their maser, so they're likely in the former. And the fact that my team never came across them when returning from our expedition either meant they were in the latter at the time… or simply that fate forbade it."
"Where they are now, as well as when they will return is beyond me. But I'm sure it won't be long."
Ellenor cocked her head, slumping back in her seat.
"With Pretty Boy, huh? Honestly, of all your little friends in the tower, he interests me the most."
Patri beamed.
"Well, you could say he's quite… special."
"I don't doubt it. Regardless, I help you simply because we need more talent for the Fated Day. I don't spill your background to anyone, because this isn't my home."
"And as long as you sincerely want to help with the upcoming calamity, I don't make a habit of creating unnecessary enemies."
Patri raised a brow as she leaned forward, speaking in a low, warning tone.
"That all being said, although I don't care much for it, this tower and city are of the utmost importance to Paradise—and by extension, Alfswood."
"So whatever you little spies are doing in the shadows, make sure you don't mess it up. Or I'll be the first one to screw you over."
Patri beamed even brighter.
"We'd never think of it."
Ellenor rolled her eyes but said nothing more.
She hopped off her chair and headed for the doors, Lefiya and Filvis following her in twos like dutiful shadows.
And Patri?
Well, he saw them off with that same harmless—and almost exaggeratingly so—friendly smile.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Caldron Anouve's Office:
The next morning, Edward Serfence stood outside Rigarden Academy's Headmistress's front doors—bright and early.
He waited a moment, then cleared his throat and gently knocked.
Rap! Rap!
"Headmistress Caldron… you wanted to see me?"
A moment later, her aged voice rang out—clear, friendly, and joyous.
"Yes, Edward! Please! Come inside!"
The dark mage furrowed his brows and frowned, but stepped in as the doors swung open for him.
He marched across the grand room, which could've passed for a lecture hall, and stopped in front of Caldron's desk, his face impassive.
The Headmistress didn't waste time.
With a wave of her wand, a paper floated from her drawer, gliding past Edward's face.
When he read the title, his heart sank.
Final Exam: History and Origins of Magic
Name: Will Serfort
The paper dropped back down onto Caldron's desk, clearing the space between them.
Only then did Edward notice—her signature smile was gone.
She spoke calmly, yet with unmistakable firmness.
"Professor Serfence, I trust you know what this is about?"
Silence fell across the room.
Tick tock.
Vroom.
The only sounds were the ticking of the grandfather clock and the soft whirl of the massive magical cauldron floating behind her.
Edward clenched his fists.
Then he exhaled, relaxed them, straightened himself to his full height, and bowed deeply, deferentially.
"Yes, Headmistress."
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Meanwhile:
Tmp!
Thump!
Clang!
Clang!
Finn stood atop Rigarden Academy's highest terrace, peeking over the balcony railings as the city's reconstruction and restoration pressed on below.
Mages carefully reassembled chunks of shattered buildings with levitation spells, while dwarves hammered them into place—or built entirely new support beams where needed.
They even hoisted objects far too heavy for magic alone, slinging them casually over their backs.
Finn watched it all unfold, one arm propped on the railing like a man watching a stage play.
"That's Rigarden for you. Leave it to the dwarves to make a place good as new that quickly."
As the dwarven guide continued peering out over the city, he leaned into the railing—despite neither of his feet touching the ground.
Or anything solid, for that matter.
That was… strange.
Either he had incredible upper body strength to hold that posture so casually from such an awkward angle—or he was actually floating.
Did Finn have powers? Magic?
No, surely not. He was just a dwarf. Supposedly magicless…
Right?
Yes. Definitely. It had to be his dwarven physique.
After amusing himself with the thought, the dwarf pulled his hands away from the railing and stuffed them into his pockets.
Yet… he remained suspended.
Hup.
For one second—just one—he hovered there in midair, as if standing on an invisible platform.
Strange.
Very strange.
Either his boots were enchanted with some sort of anti-gravity spell—or he was really different from his dwarven brethren.
Turning around with a smile, he chuckled—only to pause.
Inside the academy, he noticed a familiar head of hair leaning back against the window, unmoving.
As if watching him.
Or rather, waiting for him.
His smile never wavered as he casually stepped through the doorway, crossing from the terrace back into the school hall.
Sure enough, the Watcher's gaze was fixed directly on him.
"Invess."
She called out, a slight frown on her face, her expression edged with disapproval.
Finn didn't seem to mind. He kept smiling like nothing was wrong.
Though his words hinted otherwise.
"Hey there, Iris. Good to see you survived."
He spread one arm lazily.
"I could've sworn I told you to stop calling me that. You know I don't care for that name."
The Watcher nearly snorted behind her fake glasses.
"Then it's perfect. I don't care for you at all."
Finn sighed, his gaze dropping slightly in exasperation.
"You really never change, do you?"
Then he smiled again.
But this time, it wasn't harmless.
It wasn't affectionate, or sincere.
It was patronizing.
And challenging.
"Well… why'd you stop me if you don't care for me?"
Clench.
Iris slowly pulled something from beneath her academy robe.
A metal chain, with a sword-shaped ornament—clutched tightly in her hand, her expression twisted with conflict.
"Please leave Will alone."
There was desperation in her voice. Finn almost heard it.
His smile softened… then turned to one of faint pity, as her face grew more pained and resigned.
"If you get involved, it'll only push the clock forward. And if that happens… he won't be able to stop himself."
Silence settled between them.
She toyed with the chain absentmindedly.
Finn tilted his head, hands on his hips, speaking with a teasing lilt.
"Now that's something I didn't expect to hear. Not from a Watcher like you. Don't tell me you've fallen for him?"
Iris jolted upright, her head snapping toward him—cheeks flushing beet red.
"W-what?! No! W-why would you say—"
She froze.
Finn had already begun walking past her.
"Iris, I'm sorry to have to tell you this…"
For a moment, he sounded almost sincere.
"…But I will be taking him."
Her eyes widened.
Then she hung her head, silent.
She knew there was nothing she could say.
Nothing she could do to stop him.
This was beyond her.
Beyond Finn.
Beyond Will.
This was about Paradise's salvation.
And her wishes—her selfish, private wishes—were insignificant.
Hands in his pockets, Finn walked farther down the corridor, his smile finally fading.
"Today's the graduation ceremony… play-time's over, Caldron."
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Creak.
That same morning, Will rose from his bed in what was now his dorm room alone—though just yesterday, it had belonged to someone else too.
The floorboards groaned under his feet as he stepped forward.
He made his way to the bathroom, rinsing his hands and rubbing the sleep from his eyes over the sink.
Splish.
He washed his face, then slowly looked up to face the mirror.
"My hair… it's back to normal. I wonder why it changed color before…"
He needed answers.
But who was he supposed to ask?
Finn?
His master?
Or maybe even…
He turned, gaze drifting to the other desk in the room—once Rosti's.
On it sat his goggles… and Kiki, who let out a soft purr.
"Mreow!"
"Rosti…" Will murmured, pain lacing his voice.
He clutched his chest and sank into the artificer's seat as Kiki leapt into his lap, curling into place.
He stared out the window, absentmindedly running a hand through the Carbuncle's fur.
His eyes narrowed.
Last night had been chaos, heartbreaking even, but it was his dreams that left him disturbed the most.
He'd shattered the Devander into ice—just as it had done to Rosti.
It had felt like justice.
But only while dreaming did he realize how strange it all was.
Why did Rosti shatter into ice to begin with?
Why would a living, breathing human dissolve into mist and fog instead of blood?
There was only one answer that made sense.
One spell he knew all too well.
El Glasse Frosse, spell one: Ars Weiss.
A technique that allowed one to make a clone of themselves.
He only knew two people capable of casting it.
The first—its creator, his childhood friend, Elfaria.
The second… Julius.
And he was certain no one else had mastered it.
If they had, they'd be boasting just like Julius always did.
Which meant…
Rosti… wasn't Rosti.
He was someone else entirely.
And definitely not Julius.
Not only because, last Will heard, Julius was nowhere near the level required to make such a precise, human-like clone.
Only a certain genius—forever lodged in his heart and mind—could pull off something like that.
And if that was the case…
Suddenly, a lot of things started to make sense.
Why Rosti had been so kind to him from the very beginning.
Why he always acted like they were already best friends—meant for each other. Soulmates, even.
So much like another person…
Someone whose similarities he had never noticed before, only because he thought they were complete opposites—one a boy, one a girl.
But if Rosti was just a clone, a magical construct…
That changed everything.
It explained why he'd stayed by Will's side through the bullying.
Why he'd helped him with his studies, made magic tools for him for free, even worked shifts at Gina's to help pay his tuition—never asking for anything in return except a smile.
It explained how he knew all of Will's likes and dislikes.
How he fretted over every one of Will's gray hairs…
Just like she used to.
It explained why he cooked for him.
Cleaned after him.
Covered for him.
And—ultimately—why he'd sacrificed himself without hesitation.
"Elfi… this whole time were you…" Will bit his lip.
He felt loved.
But also conflicted.
And devastated.
Because if Rosti—one of his dearest friends, maybe even his best friend—wasn't real…
Was it all just a lie?
Was he even real?
Were their conversations, their late-night talks, the warmth of having someone who understood him—was it all pre-written?
All a given… because of who she really was?
Who he really was?
Will wished he could see her.
Just once.
Right now, he felt like he could.
Even if Rosti had been using transformation magic, he was sure his ki could see through it.
He could find the truth.
But he wouldn't.
He couldn't.
Because he wasn't going to the tower.
Not yet.
Not ever.
He was still one credit short.
And so he couldn't see her.
Will hung his head.
In despair.
He just wanted to know—Who was Rosti Nauman?
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Later That Day:
In the grand assembly hall of Rigarden Academy, several individuals sat scattered across the middle and back rows.
Among them were first through fifth-year students, dropping by to watch the ceremony and see their upperclassmen off.
At the very back sat family members and friends of the graduates.
Asta and Noelle were among the crowd, with little Nigel nestled snugly in his father's lap.
Moments later, from both sides of the hall, the sixth-years began walking in—slow and solemn—as they took their seats at the front.
Will, naturally among them, couldn't bring himself to meet anyone's eyes.
He felt like he'd failed them.
Like he'd wasted their time.
Like he'd let them all down.
Asta and Noelle grimaced but remained silent, watching politely.
Soon, the lights dimmed.
A spotlight fell over the center stage, where Caldron stood behind a wooden podium.
Her voice echoed through the hall as she began reciting her well-rehearsed lines.
"Magical Doctrine Number One: The Great Mage Queen said, 'Rejoice and be merry.'"
"'Whether it blooms or blooms not, when the bud looks skyward, there will be flowers in heaven.'"
She scanned the audience.
Her smile grew brighter.
Behind her stood several sixth-year teachers, each dressed in crisp military uniforms adorned with medals—honors from their time in the Tower.
One infamous source of nightmares, however, was notably absent.
Few paid it any mind.
Some were too distracted by Caldron's words.
Others found it unsurprising that the cruel professor hadn't even shown up to his own students' graduation.
"Many lives were lost in the tragic Terminalia. Among them—mages, dwarves, civilians, professors… and even students."
Students in the audience frowned.
Their eyes shimmered, holding back tears and frustration, unwilling to mar what was meant to be a happy occasion.
Still, Caldron's tone remained solemn as she pressed on.
"To all who risked life and limb to protect our people… to safeguard the flowers of paradise… we offer our deepest condolences and our greatest respect."
For a moment, it seemed like Caldron truly meant to turn the ceremony into a funeral eulogy.
For a moment.
"But we can hang our heads no longer!"
She exclaimed it with such force that it jolted both the students and the grieving audience from their gloom.
"Mercedes Caulis has been threatened. It may be that the tragedy was not an end, but rather a bell tolling for disasters to come."
"It is the duty of this school to take the hopes of generations cultivated here… and send them into the future."
"All we do is to uphold the sky! And so now… we will begin the Rigarden Magical Academy graduation ceremony."
Workner Norgram stepped forward to the lectern to take her place—no sign of injury or fatigue on him, despite being impaled clean through the stomach just the night before.
"Students of the 401st class, please stand and take your places in front of the dais. Please approach when your name is called and receive your diploma."
In a near-perfect file, students began circulating around the stage from the very back.
One by one, they caught their diplomas as Caldron sent them out with a flick of magic, while Workner called each name.
"Arlan Yulder."
"Jay Jewlz."
"Rebecca Elthar."
"Will Serfort."
As Will stepped forward to claim his diploma, he was forced to meet Workner's gaze.
He gave his professor a small, forced smile.
To his surprise, Workner smiled back—mischievous, meaningful, and deliberate.
What was that?
"Taylor Frost."
Will blinked in confusion but continued on.
There was no time to linger.
He didn't think much of it.
Just chalked it up to his beloved professor trying to cheer him up again.
A few minutes later, Workner gave a bow and stepped back from the lectern.
"I hereby certify that the 250 students just named, having completed the full curriculum, have officially graduated from Rigarden Academy."
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
Light, polite applause rippled through the audience as the sixth-years returned to their seats.
Caldron once again stepped forward to address the hall.
Her voice rang out, amplified by a communication spell woven into the lectern.
"And finally, I will now announce the individuals who will be advancing to the Tower."
"Please approach the dais when your name is called."
"You will be presented with a Hat of Mercedes, which qualifies you to ascend."
Another string of names followed—this time with even more prestige behind them.
"Class Valedictorian, Lihanna Owenzaus. Total credits: 12,000."
"Salutatorian, Wignall Lindorr. Total credits: 11,989."
"Julius Reinberg. Total credits: 11,802."
"Sion Ulster. Total credits: 11,801."
"Renaisse Arette. Total credits: 9,655."
"Colette Loire. Total credits: 9,024."
"Rose Prehnite. Total credits: 9,021."
"Jorua Moraine. Total credits: 8,702."
"Lyril Marze…"
Name after name was called.
Will tried to smile at his friends as they stepped onto the stage, one after the other.
He really did.
But the smile never reached his eyes.
Normally, he was a humble person.
An understanding person.
A forgiving person.
But today…
Today, he felt envious.
Jealous.
He felt a deep sense of injustice—like he'd been cheated.
Like he'd done everything right… only to lose on a technicality.
He should have been up there.
He belonged up there.
With them.
Amongst them.
Yet all he could do was look up from below—just as he had for six long years, staring at the Tower as his most precious person left him behind.
And now they would too.
They would ascend, each one reaching for the sky…
While he stayed grounded.
Boots on the floor.
Like the magicless mortal he still was.
As the Tower-bound students lined up neatly behind Caldron, she leaned toward the magical mic and spoke:
"I hereby certify that these 49 students have earned all the required credits and will advance to the Tower."
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
Another round of applause rang out.
It made Will feel sick.
He closed his eyes and sighed, the weight in his chest heavy and dull.
He whispered yet another apology into the silence of his thoughts.
I'm sorry.
To his master.
To Workner.
To his friends.
To Kiki.
To Colette.
And to her, most of all.
Or perhaps… to them.
I'm sorry, Elfie (Rosti).
The applause was cut short as Caldron, unexpectedly, spoke again.
"However, there is one more student whom I wish to recognize."
"This student fulfilled the alternate graduation requirement at the very last moment. Just last night, in fact."
The audience froze.
Will's eyes snapped open, magenta irises contracting.
He didn't dare hope.
Not again.
But her words made it hard not to.
"As I'm sure you're all aware, there are two orthodox paths toward advancement to the Tower. The standard one is to accumulate 7,200 credits… and the other is to invent a spell."
Will stiffened.
Gulp.
He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat thick and audible.
From the stage, Team Lihanna exchanged glances—hope rising visibly on their faces as Caldron continued.
"This student's spell not only lifted many out of the depths of despair… but also saved countless lives—and the very capital itself."
Asta and Noelle shot up from their chairs, startling Nigel in the process.
The infant let out a loud grunt and smacked Asta with his pudgy fist, brows scrunched in irritation.
Asta didn't even notice.
Caldron raised her arms, spreading them wide with dramatic flair.
"This is truly a stunning achievement… a rare and glorious feat worthy of praise."
Workner chuckled proudly as Caldron's gaze swept across the student body.
Then it settled—squarely—on one No-Talent, who sat frozen, clinging to her every word.
"The name of his spell… is Courage."
"Will Serfort. Please step forward!"
The No-Talent couldn't help but smile as tears welled in his eyes.
Even as he noticed the uncomfortable stares.
Even as he felt the stink-eye.
Even as the hushed murmurs buzzed all around him.
He no longer cared.
He no longer hesitated.
He deserved this.
So he stepped onto the stage.
Behind him, Caldron turned back to address the crowd.
"I have no doubt that some will object to this decision! Nonetheless… if you agree that his courage is indeed magical, please give him a warm round of applause!"
The audience exchanged wary glances.
Asta and Noelle wanted to cheer—desperately—but paused for just a moment.
They understood something critical.
If they were the first to clap, the hive mind would follow.
But it would be hollow applause.
A forced wave, spurred by strangers.
They were nobodies to most here.
The lead had to come from someone known.
Someone not tied to Will in the way they are.
Only then would it mean something.
For Will.
And for the people watching.
Only then would it be real recognition.
Clap.
Everyone froze, sure they had misheard.
But then it came again.
Clap.
And again.
Clap.
All eyes turned to the Ulster heir.
Sion stood upright, his hands meeting in a steady rhythm.
And he wasn't the only one.
"Bah-un!"
Twack!
Twack!
Rather than a proper clap, it was more like a clumsy attempt to imitate one.
Nigel, sitting in Asta's arms, giggled as he smacked his tiny hands together.
Asta and Noelle blinked.
Then exchanged a look.
And smiled, joining in.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
And it wasn't just them.
Colette.
Clap.
Lihanna.
Clap.
Wignall.
Clap.
Workner.
Clap.
Even Julius—much to the shock of most of the students.
Clap.
And then, the wave took over.
The entire audience erupted into applause, cheers, and even a few whistles.
"Whoooo!"
Will blushed, glancing back at Caldron, who gently placed the ceremonial hat on his head.
The applause threatened to swell louder—until Caldron raised a single hand.
Silence fell instantly.
The crowd looked at her, puzzled.
A complex expression crossed Workner's face.
His smile faded as he quietly turned and exited through the back of the hall.
Eliza watched him go.
Tempted to speak—she chose not to.
Caldron gave a small chuckle as she addressed the crowd.
"I actually forgot to mention one thing."
The crowd blinked, waiting.
"Due to some reports of foul play, Will's final exam was reviewed… by me, personally."
Will froze in place.
"I found those reports to be true, and hereby announce he received full marks on his magical history exam—earning 6 additional credits. That brings his total to 7,205."
The crowd stared blankly.
Caldron threw up her arms with a grin.
"That means Will has fulfilled both graduation requirements, becoming the first student in our history to do so! Isn't that wonderful?!"
The crowd—and Will—went completely slack-jawed.
"HUH?!"
"W-WHAT?!"
"NO WAY?!"
Unbothered by their disbelief, Caldron continued with her closing remarks.
"Let us all bear witness that these fifty students are hereby approved to advance to the Tower!"
"I name you the Generation of Disquiet, as surely you will face a turbulent future… filled with countless trials."
"But I pray that you shall reach the heavens—and vanquish the demons that would do us harm!"
Still a little shaken, Team Lihanna—Colette leading the charge—tackled Will to the ground, tears of joy spilling from their eyes.
The hall erupted once more into cheers.
Up above the auditorium, from the viewing gallery, Finn stood with his hands in his pockets, peering downward with a chuckle.
"You sure are a greedy one, Caldron. Snatching him from me like this—so shamelessly."
The dwarven guide stifled another laugh.
His smile turned sly as he tilted his head.
"Fine then. If you won't play fair, I see no reason to honor our bargain… I think I'll pass my free time with another Sword."
Amidst the crowd, Asta slowly raised his head—his sharp green eyes locking onto the balcony above.
They flickered, cold.
Finn met the stare with a bright, unbothered smile.
"…"
The magicless swordsman forced his expression calm again, his usual grin returning.
He turned back to Will, rejoining Noelle and Nigel in the celebration.
But his eyes didn't lose their edge.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Sitting atop the rooftop of the auditorium, legs dangling over the edge, was an androgynous male figure.
The cheers below echoed faintly in his ears.
His face—if Will were to see it—would shake him to the core.
And answer all his doubts in one instant.
Because this person was supposed to be dead.
Rosti smiled brightly, his cheeks flushed with pride.
Far above, at the top of the Tower, Elfaria Albis Serfort did the same.
And then, as though from one soul in two places, they spoke in perfect unison—voices overlapping:
"You did it, Will… congratulations. I've waited so long… and finally, we can be together again."
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
"..."
Edward Serfence stood at Rigarden's gates, a cardboard box in his arms.
It held only a few belongings—nothing sentimental.
Just practical items.
His very few clothes.
Some books.
Research notes.
Magical tools.
A few elixirs.
The essentials of any mage.
So very like him.
As the cheers from the auditorium reached his ears, he sighed.
Taking one last glance at the academy, he turned, prepared to leave.
But then…
"Ed."
That voice.
That nickname.
It froze him in place.
He grimaced slightly, schooled his expression, and turned back around.
"Workner," he said, nodding with detached calm.
Workner Nogram studied him in silence for a beat… then forced a laugh.
"You really are quite cruel. You've watched over them for six years. Couldn't you have at least stayed for their big day before vanishing?"
Edward snorted.
"Did you forget you had me fired? Proper protocol demands that the terminated leave school premises immediately after clearing their desk. Loitering is an intolerable offense."
Workner winced and scratched the back of his head, sheepish.
"O-Oh yeah… I did do that…"
For a moment, he looked genuinely apologetic.
But, like clockwork, his face hardened again.
He shook his head.
"I don't regret it. You went too far this time."
Edward paused.
Then, with a calm nod, he replied—"Perhaps I did."
Workner blinked, then his features softened. He whispered,
"So…? Where are you off to now? Returning home?"
"We both know I don't have one."
Workner clenched his jaw.
"Just answer the question, Ed."
Edward sighed softly, then replied,
"I think… I think I'm going to the back. To the Tower."
Workner froze, eyes widening behind his glasses.
He was shocked, to say the least.
"R-really?!"
Edward chewed his lip and shrugged.
"I'm considering it. Nothing set in stone yet. It's just…"
"Just?"
Edward cleared his throat and locked eyes with Workner.
"It's just that I think you're right—about me running away from the Tower, venting my insecurities and heartbreak on everyone else, making it their problem instead of facing the root cause."
"I need to face him. Cariott. I need to face them. Tenebrias Noctane. And maybe… I need to give my foolish dream another shot. Because it's clear I can't let things go."
Workner clenched his fist.
"And? Then what? What if you fail again?"
Edward shrugged.
"Then I'll try again. Every year, you can challenge the Vander. Although this was close, the Terminalia happens every year. So I'll keep trying—climbing the Tower, training, and challenging the Vander for their seats. Over and over again."
"Until I succeed.
Or at least until I'm satisfied, knowing this time I gave it my all and tried everything, instead of running away with my tail between my legs after one loss."
Workner blinked.
Then his expression softened, and he shook his head with a chuckle.
"Well, when that happens, maybe drop by here. I'll keep an assistant position open for you."
Edward snorted.
"I'm not that desperate, thank you."
Even as he said that, the dark Viper mage smiled.
It left Workner breathless.
Since his loss to Cariott, he had never seen his best friend smile so genuinely—free of malevolence or cynicism.
Edward nodded.
"Well, if there's nothing else—"
"There is, actually."
Edward sighed, wishing he had a free hand to rub his incoming migraine.
"What is it, Workner?"
Workner Nogram stepped closer, until they were face to face, inches apart.
"If you do choose to return to the Tower… look after those kids for me, alright?"
Edward blinked.
"H-huh?"
"Like I said—they're your students too. And I know you care for them, in your own sick way… even Will."
"You were right about the Tower being cruel and unforgiving. I shudder to think what those in the Upper Institute might think of Will, especially. So please, Ed—look after them. For me. For you. For them."
The Dark Viper mage was speechless.
His brows furrowed before he calmly straightened up and turned away, as if the conversation never happened.
"Goodbye, Workner Norgram."
And then he walked off.
Even as he did, Workner smiled.
Because he knew what kind of softie his best friend was, deep down.
"Bye, Ed."
He watched him go until he was just a speck in the distance.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
As Edward passed through the streets—now swiftly being rebuilt—he mulled over where to stay for the night.
And, more importantly, what to do with his life.
Where he should go.
Who he should be.
He stopped mid-step.
An empty alleyway stretched out to his right.
Turning to scrutinize it, he glanced over his shoulder.
No passerby spared him even a second look.
Suspicious.
Narrowing his eyes, he stepped inside.
His voice came low—quiet, yet firm.
"Who is it? I warn you, I'm not some common riffraff to bully or mug."
Not that I have anything of particular worth on me, he thought wryly.
Vroom.
The wall ahead darkened—its surface bending, rippling.
Then a pitch-black gate appeared on it.
From the shadowed portal, a cloaked figure stepped through.
Edward stared flatly.
He didn't even bother reaching for his wand.
He simply narrowed his eyes.
The figure's pale blue gaze peeked out from beneath the hood.
He spoke in a voice calm and serious—almost mirroring Edward's own.
"Edward Serfence. May I have a moment of your time?"
The Dark Viper mage raised a brow, mildly surprised.
It seemed his future was about to be decided for him.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Author's Notes:
[1] Another anime vs. manga difference: in the anime, humans are called Rhizanth, while in the manga and light novel, they're referred to as Lyzance.
Which term do you prefer?
[2] Selia and Sylor are the same half-elves seen in Black Clover Chapter 256: Elysia. I just gave them names.
[3] If you'd like to chat, discuss the story, or hang out, feel free to join the Discord: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar