Zen Felix had read nearly every ancient tome hidden deep within the underground library—the Vault of Silent—a place where time lost its meaning and the outside world vanished into a near-eternal hush.
For Zen, isolation had become the only option. The world above hunted him. His every breath was a target of the empire. Yet in this silent chamber, he continued to train, to plunge deeper into the secrets of his power. He unearthed the fire buried within himself.
Then one day, he discovered a worn book, its cover cracked, the scent of dust and time lingering in the air. Its title: Vorellum—a magical manuscript that taught an ancient art of mastering power and emotion, of taming the fire that raged from within.
"Vel drakth'uun elvoria, suvorreth al'kai morvun drel en'akheron.
Vel na'mira zelvein kael'thur, liora'meth kal draen vey lunara."
— Zerundra Velin Trin'Kael (Fragment of the Third Soul)
Zen whispered the verse in stillness. He sat cross-legged, his soul aligned with the chant, his mind sharpened, his heart locked on the center of his strength. With slow and deliberate motion, he slipped off the Hadrian Ring from his finger—a black seal that had long silenced his darker side.
"He who does not know himself will be burned by his own fire.
But he who embraces his wounds will forge from them a weapon of light."
Zen gazed inward. His body had changed. Strong. Controlled. Within the silent walls of that library, he honed both his physical prowess and spiritual discipline solely through the inherited knowledge of the Celestian Empire. He absorbed the combat techniques of legendary warriors... through mere words and symbols on ancient, yellowing pages.
But one question lingered, like a whisper that refused to fade:
Why did his body so easily accept the techniques of the Celestian seraphim—when, as forbidden scrolls foretold, he was destined to become Xarveth Khaedrûn—the Prince of Darkness?
Days slipped by, leaving no trace. Time had lost its grasp. And yet, one message echoed in his mind: Grovernborn's prophecy—of his reunion with Lumina, when she turned seventeen and would arrive on the island of Mataland. That was the only reason Zen remained in the Vault of Silent. He waited. Patiently. Through burning silence.
And at last, in the sixth month... footsteps broke the stillness.
Matale da Luna.
The elderly woman emerged at the edge of the stairwell's shadows, startled to find Zen Felix levitating midair, executing Celestian Heiron battle movements with uncanny precision.
"Do you feel no rejection from your body when absorbing techniques from the White Empire?" Matale asked, brow furrowed.
Zen turned. "Ma'am?" he murmured in disbelief.
"You haven't stepped outside this chamber in six months. It's as if you've drained every ounce of energy from this place," she said, half in awe, half in worry.
Zen gave a faint smile. "This place... feels like home. Its energy teaches me control. I don't feel lost. In fact... I feel protected."
Matale studied him for a long moment. "Perhaps you're the only human who truly finds comfort living within boundaries. But doesn't this chamber feel like a prison to you? Don't you miss the outside world? The open air?"
Zen slowly shook his head. "This library has walls—but those walls have never confined my thoughts, never dulled my strength, and could never touch my soul."
Matale exhaled. "Very well. I know you don't like being disturbed. But this... you need to hear."
Her eyes locked with his, deep and unwavering.
"Lumina has been captured by the Celestian Empire. They're torturing her, trying to force her to reveal your whereabouts. But she remains silent—even after months of interrogation."
Zen froze. His body tensed. His eyes sharpened.
"Roneris Valtore is out there now. He's demanding the ancient scroll Dominium Interna. All five white empires have united to hunt you. Roneris calls you a threat to world stability. And Lumina... they believe she's the key."
Matale lowered her gaze for a moment, then spoke softly, "I won't betray this place. But if Lumina is being harmed because of you... then you must choose. Stay hidden—or face them. The decision is yours. But I... I trust Lumina's faith in you."
With a swift motion of her hand, Matale summoned the ancient scroll of Dominium Interna. The manuscript floated through the air, hovering above Zen before gently landing in his hands. Without another word, she ascended the stairs. In a blink, her shadow vanished... and the stairs dissolved, as if they'd never been there.
Zen remained still.
His heart thundered—but he held it in.
Lumina... was suffering. Because of him.
And the wound he thought he had mastered—had just begun to burn again.
"Matale, you have to return to the empire!" Roneris's voice rasped, nearly breaking, carrying a weight he could no longer bear. "We need you. The empire is falling apart. The Prime Minister insists on imprisoning Lumina, and... even Emperor Bower da Lucia has agreed. Since Hadrian's death, the Celestian Empire has plummeted into disarray... everything is in chaos."
Matale stood with quiet grace, unmoved by the urgency. Her breath long. Her eyes stared out the window toward the calm sea, as if seeking answers from the wind.
"Roneris, do you know?" her voice was deep, steeped in old memories. "I took this island by force—after a brutal war with Alistair Noctis. And even after I chose retirement and exile, Hadrian... he sent every noble and every precious manuscript here, asking me to guard them in this remote island."
She sighed, heavily. "Imagine this, in my twilight years, all I longed for was peace. Far from magic, far from the games of power. But still... they entrusted me with what most deem trivial—ancient manuscripts. And yet, preserving the truth within these old pages... is far heavier than guarding any throne. And now you want me back? For what, Roneris?"
Roneris lowered his head for a moment, but his voice remained firm.
"Matale, we may have many gifted youths in the empire. But that's not enough if the prophecy is true—if the Xarveth Khaedrûn, the Prince of Darkness, truly rises as foretold."
Matale scoffed. "Prophecies... they do nothing but distort the path of men. If the future is shaped by fear embedded in prophecy, then we are nothing but slaves to an uncertain fate."
Without another word, Matale moved to the main shelf. She lifted an ancient book bound in dragonhide and handed it to him.
"This book... Dominium Interna. The empire may need it. I don't know how much power lies within it. But I hope—just hope—it may help you... face whatever it is you fear."
Roneris accepted the book with a troubled expression. His eyes lingered on Matale, deep and searching.
"Matale… I sense a dark presence on this island. And now you're urging me to leave, as if you're hiding something. What's really going on here?"
Matale looked at him. Silent. But a faint smile appeared on her lips—mysterious, almost like a riddle left unsolved.
"You're still as sharp as ever, Roneris. Still worthy of being called the fifth greatest in the Celestian Empire."
Then, Matale called out loudly, "Rene!"
Her voice echoed across the vast courtyard behind the grand mansion. Moments later, a young man emerged, breathing heavily, his head bowed in respect.
"Master," he said.
"Introduce yourself to your mentor's old companion," Matale instructed, without even turning around.
Rene stepped forward and bowed deeply. "Rene Sirius Dravenhart, Uncle Master."
"What?!" Roneris recoiled. His eyes widened. "You—you're the son of Emperor Zarthas? How in the world did you end up on this island?"
"Bastard child," Rene replied quietly, lowering his gaze.
"But fate brought him here," Matale interjected calmly. "Bastard or not, every soul has equal worth... as long as the heart remains true."
"But you—weren't you the one who never took in students?" Roneris pressed. "Especially not from someone who doesn't even believe in magic! How can he possibly learn?!"
Matale spun around swiftly, her eyes flashing.
"Roneris! You've crossed the line!" her voice cracked like thunder at twilight. "That's none of your concern!"
Roneris fell silent, then slowly turned to leave. But just before disappearing from view, he looked back.
"Don't forget… the one student you truly desired—Lumina—is still locked away in the Celestian prison. If you take on another and abandon her... that is betrayal, Matale."
Silence. The world seemed to freeze in that moment.
Matale gave no reply. But her eyes—her eyes burned crimson.
"Master, what's really going on?" Rene asked, his gaze filled with concern.
Matale looked to the sky for a long moment, then spoke, firm but quiet. "Perhaps... it's time I left this island, Rene. I know you're not fully ready, but you're strong enough to endure. And maybe... just maybe, you can help guard this place in my stead."
"What? You're leaving, Master? But where will you go? I have to know—so I can prepare myself!" Rene exclaimed anxiously.
"I'm going to rescue someone," Matale said. "To me… she's like a granddaughter. Tomorrow, I'll teach you one final lesson. After that, this island will be your responsibility… at least until I return."
Without waiting for a response, Matale turned and walked away.
Rene stood there, his heart in turmoil. Though he bore no magical bloodline, his relentless ambition to uncover the secrets of magic had brought him farther than many born with natural talent. His discipline, his drive—they had pulled him close to the dream of becoming a great sorcerer. And after months of training under Matale, Rene's power had grown significantly.
Then, the day came.
"Rene," Matale said, her eyes piercing his, "I'm leaving the island in your care. Remember this above all else—no matter what happens, never leave this island. It is cursed. The curse of Alistair Noctis allows only one soul to reside here at a time. So take my place… even if only for a while."
The words struck Rene like a thunderclap. So… her victory over Alistair had come with a price?
"Yes, Master," he whispered, voice trembling. He watched her go, all the way to the horizon, until the sky finally swallowed her silhouette.
Three days later, Zen Felix emerged from the underground library tunnel—the Vault of Silent. Dust clung to his cloak, but his aura… had changed.
Rene stared at him, stunned. "My god! Last time I saw you, you were just a skinny guy in a black robe. But now? You're way more built… and—wait, your hair! It's turned white?! Even your eyebrows?!"
Felix frowned slightly, then gave a faint smile. "You… you're the man who came to this island with me, aren't you? Much has changed."
"I'm not the same person anymore, Felix," Rene declared proudly. "Matale taught me so much. I'm strong enough now to face the darkness. I'll show the world… that I can destroy evil—and the entire black empire!"
Felix chuckled softly. "How ironic. I happen to be the Prince of Darkness. Maybe… I am Xarveth Khaedrun—the one foretold by prophecy."
Thud. Rene's world tilted.
"What?! You… you're the one from the prophecy? The Prince of Darkness who must be destroyed?!"
Felix strolled forward casually. "Train harder. I'm going after Matale."
"What?! You're leaving?! You plan to escape this place?!" Rene shouted angrily.
Felix shrugged. "I'm not a prisoner here. Unlike you—willingly becoming that old woman's student. You don't have the right to stop me. I have business out there."
"I won't allow it!" Rene snapped. "I promised Matale I would protect this island. I won't let you leave!"
Felix kept walking. "I don't need your permission, Rene. My life is mine to decide."
"Then don't blame me… if I stop you by force!" Rene warned, drawing Sevarya—his legendary curved sword with its forked tip. His eyes blazed.
Without warning, he lunged. His movements were swift, whirling like a storm wind. But Felix remained calm. He read Rene's every motion as though watching a dance he'd seen a thousand times.
One feint, one subtle sidestep, and—whoosh!—Rene's slash met only empty air.
"No way!" Rene hissed. "How did he read my move before I even made it?!"
Felix looked at him flatly. "Sevarya technique. Intermediate level. Chapter on 'One-on-One Duels' from The Art of the Longsword."
He stepped forward. "Give me your sword. I'll show you its ultimate form."
"No! This is a legendary sword from the Celestian Empire! I'm not handing it over!" Rene snapped.
Felix sighed. "It's just a mid-tier blade, Rene. Unless you fully bond with it on an advanced level… it's nothing more than shaped metal."
Rene gritted his teeth. "If physical strength isn't enough… then I'll show you real magic!"
Water swirled around Rene. Mimicking Matale, he summoned dragon-like whirlpools and launched them toward Felix.
Felix dodged, deflected with his staff—even turned some of the water spheres back, exploding them toward Rene!
The magical battle raged. Water burst and energy cracked through the air. The two pushed against each other with everything they had. Rene took several hits, but never gave up.
Finally, Felix spun through the air, darted like an arrow—and cling!—Sevarya was now in his grasp.
One move. Silence. Then—BRAK!—a shockwave tore through the clearing, blasting apart dozens of trees behind Rene like lightning through a forest.
Rene stood frozen, breath caught in his throat.
Felix stood before him, reversing the sword and handing the hilt back to him.
"I'll return," he said simply, then turned and walked away.