To say that Alyssara's appearance at the Fall Ball for the fifth years caused chaos would be an understatement of cosmic proportions.
Her grand entrance had shattered the fragile veneer of the evening's festivities. She had barged in, exuding an aura that twisted the very air, dropped the pristine-yet-disturbingly-lifeless corpse of Eva Lopez—Rank 11 and the long-missing Headmaster of Mythos Academy—and, as if delivering a casual party favor, handed me Nyxthar, a Legendary-grade sword sealed by her own hand. Then, with a wink and a disconcerting promise, she had left as abruptly as she arrived, leaving behind a room that felt like it was teetering on the brink of an existential crisis.
As expected, chaos reigned.
Professors scrambled to restore order, their mana flaring in the air as students, frozen between terror and awe, whispered furiously among themselves. The three girls stood close to me, their expressions varying between worry and outrage, their presence a fragile anchor in a sea of upheaval.
The sword hung in the air before me, its dark surface an abyss that seemed to drink in every flicker of light in the ballroom. I reached out tentatively, my fingers brushing against the hilt. Immediately, I felt it—an undeniable sense of rejection, a cold barrier that made it clear: I was not yet worthy.
Nyxthar allowed me to hold it, but only in the way a beast might tolerate the touch of an unworthy handler. There was no bond, no acceptance. The blade remained sealed, dormant, waiting for a future that felt impossibly far away.
Even if I somehow managed to win Nyxthar's favor, it would not unlock its full power until I reached Immortal-rank. The sword demanded strength not just of body but of soul, and I was far from the pinnacle it required.
'What the hell is she thinking?' The question swirled in my mind, unanswered and maddening.
Alyssara Velcroix defied logic. Her actions, her motives, her very existence seemed to weave through layers of plans and schemes too complex to fathom. Why would she give me a weapon of such monumental power, a blade that could shape the fate of nations? What did she stand to gain from this? Was it some form of twisted charity, or a gamble that even she wasn't sure of the outcome?
"She's… gone," Rachel said, her voice tight with tension, her sapphire eyes fixed on the spot where Alyssara had stood moments ago.
"No one could have stopped her," Cecilia muttered, her crimson gaze shifting warily between the corpse of Eva Lopez and the ominous sword in my hand.
"That's what she wanted," Seraphina added quietly. Her ice-blue eyes, sharp and calculating, met mine. "You know that, right? She wants you to wield it. To become the person who can."
I exhaled, a long, measured breath that did little to calm the tempest within me. "I know," I said, my voice steady despite the weight of the moment. "But why? What game is she playing?"
None of them answered. They couldn't, just as I couldn't. Alyssara's motives were a riddle wrapped in layers of power and madness, and whatever her endgame was, it felt as though I was a key piece on her board.
I tightened my grip on Nyxthar, its cold, unyielding hilt sending a chill up my arm. Even sealed, even dormant, the sword felt alive—an entity of its own, waiting, watching.
As the professors finally moved to contain the scene, their attempts at restoring order felt hollow, an exercise in futility. The evening was over. No amount of high-tech holograms or soothing announcements could undo the shadow Alyssara had cast over the ball.
I stared down at the blade in my hand, Nyxthar, its dark surface devouring the light around it like an insatiable void. It was not just heavy in its tangible weight but in the promises it bore—of power, of inevitability, of a future carved in blood.
'Does she really want me to become strong enough to kill her?' The thought rang through my mind, sharp and bitter. My fingers tightened around the hilt, the coldness of the blade biting into my skin. If that was her intent, if that was the game Alyssara Velcroix wanted to play, then fine. I would play.
But I wouldn't play by her rules.
'I'll kill you, Alyssara Velcroix,' I vowed silently, my teeth clenching with resolve. One day, I would ensure that smug smile of hers faded forever.
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Far away, in a desolate valley shrouded in shadow, space rippled like a disturbed pond as Alyssara stepped through. The fabric of reality seemed to quiver in her presence before settling once again. She hummed softly, her jade eyes glinting with amusement as she perched on a weathered boulder, her legs swinging lazily like a child at play.
"You've been following me for quite some time," she said lightly, her voice carrying an almost musical cadence. "Don't you tire of skulking about, Evelyn?"
Out of the darkened crevices of the valley, Evelyn emerged, her form coalescing from shadow into solid flesh. Her arms were folded, her expression as composed as ever, but the subtle tightening of her lips betrayed a tension she couldn't quite mask.
"I had no choice when you forced me to deliver the corpse of Eva Lopez," Evelyn said, her voice sharp but steady. Her eyes flickered with an unspoken accusation as they met Alyssara's.
It wasn't easy to breach Mythos Academy, the world's greatest fortress of knowledge and power. The Shadow Seekers' infamous assault had only succeeded because of an internal mole that allowed them to bypass the Academy's formidable nine-circle defensive array. Even Evelyn, with her mastery of stealth and shadow, had to suppress her power entirely to infiltrate it during the Inter-Academy Festival.
But Alyssara? She hadn't bothered with suppression or subterfuge. She simply ignored the defensive array, walking through its barriers as if they were nothing more than an inconvenient fog. Evelyn shuddered at the memory, her mind still grappling with the impossibility of it.
'Completely ridiculous,' she thought, the words bitter as she stared at the woman before her.
"Why," Evelyn said at last, her voice low and measured, "why the hell did you give him Nyxthar?"
Alyssara tilted her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she swung her feet back and forth. "It's just a Legendary-grade artifact," she said, her tone as casual as if she were discussing a trinket found at a market stall.
"Just a Legendary-grade artifact?" Evelyn's voice rose, her calm cracking under the weight of her disbelief. "Do you hear yourself? Nyxthar is one of the most powerful weapons in existence, and you handed it to him like it was nothing!"
Alyssara's smile widened as she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "It is nothing. Right now, that sword is sealed. He can't even wield it until he reaches Immortal-rank."
"That doesn't answer my question," Evelyn snapped. "Why him? Why now? You're setting something in motion, and you're using him to do it."
Alyssara shrugged, the gesture as infuriatingly carefree as her tone. "Perhaps I just like him. He's entertaining."
Evelyn's jaw tightened. "You're playing a dangerous game."
"I've always liked dangerous games," Alyssara replied, her jade eyes glinting with something deeper, something darker. "And Arthur Nightingale? He's my favorite."
Evelyn stared at her, trying to pierce through the layers of mockery and truth in Alyssara's words. "You know he'll come for you one day," she said quietly. "He'll grow stronger. He'll wield that sword. And he'll kill you."
Alyssara laughed, the sound like chiming bells, but there was a note of something almost wistful in it. "Oh, Evelyn," she said, her voice softening. "That's the whole point."
Evelyn took a step back, her body tense, her eyes wary. For a moment, she felt the weight of something vast and incomprehensible pressing down on her, like standing on the edge of a great precipice and peering into the endless void below.
Without another word, Alyssara rose, her movements fluid and graceful. Space warped around her, the fabric of reality bending to her will as she disappeared, leaving Evelyn alone in the cold, empty valley.
And for the first time in decades, Evelyn felt the tremor of fear ripple through her very soul.