Two weeks. Two blissfully ordinary weeks had passed since the last chaotic incident at the academy. And honestly? I was loving it.
For once, things felt like how I imagined academy life should be—normal. Classes unfolded as scheduled, no explosions in the hallways, no unexpected mana beasts busting through the walls, and best of all, no Phantom Order goons creeping out of the shadows. My days were gloriously mundane, filled with spell practice, group study sessions that almost (but not quite) ended in arguments, and late-night conversations about literally everything except saving the world. I'd started to feel like an actual student here, and not just the main character in a series of near-death plot twists.
Even the ominous raven glyph on my hand—the very one that glowed during that disaster two weeks ago—had settled down. No glowing, no mysterious pulsing, no hint of danger. Which I took as a sign that maybe, just maybe, the universe was giving me a break.
Of course, I knew better than to let my guard down completely. This was, after all, a world where the Phantom Order was lurking around like a bad smell that just wouldn't go away. And I was painfully aware that everything here was already skewing away from the storyline I remembered. Still, for those two weeks, I let myself believe in the peace.
That is, until the peace shattered with three words: "Principal's office. Now."
I looked up from my seat in Basic Alchemy to find Instructor Mavis—tall, intense, and as subtle as a thunderstorm—looming over me. He crossed his arms, giving me a look that screamed, Don't make me repeat myself, as if he knew me well enough by now to anticipate I would.
"Uh…did I do something wrong?" I asked, feigning innocence as if I didn't have a laundry list of mischief on my record already.
He raised an eyebrow. "That, I wouldn't know," he said, with a sigh as if my mere presence were exhausting to him. "But I was asked to tell you to go immediately. Principal's orders."
"Right. Well. See you guys," I mumbled to the rest of the class as I slung my bag over my shoulder, pretending to be unbothered. Inside, I was already rehearsing escape routes and excuses.
I made my way out into the hallway, where an unsettling silence hung in the air. Normally, the academy halls were bustling, even borderline chaotic, with students dashing between classes, study groups huddling in corners, and the occasional "friendly" duel breaking out near the training rooms. But today? It felt eerily quiet, like the whole school was holding its breath.
As I walked, thoughts circled my mind like persistent birds of prey. Why would Alastair Solmara—the elusive, powerful principal of Arcadia Magic Academy—want to see me? This was only my second time meeting him, and I hadn't exactly left a stellar impression the first time around. There was no denying that ever since I'd set foot in this academy, I seemed to be smack in the middle of every crisis. To me, it was just bad luck—or maybe some cosmic punishment for overplaying my "chosen one" card—but I could see how it might look suspicious from a distance.
As I reached the grand staircase leading to the principal's office, a few students whispered and glanced my way, eyes wide. One girl from my Spellcrafting class even stopped me with a nervous grin.
"Good luck," she said, looking half-terrified. "Last time someone got called up there, they didn't show up to class for three days."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I muttered, trudging up the steps. Not that I wasn't already sweating. Every step up the marble staircase felt like another nail in my metaphorical coffin.
The double doors to Alastair Solmara's office loomed ahead. Enormous, ornate, and ominously quiet. I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the nerves, and knocked twice.
The doors creaked open with an unsettling elegance, and I stepped inside, feeling an immediate shift in the air. Alastair's office was the kind of place that screamed power—not in an obvious way, but in that spine-tingling, soul-crushing way that made you feel like you'd walked straight into the den of a dragon. Dark wood shelves lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes and odd magical artifacts that seemed to watch me as I entered. The air was cold, almost unnaturally so, and a strange sense of calm hung over everything, as if even time was too intimidated to disrupt Alastair Solmara's space.
Alastair sat there, still as a statue, his eyes sharp yet strangely distant. The silence between us stretched, coiled tight, pressing down on the room with a suffocating weight. Five minutes. Five agonizing, unbroken minutes passed, with not a word from him—only that cold, penetrating stare. Just as I was starting to wonder if he'd summoned me here solely to test my patience, he finally spoke, his voice low and abrupt.
"What's your plan for the future?"
The words landed like a heavy stone, each one deliberate, impossible to ignore. My mind stuttered, scrambling to keep up with the suddenness of it. "Uh…well, I guess…to make it through the academy without…dying?" I tried, reaching for a touch of humor, a bit of lightness.
He didn't smile. Didn't flinch. His gaze remained fixed on me, unblinking, unwavering, like he could see straight through the flimsy surface of my words to the core of something I wasn't even sure I understood myself. His silence dragged on, each second stretching thin, taut, as he leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharper, colder.
"You're present at every incident in this academy," he said finally, each word cutting through the air like a blade. "No matter where it happens, no matter what's at stake—you're always there. But I know why no student has died during any of these events."
The weight in his voice held a finality, a quiet authority that left no room for doubt. My stomach twisted, a dozen uneasy thoughts flaring up at once. Alastair Solmara. The greatest magician of our time, a figure who'd always lingered like some distant legend in the academy's history books, keeping everyone safe behind the scenes, unseen. And all this time, I'd thought it was just luck, or maybe fate, that these incidents had ended with so few casualties. But it wasn't luck at all. It was him.
And now he was looking at me with that same unnerving intensity, as if sizing me up, picking apart every detail. His voice softened but grew no less intense. "I am curious, Lucius—who are you?"
The question slammed into me, direct and unforgiving, and I could almost feel the weight of it settling over my shoulders. There was no humor left to reach for, no casual answer to brush off his scrutiny. Because even if I could come up with something, he'd see right through it. He wasn't just asking; he was demanding to know.
Swallowing against the dryness in my throat, I held his gaze. "I…I'm not your enemy," I said, forcing each word out against the pressing silence that had thickened around us, as though his very presence could crush me if I spoke the wrong answer.
A ripple of something—power, authority, raw mana?—seemed to radiate from him, filling the room, pressing in on me until it felt like every inch of air was thick with it. It was like standing before a hurricane, feeling the wind just starting to rise, knowing there was nowhere to hide if the storm broke. Every instinct in me screamed to look away, to retreat, but I stayed rooted, hoping that would be enough.
Alastair didn't move, didn't even blink. His voice was as calm as ever, but I could feel the current of suspicion underneath it, sharp as a razor. "The Phantom Order," he said slowly, his gaze unyielding. "They're everywhere, and yet they're drawn here like moths to flame. And each time…you seem to know, often before anyone else."
I felt the silence pressing in again, demanding an answer, refusing to let me off the hook. I scrambled to find words, something believable but not too detailed. "I can sense it," I said, my voice strained but steady. "I don't know why, but it's like…a warning. Something in me just knows when things are about to go wrong."
His gaze narrowed slightly, weighing every word, and I braced myself, feeling as though I were teetering on the edge of something far more dangerous than I'd realized. My heartbeat thudded loud in my chest, each beat a reminder that he wasn't just any powerful magician—he was Alastair Solmara, a man who could strip me of every defense I had with a single spell, if he wanted.
The silence hung thick between us again, and I could feel the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on me, watching, waiting. And then, slowly, he leaned back, his expression giving nothing away as he observed me with a disquieting calm.
"For now, I'll trust you." His voice was soft, but each word sank in, laced with a warning as potent as any threat. "But remember this, Lucius—your reprieve is temporary. If you're lying, if your intentions stray even once from the safety of your friends…"
His gaze bore into me, each word deliberate, carrying a weight that hit like a hammer to the chest. "Then I will know. And there will be no mercy, no hesitation. Keep your friends safe—and stay out of my way."
With that final warning, he sat back, his expression still unreadable, watching as if waiting to see if I would crack under the strain of his words. But I stayed silent, my mind whirling, too tangled in his last words to manage a reply. He offered nothing more, nothing to soften the razor-sharp edges of the conversation, just that cold, dispassionate gaze.
Finally, he waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. It felt less like a farewell and more like the final note of a sentence I'd barely survived.
I forced myself to walk out, each step stiff with the effort of holding it together, not daring to look back. Only when I reached the hall did I realize I'd been holding my breath, and I exhaled, shaky and uneven, my knees threatening to give way beneath me.
I didn't expect him to be like this—so intense, so…unyielding. This wasn't the same man I'd met before, the calm figure in the background, quietly guiding from afar. This time, his presence was crushing, each word like a blade to my throat. It felt like I'd been stripped bare, every bit of my composure shattered under his gaze.
And as I finally found my way back down the corridor, a chill ran down my spine. I felt like I'd just walked out of an execution—and somehow managed to survive.
Just then, a familiar voice called out from behind me, sharp and unmistakable. "Lucius! Lucius!"
It took a second to process that someone was actually calling me, and I didn't turn until I felt a tap on my shoulder. I blinked, coming face-to-face with Claire, who was studying me with a rare look of concern.
"What's up with you?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "You look like you've been run over by a herd of wyverns or something."
I laughed, a little too loudly, the sound escaping like a crack in my façade. "Just... overdoing it. Turns out classes here are a little more intense than I thought." Not a lie, but definitely not the full story either.
She folded her arms, leveling me with a skeptical look that said she wasn't buying it for a second. "Even you need a break. You might be a genius, but even geniuses need to, I don't know, sleep? Breathe?"
I tried to muster up a grateful smile, one that I hoped looked casual. "Thanks for caring, Claire. I mean it."
Her face turned bright red in an instant, her expression morphing into that familiar flustered scowl. "I—I don't care, okay? It's just... weird seeing you like this. And I don't want you getting all dramatic on us, passing out in class or something." She looked away quickly, muttering under her breath, "Someone has to keep you in check…"
The sight of her grumbling, cheeks flushed and arms crossed defensively, brought me back to reality in the best way possible. For a brief moment, I felt like a regular student, dealing with normal teenage banter instead of secretive academy heads and looming shadow organizations. It was…refreshing. Reassuring.
"Noted. I'll stay conscious. Can't let you worry yourself to death," I said, smirking as she scowled harder, doing her best to pretend she hadn't heard me.
I turned to walk back to my room, the tension from Alastair's office beginning to ease with each step. The steady rhythm of my footsteps, echoing down the academy's grand corridors, helped me unwind. Passing by the familiar murals, spell-glow sconces, and bustling classrooms, I could almost pretend things were normal.
Finally, I reached my door, my body practically begging me to collapse onto my bed. But just as I dropped my bag, a familiar voice broke through the quiet.
[Episode 2 finally ended. Now we can talk.]
"Oh, right, you mentioned we had some 'important things' to discuss," I replied, still reeling from everything that had happened today. It was as if my world had been hit by one twist after another—and now the system wanted a heart-to-heart?
[Yes. I'll reveal everything to you now.]
I paused, feeling a cold twinge of apprehension creep up my spine. "So…what are you, really?"
[In your world, I am what you would call a 'God.']
For a long, stunned moment, I just sat there, words dying on my lips. "Wait…what? You said you were just a system."
[The system is merely a conduit. A tool through which I communicate with you. It's the only way I can reach you in this realm. My true power here is limited.]
"So…you're telling me you're the reason I ended up in this mess? You're the one who brought me to this world?" My voice was barely a whisper, half hoping he'd say no, that this was some prank.
[Yes.]
My mind spun, the weight of it sinking in. "Then…can you send me back?" The question came out before I could stop myself, almost a plea.
[No.]
I clenched my fists, frustration building. "Are you kidding? You're a god, and you can't even—"
[My powers are bound by the rules of this universe, Lucius. I brought you here because I need your help.]
"Help with what, exactly?" My voice was starting to edge into disbelief, but there was a sinking feeling in my gut that I already knew the answer.
[To save this world.]
The impact of those words hit me like a blow to the chest, leaving me reeling. "So…this world is real?" I asked, the room seeming to shrink around me.
[Yes. I created it, but it has since gone beyond my control. Something…shifted, and now, I need someone who knows the paths, someone who understands the darkest ends, to help prevent them.]
The system's voice seemed to echo in my mind, heavy and final. And yet, my thoughts were spinning with questions that just wouldn't settle.
"Wait…so the novel and game I played back home," I asked, feeling the weight of the words before they left my mouth, "you created those?"
[Yes. I created them with one purpose—to find someone like you. Someone who could understand this world's dangers and be…qualified.]
"Qualified," I muttered, letting out a dry laugh. This "god" had rigged an entire story, crafted a world, all to fish out a player who'd…what? Memorize his mess? A cold realization dawned on me.
"So, you mean the 'true ending'… that wasn't just some game secret?"
[Precisely. The 'true ending' is the path this real world will take. And now, Lucius, understand this: it's not a game anymore. There are no checkpoints, no retries. If this world burns, it burns. And every soul here will be lost with it.]
The words hit like a gut punch, a chill spreading through my bones. There would be no more resets, no safe return to Earth until I got it right. Every choice, every fight, every loss here—it was all for real. It wouldn't just end in a bad "game over" screen if I failed.
My thoughts were racing, unraveling in a mess of realizations. I'd read the novel, played the game. Memorized the tragedies and catastrophes. And he'd picked me, the one person who knew just how bad it could get.
A harsh laugh slipped out. "And if I somehow manage to pull off this impossible mission? What then? Do I just…get a pat on the back? A 'Thanks for saving the world' badge?"
[If you succeed, I'll return you to Earth.]
I took a shaky breath, the magnitude of it crashing down. This was bigger than a bad game plotline, bigger than any storyline twist. It was a living, breathing world—and somehow, it was mine to save. I had a thousand questions, a thousand things I needed to understand before—
Suddenly, the system's voice started to crackle, fading in and out.
[I will…tell you…everything…eve—]
"Hey! What's going on?" Panic surged as the silence stretched, empty, unsettling.
Nothing. The "god" had gone radio silent, leaving me with a mind full of impossible truths, no explanations, and a universe that felt like it had just gotten a whole lot bigger…and more dangerous.
I sat in the quiet, the weight of everything crashing over me, like the universe itself was breathing down my neck, waiting. There it was—the realization settling in with a sick twist of fear.
This world was real. Every life here was real. And if I wanted to get back to Earth? I'd have to face every threat and make it out alive.
And right then, it hit me, in all its bleak, gut-wrenching clarity.
There was no going back.