Lin Estate
Evelyn Lin shoved open the gates of the estate, the cold iron groaning under her hands. Her boots hit the stone walkway heavy, soaked with blood, ash, and a day that refused to end. The siege had dragged on too long. Hours blurred, and now even the wind felt like it was pushing back.
But the summons couldn't be ignored.
The council chamber waited at the center of the estate—old, still, and always watching. Incense hung thick in the air, sweet and suffocating, doing nothing to lift the weight pressing in from every side. Light from the lanterns flickered across the marble, but no warmth followed. Only the shadows moved.
He was already there.
At the far end of the table, the old man sat unmoving, eyes half-lidded, fingers resting on the arm of his chair like carved stone. Evelyn didn't wait to be called. She walked across the floor without breaking stride, dropped into the seat opposite him, and met his silence with one of her own.
"Good evening," he said at last. His voice was calm, practiced. "You've done your part. Rest, while you still can."
Not kindness. Just preparation.
She didn't respond.
He watched her—measured, clinical. Every breath she took was counted, every twitch of muscle weighed. Then he spoke again, softer this time, but with that same iron under the words.
"You're not a child anymore. The Lin name can't afford fractures. We need order. Unity. A bond."
The words didn't surprise her, but they still landed hard.
Something inside her coiled. Not fear. Not shock. Just the old resistance—quiet, stubborn. She crushed it before it reached her face.
Her fingers curled against her palm until her nails dug in just enough to hurt. Just enough to hold steady. The flicker of heat that rose in her chest didn't make it to her eyes. It never did.
But it stayed.
A splinter she couldn't quite dig out.
Marriage. A transaction. A chain.
The thought alone sent a spark of heat through her chest—brief, searing—before she smothered it. Her breath evened, her expression gave nothing away.
She already knew where this conversation was going.
"The Zhao clan has risen," the patriarch continued, each word an unshaken truth. "Their eldest son is promising, but their true power lies in his uncle—a Ninth-Stage Esper. A bond between our families would cement our standing for generations."
Leo Zhao.
Her betrothed.
The name should have landed like a weight, should have left an imprint on her thoughts. Instead, it passed through her like an echo of something distant, something she had long since stopped trying to resist. For a moment, something inside her pulled taut—a flicker of something raw, something she refused to name. Then, like always, she forced it down.
She moved to stand.
The patriarch's next words stopped her.
"Did you really think," his voice was quiet, almost idle, yet it left no room for misinterpretation, "that your little act of mercy would escape my notice?"
The silence that followed stretched between them, tight as a drawn bowstring.
Evelyn did not move.
A single heartbeat. Then another.
Her fingers stiffened ever so slightly, the movement barely perceptible—but perceptible enough. He saw it. He always saw it.
"For all your efforts," he continued, his voice devoid of curiosity, devoid of doubt, "even if he has awakened, it changes nothing."
It was not a warning. Not a threat.
Just a fact.
Evelyn swallowed the response that pressed at the edges of her tongue, burying it with everything else that no longer had a place in this house.
There was nothing left to say.
Without another word, she turned and left.
The chamber doors shut behind her, sealing the heavy air within, but the cold followed her into the night. The estate loomed in silence, the sky above stretching wide and endless, and for the first time in years, something within her cracked—just enough to let the cold seep in.
The night stretched vast and empty before her. The frost settled against her skin, sharp and unrelenting.
She stood still for a moment, her gaze drifting into the distant night. Tonight, change had already begun.
Delta Stratos City – Medical Ward
Leon Chase exhaled slowly, steadying his breath as he guided the surge of Reiki through his meridians. Each cycle of "Blazeborn Ascension" demanded absolute control—a complete, unrelenting transformation.
Convert Reiki into Aether.
Automate the process.
Fill every spiritual meridian.
Yet, something gnawed at him.
Why fill at all? The human body already teemed with Reiki. What purpose did it serve to drain and replace it?
The question festered as the hours passed, a quiet unease curling at the edges of his mind. Then, the realization struck. His meridians, once brimming with Reiki, now lay hollow—emptied by the transformation. And the Aether that took its place? It occupied only a fraction of the space.
His pulse quickened.
Had he followed conventional wisdom and merely saturated his channels with Reiki, he would have long since reached his limit. But by purging himself first—by hollowing out every reserve—he had shattered that ceiling entirely. His capacity didn't just expand; it multiplied. Fivefold, perhaps more.
This wasn't simply a technique.
It was a redefinition of cultivation itself. A force beyond the rigid hierarchies of the Federal system, a path uncharted. And he had only scratched the surface.
A sharp crack shattered the silence.
Leon's focus snapped. The door slammed open, its hinges groaning under the force.
Figures strode into the dimly lit ward, the scent of sterilized air failing to mask the cold steel presence they carried. Black uniforms. Polished boots. The gleam of insignias catching in the sterile light.
Inspection Bureau.
The lead officer stepped forward, arms crossed over his chest, his stare weighing heavy with authority.
"Leon Chase," he said, voice flat, unreadable. "You were seen near the Purple Star Pit. Confirm or deny?"
Leon rubbed his temples, feigning grogginess as his eyes adjusted to the harsh fluorescent light. "Huh?"
The lead officer's stare hardened, unreadable yet unwavering. "The radiation is gone. The pit is dead. And a Shadowbeast tide followed. Coincidence?"
Leon let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Just woke up, and I'm supposed to pull off something like that?" He thumped his chest, his eyes gleaming with mock disbelief. "Me, a first-stage Esper? If you actually believe that, I might just cry from gratitude."
The officer's gaze flicked toward the bedside monitor, where the hospital's Esper-detection system still displayed his recorded rank. First-stage. The numbers didn't lie.
A flicker of unease passed between the officers.
After a long, weighty silence, the lead officer relented. He placed a contact card on the bedside table, the thin metal gleaming under the sterile lights. "If you learn anything, report it." Without another word, he turned on his heel, his team withdrawing with military precision.
Leon waited. Counted the seconds.
The door clicked shut. Footsteps trailed off down the hall.
Only then did his fingers start to move—tapping slow, uneven beats against the edge of the mattress. His thoughts were already running, trying to make sense of what none of the others had seen.
He'd crawled out of that pit alone. Had seen what was really waiting beneath the surface—the tide rising, not from the crater, but from somewhere deeper. Not a burst. Not an invasion.
A warning.
And the worst part—the thing no one in the Bureau had guessed?
The pit wasn't the beginning.
Later that night
The door cracked open with a soft creak, barely a sound, but enough to pull him back.
Light spilled in from the hallway, stretching out across the cold tile. A shape moved through it—familiar shoulders, that same lazy walk.
"Leon."
Maxin's voice came easy, like always, but the way he moved didn't match it. Every step was too careful. He set a bag on the table, plastic rustling louder than it should've in the quiet.
"Shadow tide's over," he said, dropping into the chair like it didn't matter.
"So, hey—good news."
Leon didn't look over. Just kept staring up, eyes locked on some spot in the ceiling that didn't exist. The light from the monitor cast a soft flicker across his face. He looked awake, but far away.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low. Dull around the edges. Like the words weren't meant for anyone else to hear.
"Already?"
Maxin ripped open the bag, tearing off a piece of meat with his teeth.
"Yeah. Hunter Association and the Warriors' Guild cleaned it up before it even got close to the outer city. Crushed 'em."
Leon exhaled, slow and measured, but something in his posture remained taut—an unseen weight pressing against him, refusing to lift.
Maxin caught the shift. His grin faded slightly. "Still bothering you, huh?"
Leon didn't answer right away. His thoughts drifted elsewhere, tracing the lingering pulse of something coiled deep inside him, something vast and unshaken. The pit wasn't dead. The tide hadn't been a coincidence.
And whatever had been buried beneath Delta Stratos—
It was waking up.
His fingers tapped idly against the sheets. "That fast?"
Maxin nodded, still chewing. "Transcendent-rank Espers stepped in. Every last C-class Shadowbeast got wiped. Delta Stratos is safe."
His tone shifted.
"But there's bad news too."
Leon's grip on the blanket tightened.
Maxin leaned forward, voice dropping. "The Federation issued an emergency notice. Twenty fortress cities were attacked. Simultaneously."
Silence settled between them.
A Shadowbeast tide was rare. Twenty in a single night? That wasn't an anomaly. It was deliberate.
Maxin's grin was gone. "We handled it here, but the smaller cities… they're barely holding on." He hesitated. "Warrior's Guild and the Hunters are sending reinforcements. I'm going with them."
Leon met his gaze, his voice steady, quiet. "Don't die."
Maxin smirked, slinging his pack over one shoulder. "I'll bring you a drink when I get back."
The door clicked shut behind him.
The room fell still again, but Leon's mind didn't.
Twenty cities. One day.
Coincidence was the excuse of fools.
His fingers drummed softly against the bedframe, his thoughts circling something distant, something elusive—
A whisper, rising from the depths of the Purple Star Pit.
Leon sat in the dim glow of his bedside monitor, his mind turning over the possibilities. His awakening had changed everything, but Novastra Academy remained as distant as ever—an untouchable peak on the horizon.
Fifth-stage before twenty. An impossible threshold. Without it, he had no place there. No place beside her.
Was there another way?
A thought snapped into focus, cutting through his frustration. His fingers stilled against the sheets.
The Academy of Espers Exchange Program.
Every year, Academy sent its top students across the Federation—six cities, half a year. A test of skill, endurance, and will. Evelyn Lin had walked that path once. If he followed, it might be enough.
But entry was no small feat. Novastra was more than just a school—it was a crucible, a place where the weak were ground into dust and the strong carved their names into legend. Vast Stellar Enclaves, the greatest mentors, knowledge buried in forgotten archives—secrets no ordinary Esper could even dream of.
For those willing to risk everything, it was the fastest road to power.
Leon's jaw tightened. If he could secure an exchange spot, he had a chance.
One problem.
He had missed the last formal selection.
That left only one option.
The Special Entrance Exam.
He exhaled sharply, a bitter chuckle rising in his throat. Only moments ago, he had planned to keep his abilities hidden. Now, he had to prove them beyond question.
The Special Entrance Exam wasn't for hopefuls. It was for the desperate. The failures. The ones too weak to qualify through normal means but reckless enough to gamble their lives on one final shot.
If he survived it, the Academy would have no choice but to let him in.
But even that wouldn't be enough. Entry alone meant nothing—he needed freedom.
A Hunter's license would give him that. Unlike the Warriors' Guild, which bound its members to duty and law, Hunters went where they pleased. They chose their own paths, forged their own fates.
And Leon had places to go.
He looked down at his palm, watching as a flicker of violet energy pulsed beneath the skin, barely contained. He flexed his fingers, feeling the power coil within him, alive, waiting.
"At least," he murmured, lips curling into a smirk, "I'm not Powerless anymore."
His eyes shut. The Aether surged. His breathing slowed, steady, controlled.
Tomorrow, he would reach the second stage.