Orin Alpheratz (15 years old) Location: Solaris Date: Year 873 / Crow Cycle (3) / Bard's Day (9)

  Varis barely had time to react before the arrow struck the second container.

  A burst of incandescent liquid sprayed outward—and the world erupted in a blinding wave of fire.

  “Damn brat…” he growled, and before the flames swallowed him, he roared:

  “ACTIVATE KNIGHT SKILL: Total Defense!”

  A shell of translucent shields shimmered into existence, enveloping him like a dome. The inferno crashed against them, sparks sliding off the glowing barrier. Varis remained untouched—

  —which was exactly what Orin had counted on.

  The moment Varis’s vision filled with flames, Orin was already gone, vanishing into the twisting streets of Solaris with the last traces of his Speed Up still pulsing through his legs.

  He didn’t look back.

  He couldn’t afford to.

  His only hope was that Sirius, Cor, and the others had slipped away while the street burned, and that the chaos would delay Varis long enough for him to avoid returning to the house. Andromeda’s safety depended on it.

  For several frantic minutes, Orin sprinted through the cramped streets, weaving between abandoned carts and shuttered storefronts until his breath burned in his lungs and the adrenaline that had carried him this far finally began to ebb.

  When he stopped, he found himself in one of Solaris’s central districts. He recognized the signs hanging over the shops—places that sold knight gear, spare armor plates, even basic artifacts. The familiarity grounded him for a moment.

  He slipped into a narrow alley between two buildings and pressed his back against the cold stone. Sweat dripped down his temples. No shouting. No footsteps. No armor rattling.

  For the first time since the fight began, Orin let himself breathe.

  “What now?” he murmured. “Should I regroup with the others somewhere in Solaris… or go straight to the Academy?”

  He checked his remaining gear: one arrow in his quiver, his dagger at his side. Not nearly enough to face another platoon. His best chance was to move quietly, and quickly.

  He stepped out of the alley and scanned the road. The sky was covered in heavy clouds; the sun managed only a faint glow, more silver than gold. Rain was coming.

  “Cor and Sirius will probably reach the Academy before I do,” he told himself. “I’ll meet them there.”

  He kept to the edges of the street, alert for patrols. He wasn’t far from the western side of the city, but the frantic escape had thrown off his sense of direction; the route ahead was longer than expected.

  As he neared a small plaza, the murmur of voices and clinking armor made him freeze. He ducked behind a wall, inching forward silently until he had a clear view.

  A small platoon of Church soldiers marched through the plaza—the golden sun of Luminia shining on their breastplates. And between them… two boys.

  Young. Ten years old—maybe younger.

  Orin’s breath caught.

  He moved closer, careful not to expose himself. As he watched the procession, his eyes fixed on one particular knight—pale, thin, with those lifeless, glassy eyes he remembered all too well.

  One of Schedar’s escort the day the Church seized control of the Academy.

  “What are they doing…” Orin whispered, jaw tightening.

  Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

  Orin stalked after the group of knights like a shadow, slipping behind every wall, bush, and abandoned cart he could find to avoid being seen. The soldiers marched in formation, the two captured boys surrounded on all sides.

  He knew this could be a chance to discover where the Church was taking them… yet the sight of those children—small, scared, helpless—gnawed at him. Something inside him screamed that he had to act. But how?

  He glanced down at the bow slung across his chest, fingers tightening around the single arrow he still carried. One shot. One chance. And with his strength nearly drained, he wasn’t even sure he could activate another skill.

  The soldiers rounded a corner, and Orin crept closer to maintain sight of them. Then he froze.

  One of the boys… had red eyes.

  His heart lurched.

  Red eyes.

  Like his.

  Like Jin’s.

  Jin’s words echoed in his mind—about another boy he had met with the same color. Could this be him?

  Whatever the truth was, Orin felt his resolve harden. He had to do something.

  He drew the last arrow from his quiver and nocked it. His breath steadied. He aimed for the leader—the pale, dull-eyed knight he recognized from the Academy takeover. He knew he only had one shot… and it had to count.

  He pulled the bowstring back and whispered:

  “ACTIVATE HUNTER SKILL: Piercing Arrow.”

  A faint bluish glow wrapped the arrow—weak, unstable, but present.

  It would have to be enough.

  He released.

  The arrow shot toward the knight—

  —but just before striking its target, the arrow twisted unnaturally, its path bending midair as if grabbed by invisible fingers. It veered sharply off course and buried itself deep in a nearby tree.

  Orin’s eyes widened.

  What was that—

  He didn’t have time to think. He dove behind a crate just as the soldiers reacted.

  “Someone’s nearby,” one voice said.

  “Yes. That arrow… it came from those crates by the houses,” another replied.

  “Three of you—go check it out,” the commanding knight ordered.

  Footsteps approached, heavy and fast.

  Orin scanned for an escape route—anything—but the soldiers were converging on his hiding place. If he moved even a step into the open, he would be seen instantly.

  He held his breath.

  He was trapped.

  Orin listened as the footsteps drew closer.

  Step by step.

  Slow, deliberate… inevitable.

  The three soldiers were nearly upon him. He could feel their presence on the other side of the crates. There was no room to run. No strength left for skills. All he had was the dagger clutched in his trembling hand.

  A shadow fell over him. One of the men placed a hand on the crate, ready to shove it aside—

  When a distant, piercing sound rose over the city.

  A bell.

  A very specific bell.

  Orin’s eyes widened.

  The bells of the Imperial Palace.

  A moment later, bell towers all across Solaris joined in, one after another, layering their metallic echoes into a single overwhelming chorus.

  "It is our victory," declared the same voice that moments ago had given the order to search the crates. "The Emperor has finally surrendered to the Church of Luminia."

  A roar exploded from the men.

  Cheers, chants, shouts of triumph.

  Armor clashed against armor in celebration.

  The three soldiers who had nearly found Orin abandoned the search instantly and hurried back to join the others.

  Orin let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding… but instead of relief, a cold pit formed deep inside him.

  The Emperor… surrendered?

  Solaris… fallen?

  Then what would happen now—to the Academy, to the League, to everyone?

  The soldiers were too euphoric to remember the arrow that had flown past their leader.

  "Let's take the prisoners back to the barracks, and then we celebrate!" one shouted.

  "At last, the day we've awaited!" said another.

  "This is the beginning of Solaris’s golden age!" a third proclaimed.

  Their voices and footsteps drifted away down the road, fading into echoes of victory.

  Orin didn’t follow them. He couldn’t.

  He remained kneeling in the shadows, paralyzed, uncertain of what path remained.

  The bells continued for what felt like ages, drowning out every thought.

  Eventually they stopped. Solaris seemed suspended in a strange silence—broken only by distant celebrations and the cautious murmurs of citizens peering from behind shutters.

  Then something light brushed his cheek.

  A drop.

  Orin blinked and looked up. A gentle drizzle had begun to fall—soft, quiet, unexpected.

  Not like ordinary rain.

  More like a whisper.

  As if someone were telling him to stand.

  To move.

  To not surrender.

  “Hadar…” he murmured.

  Whether it was wishful thinking or truth didn’t matter. He chose to take it as a sign from the fallen knight—a reminder that he could not give up.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  After that, Orin rose with renewed resolve. Almost as if the sky itself acknowledged his determination, the rain—brief, purposeful—faded into silence.

  He walked to the tree where his deflected arrow was still lodged deep in the bark. It took effort—more than it should have—but after a few firm tugs he freed it and slid it back into his quiver. A small gesture, but one that steadied him.

  He glanced down the empty street, toward the path where the soldiers had taken the two imprisoned boys.

  No footprints left.

  No voices.

  Only the cold, hollow space where he had failed to act in time.

  “I won’t let the Church of Luminia steal anyone else’s freedom,” he whispered, clenching his fist. “When I become stronger… I’ll come back for all of you. Friends… Andromeda… wait for me.”

  With that vow echoing in his chest, he turned and began walking toward Solaris Academy. He hoped Sirius and Cor had made it safely ahead of him, and that he could meet them there before the group departed for Dhamarr.

  When he finally reached the outskirts—the worn, familiar suburbs that marked the boundary of the city—he stopped.

  He looked back.

  Solaris, the city he had lived in for fifteen years, stretched behind him in a dim, unsettling quiet. Its streets, once vibrant and full of life, now felt foreign… shadowed… broken. Every corner of it carried a memory: laughter with friends, bitter rivalries, long nights studying, and days of training under the warm sun. It had held everything—every joy, every scar.

  But now, it no longer felt like home.

  There was no place left for him here.

  He took a breath, turned toward the road ahead, and walked on—this time without looking back.