Orin Alpheratz (15 years old) Location: Solaris  Date: Year 873 / Pegasus Cycle (1) / Witch's Day (6)

That morning, the sun shone brightly over Solaris Academy, its golden rays dancing across the marble rooftops. A soft breeze stirred the trees, carrying with it the melodic chirping of birds. It was the kind of morning that made one want to lie under the sky and forget the world.

But reality had other plans.

Inside one of the older, dimly lit classrooms, Orin sat slouched at his desk, surrounded by a dozen other students equally drained of life. The air was stuffy, the windows barely open, and the atmosphere completely at odds with the cheerful weather outside.

No clashing swords. No shouting instructors. No bruised egos or team duels.

Just the droning, sleep-inducing voice of Professor Aldulfin, a stooped, gray-haired man whose very existence seemed to belong to a different century.

"And thus," the professor intoned, "the trade routes between Solaris and the northern continent were severely disrupted following the Treaty of—"

Orin blinked slowly, his gaze unfocused as his chin rested in his hand. He was listening... sort of. His eyes were aimed at the front of the room, but his mind was far away, lost in a whirlwind of images and thoughts from the day before.

Perseus, scowling during their clash in Group Tactics class. Hector's solemn words about what it truly meant to be a knight. Eridus lying quietly in the infirmary, tired and pale. And above all, Professor Velorum's hushed warning:

“The Church of Luminia may already be inside the academy.”

Orin frowned faintly. The name hadn't been unfamiliar to him. He'd heard of the Church of Luminia before, who in Solaris hadn't? They were known as pious devotees of Bhizenti, the goddess of light, the divine protector of the empire. But until now, they'd seemed like little more than eccentrics. Fanatics, maybe. People who claimed to hear the goddess's voice or witness her miracles. That was all.

“Nicola Papin...”

That name echoed in his thoughts like a puzzle piece he didn't know where to place. Who was he, really? And what role did he play in the shadow creeping around the academy?

“...and so we come,” Professor Aldulfin suddenly declared, with the same unchanging tone, “to the origin of the Alchemical Wars, which pitted Solaris against the Alchemical City in a protracted and devastating conflict...”

That snapped Orin out of his daze.

Alchemical Wars? Now that was something worth staying awake for.

Around him, a ripple of hushed whispers passed through the class. Even the sleepiest students stirred slightly in their seats, the weight of that name pulling them into reluctant attention. Of course, the Alchemical Wars were a familiar topic to most. Every student had heard about them in some form: books, bedtime stories, even tavern gossip. It was a time of chaos, but also the age of heroes whose names had become legends.

“...ahem, as I was saying...” Professor Aldulfin cleared his throat and raised his voice slightly, sensing that, for once, he had the full attention of the class. “...The Alchemical City was once an awe-inspiring place. It was said to be a city of pure magic, founded and ruled by sorcerers. They were the pioneers of alchemy, and under their guidance, magical engineering reached unprecedented heights. They forged tools and artifacts with properties that defied common sense: objects that could heal wounds instantly, create illusions, even bend time and space on a minor scale.”

He began pacing slowly at the front of the classroom, his voice steady and deliberate, as though reciting a tale from memory.

“Back then,” the professor continued, “Solaris and the other kingdoms weren't enemies of the Alchemical City. On the contrary, they were close allies. We shared knowledge, trade, and most importantly, access to their technology.”

Allies?

Orin sat up straighter, frowning.

To someone like him, who'd grown up hearing stories about the monstrous deeds of alchemists, this revelation felt... wrong.

Everyone knew the Alchemical City was a den of madness. A place where forbidden rituals were carried out in the name of progress. Human sacrifices, children kidnapped for experiments, abominations born from mana corruption... every horror story led back to that city. A city without gods. A city without law.

And judging by the whispers now spreading through the room, Orin wasn't the only one who'd grown up with that image.

Professor Aldulfin chuckled softly. “I see some of you look shocked. Not surprising, really. The Alchemical City has been our enemy for decades, after all. But that wasn't always the case.”

He paused in front of the blackboard, fingers clasped behind his back.

“That didn't change until the rise of Dorman, the dark sorcerer, who would later crown himself as the Alchemist King,” the professor continued, “Dorman was... paranoid. He believed Solaris and the other kingdoms were secretly plotting to betray the Alchemical City. And so, he sent spies to infiltrate the royal families across the continents.”

Professor Aldulfin stopped for a brief moment and then continued.

“Now, tell me... why is it that the identities of princes and princesses in Solaris and the other allied kingdoms are kept secret? Why are they only revealed to the public when they turn fourteen?”

Orin shifted in his seat.

It was a question no one had ever really asked before. Everyone just knew it. Royal heirs had their identities concealed. It was tradition.

Around him, the students exchanged uncertain glances. But no one answered.

Professor Aldulfin grinned slightly, clearly enjoying the mystery.

“I thought so. Most people never stop to think about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But the truth is grim. Those spies, once they earned the royal families’ trust, kidnapped their children. Entire lines of succession disappeared overnight. The Alliance kingdoms were thrown into political chaos. And in times of war, chaos is a deadly weakness.”

The professor's expression darkened just a touch.

“Later, when we begin studying summoning, you'll start to understand just how important royal bloodlines really are.”

He paced slowly, letting the weight of his words sink in.

“And that... is why Solaris and the other kingdoms still keep their royal heirs hidden until they come of age. Not just out of tradition, but out of fear that the past might repeat itself.”

Once again, murmurs rippled through the classroom like a breeze through tall grass. The students couldn't hide their surprise. Even Orin, who had been zoning out moments ago, now found himself genuinely intrigued.

This class turned out to be a lot more interesting than I expected, he thought, resting his chin on his hand.

Then, a voice spoke up from the back of the room.

“Professor, why fourteen?” Asked a student, raising his hand. “Why is that considered a safe age to reveal their identities?”

A good question. And one Orin hadn't considered himself. He turned slightly, curious to hear the answer.

Professor Aldulfin paused, as though briefly weighing how much he should say. Then he nodded, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather.

“If you think about it, it's quite logical,” he began. “At the age of fourteen, royal heirs begin attending this academy to continue their education as summoners. At that point, it becomes nearly impossible to keep their identities hidden.”

He stepped away from the chalkboard and began pacing again, as was his habit when explaining something he found particularly important.

“Of course, they're never sent alone. Each heir arrives under the protection of an elite guard detail, handpicked and personally trained. Add to that the academy's own security and the difficulty of outside infiltration becomes... well, considerable.”

The professor paused and raised a finger.

“And let's not forget, by the time they're fourteen, heirs to the royal houses have usually undergone rigorous training. In most cases, they've already awakened their summoning abilities. Simply put... they're no longer helpless children.”

The class fell silent again, this time not with confusion, but with understanding. The pieces made sense now, clicking neatly into place.

But then... where is she? That thought weighed heavily on Orin.

According to what the professor had just explained, Princess Andromeda—who, if he remembered correctly, had already turned fifteen—should have been here at the academy. There was no reason for her absence... unless something had happened.

But while Orin was still lost in thought, mulling over the mystery surrounding Princess Andromeda, Professor Aldulfin resumed his lecture.

“Now then, let's pick up where we left off,” the professor said, clasping his hands behind his back. “Well... Dorman, paranoid to the core, right? As many of you probably know, the Alchemical City was once located in what we now call the Minoris Archipelago, far to the west of here. Compared to the three great continents, especially Theria, our own and the largest, it was but a speck.”

He paused, letting that fact settle in.

“Given its size, the Alchemical City shouldn't have posed much of a threat. And yet... it did. It became the spark that ignited a massive war across continents. Why? Two reasons made it possible. The first is fairly obvious: their technology. Their mastery of magical engineering had reached heights unimaginable. They didn't just craft wondrous artifacts, they built weapons. Weapons of terrifying power.”

He turned to face the class, eyes glinting beneath bushy brows.

“But the second reason... can anyone guess?”

The classroom fell quiet. Not a single hand went up. Even Orin, whose curiosity had been piqued, couldn't come up with an answer.

Just as the silence began to stretch awkwardly, a voice rang out from the second row.

“Probably... the lack of unity between kingdoms?” said Hector. He sounded unsure, but the way Professor Aldulfin's face lit up made it clear he'd gotten it right.

“Exactly!” The professor declared with a smile. “At the time, the five kingdoms that now form the Great Alliance weren't as united as they are today. Only Solaris and Armada stood against the Alchemical City. The other three remained neutral, either out of fear, or blind hope that the war wouldn't reach them.”

He returned to the front of the class, raising a finger for emphasis.

“That division proved disastrous. Dorman seized the opportunity. With advanced weapons in hand and no united resistance, he crushed both Solaris and Armada, two of Theria's greatest strongholds. That marked the end of the First Alchemical War. And from its ashes, the Alchemical City was reborn as the Alchemical Empire.”

The professor's voice dropped slightly, like a curtain falling at the end of a play.

“From there, Dorman's ambition expanded to the rest of the continents and those kingdoms that once believed themselves safe. But... that is a story for another class.”

He gave a small, knowing smile. “We'll stop here for today.”

As soon as the lecture ended, the atmosphere in the classroom shifted. The students began rising from their seats, chatting in low voices as they filtered toward the door. The usual grumbling about boring theory lessons was nowhere to be heard. Instead, they were all deep in discussion: about Dorman, the war, and the fractured past of the Alliance.

Orin stood from his seat, his gaze drifting toward Professor Aldulfin, who was gathering a few scattered documents at his desk. A question had been gnawing at the back of his mind since yesterday, and now that the classroom had mostly emptied, it felt like the perfect moment to ask.

He made his way down the aisle with quick but hesitant steps. The professor looked up at the sound of his approach, curiosity flickering behind his glasses.

“What is it, son?” he asked, adjusting a stack of parchment.

Orin paused. He didn't want to sound too suspicious, but neither did he want to dance around the subject.

“I wanted to ask you something... It's not about the Alchemical Wars,” he began, his voice low. “Do you know anyone by the name Nicola Papin?”

At the mention of the name, the professor's brows lifted slightly in surprise. He scratched his chin thoughtfully for a moment before replying.

“Nicola Papin? Of course,” he said plainly. “He was one of Solaris's Oracles, perhaps the most famous one in recent memory. Many believed he could commune directly with the goddess Bhizenti herself.”

That alone made Orin tense slightly. The rumors were true, then.

“But,” Aldulfin continued, his tone darkening just a shade, “about five years ago, he suddenly resigned from his post and disappeared from the public eye. No formal announcement, no ceremony... just gone.”

Five years ago... Orin's thoughts churned. That's the same year Princess Andromeda vanished. Coincidence? Or something more?

“He lives quietly now,” the professor went on, “in a small house on the outskirts of Solaris. Still receives visitors, those seeking prophecies or guidance. Though most of them, I hear, are devout members of the Church of Luminia.”

That name again. Always circling back.

“Even if he's no longer an Oracle, Papin still holds considerable influence. But... why the sudden interest?”

Orin forced a casual smile, waving off the question. “Ah, nothing really. I just heard the name somewhere and got curious, that's all.”

It was a lie, of course. But before the professor could press him further, Orin noticed something strange. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hector, halfway out the door, glance back at them. For just a moment, their eyes met. Hector's expression was hard to read: serious, maybe even troubled. And then, just as quickly, he turned and vanished down the hallway.

Had he overheard them?

“I appreciate the information, Professor,” Orin said abruptly, trying not to let his unease show. “If you'll excuse me... I should get going.”

Aldulfin simply nodded and returned to his papers.

Orin stepped out into the corridor and scanned the halls, but Hector was already gone.