Orin Alpheratz (15 years old) Location: Solaris  Date: Year 873 / Pegasus Cycle (1) / Prince's Day (10)

In the days that followed, Orin couldn't shake the image of Hector's face, that fleeting expression of unease, as though he'd heard something he wasn't meant to.

Does he know more than he lets on...?

The question gnawed at him, so much so that he eventually roped Eridus into helping him keep an eye on Hector. They did their best to stay unnoticed, quietly observing him between classes, following at a distance whenever he left the dormitory.

But no matter how closely they watched, Hector behaved exactly as he always did: diligent and completely unremarkable. He trained hard, attended all his lessons, and never did anything even remotely suspicious.

After a few days of fruitless observation, Orin started to question himself. Was I just being paranoid? 

Eventually, the days passed, and the much-anticipated Knight Skills practice arrived.

That morning, the air buzzed with anticipation as students filed into the training hall. Professor Schedar stood near the weapon racks, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the room. Orin's gaze instinctively flicked to Hector, who entered along with the others. 

Once everyone was seated, the lesson began.

“Today we'll continue working on the Solar Sword skill,” Schedar announced, pacing slowly before the class. “Mastery of this skill allows a knight to bypass even the toughest of defenses. When properly imbued, the solar energy within your blade can melt through steel.”

A murmur of excitement passed through the class.

“But,” the professor added with a faint smirk, “you'll find the technique becomes far more efficient once you stop using it as a glorified flashbang.”

His eyes landed on Orin.

Orin gave a sheepish smile and nodded in silent apology.

With a chuckle, Schedar turned back to the class. “Right, enough talk. Everyone grab a training sword. Your goal for today is simple: channel just enough solar energy to make the blade emit a faint glow. No more, no less. Those of you who succeed will be one step closer to unlocking the full potential of this skill.”

The students stood and moved to the weapon racks, the clinking of blades and hushed voices filling the room. Orin picked up a practice sword and exhaled slowly. Focus. For now, he pushed aside the questions swirling in his mind. Whatever secrets lay beneath the surface, about Hector, the Church, or Princess Andromeda, he would uncover them in time.

But right now, all that mattered was the blade in his hand.

As he had suspected, controlling the energy was incredibly difficult. The moment he tried to channel his aura into the blade, it surged uncontrollably, sparking and fading in erratic bursts. Around him, many of his classmates were visibly struggling as well, their swords flickering like faulty lanterns.

Just a few steps away, Sirius groaned dramatically.

“Tch, it's the sword. Definitely the sword. It's cursed or something,” he muttered, glaring at his weapon as if it had personally wronged him.

Orin couldn't help but chuckle. Ever since their battle during group tactics, he and Sirius had grown unexpectedly close. An alliance forged through mutual bruises and grudging respect.

On the other side of the training room, Kuma was flailing wildly, sending desperate slashes into the air with such force that it looked more like he was trying to swat a swarm of bees than practice a skill.

Meanwhile, Perseus stood off to the side, stoic as always. His expression was unreadable, but his sword betrayed his lack of progress. He hadn't spoken much to anyone since their last match, but it was clear the frustration was eating at him.

Orin gritted his teeth and focused again, trying to calm his breathing. Slowly, steadily, the energy began to settle. A dim shimmer started to form along the blade's edge. Faint, but far more stable than before. Yes... just like that.

But just as he began to gain some control, Professor Schedar's voice rang out across the room.

“Hector, excellent work!”

The entire class paused for a moment, glancing in Hector's direction. Sure enough, his training sword was glowing with a steady golden light, soft but unmistakably bright. The professor stood beside him, nodding in approval.

“At this pace, you'll master the technique in no time.”

Orin exhaled sharply, lowering his sword.

Every time he made progress, Hector always seemed to be one step ahead. There was no denying Hector's talent. But it was frustrating all the same.

He glanced at Perseus, who was still focused on his blade, but now there was a tightness in his jaw, a small crease between his brows. It wasn't just Orin who felt the pressure.

Still, not everyone seemed discouraged. Kuma let out a whoop and gave Hector a cheerful thumbs-up, while Wesen clapped enthusiastically, proud to see their classmate succeed.

Orin tightened his grip on the sword.

Fine, he thought. I'm not giving up that easily.

He raised the blade again, determination burning just beneath the surface of his skin.

And after several attempts... by the end of class, Orin had nearly matched Hector's glowing sword. His blade now shimmered with a soft, steady light, just a shade dimmer, but enough to earn the approval of both his peers and Professor Schedar.

“Very good, Orin,” Schedar said with a nod of satisfaction. “You're finally overcoming that lack of control. At this rate, you'll be mastering this skill in no time.”

Orin let out a long breath and dropped to the floor, his muscles aching from the relentless effort of channeling his energy again and again. Sweat trickled down his temple, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Just then, Sirius walked over and gave him a firm slap on the back.

“Good work, leader!” he said with a grin. Despite the group tactics exercise being over, he still insisted on calling Orin that. “I think someone just stole second place from Perseus.” Sirius just laughed, clearly pleased to stir the pot.

Curious, Orin glanced toward Perseus. The usually composed boy stood silently by the weapon racks, his sword resting at his side. But something in his expression had changed. There was no anger, no jealousy. Instead, a quiet, almost melancholic frustration weighed on his face. As if he wasn't disappointed in others... but in himself.

Most of the other students looked just as exhausted as Orin, some even sitting down to catch their breath. It was the kind of fatigue that turned into laughter, shared complaints, and pats on the back.

But just as a relaxed atmosphere began to settle in, Professor Schedar raised his hand.

His voice cut through the air like a blade.

“As is tradition,” he said, “three students from the second-year class will be chosen to undergo a challenge. One that will determine whether they are worthy to wield Celestin, the sacred sword.”

A murmur swept through the room like wildfire.

Orin tilted his head. Celestin?

He had never heard the name before. No one had mentioned anything about a magic sword in any of the lectures. Was this something everyone else already knew?

Schedar's tone grew solemn, almost reverent.

“Celestin is one of the twenty divine blades, magic swords forged by the gods themselves and gifted to our kingdoms as sacred offerings. A weapon of such power cannot simply be wielded by force. It must choose its bearer.”

Orin sat up straighter. The air in the room had shifted. Even Sirius, who rarely took anything seriously, was now listening intently.

“To be granted an audience with Celestin,” Schedar continued, “you must first prove yourself through the Hero's Trial, a test held each year to identify potential wielders. Only three students will be selected to attempt this trial. Whether one of them can really wield it... that is up to the sword.”

Excited whispers and murmurs erupted among the students. Clearly, this was a well-known event, just not to Orin, who now felt as if he'd been living under a rock.

“In the coming days,” Schedar said, “you'll be given more details. But know this: your performance in every class, every training, and every sparring session from this moment on will be evaluated.”

He paused, scanning the room with a sharp gaze.

“Prepare yourselves.”

And with that, the class was dismissed.

As the students poured out of the classroom, the hall buzzed with chatter: excitement, speculation, and, above all, one name echoing more than the rest.

“It's obvious Hector's going to win this year.”

“I bet Celestin's just been waiting for someone like him.”

“No way anyone else even comes close.”

The praise for Hector was everywhere. It wasn't just admiration, it was near-unanimous confidence.

Orin caught snippets of the conversations, his expression neutral but his chest tightening just slightly.

Noticing this, Sirius stepped up beside him and gave him a reassuring pat on the back.

“I think if anyone here can go toe-to-toe with Hector, it's you, Orin,” he said with his usual grin. “But first things first, you've gotta be chosen for the Trial, right?”

Orin gave a short nod, clenching his fists with newfound determination.

“Even if it's not during the Trial... I'll surpass Hector someday. I'm sure of it.”

Sirius chuckled. “That's the spirit.”

Just then, Professor Schedar approached, his arms crossed and eyes sharp as ever. He came to a stop in front of them and gave Orin a long, considering look.

“I see you're finally starting to show progress,” he said with a slight nod. “But if you want to be chosen for the Hero's Trial, you'll need to excel in every area: individual combat, group tactics, strategy, leadership... even your academic performance. Every aspect of your growth is being evaluated.”

Orin straightened, processing the weight of those words. Celestin, a divine blade, one of the gods' own creations. Could someone like him, barely adjusted to academy life, really compete for something like that?

The doubt must've shown on his face, because he found himself asking:

“Isn't second year a little early to be chosen as the wielder of such an important weapon?”

Schedar paused, then gave a measured nod.

“A fair question,” he replied. “But Celestin doesn't choose based on age or time at the academy. If it finds someone worthy, that's all that matters.”

He folded his arms, eyes narrowing slightly.

“And if a student is chosen, their remaining years here become crucial. The third and fourth years are ideal for training a true wielder. That's why the Trial is held now, when you all have just enough experience to prove your worth, but still have time to grow into it.”

“I see...” Orin murmured, feeling a bit more grounded.

“For now,” the professor said, “focus on honing your skills. Let your strength speak for you when the time comes. The Trial will reveal the rest.”

Orin nodded firmly.

With that, their conversation came to a close, and he walked out of the classroom alongside Sirius. Though the path ahead was still unclear, a spark of determination had taken root inside him, and this time, it refused to flicker out.

And after that, the usual routine...

Orin, walking side by side with Sirius on their way back to the dorms, let his gaze wander over the passing crowd of students. The academy's corridors were lively as always, students bustling about between training, classes, and idle chatter. Meanwhile, Sirius was, unsurprisingly, immersed in one of his trademark, overly animated stories.

“...so, since he was so sure my team would lose that team tactics match, I bet my little brother he'd have to buy me the most expensive meal in the cafeteria if we won,” he said with a grin. “You should've seen his face when he found out the losing team was Perseus's.”

Sirius laughed heartily at his own story, clearly enjoying the memory. Orin smiled faintly. He'd come to appreciate these light moments with Sirius, who always managed to bring some levity, even after a hard day of training.

But just as he nodded along, pretending to follow the rest of the tale, something ahead caught his attention.

Through the crowd, a few hallways away, he spotted Hector.

He wasn't heading toward the dorms like the others. Instead, he moved with clear purpose down a quieter corridor, toward the old faculty offices. Those rooms were usually only used for one-on-one counseling sessions or confidential meetings with instructors.

That was... odd.

Orin slowed his pace, watching the figure disappear down the hall. An uneasy feeling coiled in his chest. This might be his only chance to see what Hector was up to without raising suspicion.

“Sorry, Sirius,” Orin said quickly, turning to his friend. “I just remembered... I have something to take care of before dinner. I'll catch up with you later, alright?”

Sirius blinked, surprised, but then just gave his usual laid-back smile and a thumbs-up. “Sure thing, leader.”

He spun on his heel and strolled off toward the dorms, humming a cheerful tune that faded down the corridor.

Orin, now alone, turned and hurried after Hector. His footsteps light, his mind focused. Whatever Hector was doing... he had to find out.

After weaving through several corridors, Orin finally spotted him.

Hector was walking swiftly, his steps purposeful. But he wasn't alone.

Just ahead, standing beside the door of an old, seldom-used faculty room, was Huxley, the princess's former bodyguard and now one of the academy's instructors.

Orin instinctively pressed his back against the wall, heart pounding. Why is Hector meeting with Huxley... and in such a discreet place?

From his hidden vantage, he watched as the two exchanged brief words and then slipped into the room, the door closing behind them with a soft click.

Wasting no time, Orin darted silently across the hallway and crouched near the door. Carefully, he pressed his ear against the cool wood, holding his breath.

Inside, muffled voices spoke:

“...I don't understand what you're trying to tell me,” Huxley said, his tone tense. “You're saying there's a student who came after me? Why?”

“It's related to what the Oracle told us a few years ago,” Hector replied calmly. “And I think his obsession is going to lead him directly to the Oracle himself. That worries me.”

“Why not talk to him? He's your friend, isn't he?”

“It's no use,” Hector said flatly. “He's convinced the princess of the empire is real. No matter what I say, I won't change his mind.”

There was a pause, and then Huxley's voice followed, lower and colder than before:

“Then perhaps it's better to let him chase the illusion. He'll figure it out eventually... that the princess he's looking for never existed in the first place.”

Orin's eyes widened. A chill ran down his spine.

What…?

His thoughts raced, unable to make sense of what he had just heard. Are they... saying the princess doesn't exist? But... that can't be right.

Before he could process it further, the faint sound of footsteps echoed from the far end of the hallway, someone was approaching.

Alarmed, Orin quickly backed away from the door and slipped around the nearest corner. He didn't stop running until he was far from that hallway, his chest tight and his mind a storm of confusion.