Time passed. Days blurred into weeks, then months. Before Iruminai knew it, final exams loomed on the horizon—the last obstacle before graduation. The weight of it all should have made every lesson feel urgent, like each word spoken in class carried the key to his future. But instead…

Iruminai tapped his pencil against his desk, his rhythm slow and uneven. The class wasn’t hard—just insanely boring. The classroom air carried the faint scent of chalk and parchment, thick with the warmth of bodies packed together for far too long. Dust clung stubbornly to the beams overhead, disturbed only when a window cracked open, letting in a slice of sunlight. A student two rows ahead slumped forward, chin resting against his palm, barely awake. Someone behind Iruminai stifled a yawn. The professor's voice droned on, her words bleeding into the shuffle of papers and the scratching of writing.

“...Lunars,” the professor’s voice cut through the haze of monotony, snapping Iruminai’s attention back to the lesson. “Now, can anyone tell me—what is the energy Lunars draw their magic from?”

Iruminai hesitated, his mind still sluggish from the lull of boredom, before slowly raising his hand. The professor‘s gaze settled on him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Mr. Shalt, do you have an answer for us?”

A few students turned to look at him. Iruminai shifted under their attention. “Uh... Lunis?” He answered, his voice trailing off into uncertainty.

The professor gave a satisfied nod. “Correct. Lunars draw their magic from Lunis.” She gestured to the board behind her, where various notes were already written. The chalk lines were messy, crisscrossing from earlier explanations, as though even she couldn’t keep the subject contained. “Now, let’s go a little deeper.”

She turned back to the class, pacing slowly as she continued. “There are multiple types of Lunars, each specializing in different forms of magic. Some manipulate elements—fire, water, wind, and so on—while others have more unique abilities, such as illusions or physical enhancements.”

Iruminai leaned forward slightly, his curiosity outweighing his boredom. He raised his hand again. The professor gave him a nod, signaling for him to speak. “So, what exactly determines what kind of magic a Lunar can use? And... why do only some people become Lunars in the first place?”

The professor gave another small nod of approval. “That’s a wonderful question, Mr. Shalt,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a clear answer.”

She paused for a moment, choosing her next words carefully. “Despite centuries of study, the origins of the Lunars' abilities remain unknown. We understand what they can do, but why or how they awaken to their magic is still a mystery.” Her gaze swept across the room, ensuring the class was following along. “What we do know is that no one is born a Lunar. Their abilities can manifest at any point in life—some awaken as children, others as adults, and some even in old age. But for the vast majority of people, that awakening never comes.”

Iruminai furrowed his brows, resting his elbow on the desk. “Wait... but there are Lunars out there, right? We know they exist.” He gestured vaguely with his hand. “So why don’t we just... ask them?”

A few murmurs rippled through the class. Clearly he wasn’t the only one thinking about it. His eyes flickered back to the professor, waiting for an answer.

The professor chuckled, shaking her head slightly. “That would seem like the obvious solution, wouldn’t it?” She folded her arms. “But here’s the problem—Lunars never speak about their abilities. Not how they came about, not the true nature of their magic, not even to scholars who have dedicated their lives to studying them.”

She took a few slow steps toward her desk, tapping her fingers against the surface. “No one knows why this silence exists or how it has endured for centuries, but the fact remains—simply asking has never worked. Whether it’s a personal oath, a societal rule, or something beyond our understanding, Lunars have kept their secrets.”

Iruminai frowned, tapping his pencil lightly against his desk. So they just... keep it all to themselves? He let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. They have all this power, and they can’t even bother to explain it? Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms. He wasn’t about to say it out loud, but the whole thing felt ridiculous. Sounds pretty selfish to me.

Before he could dwell on it any longer, the professor let out a small sigh of her own, glancing toward the clock. “Well, that just about brings us to the end,” she said, setting her chalk down. She clapped her hands together lightly, a satisfied look on her face. “That was a great discussion today!”

The bell rang, signaling the end of class. Chairs scraped against the floor as students stood, the quiet murmurs of conversation quickly filling the room. Iruminai grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he weaved through the crowd of students heading for the door. Stepping into the hallway, he glanced around, his eyes scanning the familiar sea of faces. Without hesitation, he made his way toward the one place that had become more familiar than anywhere else.

His footsteps slowed as he reached the heavy wooden doors of the school library. With a quiet sigh, he pushed them open, stepping inside. The library’s silence was heavy—almost sacred, something he had grown to enjoy.

Bookshelves loomed overhead, stretching across the vast space like towering giants. The scent of paper and ink drifted between the aisles, clinging faintly to every book he passed.

He knew every twist and turn of these aisles by now, which shelves creaked, where the air felt colder the deeper you wandered in. Glass cases lined some of the walkways, their relics casting faint, distorted reflections under the warm glow of enchanted lanterns. As he walked by, he let his fingers briefly trail over the glass, the familiar buzz of residual Lunis energy barely noticeable anymore.

Most of these artifacts had long since lost their power—mere echoes of what they once were. He barely spared them a glance. He wasn’t here for relics. Shifting the weight of his bag, he continued forward.

The air grew cooler as he moved deeper, the distant murmurs of students near the entrance fading into the stillness. It wasn’t long before he arrived at his usual stop.

“Memoria Shards.”

Rows of shelves stood before him, lined with shimmering crystals of all colors, each one containing recorded lectures from past scholars and professors. Their faint glow reflected against his skin as he scanned them, tiny prisms flickering across his fingers. Some of the titles blurred together—“Accounts from the Shattered Age,” “The Evolution of Ispin’s Trade and Politics.” None of it was particularly interesting, but that wasn’t the point.

Finally, he plucked a crystal from the shelf, turning it over in his palm. The cool surface pulsed faintly with stored energy, waiting to be activated. With one final breath, he tucked the crystal into his bag and headed toward one of the study booths in the back. Time to get to work.

Iruminai leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as he exhaled a slow breath. His vision blurred from staring at the projection in front of him for so long, the dim glow still lingering behind his eyelids. The tiny etched words of old scholars had started to run together, and no amount of blinking or refocusing was fixing it.

He stretched his arms overhead, rolling his shoulders before letting them drop back down with a sigh. His body ached from sitting in one place for too long. His muscles felt stiff, coiled too tight from the hours hunched over the table.

That was enough studying for one night.

He closed the book in front of him, slipping it into his bag before standing. His legs protested as he straightened, the dull ache in his joints making itself known. He rolled his neck, easing out the tension, before slinging his bag over his shoulder and stepping away from the study booth. His mind was still buzzing, restless despite the exhaustion creeping in. He needed to burn it off.

The study hall led into the main corridor, where a few students still lingered, some packing away their materials, others locked in quiet discussion. Iruminai barely glanced at them as he made his way toward the training hall.

By the time he arrived, the sky outside had darkened, streaks of deep violet and burnt orange lingering at the horizon. The hall was quieter than usual, most students having already cleared out for the evening. A few stragglers remained in the far corners, practicing footwork or sparring under the dim lantern light.

He dropped his bag against the wall, rolling his wrists as he made his way toward the training dummies. He wasn’t here to perfect his technique—not tonight. This wasn’t about form or precision. It was about control.

Iruminai took a deep breath, setting his stance. His knuckles met the heavy resistance dummy, the impact sending a dull jolt up his arm. He struck again. Harder. His body moved through the motions, muscle memory taking over as he worked through a series of rapid punches. Strike. Dodge. Breathe. There was no plan, no pattern.

His mind quieted with each impact, the tension from hours of studying slowly melting away. It wasn’t just school—it was everything. The pressure to push himself harder, the unspoken expectation that he would always be second-best, the creeping thought that no matter how much effort he put in, it would never be enough.

Mai made everything look so easy. And maybe it was. Maybe it really was just that simple for him.

Iruminai grit his teeth, pushing the thought away. That didn’t matter.

Another strike. Another. His movements picked up speed, sharp, deliberate. He wasn’t training to match Mai. He wasn’t training for anyone but himself. He had a goal. And he’d get there on his own terms.

The training dummy groaned under the force of his strikes, the worn wood creaking at the repeated abuse. His arms burned, but he didn’t stop.

Finally, he exhaled, lowering his fists. His breath came in slow, measured pulls, his heart pounding in his chest. His arms hung at his sides, aching but steady. The training hall was almost empty now, the last few students packing up for the night. Sweat beaded along his jawline, stinging as it slipped into the raw skin of his knuckles.

Iruminai let out a breath, stretching his arms behind his head before grabbing his bag. He wiped the sweat from his brow, rolling his shoulders as he stepped toward the exit. His body was exhausted, but his mind—finally—felt quiet.

Iruminai stepped into his family's home, the grand entryway echoing with his footsteps. The familiar scent of polished wood and expensive incense greeted him, but the house itself remained silent.

Letting out a sigh, he began up the sweeping staircase, his hand trailing along the ornate banister.

"Young master?" a voice called from below, halting his ascent.

Iruminai paused, turning to see Berian, one of the house staff, standing at attention at the foot of the stairs. The older man's posture was impeccable as always, hands clasped behind his back.

"Good evening, Berian," Iruminai said warmly, a sincere smile on his lips.

"Dinner is served in the main dining room," Berian announced. "Your mother asked if you would be joining her this evening."

Iruminai furrowed his brow. "I'll eat later, thank you Berian," he said, his voice a touch sharper than intended. Without waiting for a response, he continued his climb up the stairs.

Reaching his bedroom, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind him with a soft click. The familiar space welcomed him. He tossed his bag onto the desk, not caring as it slid across the polished surface, and sank onto the edge of his bed.

He laid back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the day settled over him—but his mind wandered to the notice he'd seen posted outside the training hall. The bold lettering refused to leave his thoughts: FINAL COMBAT EXAMINATION. DATE CONFIRMED — LUNEL 25TH.