“History is not a record.
It is a decision.”

— Scholar Idrin Sol, executed for treason, 3125 AD

Magic has rules. But those rules are not physics. They are politics.

The world is ruled by cosmocracy, united by faith in the one and only Dragon God Soviras.

The Sovereign Dominion of Vires Imperium controls Luminance — the most powerful magic known to man.

Once, Luminance flowed freely, given to all who believed. That was called the Golden Age.

But one person, the greastest mage in history — the Hierophant Warden — sealed the world’s connection to Luminance in a global spell called Dawnbreak.

Some said it's necessary, venerating the mage as a saintly figure, while others viewed them as a monarch of Luminance who stripped humanity of its potential.

Nonetheless, the age ended.
The Church took control.

Now, to use magic, you must obey.

This is the story of someone who asked,
“Why?”

---

When I was young, I thought the truth was something bright. Something beautiful.
But then I learned — the brightest things in the world are the ones that burn you first.
And truth?
Truth doesn’t shine.
It scorches.

I believed in knowledge.
I believed that truth was sacred. That it would set us free.
I believed that if I studied hard enough, questioned deep enough, I would find the core of the world.

I didn’t know yet that the world punishes those who ask the wrong questions.

This is the story of how I started asking.

Before the letter.
Before the flames.

Before I became the man who broke everything.

When a once-in-a-generation prodigy enters the newly rebuilt Eryndor Academy with hopes and dreams.

The Academic life of Aldric Valen

Year One

The lecture hall is filled with nervous energy, rustling uniforms, shuffled notes, and awkward small talk. The sun filtered through stained-glass windows, casting golden rays over the polished stone floor. On each desk: a nameplate, a sealed schedule, and a pamphlet marked with the emblem of Eryndor High Academy — a pair of open hands, cradling a sphere of light.

A voice cut through the noise.

“Welcome, students.”

Professor Torren strode into the room with long, practiced steps. Cloaked in deep maroon robes, his silver hair and lined eyes gave him a look of tired wisdom.

“My name is Torren, and I’ll be your homeroom instructor for the next three years. Since it’s your first day, why don’t we begin by introducing ourselves?”

Aldric stood when it was his turn.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Aldric Valen. My dream is to become a scholar who uncovers the mysteries of the world.”

His voice was confident, not arrogant. Measured. His eyes didn’t dart nervously like the others. He looked directly at Torren, and briefly, the professor’s brow raised.

Then came the nod.

“A bold aim. Let’s see if the world is kind enough to let you.”

In the weeks that followed, Aldric made his mark. Not just with grades — though he was nearly always at the top — but with the way he challenged questions others took for granted.

Leaning forward eagerly in his favorite Magic Theory class, Aldric jotted down every valuable word from Professor Maeve.

"Today's lesson is foundational. If you can’t name the three branches of sanctioned magic by the end of this class, drop out and become a bricklayer."

A pointless threat. Aldric had already memorized them by heart long before setting foot in this school.

- Luminance is the most versatile and effective form of magic, dominated 84% of all practice. It stemmed from devotion to Soviras and is heavily regulated by the church.
- Essence, the magic of nature and fundamental forces. It manipulates concepts such as mass, motion, perception, and structure. Most saw it as inferior, since most of its applications can be replicated using Luminance. 
- Oddments are the outliers, a collection of niche, bizarre, or impractical forms of magic. Fewer than 3% of magic users ever touched these.

Aldric's social circle also expanded. Kieran, the boy who sat beside him, became his closest companion. Easygoing, whip-smart when he bothered to be. The two were opposites in every way — Aldric, driven and precise; Kieran, lazy but lightning-fast in thought — and somehow it worked.

Selise, sharp-tongued and sharp-witted, sparred with him constantly. Especially during theory classes, where Aldric’s unconventional ideas clashed against her encyclopedic knowledge.

Remy, the energetic merchant’s son, treated school like a constant competition. If Aldric got a 96, Remy aimed for 97. If Aldric mastered a spell, Remy tried to recreate it in a different form.

They became a group. Not exactly inseparable, but unmistakable.

Late-night study sessions. Pranks on upperclassmen. Hushed debates about faith and future beneath the ivy-covered terraces. Memories were made.

Year Two

“...Following that, Sieg established the Silver Era of Luminance…”

Professor Maeve’s voice rang clearly from the front of the class as she presented on the evolution of faith-based magic.

Aldric scribbled faster than his quill could handle. He wasn’t just absorbing the content, he was questioning it, dissecting it, piecing it apart in his head.

That year, everything intensified. The school was no longer the welcoming furnace of wonder, it was a crucible. Tests grew harder. Expectations sharpened.

And Aldric thrived.

“You got first place again!” Remy groaned.

“You’re only one rank behind,” Aldric replied with a grin. “Try harder next time.”

But something had shifted in Aldric.

He wasn’t just chasing grades. At night, he read forbidden commentaries. He studied the fractures in historical records, the inconsistencies in Church chronicles. When others saw myths, he saw clues.

He wanted truth.

Even if he couldn’t explain why.

Year Three

“Aegis is actually more deployable when the surface area is larger,” Selise argued, “but the efficiency drops dramatically.”

Aldric leaned forward, chin resting on his hand.

“But that’s assuming Aegis follows a perfect conservation ratio. What if resonance density scales logarithmically, not linearly?”

“That’s a dead theory.”

“Or an incomplete one.”

His debates with Selise became legendary.

Kieran had once joked:

“You’re going to get excommunicated one day, Aldric.”

“And you’ll still be taking notes,” Aldric had replied dryly.

By then, even his friends began pulling away. Selise avoided conversations that drifted toward Church politics. Remy stopped congratulating his wins. Only Kieran remained close, though he too had started glancing at Aldric with concern more than admiration.

“You ever wonder if you’re going too far?” Kieran once asked, as they stared out over the windows.

“Too far where?” Aldric said.

“Anywhere the Church doesn’t want you to look.”

Aldric didn’t answer.

Year Four

Torren was gone.

“I’m quite sad to say goodbye to my students,” the old professor had said at the last assembly, “but I leave you in good hands.”

The man replacing him — Professor Omar — was clinical. Brutal in his assessments. Where Torren encouraged exploration, Omar preached structure. Doctrine. Obedience.

Aldric, unsurprisingly, became his problem.

“The concept of ‘hidden knowledge’ is a fallacy,” Omar declared on the first day. “Everything worth knowing is already documented.”

“Then why do we still have unanswered questions?” Aldric asked.

Silence. Then a quiet chuckle from Kieran.

That year, Aldric stopped sitting in the front row. He didn’t need to prove anything anymore. But he watched. He listened. He learned.

And he found it.

A contradiction.

A fracture in the accepted history between the Hierophant Warden’s account of Dawnbreak and archived testimonies of those who had witnessed it.

It was small. But it was real.

Year Five

It began with a letter.

The seal of the Church glinted on the parchment, untouched on his desk, the red wax seal gleaming. Aldric stared at it like one might stare at a noose.

The final year had only just begun. And yet something had already ended.

His friends were distant shadows. His professors silent. Even Kieran had gone cold, no longer inviting him to rooftop talks.

The more Aldric discovered, the fewer people could look him in the eye.

The room around him seemed to blur. His heart pounded.

He had pushed too far.

And now, the consequences would begin.