Orin Alpheratz (15 years old) Location: Solaris Date: Year 873 / Crow Cycle (3) / Hunter's Day (7)

  Perseus could barely remain upright. One knee hit the ground as he leaned heavily on his sword, shoulders rising and falling with ragged breaths. His uniform was torn, streaked with blood, and his eyes were dulled with exhaustion.

  “Perseus! Hang in there!” Orin shouted, taking a step forward, but a firm arm stopped him in his tracks.

  Felis stood at his side, his gaze locked on the two armored guards steadily advancing toward the wounded student, swords drawn and shields raised.

  “Leave this to me,” Felis said quietly, not sparing Orin a glance. “Little priestess, tend to the injured one.”

  Without waiting for a response, Felis moved.

  It wasn't a run. It was more like a glide, fluid, silent, almost inhuman. His steps didn't echo. His form blurred, as though the shadows themselves welcomed him.

  The guards, too focused on finishing Perseus off, didn't notice the threat until it was already upon them. Even Perseus, who was barely clinging to consciousness, caught only a flicker of motion, a shadow passing just beyond his vision.

  “One more intruder—!” One of the guards barked, raising his shield.

  The two guards stood their ground, shields raised in perfect formation. Their posture was flawless, years of training reflected in every inch of their stance. To Orin, it was immediately clear: without the element of surprise, a direct assault would be suicide even for an assassin like Felis.

  And then, the guards activated a defensive skill, Total Defense. Several translucent shields of ethereal energy materialized around them, orbiting their bodies like protective satellites. They shimmered ominously, ready to deflect any attack.

  But Felis didn't flinch.

  He strode forward, calm as ever, twin black daggers gleaming in his hands.

  As Orin and Aran ran to reach Perseus, Orin found his gaze constantly flicking back to the scene in front of them. What was Felis thinking? Those were standard assassin blades. Deadly, but short. They were meant for shadows, not head-on duels against heavily armored knights.

  One of the guards scoffed, his voice echoing behind his visor.

  “What are you planning to do with those toy knives, little rat?” he mocked, tightening his grip on his shield.

  Felis didn't answer.

  Instead, he raised his arms in a slow, theatrical gesture... and hurled both daggers.

  They flew like bolts of black lightning. So fast that even Orin's trained eyes barely caught the movement. The air seemed to hum for an instant as the blades hurtled toward their targets.

  Then, silence.

  A faint crack as the daggers pierced through narrow, almost invisible gaps between the rotating ethereal shields.

  One embedded itself deep in the chest of the first guard, the point punching clean through the armor.

  The second struck dead center on the forehead of the other guard, driving through the helmet as if it were paper.

  Blood sprayed in thin streams. The two knights didn't even have time to cry out before collapsing like broken dolls, their weapons clattering to the stone floor.

  Orin came to a halt beside Perseus, breath catching in his throat. He blinked, trying to make sense of what he'd just witnessed.

  “Did... Did he really just...?” He muttered.

  Perseus was just as stunned. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. The disbelief in his expression said it all.

  An assassin taking down two knights in direct combat? It shattered everything Orin had learned about battle hierarchy. No tricks, no misdirection, just cold, precise death.

  Before anyone could speak, Aran stepped forward, breaking the heavy silence.

  “Orin, I'm going to heal him. Please, hold his arm steady while I cast the spell.”

  Orin blinked, finally regaining his focus. He nodded quickly and crouched beside Perseus, gently taking hold of his classmate's arm. A faint tremble ran through it.

  “Who... Who are these people?” Perseus asked, his voice raw with disbelief. His eyes darted between Aran and the unfamiliar face of Felis in the distance, as if he'd only just realized he wasn't alone with Orin.

  “It's... complicated,” Orin replied with a weak smile, knowing full well how impossible it would be to explain the presence of two Star Children inside the academy walls. “But more importantly, why were you fighting those guards? I thought they weren't supposed to attack the knights' students.”

  Perseus's expression clouded over instantly. Even Aran, who had placed his hands gently over the bleeding wound on Perseus's side, paused for a heartbeat. Then a soft, warm light began to glow from her palms, slowly weaving through the injury.

  Then, finally, Perseus spoke, his voice low, laced with pain and frustration.

  “I know what I'm doing goes against the code of the Knights of Solaris... and I know it means turning my blade against the Empire's men,” he said bitterly, eyes fixed on the floor. “But, since we were kids, Draco has been the only one who treated me like an equal. He never cared about my family name or the rumors. He's always stood by me...”

  He looked up at Orin, his jaw tight.

  “If the Empire's decided to imprison every sorcerer, even the innocent ones... I'd rather throw away my knighthood than turn my back on the people who saved me.”

  Orin's chest tightened. He could see it. Perseus's conflict, the raw, silent desperation behind his words. And he understood. Deeply.

  Because he felt it too.

  The helplessness. The fire that came when everything you believed in started to crumble.

  “I get it,” Orin said softly, his gaze steady. “And for what it's worth... I don't think these knights are acting on behalf of the Empire.”

  Perseus blinked. “What?”

  “I think they’re moving under the direct orders of the Oracle and the Church of Luminia. Not the Emperor.”

  The idea seemed to hit Perseus like a gust of wind. His eyes widened, searching Orin's face for any sign of doubt, but there was none.

  For a moment, he said nothing. Then slowly, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, his body relaxed. Not entirely, but just enough.

  Before anyone could speak further, a quiet, deliberate tap... tap... of footsteps drew their attention.

  Felis emerged from the shadows, twin daggers glinting faintly in the dim light. He slid each blade across a cloth, wiping away the last traces of crimson blood before tucking them back into place.

  “Orin, we should move,” he said without looking directly at him, her gaze flicking toward the dark corridors behind. “More guards are roaming nearby. Aran, do you know where the mages are being held?”

  Aran closed her eyes, her expression tightening in concentration. A few moments passed before she opened them again, brows knitting.

  “I can't sense any magical impulses... which means they're likely sealed behind a barrier,” she murmured.

  Felis tilted her head slightly, considering that. Yet before he could speak again, Perseus's voice cut in.

  “If I had to guess, most of the sorcerers should be in the Magical Studies Wing,” he said firmly. “The walls there are reinforced to resist enchantments. If they locked the sorcery students inside, there's no way they'd break through on their own.”

  “That's a strong possibility,” Felis agreed, then turned to Orin with an unreadable smile. “We should split up. It'll be dark soon, and the dark is where my skills shine brightest. I'll clear out every guard I sense along the way. You head for the Magical Studies Wing. Aran, stay with them. Once the mages are freed, meet with Mahasim. Don't wait for me.”

  Aran's lips parted as if to protest, but one glance into Felis's unwavering eyes silenced her. Reluctantly, she nodded.

  Without another word, Felis stepped backward into the gloom, his form dissolving into the shadows until he was simply gone, like smoke whisked away by the night.

  Orin exhaled slowly, his attention shifting back to the task at hand.

  “Perseus, can you get us there?”

  Perseus gave a short nod. “Yeah. Stay close. We'll take the side passages, they're faster.”

  With that, he took the lead, the three of them weaving quickly through the winding corridors, their footsteps echoing faintly in the tense stillness.

  As they moved through the winding corridors, Orin began to notice a pattern, every so often, they would pass another group of guards lying motionless on the floor. Some were slumped against the walls, others sprawled where they'd fallen, their weapons scattered.

  Perseus slowed his pace, his eyes narrowing at the sight. “Your... friend's work?” He asked, glancing sideways at Orin. “He's not from Solaris, is he? Who exactly is he?”

  Orin hesitated. The question hung in the air, and for a moment, only the faint creak of the old floorboards filled the silence. Beside him, Aran's steps faltered slightly, her gaze flicking toward him, nervous, watchful.

  “...I wouldn't say I know him well,” Orin finally replied, keeping his voice even. “But apparently, he's someone with business involving me. For now, given the circumstances, he's chosen to help, until we reach a safe place.”

  Perseus studied him for a moment longer, clearly unconvinced. Still, he gave a small grunt, as if filing the matter away for later. “I see. Well, whoever he is, his skill is nothing to complain about.”

  “Agreed,” Orin said, quickening his pace.

  “In any case,” Perseus continued, “we're close. The Magical Studies Wing is just around the corner.”

  Aran let out a faint breath she had been holding. Orin didn't miss the subtle relief in her expression. Relief that Perseus hadn't pressed further. If Felis's true identity as a Star Child came to light now, it could easily bring more trouble than help.

  Perseus led them into a hallway unlike the rest of the academy. A narrow row of doors stretched ahead, each identical, each sealed shut, with not a single window to glimpse what lay beyond. The air here felt heavier. Walls painted in muted, lifeless colors, the dim torchlight casting long, warped shadows across the floor.

  “It's here,” Perseus murmured. “The sorcerers must be locked in one of these rooms... though I can't say which one.”

  Orin stepped up to the nearest door, testing the handle. It didn't budge. The lock was firm, unyielding.

  “The real problem,” he muttered, eyeing the intricate metalwork, “is figuring out how to open these... and quickly. Time's not on our side.”

  “Most likely, a guard is carrying the key,” Perseus replied. “We could try forcing them open, but without knowing the right door... we might waste precious effort.”

  Orin pressed his ear against the cold metal door, straining to catch even the faintest sound. Nothing. Not a whisper. The silence was so complete, it was unsettling. Were the doors soundproof? If so, this would be harder than he thought.

  “Aran,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Can you sense anything?”

  The girl had been moving slowly along the corridor, her gaze flickering from door to door, fingertips brushing the walls as if searching for a pulse of magic. Finally, she shook her head, her voice heavy with frustration.

  “...Nothing. I can't detect a single trace of magic.”

  Orin moved cautiously down the corridor, his footsteps echoing faintly against the cold stone floor. He kept just a few paces ahead of Perseus and Aran when something caught his eye.

  A flicker. No, a pulse of crimson light seeped from beneath one of the doors. It was gone in less than a heartbeat, but Orin's senses sharpened instantly. The glow was faint, yet he recognized it. It had the same subtle signature he felt when reading an opponent's magic mid-cast... only this trace was weaker, more elusive, like a whisper on the wind.

  “I think I've found the right room,” Orin said, glancing over his shoulder. “There's a faint trace of magic clinging to that door.”

  “I don't know how you know that, but... that's more than we had a moment ago,” Perseus replied, relief mixing with caution. “The problem now is... how do we open it?”

  The three exchanged uncertain looks, each waiting for the other to conjure a solution. Before anyone could speak, Aran's expression shifted. Her gaze snapping toward the far end of the hallway. The doubt in her eyes hardened into alarm.

  “Someone's here,” she said sharply. “Close. Very close! Orin, behind you!”

  Orin barely had time to turn before the darkness itself seemed to lunge at him. A blur of movement slammed into his side with the weight of a battering ram. The impact hurled him across the floor, sending him skidding to a stop near Aran's feet. His ears rang, his vision swam, and for a moment all he could register was Perseus's startled voice cutting through the haze.

  “You! What are you doing here?! Why are you attacking us?!”