The Alexia Magic Association, at the very heart of the legion's sprawling marble complex, was always eerily silent. Even the sound of footsteps died quickly on its polished stone floors, as if the walls themselves swallowed noise. It was a place of gravity — of ancient power, of secrets held close by those who had ruled long before the current generation even took its first breaths.
And today, that weight felt even heavier.
Five grand thrones stood raised upon a dais at the end of the hall, each throne occupied by a shadowy figure. These were the Five Elders of Alexia — mages so powerful and so old that some whispered they no longer even resembled ordinary humans beneath their flowing cloaks. No one could see their faces, only the dark shapes and the strange chill that emanated from them, curling around the hall like cold mist.
Before them knelt Seiren Kritz, head bowed, a fist pressed to his chest. His long, bright yellow hair spilled down his armored shoulders, and his golden eyes remained respectfully lowered. He didn't dare meet the gaze of even the shadows above him.
"Seiren Kritz," one of the elders finally spoke, voice echoing as if from deep within a cavern. "We summon you today not for common errands, but for a task that demands the utmost caution — and your unmatched skill."
Another elder, voice lighter but edged with steel, continued, "You are hereby ordered to lead your squad to the Closoria dungeon. Exterminate all monsters lurking there. Reports indicate something inside that dungeon is causing them to grow unnaturally aggressive and powerful. Be vigilant. If you are careless, the toll may be steep."
A third voice — husky and ancient — added, "You are also tasked to investigate the source of this strange power. Do not fail us, Seiren. Depart no later than tomorrow evening."
Seiren pressed his palm even harder to his chest, armor clinking softly. "Yes, Great Elders," he said, voice deep and unwavering.
They didn't tell him "Good luck." They didn't say "Be safe." Such words had no place here. Orders were orders. Lives were numbers in the calculation of peace.
As Seiren stood and turned, the massive doors of the hall opened before him with a low groan. He walked out into the corridor without another glance back. The heavy silence left behind felt like a tomb.
Outside, where the sun spilled golden across the courtyard stones, Seiren let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He tilted his head back and stared up at the sky. It was painfully bright — almost mocking in how untouched it was by the burdens of those below.
"More deaths," he muttered under his breath. His voice was low, almost bitter. "How many more will it take before we've paid enough? Sometimes I wonder if this so-called gift of magic was ever truly a blessing to this world… or just a beautifully wrapped curse."
A rough hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder. Seiren flinched slightly, his hand already halfway to the hilt of his sword. But the laughter that followed made him lower it with an exasperated sigh.
"It's a double-edged sword, captain — nothing more than that," said Tempe, grinning broadly. His dark red hair caught the sunlight, making it glow like dying embers. His brown eyes were warm, forever catching the edges of mischief even in the direst of times.
Seiren arched an eyebrow at him. "You heard me?"
"Well, yeah, I've got ears sharp enough to pick up a spider crying. You know this."
Tempe had been with Seiren so long that reading the smallest crease of his brow or the faintest twitch of his mouth was as easy as breathing. That was exactly what made him both indispensable… and, to Seiren's perpetual annoyance, utterly impossible to hide things from.
Seiren tried to wave him off and started walking, but Tempe kept pace easily.
Judging by the tightness around Seiren's eyes, Tempe frowned. "This mission — it's worse than usual, isn't it? You've got that look that says you're halfway to already blaming yourself for something that hasn't even happened."
Seiren stopped. He ran a hand through his golden hair and gave a low, tired laugh. "This is exactly why I hate you, Tempe. You see straight through me just by looking at my damn face."
"That's why you keep me around," Tempe teased, bumping shoulders with him.
With a sigh, Seiren moved over to a short set of stone steps by the training ground wall and sat down heavily. Tempe dropped beside him, elbows on his knees.
For a long moment neither spoke. The courtyard bustled with other squads preparing for drills — mages adjusting armor, whispering spells, runners darting by with scrolls. It was all painfully normal. And painfully fragile.
Finally, Seiren's voice cut the silence. It was low, almost hoarse. "Yes. It seems… this time, it's going to be more dangerous than before."
Tempe's grin faded. His brown eyes sharpened. "What are we facing, Seiren? Don't try to dance around it."
Seiren let out a humorless chuckle. "Low-grade monsters."
Tempe just stared, unimpressed. "And?"
With an irritated groan, Seiren let his shoulders slump. "Fine. They're low-grade monsters, but something inside that dungeon is changing them. They're growing more aggressive. More powerful. Six mages from Marcus's squad were slaughtered before they could even raise a barrier. Six. Gone like that."
Tempe sat very still. Then he blew out a long breath. "So that's why you looked like you were already carving names into gravestones. You know… we've lost a lot of good people over the years, Seiren. More than either of us likes to count. But everyone dies eventually. What matters is getting to choose how we go. And for us…"
Suddenly there was a sound — the measured rhythm of boots striking stone. Both men looked up.
Standing before them was the entirety of Seiren's squad. Ten battle-hardened mages, each bearing unique scars, each with eyes sharp and bright as they looked at their captain. Without a word of prompting, they raised their right hands high.
"It's by fighting alongside you, captain!" they shouted, voices melding into one solid roar.
A small smile tugged at the corner of Seiren's mouth. So the rumors were true. This squad would follow him straight into the jaws of hell — not out of fear, but fierce devotion.
Tempe laughed and jumped to his feet. "We're not afraid of death, Seiren. The only thing that scares us is the thought of dying before we've given every last drop of blood fighting at your side. So don't stand there acting like we're fragile. None of us plans to go down easy. Right, everyone?"
"YEAHHHH!" the squad yelled back, grinning like lunatics.
Seiren stood, shaking his head. "Loud idiots. You're going to terrify the villagers if you keep shouting like that."
Then he drew his sword in one smooth motion. Its blade gleamed bright silver under the sun. His golden eyes hardened, but his lips curved into something half-warm, half-dangerous. "Listen well. If any of you dare to die before I do — I'll kill you myself."
With identical grins, every member of the squad raised their weapons too, accepting that promise as easily as breathing.
Inevitably, something awaited them inside Closoria. And when it happened… well, at least they would face it together.
Meanwhile, across the training grounds, someone else was facing their own private nightmare.
"She's going to kill me… she's really going to kill me… ekkk!" Aether yelped, practically tripping over his own feet as he tried to dodge a vicious swing.
Standing opposite him was Rune teach, looking thoroughly delighted. Her silver hair danced around her shoulders as she shifted her weight and lunged again. Her eyes glittered with predatory amusement.
"Don't stop now or I might actually kill you, Aether, hehe," Rune teach said, voice syrupy sweet — which somehow only made it more terrifying.
Ekkkk! She's not kidding, he thought frantically as he scrambled back. Is this normal? Are all sword instructors this brutal? Wouldn't their students all be dead by now?! I knew it. Rune teach is trying to murder me! Why did I ever agree to let her train me?!
"Maybe I'm still holding back a bit… let me play a little harder, kay?" Rune teach cooed, giving him the happiest smile Aether had ever seen on a battlefield.
"YIKES! AHHHHHH!"
Watching from the sidelines, a few of Aether's supposed "friends" snickered among themselves.
He shot them a furious glare. Oh shut up! And why are you even coming over here right now?! Go, shoo, get lost while I'm out here getting diced into sashimi by a woman twice as fast and ten times as scary as me!
"Hehe, not like I'd be scared of someone who's getting beat up so badly," one called.
YOUUU! You'll be the first I slice up once I survive this! Just wait and see!
"Hehe…" Rune teach giggled, hearing his muttered threats. "Aww, so much fight left in you. Good. Let's test how much more you can take!"
Aether's scream echoed across the training yard again. Somewhere nearby, someone sighed sympathetically, someone else laughed — and life went on.
In this world steeped in magic, power, and the looming certainty of death, people learned to cling fiercely to the little things: to camaraderie, to dark jokes, to petty rivalries, to the sheer reckless joy of living another day.
And so, as Seiren's squad gathered their gear and Aether got thoroughly demolished under Rune teach's shining smile, the sun dipped slowly lower, painting everything in hues of blood-orange.
Tomorrow would bring Closoria. Tomorrow would bring blood. But for tonight, they still breathed, still laughed, still cursed each other.
And sometimes, that was enough.