Leveling Up by slaying the Enemy.

Vallen pushed open the heavy wooden door to Dracon's office. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across the room, where Dracon sat behind a massive desk. 

"Vallen," Dracon surprised, eying Vallen's red cheeks. "What happened to you? 

"A cat attacked me." He replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Dracon erupted into laughter, the sound echoing off the walls, but it quickly faded when Vallen placed Dracon's sword onto the table between them.

"It's a curse, not a myth." Vallen said, his voice low and steady.

Dracon's quickly died, replaced by an intense gaze that searched Vallen's face. "And what? I know you had no turbel with it."

"Because there was no fight." Vallen replied.

A look of surprise flickered in Dracon's eyes. "So one of them knew your name."

Vallen nodded, and Dracon's laughter returned, ringing with a mix of disbelief and amusement. But it soon tuned into a grave seriousness as the weight of the world settled back onto their shoulders.

"They say the Republic is killing innocent people on the western border." Vallen said, his voice heavy with concern.

Dracon rose from his chair he moved to a cabinet and poured two generous drinks, the amber liquid catching the candlelight. "Not just the Republic. The Kingdom of Celestia launched a crusade against Aldera."

Vallen leaned back in his chair, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply as the smoke curled around him. "When will it come?" He asked, exhaling slowly, the smoke puffing out in a hazy cloud. He knew the Emperor's orders would arrive soon, and with them, the tide of war would turn.

Dracon met Vallen's gaze, the gravity of their situation hanging between them like a storm on the horizon. "Sooner than you think, my friend. Sooner than you think."

A few days later, the tone of the academy shifted. There was an unsettling stillness in the air, a tension that hung like the first signs of a storm. Whispers filled the corridors, students and staff alike speculating about what the Imperium next step would be.

It wasn't until Dracon summoned Vallen to his office that the gravity of the situation became clear.

Vallen, as usual, showed no particular concern as he strolled through the halls toward Dracon's quarters. His posture was relaxed, his hands resting casually in his pockets, as if he were heading to a mere briefing. His lazy demeanor was a constant topic of gossip among the academy's students, but those who knew him well understood that beneath the surface was a sharp mind, one not easily rattled.

When Vallen entered Dracon's office, he was surprised to find the principal already there, standing near the window, his back to the door. In front of him on the desk sat a sealed letter. The weight of the moment hit Vallen immediately. 

The room was silent for a few heartbeats before Dracon cleared his throat and spoke. "Vallen," he said, gesturing toward the letter without moving from his spot, "it has arrived."

Vallen's usually nonchalant expression faltered for a brief moment. He stepped closer to the desk, his eyes narrowing on the wax seal bearing the Imperial crest. He knew what it meant, but still, seeing it made his stomach twist.

The principal finally turned to face him, his face solemn and unreadable. "The Emperor summons you." He confirmed, his voice low.

The air in the room seemed to thicken, as if the walls themselves were closing in. For the first time in what felt like years, Vallen felt the weight of his title pressing down on him. The lazy mask he wore so well was hard to keep in place.

He reached out, taking the letter in his hands, but he didn't open it. Instead, he simply held it, staring at the seal as if it might give him answers on its own. He had known this day would come eventually, but part of him had hoped it wouldn't. The capital was far from here, both in distance and in significance. The life he had carved out for himself at the academy, a life of relative ease, of avoidance was about to be pulled away.

Dracon, sensing the tension, pulled out a cigar from his pocket and held it out to Vallen. 

"May Zepharus be with you." He said softly, the words heavy with meaning.

Vallen accepted the cigar, rolling it between his fingers with a small, tight smile. "Isn't this a bit much?" He asked, his voice light but betraying the growing unease beneath.

Dracon gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "I know you, Vallen. You're not one for goodbyes. You'll just disappear, won't you?"

Vallen's smile widened, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "That's true," he admitted. The thought of saying farewell, to Amara, and to Liora, filled him with an uncomfortable heaviness. He wasn't the type to linger in sentimentality. It was easier to leave without a word, without attachments.

The principal, who had remained silent up until now, walked toward them, carrying the Academy's Oath Book. He stood in front of Vallen, the weight of tradition and duty clear in his posture. "Place your hand on it," He instructed.

Vallen hesitated for a brief moment before placing his hand on the book. The leather cover felt cool beneath his palm, worn from years of use by countless soldiers who had come before him. It was an old, sacred tradition that he had undergone once before when he first became a student, and now again, as he prepared to leave for the capital.

The principal began to speak, his voice steady and commanding, each word carrying the weight of centuries of duty.

"Swear to uphold these truths, I vow to defend the weak, to serve my people, and to honor the legacy of those who came before me. I pledge my loyalty to my comrades, my country, and my ruler, with unwavering integrity. I will face every challenge with courage, never yielding to fear or corruption. I swear to be the shield in darkness and the light in times of despair."

Vallen's hand remained steady on the book, but his heart raced.

The principal's voice shifted, growing deeper, almost darker, as he continued with the ancient oath, one reserved for those who served the Emperor itself.

"Swear by the name of Nythros, the True God of Dominion, who has blessed us with skill and power to defeat the wicked and unworthy, I vow to take what is mine by force, to claim strength with every enemy I defeat. Each life I take will add to my own, each victory will carve my name into the fabric of this world. I will not falter, I will not hesitate. The weak fall before me, and I will rise over their broken remains. All hail to his Majesty the Emperor of the Imperium, Arkon Valerianos Gaius."

Vallen's breath hitched slightly at the mention of Nythros. He had never been particularly devout, but the weight of the god's name in the oath sent a chill down his spine. The room seemed darker, as if the very air had thickened with the gravity of what was happening.

As the final words of the oath left the principal's lips, the silence in the room was deafening. Vallen slowly lifted his hand from the book, feeling as if something had changed irreversibly. The life he had known at the academy was over. 

Dracon stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Vallen's shoulder. "You'll do well," he said quietly, though there was an edge of uncertainty in his tone. "Just… try not to not die."

Vallen nodded, though his usual humor was absent. He pocketed the cigar, turning toward the door without another word. 

As he walked down the long corridor of the academy, past the familiar halls and training grounds, Vallen couldn't shake the feeling that this was the last time he would see these walls in the same way. He had always been content here, away from the politics and power struggles of the capital. 

And for the first time in a long while, Vallen felt the weight of his name, his title, and the responsibilities that came with it.

As Amara and Liora walked through the grand halls, their footsteps echoed softly against the polished stone floors. Liora chatted , her laughter ringing like chimes in the stillness, but Amara's mind was elsewhere, lost in thoughts of the day's lessons.

As they rounded the corner, Amara halted, her heart pounding. There, outside Dracon's office, sat Vallen. He leaned casually against the wall, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, the smoke curling lazily into the air. But it wasn't just his relaxed posture that caught their attention, it was the glint of the golden Imperial Seal he held in his other hand, its radiance casting a warm glow against the cold stone.

Liora's laughter died on her lips, replaced by an expression of shock. "Is that…?" she whispered, her eyes wide as she took a step closer.

Amara felt her breath hitch in her throat. Vallen looked different, more imposing than she had ever seen him. The seal, a symbol of ultimate authority and responsibility, seemed to amplify his presence.

"Vallen?" Amara's voice came out softer than she intended, tinged with concern. The sight of him smoking, so casually holding the weight of the Imperium in his hand, sent a rush of emotions swirling within her fear, pride, and a deep, aching longing to understand the burden he bore.

Vallen glanced up, his eyes meeting hers. There was a flicker of something before he masked it with a smirk, but the smirk didn't reach his eyes. Amara felt her heart clench.

Liora stepped forward, her brow furrowing with concern. "You are leaving us."

The cigarette hung limply in his fingers as he studied the two girls. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken words and shared worries.

"Yeah, I am."

"But–" Amara's voice barely left her lips before Liora grabbed her hand, pulling her with desperate urgency, dragging her away without a word.

When they finally stopped, Liora's body shook with sobs, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face. Amara stood frozen, confusion and worry swirling in her chest as she watched her friend fall apart.

"We can't..." Liora's voice trembled, her fingers frantically wiping away the tears that wouldn't stop. "We can't say goodbye, Amara. We can't let him think he won't come back. If we do, it's like we've already lost him." 

The next morning Vallen was gone. There were no goodbyes.