Chapter 6

Layra Academy wasn't just a place for learning AI and robotics—it was a place for the best and the strongest.

Only a few made it past the first year. The rest? They either dropped out… or disappeared.

Wendall had never questioned this before. She had been too focused on survival, on earning a place in the Layra AI Revolutor after graduation.

But now, things were different.

Her magic had awakened. And with it, the academy no longer felt safe.

Something was being hidden here. And she was about to find out what.

Every student in Layra Academy had to pass the Final Aptitude Test—a brutal examination designed to weed out the weak.

But this year, something was different.

Rumors spread that the test had been modified, that it was no longer just about AI or robotics. Some students had gone missing during training.

And Wendall couldn't shake the feeling that this was connected to the power inside her.

When her name was called for the test, she stepped forward, ignoring the tension in her chest.

Whatever this was, she would survive it.

The AI Combat Simulation… or Something More?

Wendall was led into a massive, dome-shaped arena, filled with holographic screens and advanced AI systems. The instructors stood above in observation booths, cold and calculating.

A voice boomed through the speakers.

"Candidate 37—commencing trial."

The floor beneath Wendall shifted. Suddenly, mechanical pillars rose around her, forming a battlefield of metal and energy shields.

Then, the AI opponents appeared.

At first, they looked like simple training bots—humanoid machines with precision movements. But as they activated, their eyes glowed red, and Wendall's stomach dropped.

"This… isn't normal."

The first bot lunged at her, faster than any AI she had ever seen. She barely dodged in time, rolling to the side. Another bot followed, striking with lethal precision.

This wasn't a test.

This was an execution.

Her instincts screamed at her.

She reached for the control panel on her wrist, trying to override the AI system—only for an electric shock to pulse through her body, sending her crashing to the ground.

The academy had disabled all external controls.

This was a fight to the death.

The bots closed in, and Wendall had seconds to react. Her magic burned inside her, a force she didn't yet understand.

But if she didn't use it now—she would die.

She clenched her fists, focusing on the energy the woman had taught her to feel.

The air around her shifted.

As the next bot struck, her body moved on instinct—dodging at impossible speed, her reflexes sharper than ever before.

A second bot came for her, and without thinking, she threw out her hand.

A pulse of golden energy exploded from her palm, sending the machine flying across the arena.

The crowd gasped. The instructors leaned forward in shock.

And Wendall realized…

They had been waiting for this.

A voice echoed through the arena, colder than steel.

"Candidate 37—terminate the subject."

Her blood ran cold.

This wasn't just a test. They knew about her magic. And now, they were going to eliminate her.

As the remaining bots surrounded her, Wendall did the only thing she could.

She unleashed everything.

A surge of power exploded outward, golden light crashing through the machines like a storm. Sparks rained down, the walls cracking from the force of her magic.

And then—silence.

Smoke filled the air, the arena nothing but debris. Wendall stood, panting, her hands still glowing with the remnants of power.

The doors opened, and a figure stepped inside.

One of the academy's directors.

His eyes locked onto her. Not with fear.

But with satisfaction.

"Welcome to the real Layra Academy, Wendall."

****

Deep in the heart of Toaf, where the sun barely touched the land and the air carried whispers of forgotten nightmares, Tyoran stood before his council.

They knelt in a grand, dimly lit chamber, the flickering light of enchanted torches casting eerie shadows. The Owner of the Night, his most devoted followers, waited in silence.

Tonight, he would reveal what he had been preparing for years.

"The realms stand divided, held apart by fragile treaties and false peace," Tyoran's voice echoed through the chamber. "But we know the truth."

A hooded figure stepped forward. "The prophecy, my lord?"

Tyoran's lips curled into a dangerous smile.

"It has already begun."

For centuries, the world had believed that magic and technology could not coexist. That the five realms must remain separate.

But Tyoran refused that belief.

He had spent his life gathering forbidden knowledge, seeking the powers of creatures long feared—the mermaids, the seers, the vampires.

Now, his power had grown beyond mere magic. He had unlocked something far greater.

"The KURAT magic has returned," he continued, pacing the chamber. "Two have been chosen. And if I control them… I control the fate of the realms."

A vampire lord stepped forward. "The princess of Oaky—she has fled to Rafina."

Tyoran's eyes gleamed.

Zypharain. The princess of a kingdom built on power. A perfect tool, if broken correctly.

Another follower spoke. "And the girl from Earth—Wendall. She has awakened."

Tyoran already knew. His spies in Layra Academy had confirmed it.

The humans thought they could control her, mold her into their version of power. But they had no idea the true extent of what she could become.

"We will not wait for them to grow stronger," Tyoran declared. "Send the watchers to Rafina. The princess must be… guided toward our cause."

His voice dropped to something colder.

"And as for Wendall…"

The air in the chamber shifted, as if the darkness itself had come alive.

"We will ensure she has no choice but to join us."

Tyoran turned to his second-in-command, a deadly assassin known as Varen, the Shadowfang.

"You will infiltrate Layra Academy," Tyoran commanded. "Ensure she is pushed to the brink. Break her ties to Earth. Make her see the truth."

Varen bowed low. "As you command, my lord."

Tyoran stepped toward the center of the chamber, raising his hands. A dark mist swirled around him, filled with the whispers of ancient beings.

"The world has forgotten true power. They have relied on machines and false peace for too long."

His voice became a low growl.

"We will remind them."

The torches flared violently, casting monstrous shadows against the walls.

Tyoran's plan had begun.

And soon, the realms would burn.

***

Toaf was unlike any other realm. The sky was a perpetual dusk, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and ancient blood. Towering black spires loomed over the land, carved from stone that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.

This was a place where shadows were more than just the absence of light—they were alive.

And in the deepest corners of this forsaken land, they whispered.

Varen, the Shadowfang, stood at the edge of a ruined temple, listening.

The wind carried no sound, yet he could hear the voices—soft, seductive, dangerous.

"He calls us… he calls us… the war is coming…"

Varen closed his eyes, allowing the whispers to seep into his mind. These were not mere illusions. They were the remnants of ancient beings, spirits bound to Toaf when the gods divided the realms.

Tyoran had learned to control them.

And now, they would serve his will.

Deep within Tyoran's fortress, the leader of Owner of the Night stood at the center of an elaborate sigil. Dark mist coiled around him, pulsating like a living thing.

The whispers grew louder.

"The princess… the seer… the war is close…"

Tyoran's eyes gleamed as he traced the symbols in the air.

"Show me the girl from Earth."

The shadows shifted, swirling into an image—Wendall, standing amidst the wreckage of her test at Layra Academy. Her hands glowed faintly with the remnants of KURAT magic, her face filled with confusion and defiance.

A slow, knowing smile crept across Tyoran's face.

"She has awakened. But she is not yet ours."

He turned to Varen.

"You will go to Earth. Do not approach her directly. Break her from the inside. Show her that the world she fights for is not worth saving."

Varen bowed low, vanishing into the shadows.

Elsewhere in Toaf, in the hidden tunnels beneath the capital, an old vampire sat in a dark chamber, tracing runes onto the stone floor.

He had seen what was coming.

The war. The fall of the realms. The rise of something far worse than Tyoran himself.

The whispers had spoken to him too.

But unlike Tyoran, he feared them.

Gripping his staff, he closed his eyes and sent out a final, desperate warning. A message carried by the last remnants of magic untouched by darkness.

A message that would find only one person.

And in the distant realm of Rafina, Zypharain awoke with a start