Fate or Miracle

It was impossible. It was almost as if they... detached themselves from the sphere.

Please take your seats. The council will see you shortly.The pleasant employee said, gesturing toward a row of black wooden seats.

Zeus could feel the overwhelming amount of Grace in the room. It was so large that it almost made him sick.Caesar, on the other hand, was in awe. The council hall was enormous, much larger than his faction room.

Where should we start on this wonderful venue? The walls were plated in gloydon, and seven sections of the walls were made of glass murals, representing the seven heads of the War Council. The floor was expertly built with color-changing marbles—the kind that slowly fade into different gradients of dazzling hues.

The ceiling was adorned with chandeliers of varying kinds and styles, as if each council head had different tastes. A man with a hollow void where his heart should be, a crown drowning in impossible jewels, and... a veiled woman cloaked in white?

Caesar blinked, and the woman was replaced with a five-headed horse. A chill suddenly ran down his spine.

A finger snap was heard near Caesar's ear. You good?

Caesar quickly turned around, expecting Fenrir or Zeus to ask the question, but it was Jacques. He remembered when Jacques hadn't even bothered to greet him, which had made Caesar skeptical.

Why are you asking? Caesar questioned. Do you finally remember I'm present?

Jacques' eyes were always covered with his hair, which made it difficult for Caesar to read his emotions.

I wasn't trying to be rude, Jacques said. I was just... not ready to talk to you.

Caesar was confused. Why?

The fight yesterday, Jacques said. You were the only one who could damage him, and then other people could touch him. You seemed very different that time, like a dark knight born out of a forbidden prophecy. I just felt so... what's the word?

Scared? Caesar asked.

What? No, Jacques protested. I was just wary of you. But then I remembered you're just Brother Caesar. You have a heart of gloydon—rare and priceless. You could hardly hurt someone unless they deserved it. So I apologize if I came across as rude.

Caesar felt unnaturally warm. It was nice to hear Jacques compliment him.

Well, I'm not surprised, Caesar said with a smirk. I am pretty amazing, aren't I?

A smile etched itself on the side of Jacques' lips. You are unbearable. I'm going to wipe that smile off your face when we're done with this meeting.

I'd like to see you try, Caesar challenged.

The same welcoming employee walked into the hall with a more formal demeanor.

Please arise, for the Heads of the War Council are present.

Caesar and his party shot to their feet, and the overwhelming Grace grew tenfold.

Caesar felt as if an ocean had collapsed onto his shoulders.Fenrir's fangs lengthened involuntarily, reacting to the surge.Izobel's ears popped, like she had suddenly risen thousands of feet into the air.Zeus gagged, his body physically reacting to the magnitude of Grace.Jacques winced, his Divinity urging him to attack.

Seven white pillars rose from the ground, each with a throne. This was surprising, as Caesar and Jacques had only heard of five members. Behind the thrones were black and gold floating platforms with handrails on the edges.

Beams of light struck the pillars and platforms, briefly blinding the party.

Seven council members sat on the thrones, and six more stood on the platforms behind them. Chalybe guessed they served as advisors, deputies, or perhaps something else. One platform, notably, remained empty.

Izobel had too much to take in—the council members looked very distinct and flashy.

And before you, the employee continued, the War Council.

A loud snark echoed through the room.

War Council? A member said. Are we still getting called that?

Habakkuk, please, a female member spoke up. Practice some decorum. You are in the eyes of students.

Habakkuk chewed on the toothpick in his mouth. He was the least flashy of them all. He wore a simple white jacket adorned with metal jewelry. His trousers were midnight black, decorated with chains and nails. His feet were protected by a pair of Obesin black boots, riddled with graffiti drawings. His face was stern, and his cold red eyes spoke of silent rage.

He sat with the tension of a soldier in repose, his mismatched outfit betraying the quiet chaos beneath his stoicism.

Fenrir felt blessed to be in the presence of the powerful council. But his admiration turned to shock when he saw the person sitting on the last throne to the right.

You!!! Fenrir shouted. His sudden outburst startled his companions.

Sitting on the throne was a tall, beautiful woman. She wore a large, brown, fluffy coat over a dazzling black dress. Scarlet heels echoed the bold red of her lipstick. Nestled in her long black hair were two wolf ears, signifying that she was a demihuman.

When her deep purple eyes—with their sharp pupils—saw Fenrir, a warm smile appeared on her face.

Heyyyy! she screamed, waving both hands at Fenrir. How are you doing, little Fen? You've surely grown a lot.

Fenrir's cheeks turned red-hot. What are you doing there?

The woman's smile grew larger, showing her pearly white teeth.

I was newly appointed, she replied. Isn't it fun?

Izobel chuckled. Fen, who is she?

I don't wanna talk about it, Fenrir replied immediately.

Ahh, Fen, the woman gasped. You are breaking my heart.

Other members of the council looked unbothered, but Habakkuk looked bored.

C'mon, Fen, Izobel pestered.

She was my master. My former teacher, Fenrir, finally confessed.

Caesar's face beamed with excitement. Wait, is that...? Caesar snapped his fingers, trying to recall. I know the name, I know the name. Ahh... Mrs. Hebe.

The woman's face brightened, indicating Caesar guessed correctly. The party laughed at Fenrir and teased him. Caesar was glad that happiness had returned to his confidant's face.

The employee, who had been silently laughing at the amusing reunion, requested silence.

The Seven Heads of the Council, I present:

Ganymede Cyrus Habakkuk, Head of Safety and Defence.

Scipio Oprah Vashti, Head of Magic and Hexes, and Head of Mathematics.

Mercury Asher Theodore, Keeper of the Ancient Relics, and Head of the Ancient Language.

Theta Domino Diomedes, Hero of Orion, and Head of Physical Education.

Newly appointed, Liebe Angel Hebe, Head of Catering and Housekeeping.

Newly appointed, Bjornsen Frej Aksel, Head of Commerce.

And our master, Reginald Dan Gerald, Headmaster and Head of Foreign Affairs.

Reginald looked at Jacques sternly, and his voice broke through his thick white beard. Jacques Loius Valuer IX, please stand.

Jacques stood up slowly, unaware of his fate.

Tell me, Reginald continued, what was your thought process when you tried to attack the mysterious figure with your mechanical war armour?

Jacques's breath hitched. He took several deep breaths and spoke confidently.

Headmaster Reginald, Jacques started, bowing before him, the Head Council, and he bowed again. I thought that the figure could only reflect an attack he could see. I abandoned the idea that the ability was passive. So I tried to attack him from a smokescreen, but I failed. I tried to use his raven to injure him, but that also got reflected. My whole theory crumbled when it was revealed that he could reflect future attacks. That was my thought process, Headmaster.

Jacques bowed again and sat down. Caesar had finished taking in Headmaster Reginald's appearance: a thick white beard, a soft baby complexion, a black gown adorned with gloydon and slaver platings. His shoulders were protected by large Goz copper plates, with three small metal wings welded on each side. His head was crowned by a dark barret with a large circular opening floating like a halo, resonating a subtle hum. Reginald was by far the flashiest, with an overwhelming presence.

Zeus realized that all the sickening Grace had dispersed. No—it had been absorbed. His eyes drifted to the warm employee, standing near their rows. Zeus knew the employee had something to do with the sudden disappearance of the overwhelming Grace.

The boy has a Valour Divinity, Habakkuk chimed in, removing his toothpick. But that power... It's unheard of. I'd love to fight him.

I

Caesar was finished taking in all of Headmaster Reginald's appearance. He had a thick white beard—which Caesar had noted earlier—and a surprisingly smooth, almost infant-like complexion. He wore a heavy black gown adorned with gloydon and slaver platings. Massive Goz copper pauldrons covered his shoulders, each decorated with three tiny metal wings, welded like ornamental feathers. Floating just above his head was a dark barret, crowned with a large circular structure and a forward-facing jut, like a mechanical halo. By far, Reginald was the flashiest figure in the room.

The guy has a Valour Divinity, Habakkuk chimed in, toothpick twitching in his mouth. But that kind of power… that kind of ability? It's unheard of. It would be cool to fight him. He spat the toothpick on the floor with a tink.

But we have to consider the grand picture, he added, his tone now heavier. According to reports, his primary objective was to assassinate Prince Chalybe. He might have a grudge against the royal family. Or worse… against the Kingdom.

I've sent word to the Capital, Theodore sang, his clear, youthful voice lilting like a nursery rhyme. He swung his legs idly beneath his chair, as if perched on a school bench instead of in a council meeting. The King is requesting that Prince Chalybe be brought home. What a shame.

Theodore was perhaps the most unsettling among them. He looked no older than Caesar, yet his elongated ears and three conjoined pupils revealed the truth—he was an elf. Given their absurdly long lifespans, Caesar guessed Theodore must be somewhere between 80 and 110 years old.

Across the room, Chalybe clenched the fabric of his trousers at the news. His jaw tightened. His breathing sharpened—but he held his composure, grasping at dignity like a lifeline.

Caesar noticed and gave him a sudden, sharp kick to the shin.

Chalybe flinched and hissed under his breath. What was that for?

Snap out of it, Caesar muttered back.

Aksel leaned forward, hands slicing the air in wild gestures. So, Prince Chalybe, do you know the enemy? His words came fast. Relative? Lost brother? Vengeful uncle? Unaware twin? Or maybe a former employee—cleaner, guard, chef? A jealous fan? No, wait, admirers don't usually try to kill you. Unless they used to admire you. Ooh, maybe a forgotten foe? Or a bored villain looking for kicks? Come on, chop chop, Prince—we haven't got all day!

Aksel's rambling questions halted abruptly. His hands froze mid-air, and his tone dropped.

Well? he whispered, eyes narrowing. You do know something… don't you?

Chalybe's jaw locked. He looked at Aksel, then at the other council members.

Aksel was no less strange than the others—a portly old ghoul with a single orange-tinted monocle over his left eye and large black horns curling from his head. His dark brown eyes burned with eerie intensity.

Chalybe stood and bowed deeply. Council Heads, he said with forced calm, I know not who our adversary is. His reasons for targeting me remain a mystery—even to me. My Lords. He bowed again and returned to his seat, his glowing cyan eyes flickering faintly.

Caesar watched him with quiet curiosity. How long can he suspend himself like that? he wondered. Doesn't that practically make him immortal?

Everyone, Diomedes said warmly, let's not forget our star of the show. He smiled broadly, his scarred lip curling. I'm talking about Caesar. The boy was the first to cancel out the figure's ability and damage it. That's impressive, not gonna lie.

Diomedes' jovial presence broke the tension like sunlight through storm clouds.

Caesar, my boy, stand up, please.

Caesar leapt to his feet, posture straight. This was his moment—and he wouldn't waste it.

So, Caesar, Diomedes began, How was it, being the MVP of yesterday's little scuffle? Damaging the enemy and surviving life-threatening injuries… only to recover within a day? Quite the feat.

Caesar gave a small smile. It was nothing, sir. Honestly, I don't even know how I did it.

No, no, no! Diomedes said dramatically, waving a finger. Don't be so modest, boy. He tapped his temple. What makes a good knight is a mindset. Own your failures and your victories. Good work to you. I like you already. You are... real!

Caesar's chest swelled with pride. To be complimented by a head of the council—and to hear Diomedes' iconic catchphrase? Groundbreaking.

And this goes for all of you students, Diomedes continued. You've shown courage. Heart. The traits of true knights. Keep it up, and our kingdom's future is in blessed hands.

The group stood and bowed in gratitude.

Clack.

Reginald tapped his staff on the marble floor. Instantly, the air shifted. Silence returned.

Diomedes sighed, clearly annoyed by Reginald's unrelenting broody aura.

Caesar, young lad, Reginald said, his voice like dry parchment. You said you do not know how you damaged the figure?

Caesar straightened. Yes, sir. My abilities are still… unknown. Even to me.

What happened? Reginald pressed. Right before you struck the blow. What changed?

Caesar hesitated. He was ready to explain everything: the parallel dimension, the veiled woman, the unreal clarity. But as he opened his mouth, nothing came.

Not silence. No hesitation.

The words were gone.

It wasn't that Caesar couldn't speak; it was as though the language itself had evaporated. His mind strained, searched, but no words formed. And in that moment, he understood something terrifying:

His brain could no longer comprehend what he had seen.

It was as if what he had experienced was too large, too alien, to translate into human thought. It was exhilarating… and horrifying.

That woman—or whatever she was… Her power didn't just bend reality. It broke the boundary of understanding itself.

I apologize, Headmaster, Caesar said, voice low. I don't remember.

Reginald gave a slow nod. Very well.

Caesar was allowed to sit, and the moment he did, the memories returned in perfect detail. The veiled woman. The radiant emptiness. The dimension between thoughts. It all aligned.

But the moment to speak had passed.

The Council turned to the rest of the group. They asked questions—about their health, the battle, the enemy's tactics. The employee documented everything with tireless precision, his pen never pausing.

The Council announced a funeral to be held the following day for those lost in the attack. Diomedes and Habakkuk declared that knight training would resume immediately, this time with increased intensity. Preparation was now a priority.

Then came the final blow: a royal transport would arrive shortly to retrieve Prince Chalybe. Theodore looked genuinely upset as he delivered the news.

The Council adjourned, vanishing once again into pillars of light. Blinding, final.

The ever-present employee ushered the students out of the chamber, handing each of them grab bags filled with supplies as they passed.

Last person to reach the main building owes the group Wonder Bread, Caesar announced with a grin.

And just like that, they ran out of the council chamber and back into the world, chasing laughter to forget the weight of what came next.

The moonlight poured gently through the silk-veiled windows of the high tower suite. The city of Freya, blessed under the pleasant moonlight of Astrea.

Inside, the room was a gentle cascade of warmth. Walls of soft lavender and gold, bookshelves lined with tales of fantasy and reality, and a fireplace humming low with blue emberlight.

She sat by the window, dressed in a flowing ivory nightgown, her hair tied up with a gold ribbon. A porcelain cup of tea, still steaming, was held delicately in her hand. Fingers adorned with thin, glistening rings. She took a slow sip, exhaling softly as she set the cup down on a tiny saucer with a near-silent clink.

Where is he? she whispered to the night. He promised he would arrive. 

Every movement of hers seemed rehearsed, graceful, like a noblewoman from a praised age. Even the beautiful Duskingales, beautiful birds that invaded the night sky, still rested peacefully near her, as if drawn by her warm presence.

Then came the feeling. A presence that she could never mistake.

She turned without alarm, her eyes meeting the figure perched just above on the rooftop outside. A pitch black silhouette of a young man, cloaked in darkness and subtle secrets. At his side was a beastly creature, its cold silhouette pierced by bloodshot eyes

But she smiled, warm as ever. She returned to her tea, fearless and calm.

You're late, she said, her voice honeyed and amused, as if welcoming a dear guest home from the cold.

The figure reached out and gently stroked the beast's fur, the creature relaxing at his touch. Then a soft bark was heard.

I always arrive when I'm truly needed," he replied.

As the darkness cleared, the figure was revealed. A tall young man, particularly in his teenage years, dressed in an all black regalia. He had beautiful black hair, reaching his neck region, and a well built, lean stature.

He continued to stroke his beast, A domango. Thick black fur, two curled horns, a bright white mane, 6 powerful legs, and deep brown eyes that spoke of loyalty.

Her smile was warm as ever, making the boy smile. She stretched out her hand, her delicate skin feeling the cool night breeze whispering through.

Come in, she said. The tea's still warm.

The boy's smile widened as his eyes glistened. His Multi-colored pupils shifted and changed, with slow but alluring motion.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased to show the legend. The Impossible Child. The one who will walk with Caesar in this story. The last member of the Extinct Rainbow clan. His fate has intertwined, and his story has grown forth.