Goodbye Elora

The warm sunlight poured into the streets of Shangila, casting golden rays over red-tiled roofs, bustling markets, and chiming bells. The city was alive—cheerful chatter of adventurers, clangs of swords training in the distance, and the laughter of children echoed through its streets.

For Adonis, it was more than just another morning.

It was his fifteenth birthday.

He stood outside the adventurer's guild, his black coat fluttering lightly in the breeze. His bandages were long gone, replaced with well-fitted combat gear. The golden-hilted sword on his back shimmered faintly—a sign of its master's growing power.

A year had passed since the events in Darknot Village—a year filled with training, growth, and peace.

Adonis smiled to himself, remembering everything.

From barely surviving a cursed forest…To learning support magic under the relentless, teasing instruction of Elora…To now, standing as a C-rank adventurer, recognized by the guild.

He looked down at his hand, feeling the quiet pulse of mana flowing beneath his skin.

"Almost there. Just one more year... and I'll reach aristocrat class mana core."

He had mastered nearly every support spell Elora had to offer—buffs, barriers, detection, minor healing. Even Elora, a self-proclaimed genius, had been shocked at his pace. Her jaw literally dropped the day he recreated a four-layered buff circle on his first try.

But now… she was gone.

Adonis entered the guild hall casually, only to find her usual spot—by the window, sipping tea with a smug expression—empty.

No notes, no warning.

Until the receptionist handed him a letter.

"To Dummy Adonis,"(Of course she'd start it like that, he thought.)

"By the time you read this, I'll already be gone. Personal reasons. Can't explain too much. Could take 2–3 years. Don't try to find me. I'll find you."

"Go ahead and join a magic academy. I will catch up later. Don't slack off or I'll beat you senseless with a mana-charged sandal when we meet. You're the only student I ever had who learns faster than I brag. Take that as a compliment."

"And also… happy birthday, idiot."

— Elora Cloud(P.S. I'm not crying while writing this. Shut up.)

Adonis folded the letter carefully and put it away.

His expression didn't change. But his eyes lingered a moment longer on her usual table, as if expecting her to be there—grinning, calling him names, and insulting his "ugly" mana signature for the tenth time.

"She didn't even say where she's going…" he murmured.

Outside, the wind blew softly through the streets of Shangila.

He stood there for a moment, lost in the rhythm of the city. A small kid ran past him with a wooden sword. An old mage bartered loudly over spell components. Nothing had changed.

And yet, something was missing.

But Adonis didn't let it stop him.

He smiled.

"Fine, Elora. I'll go ahead."

"You better keep your word and catch up."

He turned, stepping out into the light.

His next goal was clear now.

The Magic Academy.

A place where only the most talented young mages gathered. A place where students studied the three great departments of higher magic—Illusion, Space, and Summoning—preparing for the leap beyond aristocrat class.

And maybe, just maybe…

He would find something more. Answers. Power. Purpose.

Far away, the memory of Rabisu and the Sorcerer's legacy still lingered like a stain in the corners of his mind. That threat wasn't over. And it wouldn't stay hidden forever.

But for now… he had a promise to keep.