Harmony in Chaos

The sound of Indra's shoes echoed softly through the cobblestone streets of the Royal Borough, blending with the distant whisper of the wind and the crackle of lightning dancing in the clouds. The sky above was a surreal tapestry—a vibrant purple, like living ink spilled across an infinite veil. Every minute, multicolored bolts tore through the dark clouds piled like mountains in the firmament, and the silver sun—so different from Earth's—bathed everything in its cold, precise light, like a gleaming blade.

Indra walked slowly, lost in thought.

Sophie's words still spun in his mind like fragments of a riddle:

"Maybe you need to compose your own technique."

The idea intrigued and terrified him in equal measure. Create a soul-refinement technique? That sounded like the work of legendary masters, not a student who'd just arrived on the Other Side. He could barely coordinate his own Qi flow without causing a minor earthquake in his chest—how could he mold something new, functional... harmonious?

"Maybe..." he thought, eyes fixed on the colorful stones beneath his feet, "...if I used all five techniques at once."

The thought made him pause. The Basic Techniques Manual listed five distinct methods: Pulse of the Inner Essence, Rhythm of the Tranquil Core, Harmonious Spiritual Flow, Breath of the Latent Soul, Serpentine Current of the Core. Each had its purpose, its cadence, its philosophy. But there was something incongruent about them too—some encouraged withdrawal and introspection; others, expansion and aggressive movement.

Indra frowned.

Contradiction.

That was it. Maybe the answer lay precisely there, between the opposites.

As he walked, he tried to visualize how the five flows might intersect, interlock, adapt. If he could trace a path where Qi moved like the Harmonious Flow, pulsed with the force of Inner Essence, yet rested like the Tranquil Core... perhaps he'd be creating not just a technique, but a path of his own.

The city around him seemed to breathe with his thoughts. The Royal Borough, seat of the Other Side's high society, was an architectural mosaic of lost eras and cultures—elfin towers beside enchanted pagodas, modern stained glass sharing space with spell-forged stone walls. Banners floated gently, embroidered with arcane symbols that shifted shape depending on the angle of view.

It was all too beautiful to grow accustomed to. And that strange beauty unsettled him. There was something wrong in becoming numb to it. With a silent knot in his chest, Indra knew he never wanted to grow used to this world. Because if he ever did... it would mean he'd become part of something that still haunted him.

Then he stopped.

Something was... there.

Sitting in the middle of the path, as if waiting for him, was a cat.

No ordinary animal.

Its fur was predominantly white, but its paws, ear tips, and tail-tip shimmered with a deep purple—the same hue as the sky. As if a piece of the firmament had been torn out and stitched into its coat. Its eyes, though, were the most striking: shocking pink, intense and crystalline, like polished glass blades steeped in magical light.

The cat stared at him.

Indra felt exposed. Those eyes didn't just look. They pierced. As if the feline could see beyond flesh, beyond thoughts, straight to the pulsing essence of his soul and Qi.

"...Are you real?" he murmured, more to himself.

The cat didn't answer, only blinked slowly. A calm, ancient gesture. As if it understood the question—and, in a way, mocked it.

Indra crouched, extending a hand cautiously. For a moment, the cat seemed to consider him. Then it looked away with noble indifference.

"Fair enough," he said, laughing dryly.

He stepped around the creature and moved on. He had a class. A whole world waiting. But as he took his first steps, he heard a soft meow—then felt gentle pressure against his leg.

The cat was rubbing against him.

"Uh... hi?" — Indra scratched the top of its head once. "I don't have food. And I'm in a hurry."

Gently, he nudged the cat a few steps away. It simply sat and watched, unprotesting. Indra resumed walking.

But he wasn't alone.

At every turn, when he glanced back, there it was. The cat. Never too close, but never far enough to ignore. Always watching. Always present.

"Following me?" he muttered, almost amused. "Of course. Because today couldn't get weirder."

The Royal Borough faded behind him. Ahead, silhouetted against stormy clouds and the metallic sun's glare, loomed the gates of the Esoteric Academy—massive, guarded by two figures in enchanted armor, runes alight with energy.

As he approached, the guards crossed energy-lances.

"Identification?"

Indra presented his student pendant, which glowed with Sophie's signature. The guards nodded, but one jerked his chin toward—

"That animal yours?"

Indra turned. There. The cat. Sitting, majestic, like a silent sentinel.

"No. It just... followed me."

"Pets aren't permitted in the Academy," the second guard said sternly.

Indra raised his hands in surrender.

"Not mine. Feel free to stop it. Good luck with that."

He stepped inside.

The gates began to close. But before they sealed, Indra couldn't resist looking back.

The cat was still there.

Watching.

The silver sunlight gleamed in its pink eyes, now even brighter. For a fraction of a second, Indra swore he saw a white spark deep in its pupils—the same shade as his Qi.

A shiver crawled up his spine.

Something about that cat... resonated with him.

The gates shut. The city stayed outside.

But the cat's eyes, like marks branded on his soul, followed him still.

---

The Esoteric Academy's central hall was a colossus of mystical architecture. Pillars carved with arcane symbols supported a translucent dome, through which the Other Side's vibrant purple sky loomed. Dark clouds, eternally churning with multicolored lightning, drifted across that alien expanse. And the silver sun—cold and serene—hovered like an ancient eye over all.

Indra stepped inside quietly. His footsteps echoed briefly before being swallowed by the hall's weighted silence. A few students milled about, clustering in pairs or trios, murmuring in low tones. No one addressed him. He didn't mind. He walked to an isolated bench near the edge and sat, sinking for a moment into the thick fabric of his Academy uniform.

A few minutes remained before Practical Combat class. Enough time for his thoughts to churn.

The cat.

That strange white cat with purple-tipped fur and pink-shock eyes. It hadn't left his mind since rubbing against his leg that morning. There was something unnatural about it. He'd felt it instantly—an inexplicable shiver, a subtle pressure along his spine, as if the cat existed beyond the physical. An observer. A judge. Or worse… an omen.

But no matter how much he pondered, no answers came. Nothing from Earth or his fledgling knowledge of the Esoteric Society explained it. With a quiet sigh, he buried the thought and let himself observe the hall.

Then a shadow stopped before him.

He looked up. A young man stared down. Jet-black hair fell over part of his forehead, and emerald-green eyes burned with controlled intensity. His skin was pale, almost ethereal, and his clothes—black, fitted—hovered between tactical wear and ceremonial garb. On his chest, fastened by an ornate clasp, was a silver brooch: a two-tailed raven, painted black.

The sigil of House Ledger.

Before Indra could speak, the young man said:

"How did you do it?"

Indra blinked. "Do what?"

"The Magic Veins." The boy's voice was low but sharp. "Yesterday, you didn't have them. Today, they're half-formed. How?"

For a second, Indra's entire body stiffened. The question had caught him off guard. He had no idea who this was, yet the boy knew intimate details about his condition. Worse—there was a demand beneath the curiosity. As if that knowledge belonged to him by right.

Indra's gaze dropped to the brooch. The sigil. The two-tailed raven. The parallel to Sophie was impossible to miss—the hair, the eyes, the clothes, all screamed Ledger.

A sliver of understanding struck him.

"You're… Sophie's brother?"

The boy arched a brow slightly, as if amused by the delayed deduction.

"Reid Ledger." A pause. "And yes, I'm her younger brother. And yes, I know she's helping you. Everyone knows. Frankly, it'd be weirder if they didn't."

Indra stared, surprised by the casual admission.

"Everyone?"

"You think someone just plucks a human from the Mortal Plane and drags them straight into the Esoteric Society without it becoming instant gossip?" Reid shrugged. "You're the talk of the hour, Indra. Especially now that you've formed Magic Veins in a single day."

Instinctively, Indra glanced around. And noticed.

Looks. Whispers. Groups pretending to chat but whose eyes kept flicking toward him and Reid.

"They are staring…" he muttered.

"Yep." Reid crossed his arms. "So? Going to tell me how you did it or not?"

Indra hesitated. He didn't fully trust Reid—not yet—but there was something in his blunt, almost abrasive manner that reminded him of Sophie. Not rudeness. Just the natural frankness of someone who didn't play with masks.

After a beat, Indra opted for a leap of faith.

"It happened this morning," he began. "I was practicing the Harmonious Spiritual Flow, like Sophie said. But… it felt like something was missing. Like the flow was incomplete—or wrong for me."

"Wrong how?"

"Like I was forcing myself into a rhythm that wasn't mine. So I tested the other four basic techniques. Simultaneously."

Reid blinked.

"You did what?"

"I know, it's weird." Indra laughed awkwardly. "But I tried applying all five techniques' principles. Even the contradictory ones. And… it happened. The Veins started forming."

Reid took a few seconds to respond. His eyes narrowed—not with suspicion, but genuine intrigue.

"That's… unusual. Extremely unusual. Cultivators usually follow serenity and repetition. Practicing multiple techniques at once goes against all tradition. But—" He exhaled. "This is my sister we're talking about. Makes sense she'd pick someone off the curve."

He sat beside Indra, relaxing for the first time.

"Know where Professor Owen's class is?"

Indra shook his head.

"Not yet."

"I'll take you. We can sit together. Don't have many friends here… and looks like you don't either."

Indra smirked.

"Thanks. Honestly, thought you'd be more of a scowling type at first."

"I am." Reid smiled back, irony glinting in his eyes. "But I'm polite sometimes."

The Academy's bell rang, reverberating through the hall like a sustained note from some ancient instrument.

Indra and Reid stood together. The murmurs around them dimmed as students began filing toward their classes. Side by side, they walked the Academy's gilded corridors until they reached the double doors of Combat Theory.

---

The classroom door creaked softly as Indra and Reid entered. The space was vast, with rows of wide, comfortable desks arranged in a crescent before a black marble dais. Above the arcane crystal chalkboard, symbols and runes floated in golden light, as if the room itself breathed knowledge.

"Middle row?" Reid asked.

Indra nodded. They sat center-middle, with a clear view of the professor. Gradually, other students filled the seats. Uniforms of varying cuts and colors hinted at their affiliations or clans. A steady hum of chatter filled the air, but there was no chaos—just silent, ritualistic order.

Then the rear door opened again.

A tall man entered. He wore a navy-blue overcoat with silver accents, and his eyes burned like molten amber. His hair was short, graying at the temples, and his stride left no doubt: every step was deliberate. He needed no theatrics—his presence sufficed.

"Greetings." His voice was firm, clear. "I am Owen, Professor of Combat Theory."

A respectful hush fell. Owen set his arcane leather satchel on the crystal desk and continued.

"In this discipline, you will not learn to wield swords, cast spells, or shape the world with will. Here, you will learn the why of these things. Why techniques exist. Why Paths exist. Why limits exist… and how to surpass them." A pause. "We begin with the essential: the Nine Paths."

With a wave of his hand, nine symbols shimmered into existence above the chalkboard, each representing a distinct energy and philosophy.

"Cultivators use Qi. Mastery of body and spirit. Qi flows like an internal river, connecting energy points through veins and meridians. It is the Path of self-discipline, inner growth."

"Magic Warriors wield Magical Power. The fusion of Qi and Mana. A hybrid art balancing physical and arcane might. They are living weapons forged for equilibrium and destruction."

"Warriors channel Aura. Pure will manifest. Aura is raw energy converted into strength, reflexes, endurance. Warriors lack magic but wield courage enough to reshape the world by force."

"Mages command Mana. The manipulation of external arcane elements. They cast spells, runes, and circles through the mathematics of existence. Requires intellect and precision."

"Spiritualists harness Prana. Connection to the cycle of life and soul. Prana is the breath of all things. They heal, purify, and commune with the dead and ancestral."

"Priests draw Divine Power. Faith channeled from higher entities. Divine energy flows through pacts with Gods. It cannot be forced—only received by the worthy."

"Warlocks tap Demonic Energy. Drawn from infernal beings. A Path of risk and power. Its users bargain with the forbidden and pay with what they have… and what they are."

"Sorcerers awaken Spiritual Power. They do not merely channel—they become the bridge to the beyond. Living conduits of ancestral energy."

"Elementalists wield Ether. The primordial language of elements. Unstable, ancient, and only tamed by those who sync body and emotion to pure nature."

He let the words settle.

"You'll hear debates about which Path is strongest. Let me be clear: no Path is superior. Only different."

Then—a short, arrogant laugh broke the silence. From a boy in the front row. Curly blond hair, bright green eyes brimming with vanity, posture too lax for the setting.

Owen's calm gaze shifted to him.

"Something amusing, Mister…?"

The boy shrugged with faux innocence.

"Just… curious. Everyone knows Elementalists, Sorcerers, and Cultivators outclass other Paths in combat. Fact, not opinion."

The room's silence deepened. Some students exchanged uneasy glances. Others frowned.

"An interesting theory. Your name?

"Kade Rockefeller. House Rockefeller—one of the Nine Great Clans."

Owen nodded.

"Thank you, Kade. Now, would anyone care to explain why Kade is wrong?"

Several hands hovered, but one rose with certainty. Long, pale fingers, the hand itself faintly aglow.

"Yes? Stand. Name and House."

The girl stood gracefully.

"Aurora Bianchi. Of House Bianchi, specialists in the Cultivator's Path."

Indra straightened. Sophie had mentioned the Bianchi. The name carried weight.

Aurora's silver hair shimmered like moonlit mist. Her golden eyes were hypnotic, her voice serene yet cutting.

"Kade isn't entirely wrong about Cultivators, Elementalists, and Sorcerers having greater offensive efficacy. But that doesn't make them superior. Spiritualists and Priests, for example, are pivotal in prolonged battles due to healing and support. Without them, dozens of victories would've been defeats."

She stepped into the aisle, confident.

"Warriors with Aura are unbreakable shields on the frontlines. Magic Warriors unite strength and flexibility like no others. Warlocks and Priests are opposites, yes—but both wield forces beyond logic. And Mages, though unstable, offer devastating scale. Underestimating any Path is ignorance."

She stopped, meeting Owen's gaze. He smiled approvingly.

"Excellent answer, Miss Bianchi." Then, to Kade: "Any rebuttal?"

The blond just crossed his arms. Owen turned back to the class.

"Lesson one: power lies not in the energy type, but in mastery over it."

After a pause, he continued.

"A Paranormal only evolves when they find a soul-refinement technique compatible with their Inner Core. Forcing techniques antithetical to your energy is, at best, inefficient. At worst… dangerous."

Owen paced the aisles.

"Mixing contradictory techniques causes internal energy clashes. If you try to move Qi like a Cultivator, then pivot to Aura like a Warrior… the flows cancel. Even if techniques aren't opposed, practicing multiple styles in short order dilutes focus."

Here, Reid subtly elbowed Indra.

"See? This is why you're freakishly weird."

Indra stifled a laugh.

"I know. Makes zero sense."

But inwardly, doubt resurfaced. What had happened to him? How had it worked, when everything Owen said contradicted his experience?

Before he could dwell, Owen refocused the lecture.

"Now: Contracts with Spiritual Beasts."

The magical projection shifted, revealing a mythical creature—a wolf with flaming eyes and spiral crystal horns.

"Battle spirits. Soul companions. Call them what you will. Spiritual Beasts are entities that resonate with a Paranormal's Core and Refined Soul. Contracting one is rare… and powerful. But it demands more than strength. It demands synchronicity."

As Owen spoke, an image invaded Indra's mind unbidden.

The cat.

Those pink-shock eyes. The purple-tipped fur. The touch that was light yet unsettling. He remembered the feeling vividly—not of an ordinary animal, but of something observing him. Choosing him.

Indra swallowed.

Maybe that cat wasn't a cat.

Maybe it was a sign.

An omen.

And for the first time since arriving on the Other Side, he felt—with every fiber of his being—that something greater approached.

Something inevitable.