"Beautiful."
There was no other word for it.
In his past life, Aeron had been ordinary in every way possible. He had never travelled far, never stood before anything grand enough to steal the breath from his lungs. So when he looked out now, he could only stand still and stare.
The setting sun rested upon a sea of clouds, as though the sky had raised a throne for it alone. Gold and amber spilled across the clouds, sinking into every hollow until even the shadows looked soft. The light reached him from afar, warm against his face, gentle enough to feel like a touch.
Like a welcome.
And yet, no one had welcomed him here.
No god had spoken to him. No guiding voice had answered his confusion. As far as he knew, this world had not noticed him at all.
But the sun did not turn away from him.
It sank slowly, draping the sky in fire, and for one fleeting moment, Aeron imagined that something in this vast, unfamiliar world had noticed him. That the distant glow before him, fading and unreachable, had still made room for him beneath its light.
So he remained there beside the teleportation device, saying nothing, doing nothing, only watching as the gold dimmed to crimson, and crimson to violet, and violet to dark.
He did not move until the last trace of light had vanished.
'I'll save the stars for another time.'
Then, after a pause—
'Maybe with someone else.'
The thought rose quietly, fragile enough to break, and disappeared with the sun.
.
.
The academy had its own island high in the sky, where the concentration of mana was far denser and purer than anywhere below.
Any flash of light in this part of Sector One usually meant an arrival. People would turn at once, whispers spreading through the street. Paparazzi always kept staff stationed nearby for that very reason.
After all, only students ranked within the top hundred of each year were permitted to use it.
Any one of them could make headlines the moment they stepped through.
The runes lit up, signalling an arrival.
Strangely, barely anyone looked.
A few civilians glanced over out of habit, but their curiosity died almost immediately. There were no excited cries, no calls to hurry, no swarm of cameras rushing forward.
Only a flash of light—
and from it stepped a brown-haired young man so ordinary-looking that the crowd dismissed him at a glance.
No one spared him a second look.
Aeron stood still for a moment, taking everything in.
"Damn... this feels almost like Earth."
The resemblance was uncanny. Towering skyscrapers. Streams of speeding transport. Stall owners shouting over one another to lure in customers.
Only one difference stood out.
Everything was floating.
Aeron's face lit up.
Not because of the city.
Not because of the hovering cars.
No—
because he had spotted something familiar.
Food.
His gaze fixed with the intensity of a starving man spotting salvation.
'There.'
Tucked between the drifting mass of floating stalls, half-hidden by the crowd—
a ramen shop.
Aeron slipped through the crowd with practised ease. Every step was deliberate, shaped by everything he had quietly observed earlier that day.
Yes, the same movements Ruth and Catheryn had used in their duel were now being used to get to a restaurant.
Absurd, but—
'What is the point of learning without a well-earned reward?'
The stall came closer.
Steam drifted into the air. The rich scent of broth curled through the crowd and hooked itself into his ribs.
'It's calling meee.'
Then Aeron threw himself backward.
It was instinctive.
His back slammed into an old woman shuffling past. He spun at once, head lowered.
"Ah—sorry, ma'am. I apologize. I tripped."
No reply came.
Only a gentle pat on his head.
The hand slipped away, and Aeron looked up with a frown.
'Where did she go?'
A sharp whine tore past his ear.
He turned—
and the ramen shop imploded.
A thunderous boom ripped through the street.
For one second, Aeron heard nothing at all.
Then chaos followed.
Stalls burst into flames. Floating platforms tipped and crashed from the air. Screams tore through the street from every direction.
Aeron stood still.
'What is happening right now?'
The smell hit him next.
Burnt flesh.
Another explosion roared through the district, followed by more screaming. Black smoke swallowed the air, thick enough to sting his eyes, and then something slammed into him.
Aeron looked down.
Whatever expression he had vanished.
A body had collapsed against his leg.
The face was coming apart. Skin peeled away in strips while blood bubbled beneath it. One side of the skull was already exposed, pale beneath the ruin. The stench of burned meat flooded his nose, yet he could not move.
Then a small voice reached his ears.
"It hurtsss..."
'What is...?'
"Help...?"
The voice trembled.
The scorched body sagged into his grasp, limp and heavy. One ruined eye slipped free and hit the ground with a soft, wet sound.
His hands burned from the heat of the corpse, but he held on anyway.
Despite the inferno raging around him, he felt cold.
So cold.
Flames climbed over him, eating through cloth and skin alike, but he felt none of it.
Each heartbeat crashed against his ribs, hard enough to hurt, yet he could only stare at the body in his hands.
Its head was almost entirely black now.
And still—
Aeron could not let go.
'It asked me for help.'
The thought kept returning without warning.
Small. Quiet.
It did not leave.
'It asked me for help.'
His fingers curled deeper into the charred body.
He did not remember telling them to.
'Why can't I let go?'
The thought came sharp.
The ruined body sagged further into him, its face barely human, yet Aeron could still see that pleading eye.
'Stop holding me.'
He knew the dead could not speak.
He knew that.
But the thought slithered through him regardless, cold and unbearable.
'Don't look at me like that.'
He stared at the remaining eye.
It stared back, dead and still.
Aeron's grip trembled.
His throat worked, but nothing came out.
His mouth opened.
'Please.'
The teleportation runes flared again.
.
Lyra had only come down to Sector One to collect a commissioned item from the Winter Court. A pair of sunglasses and a black cap hid her identity from the usual crowds. She stepped into the sector, bracing herself for the barrage of flashing lights that normally followed any arrival from the academy.
Instead, heat struck her first.
It slammed into her face, tearing the cap from her head.
Then smoke.
It rolled through the streets in thick black sheets, swallowing stalls and signs alike. Screams followed a moment later. Her mana flared on instinct, cold rushing down into her hands. Civilians ran past her in blind panic, shoving and stumbling over one another in search of any refuge at all.
'An attack?'
'Where are the guards?'
She frowned, her gaze sweeping the area.
Fire climbed the buildings unchecked. It was no ordinary flame. She could feel it in the mana woven through it. It resisted water itself. Her ice would not be enough to deal with something like this.
Not that she had enough mana to, anyway.
To her left, a floating platform tilted as its supports gave way.
Lyra turned to leave the sector and find the nearest guard.
Then she saw him.
A boy stood at the centre of it all, motionless.
Ash clung to his skin. His clothes hung from him in scorched strips. In his arms rested something black.
No.
'A body.'
It was burnt beyond recognition, yet the boy held on as though he could not bring himself to let it go.
'A family member?'
'Why is he still standing there?'
Flames climbed nearby, close enough that he should have stepped back by now.
But he let them burn him.
She approached slowly from his side.
Half wary, half confused.
Her eyes narrowed.
For a moment, Lyra simply stared.
Not because of the corpse.
Not because of the fire.
It was the boy's expression that unsettled her.
It was empty in a way she had never seen before.
She had seen fear before.
Panic.
Grief.
Shock.
This was none of them.
This looked like absence.
The soles of her trainers crunched against the ruined street as she moved closer. He showed no reaction, if he was aware of her at all. His hands were trembling, yet instead of loosening, they only tightened around the corpse like it was the last thing anchoring him to the world.
The smell of burnt flesh clung to the body, thick and revolting, yet she kept walking.
His mouth was moving, but no sound came out.
A sharp urge rose in her to leave him there.
'He chose to stay.'
'Leave him.'
The thoughts came quickly, cold and practical, urging her to turn away.
As she started to, her eyes caught his face again.
She froze.
Something in that emptiness felt horribly familiar.
For a moment, Lyra saw her mother again.
Not as the kind, caring one she once was.
But as the one who remained after her elder brother died.
Seated by the window. Hands folded neatly in her lap. Eyes fixed on nothing.
No tears.
No rage.
No life.
Only absence.
Her mother had never truly looked at Lyra the same way after that.
The boy before her wore that same expression.
And she hated it.
For once, Lyra's expression changed. Not into a frown, but into a look of haunted recognition.
Her hand rose toward the boy's shoulder—
then faltered.
She withdrew it at once.
"Get up," she said in a quiet, level voice.
There was no response. Not even an acknowledgement of her presence.
Her jaw tightened.
Then something overhead groaned. She looked up sharply.
One of the support rails had come loose.
It was falling straight toward them.
"Move."
He didn't.
Lyra clicked her tongue, and ice shot around them in a dome.
She grabbed his shoulder and yanked him forcefully out of the way.
The ruined body slipped from his grasp.
His gaze followed it as it hit the floor.
The beam crashed down where they had previously stood, destroying the dome.
The corpse was out of sight, and she looked at the boy once more.
But his arm was outstretched, his fingers curling toward where the body had fallen.
Then Lyra's eyes widened slightly.
The rail began to shake.
Something was moving beneath it.
The boy's arm trembled as he pulled back, as though hauling on an invisible rope.
'What is he doing?'
He leaned back with each effort, chest rising and falling faster.
Then, impossibly, the beam shifted aside. Something black dragged itself out from beneath it.
Its limbs were gone. Only the torso and head remained.
It crawled toward him as he pulled.
But the closer it came, the faster it fell apart. The chest crumbled first, collapsing into black ash.
The boy's eyes widened in panic.
He pulled harder.
"No."
"No."
"You can't leave now."
"Not after all that."
He pulled again, harder this time.
The remains jerked through the air, but as they neared him, they eroded even faster.
He kept shaking his head, as if in denial.
The word no kept slipping out of his mouth.
By the time it reached him, only a charred skull remained. The one eye stared at the boy before it fell out.
The boy shuddered beneath her hands.
Only then did Lyra realise her hand was still on his shoulder.
She let go at once, her frown returning.
The boy stopped speaking, and she saw his jaw tighten, his fists clenching.
But then they loosened.
'How did he do that?'
That was when she noticed the academy watch around his wrist.
'A student.'
Lyra looked down at his hand, eyes narrowing in concentration.
'There.'
It was unbelievably thin.
A wire.
No—
a single thread.
It was wrapped tightly around his hand. It was made of mana, but she could hardly feel it. How had something so thin moved that? Questions raced through her mind.
A whining sound tore overhead, followed by another explosion.
It was close.
Lyra spread her perception outward. Then another came.
She moved to react—
but the fire around them froze.
The next explosion halted mid-bloom.
Heat, flame, even the spreading destruction itself seemed to stop at once.
Lyra's gaze sharpened.
She did not need to turn around.
"Young miss, are you hurt?"
"No."
Only then did she glance back.
It was her butler.
"Do you know this boy, young miss?"
She was about to answer, but then she looked at those absent eyes.
"Yes. He's an academy student."
The butler glanced at the watch on the boy's wrist and nodded.
"Then you should return now. It is dangerous here."
"The report?"
"It is already being prepared."
Lyra gave a small nod.
"Send it to me."
"Understood."
He bowed, and then the air around her and the boy changed. They were standing on the formation once more, and it activated beneath their feet.
Mana poured into her pores as the air shifted.
She was back at the academy.
But her thoughts lingered not on the flames, nor the destruction.
Only on the thread wrapped around the boy's hand.
.
.
.
He had no idea how much time had passed.
But still, he stood there.
Head lowered. Hands unmoving. As though if he remained still enough, the world might forget he was in it.
The wind stirred his hair.
It was quiet now.
The screams were gone. The crackling fire had long since faded. Even the chaos that had swallowed the street seemed to have withdrawn, leaving only silence behind.
Aeron slowly looked up.
A sea of stars stretched above him, endless and remote. Each one shone with a piercing brilliance, sharp enough to be beautiful, distant enough to feel cruel.
They were so far away.
Now and then, one flickered into view, only for another to vanish into the dark. The changes were small, almost too small to notice, but they were there all the same.
The darkness was winning.
Slowly.
Silently.
The moon hung high in the distance, white enough to hurt the eyes.
It was watching him.
Just as the sun had.
But this was different.
The sun had touched him.
The moon only looked.
And then, from somewhere deep in the numbness, a thought returned.
'I'll save the stars for another time.'
His eyes remained fixed on the sky.
For a moment, he could almost hear the quiet hope that had once clung to those words.
Then the rest came back.
'Maybe with someone else.'
His fingers twitched faintly at his side.
Slowly, Aeron turned his head.
Lyra was still there.
She stood a few steps away, arms at her sides, the night wind teasing loose strands of her purple hair across her face. Moonlight traced the edges of her figure in cold silver. Her purple eyes held the starlight without softening for it.
She had not spoken. Had not moved to console him. But she had not left. She only watched in silence, and it felt deliberate.
Aeron looked at her for a moment, then back at the stars.
'Maybe with someone else.'
After a pause, Lyra followed his gaze.
Neither of them spoke.
The distance between them remained, but it was no longer the coldest thing in the night.
Then Lyra said, "You stare too much."
Aeron swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.
"At least I'm alive enough to do that."
Lyra's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Barely."
The silence stretched between them.
Her watch vibrated.
'The report.'
She looked at him once more.
"Name?"
His eyes were still far away, but he replied.
"Aeron. Aeron Araxys."
She nodded and turned away.
"Good luck, Aeron Araxys."
Lyra walked off, her footsteps silent against the stone.
She opened the report with a flick of her thumb.
The Frayed.
A newly emerged anarchist group claiming to have severed themselves from Caelis's will. They spoke in strange terms, constantly referring to threads, seams, knots, and the weave beneath the world.
According to preliminary findings, the attack had been carried out to "correct" a loose point in the area and release it properly.
They had also warned that further interference would lead to the release of an "active seam."
So far, The Union had only captured B-ranks and C-ranks.
More investigation pending. Do not engage recklessly.
Lyra read it once.
Then again.
"Another cult of lunatics."
And yet—
her fingers paused over the screen.
A face surfaced in her mind.
The empty eyes.
The thread.
Lyra sent a message to her butler.
"Get me a report on Aeron Araxys as well."
The reply came almost instantly.
"Understood."
.
.
After she left, Aeron stood alone with his thoughts.
'I am stupid.'
He had thought everything would revolve around the academy. That being close to the main character was enough. Not once had he truly considered there was a world beyond that. Beyond the MC and his party.
The show had only ever given him Caelis through Xavier's perspective.
Of course it had.
Why wouldn't it?
But this world was no longer a show.
It was real.
And there were things Aeron knew nothing about. He had learned that much already.
Harshly.
Aeron understood then.
He had to change.
He could still enjoy the story. Still watch them grow. But he could no longer afford to sit back so casually.
He was no hero.
That had not changed.
But this world was not made for heroes alone.
Most people lived and died far beyond the edges of their stories.
In the places no one bothered to show.
That was where extras lived.
Aeron slowly closed his hand into a fist.
If he was fated to be one of them—
then he would become an extra this world could not afford to ignore.