ON THAT FATEFUL NIGHT
An academy of magic situated close to the Arcadian capital of Regalia, seated at the edge of one of the mountain ranges. Headed by the chosen Headmaster, Sol Academy serves as training grounds for magic users and a paradise for those who hunger for knowledge due to their extensive libraries and ensemble of rune masters. The academy itself has an army of magic user which makes it hard for invaders to attack and for a long time, many have attempted to conquer it for power but are quickly driven back by the academy. Although they are within Arcadia’s domain, the academy retained its neutrality, living only by their code of expansion and pursuit of knowledge.
 § § § § § § § § § §
Year 640 of the Equalian Calendar…
One peaceful night, across the quiet halls of the academy of magi, Sol, a man in his young thirties with dark colored hair could be seen taking a little stroll alone. His garment, a magician’s robe tailored with the finest Regalian silk and embossed with intricate linings, signified his status within the academy. To most people, he was known as none other than Sol Academy’s headmaster, Luther Nox Triskelle.
After a long day of overseeing the academy’s operations, watching over their students training and all the good stuffs, he just couldn’t sleep a wink despite the fact that his day was tiring. He couldn’t point a finger to what it was, but he could feel something in his gut as if telling him that something was bound to happen and he couldn’t just brush off that kind of feeling.
As he walked across the peaceful hall, his footsteps echoing as he left little trails behind, a blinding light suddenly flashed outside the horizon that it startled him and rendered him temporarily blinded.
“W – What…?!” he exclaimed as he quickly searched for the window, his hands fumbling through anything that he could use as support.
As soon as his vision slowly returned, the headmaster looked outside the window to try and see what the light was about or where it came from. However, he did not saw anything, not even a trace of the light. He looked around as he scanned his surroundings for any signs of intruder or possibly someone awoken by the ruckus and when he saw no one, the brunette haired headmaster let out a relieved sigh and dismissed the event as nothing more than a cause of his exhaustion. The headmaster was about to retire for the night when he soon heard small rustling noises from outside. Alarmed and wary of a possible attack, he immediately rushed to the entrance of the academy.
Soon as he reached the doors and cautiously opened one of them, readying himself to cast spells in case he needed to. A soft and gentle breeze of the wind greeted him as soon as he opened the door and after a quick scan of the area, there was nothing or no one that posed a danger was in sight. Headmaster Triskelle let another sigh escape him as he shook his head in dismissal.
“I really should retire for the night…” he whispered to himself before starting to walk back towards the door. As soon as he neared the doors, he heard another rustling sound that made him turn around quickly. The rustling sounds continued as the headmaster soon located its origin. Soft and slow footsteps soon followed and a young boy soon emerged from the shadows of the trees and under the moonlight.
Headmaster Triskele gazed at the young boy as he examined him for any sign of transgression. Pale brown locks of hair covered some part of the young boy’s innocent face and his emerald colored eyes barely open as his entire demeanor showed that of complete exhaustion. The young boy wore tattered robes, and his body all battered and bruised up. What could have possibly happened to the boy, the headmaster wondered. Was he attacked by monsters? Or worse, has an attack happened at the nearby villages and he was the only survived? He could only make assumptions.
A soft gust of wind soon swept past between them and the boy started to walk weakly towards the headmaster, stumbling a few times on his steps. As soon as there were only a couple of steps between them, the young boy stopped on his tracks. He looked at the headmaster, his eyes pleading for help before collapsing to the ground. Headmaster Triskelle immediately rushed towards the boy, cradling him in his arms. “Hey, kid! What’s wrong?! What happened to you?!” he inquired and the only response he received was a soft mumble from the boy.
“You… you’re burning up…” he commented, feeling the unusual warmth from the young boy. With no other choice, the headmaster lifted the boy in his arms. It was then that he noticed a mysterious insignia on the boy’s forehead. It wasn’t something he had seen before in his entire life, nor was it something that he have come across from all his research. The mysterious insignia — one that looked like a tribal sun — gave off a faint glow, causing a small chill to run down on the headmaster’s back. Lots of questions soon started popping out of the headmaster’s mind, his curiosity only growing as he looked at the then unconscious young boy. Shaking his head to snap him out of his curiosity, the headmaster walked back inside the academy. His questions could wait until the young boy regains his consciousness and nursed back to his health.
And as soon as the doors closed in behind him, a gust of wind blew past the evening sky, carrying with it a mysterious voice that echoed faintly.