The first ti Adam had stepped into the dormitory lounge, he had entertained the sentint that it was a comfortable place of relaxation.
Not anymore.
He could make out the shapes of taken sofas imprinted on the floor. Even the beige one he had co to call his own was gone, replaced by study desks left as cruel reminders that the lounge anticipated the next punishnt.
The multicolored cushions arranged in comfy circles around the fireplace were gone. And so were the students lulled by the warm crackle of dancing flas, their lighthearted voices around fragrant cups of coffee and spicy snacks, and their relaxed smiles as the tension from lessons faded in the cushions’ embrace.
It felt barren; sad even to him. Even if everyone believed it was his fault.
Well, they could continue to believe whatever they wanted. His missing sofa held more emotional space in his mind than their irrational contempt.
In the silence that hung as cold as a winter day, he moved to the stairs. Two sets of footsteps cracked from above, delicate in their softness. Two girls, he picked up. A smile curved his lips when he t who they belonged to mid-climb.
"Let’s have supper together, big brother!" Quintella rushed to him, her bright smile chasing away the cold.
Beside her, Sarah nodded with her usual enthusiasm. If he had found it friendly at first, now he couldn’t help but frown. Whenever Desmond or Elliot showed up, she left with a snarl about not enjoying the company of notorious troublemakers like Desmond or dimwits like Elliot. However, there she was, smiling at him as if the other students’ shared indignation ant nothing.
"You should definitely co. We can celebrate the end of your punishnt together. Oh, I know it was Desmond’s fault. I can’t believe you lost another two thousand points because of him, but that’s not entirely bad. At least you understand why we avoid him. Befriending him is being friends with trouble," she said, her dark eyes sparkling with genuine care. Her voice was the sa, as if she were talking to her best friend.
He shook his head, his suspicions fading like snow beneath her warm smile.
"I’ve already had supper, but we can absolutely have breakfast tomorrow morning." He winked at Quintella. "Eat well. Training later."
"Yeah!" Quintella raised her fists. On her shoulder, Bao did the sa with her tiny paws and an eager growl.
Adam ruffled her blonde hair as she passed him by, not forgetting to pat Bao’s back. Then, he went to his room.
Seated on his comfortable sofa, he picked up the grimoire from House Caelmorne. The mont he touched the warm navy blue leather, his eyes narrowed into focused slits. It was ti to learn what had happened fifteen thousand years ago from the records of soone who had lived through the events.
He read through the first pages, learning about Orrivandrel, the city of crystal walls girted by Shamara, the river of shimring waters, and Leoric Caelmorne, a humble man managing a derelict shop with his wife. He learned about their issues with magic, how everything they touched ended in a chaotic ss of volatile mana, and how they had used their peculiarities to fight off the werebeasts’ conquest when the black star with jagged edges, the banner of their stubborn spite against the invaders, threatened to be ripped apart along with the walls supporting it.
In every line, he felt Leoric’s love for the ho he called his heart, for his wife, Cordelia De Caligo. Even after the city’s old council nad him king, he still felt he didn’t deserve her gentleness and beauty.
But the years of happiness thinned when demons crossed into the magical world. He read about Orrivandrel’s ultimate battle, how farrs, shepherds, and woodcutters raised bows, forked pitches, and axes to join the army against Leoric’s plea to flee—to defend their ho for a promise of reinforcent that never ca.
He felt the betrayal as if Leoric spat it in person through the denser writing and recognised the dried tear stains when he wrote about Cordelia’s death on the battlefield.
In his grief, Leoric drew too much mana. He had planned to die, to bury the demons with his wife, with his ho. Instead, sothing that made Adam’s eyes go wide happened.
"My enemies labelled the wild magic tar, the chaos terrorist, the shadow that hides behind the throne of lying tyrants. But I’m the blade of Orrivandrel, the demon bane. My liver lted away that day, but the world whispered. The end of you has not co yet, Leoric. Demons are swarming our lands, but beasts remain passive. Repel the invaders so no man suffers what you’ve lost. Today, I offer humans a chance. Beco the justice that strikes through chaos to restore order."
I thought I heard voices, that the Netherworld Overseer took amusent in my misery, but my liver reford. Not from flesh, but from pure mana. I rapidly realised that this new organ strengthened beyond my potential. From a magus, I edged on the Supre Sorcerer rank, as I culled more demons.
But this power ca at a cost, a cruel flaw. So say the liver is the seat of emotions. Mine beca as chaotic as my magic. I’m inflexible, vengeful, unforgiving, but also unable to restrain my emotions.
A few years later, I found a tragic fool like , the high priestess. She called us the world’s chosen ones—a joke I found pathetic. Nevertheless, that Mortis brat and I founded our order on an isolated island. The exorcists, we called it, for my life revolved around exterminating demons. And slowly, as we fought off the demonic invasion gangrening our realm, more joined us."
Adam leapt to his feet, the shocking revelation upturning everything he had believed. "Haldris didn’t create the exorcists! It was Leoric and House Mortis?!"
But more than the corrected historical facts, his pupils trembled at the nas. Justice didn’t ring any bells since Leoric wanted to avenge his wife and ho. His liver... Well, had Luna not gifted him a Manacore Heartgem years ago? If the core of the magic world had sentience like hers, gifting soone a mythical liver was believable.
But the high priestess? Flaws? Hell no!
His eyes darted to the next page, narrowing into reluctant slits. He almost pleaded that it was all a coincidence, that the lying bastard back ho had never been right.
Yet, the next lines made him drop to the sofa, head dangling and eyes lost on the yellowed page.
"Even worlds apart, I hate you, Gaston..."
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AN: Don’t expect the entire backstory in one go. As I wrote earlier, the seven pieces will draw the complete picture.
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