Orin Alpheratz (15 years old) Location: Solaris Date: Year 873 / Crow Cycle (3) / Prince's Day (10)

  Orin slowly opened his eyes.

  Stone walls framed his vision—walls he knew well. His room at the Solaris Academy.

  For a brief, disoriented moment, he simply lay there, staring upward, letting the familiarity sink in. The mattress was warm. The air was calm. Part of him wanted to close his eyes again and cling to that fragile comfort.

  Only then did he realize how deeply he missed this life—how distant it felt now, compared to the chaos unleashed since the Church of Luminia began tearing the Empire apart from within.

  “How did I get here…?” he murmured, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “The last thing I remember is the forest, and—”

  The memory snapped into place.

  Orin shot upright.

  “Loki. Rick!”

  He scanned the room wildly, as if they might emerge from behind a shelf or the edge of his bed. They didn’t.

  What did catch his attention was the state of the room. His neatly arranged shelves were in disarray, clothes and equipment disturbed as if someone had searched through them in a hurry. His sword and shield were gone.

  And the door—wide open.

  “…Someone’s been here.”

  He stood and stepped into the hallway.

  Silence.

  An oppressive, unnatural stillness clung to the dormitory. No footsteps. No voices. Not even the distant echoes that usually filled the Academy at all hours.

  “That’s not possible…” he muttered.

  He crossed the corridor, then the main hall, his unease growing with every step. The dormitories were never empty—yet now, it felt as though the Academy itself were holding its breath.

  Outside, the scene was no less unsettling.

  The tree-lined path leading toward the main building stretched beneath a heavy, clouded sky, unchanged, and yet wrong. Orin couldn’t explain it. The air felt hollow, like a stage set after the audience had gone.

  Then he heard it.

  A distant murmur.

  Voices.

  Many of them.

  As he followed the sound, it grew louder, swelling into cheers and shouts. His heart quickened.

  “The training grounds…”

  He broke into a brisk walk, then a jog, until the noise engulfed him completely. Students crowded the field, faces alight with excitement, all eyes fixed on the center.

  “What’s going on…?” Orin wondered.

  He pushed through the crowd—and froze.

  Three figures clashed at the heart of the arena.

  Hector.

  Perseus.

  And himself.

  Orin watched as the version of him from that day charged Hector’s flank, his blade blazing with Solar Sword, while Perseus pressed from the opposite side, shield glowing as he activated Solar Shield. Hector stood firm, wielding both skills at once, effortlessly repelling their coordinated assault.

  “…I remember this,” Orin whispered. “Our fight against Hector.”

  “Finally, we meet again.”

  The voice behind him needed no introduction.

  “Wind,” Orin said, turning toward the red-haired boy. “So this really is another dream.”

  “Yes,” Wind replied evenly. “And a recent one, compared to the others.”

  “It is…” Orin said, watching his past self move—hesitant, inefficient. Now that he had awakened his hunter power, the flaws were painfully obvious. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”

  “A lot has changed since then,” Wind said, glancing back at the battlefield. “I imagine you’re thinking about how different this fight would be now.”

  Orin nodded slowly. “I can’t stop wondering how it would’ve ended if I’d awakened my hunter skills back then.”

  As if responding to his thoughts, Hector raised his voice on the field.

  “ACTIVATE KNIGHT SKILL: Longsword!”

  A spectral light surged along his blade, stretching it to twice its original length as the crowd erupted in cheers.

  Orin clenched his fist.

  Wind kept his eyes on the battlefield, watching the exchange with open interest.

  “That kid is good,” he said thoughtfully. “His posture, his presence… those are the marks of an experienced knight. But for some reason, he feels familiar.”

  “That’s Hector,” Orin replied. “Let’s just say we share a long history. At this point, ‘rivals’ is probably the most accurate way to describe it.”

  Wind glanced at him, a faint smile forming.

  “And you believe the current you could defeat this Hector?” he asked, clearly intrigued.

  Orin didn’t answer right away. His gaze remained fixed on the clash unfolding before them. Wind followed his eyes.

  A few seconds of silence passed.

  Then—

  “ACTIVATE KNIGHT SKILL: Solar Sword!”

  On the field, the Orin of the past surged forward. Both blades in his hands ignited with golden light as he launched himself at Hector like a raging whirlwind.

  Wind’s smile widened, unmistakably excited.

  “I see,” he said. “Even while binding yourself to the knight’s path, restraining what you truly were… your latent ability still surfaced. With enough time, you might’ve become a great knight.”

  He paused, then added softly, “But you would never have reached your true potential.”

  “I know,” Orin replied, never looking away. “Back then, I thought Hector stood at an unreachable height.”

  His eyes sharpened as he continued.

  “But after seeing people like Varis, Altair… even Felis in action, I can tell now. No stance is flawless. Even Hector has openings—more than I once believed. I don’t know if my current self could defeat him… but I know one thing.”

  He exhaled slowly.

  “If we fought now, neither of us would walk away unscathed.”

  Wind nodded. “As a hunter, you possess advantages he doesn’t—agility, precision, unpredictability. If you could breach his defense, the tide would turn in your favor.”

  He glanced back at Hector’s shield. “That is, if you managed to break through it.”

  “Yes,” Orin agreed quietly. “That’s the real challenge.”

  For a moment, they simply watched.

  Then Orin spoke again, his tone shifting.

  “By the way… earlier, you said you studied at the Solaris Academy. And you mentioned the Imperial Palace as well.” He turned to Wind. “Who are you, really? You don’t look like a soldier.”

  Wind let out a slow sigh.

  “I suppose it’s time I explained a little more,” he said. “You’re right. I was a student here once. You can probably tell from my hair—my origin is Venerae. Elven blood runs through my veins.”

  He hesitated.

  “But that’s not all. There’s another lineage mixed within me. Stronger. Immortal… and hidden.”

  Orin frowned. “Immortal?”

  “That blood is the reason I remain here,” Wind continued calmly. “Even after death, my spirit is bound to this limbo.”

  “A stronger blood…?” Orin murmured. “I don’t understand.”

  “That’s fine,” Wind said gently. “It’s easier if you think of me as someone who isn’t entirely human. That’s all I can say about myself.”

  Orin clenched his fist.

  “That’s it? Then what about Andromeda?” he pressed. “You knew her. And… it feels like you know me far better than a stranger should.”

  Wind’s expression changed. The lightness faded, replaced by quiet reflection.

  “You’re right,” he said after a pause. “I do know you well. And I owe you more than you can imagine.”

  He looked away, his voice lower now.

  “There was a time when I lost everything. I wandered the continent, directionless… and without realizing it, I became a wielder of magic swords.”

  Orin opened his mouth, but Wind raised a hand, stopping him.

  “You helped me then,” Wind said. “In the same way I’m helping you now.”

  “…But I don’t remember,” Orin said softly.

  “I know,” Wind replied. “And I don’t expect you to. All I ask is that you don’t dwell on it. One day, everything will make sense. I promise.”

  The explanation felt incomplete—but the sadness in Wind’s eyes silenced Orin. He found himself unable to speak.

  At that moment, the crowd erupted.

  Cheers thundered across the training grounds as Hector unleashed his Combo Skill: Rising Sun.

  Even Orin felt the weight of it—the overwhelming force, the perfect execution. Until he forged a technique of his own, there would always be a gap between him and Hector.

  He turned to Wind, expecting surprise.

  What he saw instead was something far more unsettling.

  Wind stared at Hector, his expression frozen—astonishment edged with tension.

  “What’s wrong?” Orin asked.

  Wind swallowed.

  “It can’t be…” he murmured. “Those movements… that form…”

  His eyes trembled.

  “Tristan.”

  “Tristan? What do you mean?” Orin asked, confused by Wind’s reaction.

  Noticing Orin’s expression, Wind quickly masked his own, brushing the matter aside.

  “Oh—nothing, nothing,” he said lightly. “That boy just reminded me of someone I once knew. Don’t worry about it.”

  Orin didn’t respond, but the familiar unease lingered. Wind often spoke as if he were looking at a reality slightly misaligned with Orin’s own—knowing things that didn’t quite belong to the world Orin understood.

  Still, he chose not to pursue it.

  As he watched his past self fall before Hector’s technique, Orin shifted the conversation.

  “By the way… I’ve decided to go to Dhamarr,” he said. “There has to be a deeper reason why you, Felis, and the others are so determined for me to go there.”

  Wind nodded slowly.

  “You’re right. The people of Dhamarr are the only ones capable of teaching you how to control your true power.”

  “Do you really think my power is that impressive?” Orin asked. “You’re not the only one who’s said that, but I still find it hard to believe.”

  “It’s not belief,” Wind replied firmly. “It’s certainty. You’ll understand once you arrive. And based on what I’ve observed in your timeline… you should be close already.”

  “My timeline?” Orin cut in. “So you can see my future?”

  “Not entirely,” Wind said. “Only certain pivotal moments—and even those are vague. I can’t see specific memories; reconstructing them takes time and effort. Besides…” He paused. “…to reach you through your dreams, I had to anchor myself to your present. Once that connection ends, I’ll be able to observe your timeline more clearly—but I won’t be able to reach you like this again. That’s why this will be our last meeting here, in your dreams.”

  “…Does that mean we’ll meet again somewhere else?” Orin asked quietly.

  “Most likely, if everything goes well... ” Wind replied, though worry crept into his voice. “There’s someone else I need to help. Both your present and that person’s are being influenced by a great power—one that’s causing rapid distortions in your timeline.”

  He lowered his gaze.

  “Not long ago, you almost died trying to return to Solaris. That event wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  Orin stiffened. “So... Why did it happen?”

  “Because you matter,” Wind said. “To the future. And there’s a higher power that wants to erase you from it. That’s why—”

  Suddenly, Wind faltered.

  His expression twisted in pain, as if a violent shock had run through him. He clutched his arm, teeth clenched.

  “Damn it… not again!” he hissed. “Orin, listen—we don’t have time!”

  “What’s happening?” Orin asked urgently.

  “I’m bound to your present,” Wind said through strained breath. “Any forced alteration in your timeline hits me directly. Someone is interfering again.”

  He looked up, alarm clear in his eyes.

  “You have to wake up and flee to Dhamarr. Now. They’re leading something toward you—something dangerous.”

  Wind stepped closer and placed both hands on Orin’s head.

  “This is goodbye,” he said softly. “But if you manage to break free from this… we’ll meet again.”

  His grip tightened.

  “I’ll pull you out of the trance. Farewell, my friend.”

  “Wait—” Orin began.

  But the world collapsed.

  Light twisted into spirals, sound dissolved into silence, and everything vanished into darkness.

  Orin gasped as he opened his eyes.

  Cold air brushed against his skin. Nearby, a line of trees swayed gently in the daylight. He was no longer in the academy.

  Rick and Loki sat beside a small fire, warming pieces of bread.

  “Orin, you’re finally awake,” Loki said with relief.

  “Want something to eat?” Rick added, holding out a piece.

  “No—put that out!” Orin snapped, forcing himself upright. “We have to leave. Now.”

  The two boys exchanged confused looks.

  “What do you mean?” Loki asked. “We’re far from the road. It’s safe here, and—”

  “No,” Orin cut in sharply. “Someone’s coming.”

  Before he could say more, Rick and Loki froze.

  Their gazes locked onto something moving between the trees.

  The color drained from their faces.

  Orin followed their eyes—and understood instantly.

  Walking toward them, a cruel smile etched beneath his bald head, was Morlem, accompanied by a group of men.

  The nightmare had caught up with them.