[System Record: Transit Log] Location: The Smuggler's Port (Edge of Sector 98) Time: 06:00 AM (Sunrise Begins) Date: Year 61, April 2nd Status: Farewell
The dawn did not break gently; it shattered the horizon.
Because Aethalgard was the size of a sun, the sunrise was not a singular event. It was a four-hour ascension. The sky bled from deep violet to a blinding, radioactive gold that stretched shadows for miles, turning the world into a high-contrast photograph.
At the edge of the dock, hidden beneath the rot of the old sewage outflow, the Rusty Nail idled.
Lack Flameheart stood on the wet duracrete. He wore the pristine white and gold uniform of Class 1-A, but the fabric felt heavy. Silk wrapped around a lie. An imposter in gold trim.
Opposite him stood Kuro.
The Tiger Beastman did not belong here. The air of Sector 98—dense with the "Holy" mana of the University—made his fur stand on end. As a Fury Devil Vessel, his mere existence here was a biological error code.
"You look ridiculous," Kuro grunted, eyeing Lack's tie. "Like a sheep wrapped in silk."
"And you look like a target," Lack smiled, though the humour did not reach his eyes. "You have to go, Kuro. If the Sanctum Guard smells your Negative Karma, they won't ask questions."
Kuro adjusted the mechanical prosthetic arm Ratchet had built for him. It whirred softly, a brutal, industrial contrast to his biological strength.
"I am not made for classrooms, Little Glitch," Kuro spat into the toxic water. "I am a hunter. While you play with calculators, I will hunt the rats."
He tapped the map pinned to his belt.
"The Dreallytear... the shadows who whispered to Aamon... they are still out there. I will find them. I will find the one called The Pale Whisper."
Kuro stepped onto the gangplank. He turned back, his golden eyes burning with the intent of a predator.
"Survive the exams, Lack. Do not let the 'Gods' bore you to death."
"Don't die," Lack said.
"I am the Fury," Kuro grinned, showing all his teeth. "Death is afraid of me."
The ship pulled away, slipping into the mist. The Rusty Nail slipped into the mist. The Hunter vanished entirely.
Now, only the Student remained.
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Location: The Grand Amphitheatre (University Sector 98) Time: 08:00 AM (The Morning Lecture I) Subject: Planetary Physics & Dimensional Math Professor: Dr. Thalos (High Elf / Astrologer)
The lecture hall was a cavern of acoustic stone, designed to amplify the sound of failure.
Class 1-A sat in tiered rows. The Elites—Knox, Lyra, Silas, Jett—occupied the front, their desks organised with military precision.
The Misfits—Lack, Borg, Olan, Kip, Mina, Torin—were crammed into the back row. They looked like survivors of a shipwreck who had washed up in a library.
Professor Thalos stood before a massive holographic globe. He was a High Elf, tall and arrogant, with skin like polished marble.
"Welcome to the torture chamber," Thalos droned, his voice dry as parchment. "You have 88 Days until the Year 1 Finals on April 90th. Most of you will fail."
He glared at the back row.
"Especially the... 'Special Admissions'. Combat ability does not equal intelligence. Flushing a Councilman down a toilet does not qualify you to calculate the Orbital Resonance."
Thalos spun the hologram. The massive planet rotated.
"Topic One: Scale."
"Do not confuse your home with the dirt-ball called Earth," Thalos sneered. "Our world is the size of a Sun. We are not a planet; we are a celestial anomaly."
He pointed to the blue surface.
"70% Water. 30% Land. The oceans are so vast that a ship sailing from the Eastern Continent to the West would take three years to arrive without a Warp Gate."
Borg (Gluttony) raised his hand, chewing on the corner of his textbook.
"Professor. If the ocean is that big... are the fish bigger?"
"Out," Thalos pointed to the door.
"Worth it," Borg muttered, grabbing his bag.
Thalos ignored the interruption. He pointed to the rings orbiting the world.
"To stabilise this much water, we have the Moons. Not one. Not two. But Twelve Earth-Sized Moons in the Inner Ring alone. Zul, Vek, Nyxos... they are the gravitational anchors that keep our oceans from drowning us."
Knox (Sun) raised his hand perfectly straight. The Top 1 Student sat with impeccable posture.
"Professor. This is elementary. We learned the Orbital Resonance Groups in Primary School. Why are we reviewing this?"
Knox turned his head, his golden eyes drilling into Lack in the back row.
"Unless... we are slowing down for the 'Reserves'?"
A ripple of laughter went through the Elites. Lyra (Gravity) didn't laugh, but she floated her pen in the air, creating a micro-orbit of boredom.
Lack remained motionless. The holographic "Moons" ceased to be celestial bodies; they became massive, undeniable Counter-Weights. Twelve Earth-sized magnets locked into orbit. Spaced out to pull the water evenly. If you destroy one... the ocean doesn't just rise. It tilts.
"Correct, Mr. Knox," Thalos smiled thinly. "We are reviewing for the benefit of our War Heroes. Who spent the last semester fighting in sewers instead of studying Dimensional Math."
Thalos waved his hand. The board filled with a nightmare of equations.
F = (G * m1 * m2) / r^2 + [Mana Constant (μ)]
"You have 30 days to memorise the Gravitational Flux of all 40 Medium Moons in the Middle Belt," Thalos announced. "If you cannot calculate the tide during a Blue Night, you will be dead before you cast your first spell."
Olan (Sleep) snored loudly, his head hitting the desk with a thud.
Torin (Wind) was trying to make a paper airplane invisible so Thalos wouldn't see it.
The equations on the board were pure gibberish. Greek letters mixed with Arcane runes.
Memorisation was unnecessary. The System Eyes activated, seeking only the underlying frequency.
He picked up his pen. Ignoring the formula, he drew a diagram.
A lever. A fulcrum. And a heavy rock.
"Physics," Lack whispered to himself. "It's all just leverage."
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