Aetherion Academia #1: Shadows of Rebirth のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 40

[Seraphina's P.O.V] The Great Refectory of Aetherion Academia was a cathedral of marble, stained glass, and unbridled ego. It was a space designed to humble the hungry and remind students exactly where they sat in the food chain. Massive vaulted arches soared overhead, etched with the histories of the Great Houses, while floating lanterns cast a flickering golden glow over the long mahogany tables. I was practically sprinting through the corridors leading to the main hall, my boots echoing against the stone like rapid-fire drumbeats. My stomach was growling with a ferocity that bordered on violent. Being a Half-Angel with a Phoenix-blessed core was a double-edged sword; my magic was potent, but my metabolism burned through fuel at an alarming rate. After the high-octane drama of the morning and the mental strain of the orientation tour, I felt like I could eat a whole roasted boar and ask for seconds. But as I rounded the final corner and the scent of spiced meats and fresh brea

[Rina's P.O.V] The corridor to the Great Hall stretched before us, a gauntlet of whispering students and shifting shadows. Dahlia walked at my side, her silence heavier than her words would have been. The blank card in my pocket felt like a stone, dragging at my steps, a public declaration that I was too dangerous to touch. We had barely cleared the archway of the West Wing when a figure stepped into our path. Not a threat — a Light Mage, his robes pale gold, his expression earnest and slightly harried. He held up a hand, palm glowing with the soft luminescence of his house. "Lady Duskbane?" His voice carried the clipped efficiency of someone delivering a message he didn't fully understand. "The infirmary nurses requested your presence. They need to rerun some tests — residual effects from your sorting, standard protocol for students who... overwhelmed the Sorter." I stopped. Dahlia's hand twitched toward the dagger at her hip, a reflex born of our shared morning. "Standard protoc

Moments later, [Jaxon P.O.V] I didn't wait for the faculty to finish their pathetic excuses. I didn't wait to see if the girl Aurel saved was going to live. The moment I saw the look on Lumira's face — that cold, mocking salute with the spoon — my blood boiled past the point of no return. I grabbed Selene's silk-clad arm, my grip probably too tight, and hauled her out of the Refectory. She stumbled behind me, her small heels clicking frantically against the stone as I dragged her into a deserted torch-lit corridor of the West Wing. "Jaxon! You're hurting me!" she whimpered, her voice echoing with that fragile, musical quality that usually made me want to burn the world down to protect her. Tonight, it just sounded like nails on a chalkboard. I spun around, slamming my hand against the stone wall beside her head. I didn't shift, but my eyes were fully amber, the wolf snarling just beneath my skin. "What the hell was that, Selene?" "I-I don't know what you mean!" She shrank back

[Rina P.O.V] The Great Refectory at dinner time was a cacophony of ambition and overpriced silk. The air was thick with the scent of roasted rosemary chicken and the high-pitched, manic energy of students obsessed with the upcoming Masquerade Welcome Feast. Everywhere I looked, groups huddled over sketches of gowns and catalogs of enchanted masks. It was a social arms race, and I was currently standing on the sidelines with ammunition they couldn't see. I sat at our usual table, but the talk felt hollow today. My mind was a tangled mess of plans — the plain white slip hidden in my room, the torn silver veil, the stained gloves. The enchantments I would weave through the midnight hours while others slept. The administrative red tape was cleared; the temporary seal allowed attendance. But no one knew that. No one needed to know. "I'm just saying," Elara whispered, leaning in. "If you don't find a dress by sunset tomorrow, the only thing left will be the burlap sacks they use for the

[Omniscient P.O.V] The Great Hall of Aetherion had been scrubbed of its academic austerity and replaced by a cavern of celestial opulence. Enchanted clouds drifted beneath the vaulted ceiling, raining down silent, shimmering sparks of starlight that vanished before they touched the marble floor. Every obsidian pillar was wrapped in living ivy that pulsed with a soft, azure light, and the air was thick with the scent of vintage nectar and the heavy, intoxicating perfume of three hundred high-tier bloodlines. But for all the music and the glittering masks, the atmosphere at the Ignis table was somber. Seraphina adjusted her mask — a delicate filigree of white gold that complimented her angelic radiance — and sighed. She looked at the massive oak doors of the hall for the tenth time in as many minutes. Her half-angelic intuition was humming, a restless vibration in her chest telling her something was fundamentally off. "She's not coming, is she?" she whispered, her voice barely audi