​The carriage wheels groaned slowly over the cobblestone road. The queue before the colossal gates of the Capital snaked endlessly.

​A cool breeze swept through the late afternoon air. Dozens of carriages and merchant caravans lined up in perfect order. Along the flanks of the road, guards clad in pristine white armor stood rigid. *Shing—*the occasional gleam of the afternoon sun glinted off the tips of their meticulously polished spears. The order was absolute.

​Roland's carriage—its rear canvas still scorched and smelling of soot from the fireball's explosion—inevitably drew much sharper, suspicious glares. Inside, Roland leaned back casually, tapping his fingers against his knee in a slow, rhythmic beat. Beside him, Rianor remained indifferent, the pages of his book rustling softly with every turn. On the opposite bench, Charis sat restlessly, continuously wringing his hands over his knees, while a trace of panic still lingered in the corners of Lira's eyes.

​Clank. Clank. The heavy stamp of metal boots drew near as their turn arrived. A stern-faced guard peered through the window slit, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the interior. "Travel Pass," he demanded, his voice heavy and authoritative.

​Without bothering to adjust his posture, Roland extended his parchment scroll. The bright red wax seal, bearing the emblem of the seven-rayed rising sun, was impossible to ignore. The guard snatched it away. His eyes swept rapidly over the script inside. It took exactly three seconds before the guard's jaw slackened and his spine snapped rigid.

​"P-Pastor Marius. From Sanctum." The guard swallowed hard—gulp—staring at Roland with a look that transformed entirely. The sharp, prying suspicion vanished, replaced by deep deference laced with a hint of fear. "Pass through, sir." He offered a stiff bow, waving his hand frantically to his comrades ahead. The colossal iron gates groaned, swinging wider.

​The carriage rolled forward. Charis looked back over his shoulder, staring in utter disbelief at the line of guards standing at attention. "Hah... they didn't even search our things?"

​Lira stared at Roland, her eyes perfectly round. "My Lord... you have a direct recommendation from Sanctum? Are you serious?"

​"Shh. That is on a need-to-know basis," Roland cut in with a thin smile, straightening his coat collar. Lira quickly zipped her lips.

​As their wooden wheels smoothly rolled onto the Capital's main avenue, Charis cleared his throat. "Ahem. Thank you very much for the ride, Lord Roland. We'll... we'll get off here."

​Roland turned his head with excruciating slowness. "Get off?"

​"Yes. We must immediately report back to the Academy. Our business outside is—"

​"Your business?" Roland interrupted. His tone was far too casual, but his eyes stared with an icy chill. "Look here. You blew a hole in my carriage's canvas. You nearly roasted my driver alive this afternoon. And now you expect to just slip away without so much as a by-your-leave?"

​Charis knit his brow, preparing to argue. "But, sir—"

​"No 'buts'." Roland leaned forward. "You are going to guide us straight to our destination's doorstep. That is the price of admission for your lives today."

​"But we have important business at the Academy!"

​"Oh, so do we. And believe me, the business of greenhorns like you is hardly more pressing than my party's."

​Charis inhaled deeply, ready to launch a fresh volley of protests. But Lira quickly tugged at the sleeve of his blue robe—a small, desperate yank. "Don't," she whispered softly in his ear. "He won't back down."

​Charis looked at Lira, then at Roland's indifferent face, and back to Lira. His shoulders slumped in defeat. He let out a long sigh. "Hah... fine then. But after we guide you—"

​"After that, well, we'll see," Roland interjected smoothly, his gaze already shifting back to the window. "Now, direct my driver to your Academy."

​The grandeur of the Capital unfolded before their eyes.

​The white alabaster cobblestones along the thoroughfare reflected the late afternoon sun, nearly blinding them. Crystal-clear canals split the residential districts, spanned by elegant stone arches carved with the holy sun. The very air of the city carried a different scent—a sweet blend of manicured garden blooms and expensive perfume. Citizens strolled with upright postures, clad in layers of silk. Even the beggars leaning against the street corners wore linen cloaks far cleaner than the finest garments of a common villager.

​Adul pressed his face against the window glass until his nose flattened. "Gods, look at that! A marble fountain! And... wait, is that a statue of the Goddess? It's massive!" His eyes sparkled wildly like a toddler in a toy shop. "And look over there—the twin towers! That has to be the Academy, right?!"

​Charis—now standing awkwardly, leaning close to the window—began to act as an impromptu guide. "The area lined with red tents is the Trade District. The economic heartbeat of the Capital. All luxury goods from across Luminara end up there." He pointed southward. "And the one with the gleaming dome is the Temple of the Sun—the grandest pilgrimage center. Pilgrims travel from the ends of the earth just to pray beneath the colossal statue of the Goddess."

​Lira, whose nerves had finally begun to settle, chimed in enthusiastically. "And that—" she pointed excitedly toward a two-story building with a display window packed with colorful pastries, "—is the best bakery in the entire Capital. You can smell the butter from a block away. I always make sure to stop by after an exam."

​"Assuming you pass, Lira," Charis cut in dryly.

​"Hmph, I'm definitely passing this time!"

​"You've been saying that for three consecutive semesters."

​Roland offered a thin smile as he listened to their trivial banter. The Trade District. The Temple of the Sun. Even the route to the sweet pastry shop. In his mind, every word was dissected into topographical data. Every bit of it could prove useful.

​The main gate of Luminous Academy finally loomed directly before them.

​The colossal twin towers, which had previously only been visible from afar, now seemed to swallow the evening sky above. The black iron gates embossed with a silver sun slowly ground open with a low creak after Charis showed his identity emblem to an old guard in a dark grey robe.

​Their scorched, soot-scented carriage slowly rolled into the academy's inner courtyard.

​Instantly, the footsteps of the neatly uniformed students across the yard halted. Whispers began to buzz. A charred, battered carriage. A band of foreigners in ragged clothes that were clearly out of place in Luminara.

​From his driver's bench, Dom merely turned his head slowly toward the crowd of elite students. His grey eyes stared with a gaze as cold as a corpse.

​One by one, the elite youths swallowed hard, broke eye contact, and scrambled to look away.

​Adul was completely oblivious to the clash of killing intent outside. He was still staring up at the twin towers with his jaw agape. "Crazy, so tall... what kind of magic did they use to stack stone pillars that massive?"

​In the dim corner of the carriage, Eva sat with her arms crossed. Her eyes swept wildly and sharply across every pillar, window, and corner of the Academy grounds. This place was one of the Church's highest institutions. And she was a former fugitive of the Pagan Order. Anyone around here, even with faces as pure as angels, was a lethal threat to her.

​As soon as the carriage came to a complete halt, Charis and Lira scrambled down. "We... we must report to our advisor first. Please wait here for a moment, My Lord," Charis said stiffly.

​Roland gave a slow nod from behind the window. "Take your time. We aren't going anywhere."

​The two students jogged away, disappearing behind the double wooden doors of the main building. Roland's party waited in silence.

​In less than fifteen minutes, Charis and Lira emerged from the main building once more. This time, however, their posture was hesitant. Charis scratched the back of his neck.

​"Uh... Lord Roland," Charis called out softly, avoiding direct eye contact. "Our advisor... he wishes to meet you in person."

​Roland raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Regarding what?"

​"Concerning... the fireball incident in the forest earlier." Charis shot a brief glance at Lira, who immediately looked down, wringing the edge of her robe. "And, well... he also seems curious about your party."

​Thud. Roland pushed the carriage door open and stepped down elegantly. "Very well then. Let's go greet your teacher." He then turned back to the carriage cabin. "Rianor, you're with me."

​Snap. Rianor closed his book tightly. Without a single word of protest, he stepped down and stood firmly at his brother's side.

​Roland looked at the remaining members of his crew inside. "Naya, Dom—you two guard the carriage. Adul, Eva—stay inside and don't do anything foolish."

​Naya gave a firm nod, her hand slowly sliding beneath her cloak near her dagger's sheath. On the driver's bench, Dom didn't utter a word. Yet, his grey eyes never for a fraction of a second lost track of Roland and Rianor's retreating backs.

​Adul swallowed hard—gulp. "Uh, Naya... those two will be fine in that witches' nest, right?"

​"They will be fine," Naya answered calmly, though her eyes narrowed.

​"A-are you a hundred percent sure?"

​Naya stared sharply at the grand facade of the building before them. "I never doubt Lord Roland's calculations."