Ruth POV
And the world lurched toward him.
Ash, stone, heat, Scarlett.Everything.
The serpent's lunge broke apart mid-strike as an invisible force seized its body and ripped it off course. Its jaws missed Scarlett by inches. One moment it had been about to tear through her. The next, its entire mass was being dragged sideways across the volcanic shelf, claws screeching through black rock as trenches split open beneath it.
Scarlett was pulled too.
Her boots skidded violently over fractured stone as she was yanked back from the edge, fire bursting from her heels in a sharp attempt to steady herself.
That should be enough.
It had to be.
His gaze flicked to her for half a second.
Still upright.
Good.
Loose rubble shot inward from every direction. Shards of ruby ore tore free from the chamber walls. Ash twisted into a spiralling current around Ruth's outstretched hand.
His brown eye glowed.
Not brightly.
Heavily.
The entire chamber dimmed beneath it, as though the world had been submerged in something thick and murky. Direction warped. Balance bent. Everything in front of him became motion and pull and weight.
Toward him.
The serpent roared and fought it.
Its tail slammed into the shelf once, then again, trying to anchor itself, but the force dragging it forward only deepened. Its obsidian-plated body ploughed through stone, showering sparks and shattered rock into the air as it was hauled closer.
Ruth did not step back.
He raised his other hand.
The ruby ore answered.
Broken fragments ripped themselves from the chamber walls and floor, screaming through the air as they gathered around him. Jagged pieces spun in tightening circles, grinding against one another with a metallic shriek. Larger chunks slammed together. Smaller shards packed into the gaps. The mass lengthened, narrowed, hardened.
A spear began to form.
No.
A spike.
Rough. Brutal. Thick as a torso and longer than the serpent's head, its surface lined with uneven edges that glowed faintly red beneath blackened metal.
Scarlett landed hard in a crouch a short distance away, one hand braced against the stone.
Her balance held.
Her side looked worse.
Not fatal.
Not yet.
Her eyes flicked from Ruth to the incoming serpent, then to the monstrous spike forming above him.
"Ruth—"
He ignored the rest.
The serpent was still coming.
Dragged over the shattered shelf by a force it could not understand, its molten eyes burned with rage as it thrashed against the pull. But the closer it came, the more debris joined the storm around Ruth. Rocks. Ore. Splintered stone. Even broken fragments of obsidian armour peeled free and spun through the air.
His breathing stayed even.
His gaze stayed fixed.
Then it shifted again.
Scarlett had pushed one knee under herself.
Trying to rise.
Good.
She had enough control left to brace.
That should keep her clear.
His glowing brown eye narrowed.
The pull reversed.
"...Repel."
The chamber exploded.
Everything flew.
Scarlett threw an arm over her face as the force burst outward from Ruth in a violent wave. Ash blasted across the cavern. Ruby shards shot away like arrows. Loose boulders were hurled back hard enough to crack against the walls.
She should be far enough.
She should be fine.
And the spike launched with them.
No.
Faster.
The repulsion hit the mass of compressed ore like a second heartbeat, sending it screaming across the chamber with enough force to tear the air apart. The serpent barely had time to rear before the spike drove straight through the broken section of its armour.
The impact was catastrophic.
The ruby-black spear punched into its chest and out through its side in a spray of molten light and shattered obsidian. The beast's roar broke into something jagged and strangled as its entire body was lifted and hurled backward by the force.
It crashed into a pillar hard enough to split it in half.
The chamber shook.
Fragments of ruby ore rained down.
The serpent convulsed around the spike lodged through its body, molten red leaking in thick streams over black scales as it writhed against the stone.
Ruth looked at Scarlett first.
Still conscious.
Still up.
Good.
Only then did he look back at the serpent.
Scarlett stared.
For once, she said nothing.
The serpent twitched violently, claws gouging at the floor as it tried to pull itself free of the spike lodged through its body. Molten light bled over the black stone beneath it in bright, ugly sheets.
Still alive.
Of course.
Ruth lowered his hand slowly, the murky distortion around his eye beginning to thin.
Annoying.
His gaze cut sideways again.
Scarlett had gotten fully to her feet now. Not steady, not comfortable, but standing. Fire curled weakly around one palm, more instinct than intention.
Good enough.
Then the serpent moved again.
Its body convulsed around the embedded spike, and with a wet, cracking wrench it dragged itself half a step forward, tearing more molten light from the wound.
Ruth's expression did not change.
"Annoying," he said.
The word had barely left his mouth when the pain hit properly.
Behind his eye first.
A deep, nasty throb that made his vision blur for a second.
Ruth's breath caught.
Then his chest started rising harder.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Damn.
That hurt.
He kept his face still, but it was getting harder to ignore. The glow in his brown eye flickered as the ache spread through the side of his head.
The serpent twisted around the spike.
Ruth narrowed his eye on instinct—
and instantly regretted it.
A sharper pulse of pain shot through his skull.
Right.
Not again.
Not yet.
He let out a slow breath and forced himself upright. His chest was still heaving more than he wanted.
His gaze flicked to Scarlett.
Still standing.
Still conscious.
Fine.
Good.
Only then did he look back at the serpent.
"Next time," he said, voice slightly rougher than usual, "it should die the first time."
'Damn it.'
The serpent dragged itself off the ruined pillar with a wet, grinding sound, molten light spilling from the hole Ruth had punched through it.
Still alive.
Ruth clicked his tongue softly.
Troublesome.
He tried to focus his eye again.
Pain slammed through his skull at once.
His vision blurred.
His breath caught.
No.
Not immediately.
The serpent saw it.
Saw the stillness in his stance. Saw the split second where he did not move.
And lunged.
Ruth's body reacted, but not quickly enough.
Then fire exploded past him.
Scarlett hit the serpent before it reached him.
The impact cracked through the chamber like a detonation. A blast of crimson flame swallowed the serpent's head and drove it sideways into the black stone. Lightning ripped through the fire a heartbeat later, wild and jagged, turning the whole chamber white for an instant.
Ruth's eyes narrowed.
That was different.
Scarlett landed low between him and the beast.
Her head was lowered.
Her shoulders rose and fell once.
Twice.
Flames leaked from her body in uneven waves, crawling over her arms and shoulders like they could not stay contained. Thin arcs of lightning snapped through them, hissing across the stone at her feet.
Her hair was lifting.
Not from wind.
Static.
The chamber grew hotter.
Then hotter again.
The serpent roared and surged upright.
Scarlett vanished.
No warning.
One burst of fire under her feet—
then she was on it.
Her fist crashed into the broken section of its neck.
Lightning erupted on contact.
The serpent convulsed so hard its entire body lifted off the ground for a fraction.
Scarlett hit it again.
And again.
And again.
Each punch landed with fire and lightning tangled around her arm, blasting deeper into the wound Ruth had opened. Obsidian armour shattered away in chunks. Molten light sprayed out over her sleeve. She did not stop.
The serpent lashed its tail blindly.
Scarlett took the hit across the side and barely moved.
That should have thrown her.
Instead she drove another punch into its neck hard enough to crack the chamber floor beneath them.
Ruth watched in silence.
The lightning was not controlled.
It was not aimed.
It just kept bursting out of her fire in violent, ugly flashes, crawling over the serpent's body and making its limbs jerk at the wrong times. Its movements were getting worse. Slower. Sloppier.
Scarlett was getting faster.
That was a problem.
The serpent tried to bite her.
She caught its jaw in one hand.
Fire burst from her palm.
Lightning followed.
The lower half of its face blackened instantly.
Its scream tore through the chamber.
Scarlett did not react.
'With this power she could easily be in the top ten.'
Her head came up slightly then, and Ruth saw her eyes.
Bright.
Too bright.
Not focused.
Not fully there.
'But she has no control.'
The serpent's body slammed into a ruby pillar, cracking it down the middle.
Scarlett stayed on it.
Her fists kept rising and falling.
A punch to the neck.
A punch to the skull.
Another into the same ruined wound.
Flame poured around her arms in thick crimson waves while lightning snapped through the gaps like the fire itself was splitting apart.
The serpent staggered.
Its legs gave.
It collapsed onto the black stone with enough force to shake the shelf.
Scarlett did not stop.
She dropped on top of it and kept punching.
One.
Two.
Three.
The serpent twitched under her.
Four.
Five.
Its movements were already failing.
Six.
Seven.
Its molten glow began to dim.
Eight.
Ruth kept watching.
The serpent's tail gave one last weak jerk.
Then went still.
Scarlett punched it again.
And again.
And again.
Each blow sent bursts of fire and lightning through a corpse that no longer fought back. Broken obsidian scattered. Burnt flesh split open. The chamber flashed red, then white, then red again.
It was dead.
Scarlett kept going.
Ruth's chest was still heaving, pain still pulsing behind his eye, but even through that he knew exactly what he was looking at.
Not victory.
Overflow.
He glanced at the corpse once.
Then back at Scarlett.
She had not noticed it was over.
That was more troublesome.
"Scarlett."
No response.
Her fist crashed down again.
Lightning burst across the serpent's dead body and jumped to the stone beneath it.
Ruth's gaze sharpened.
Her breathing was wrong.
She looked less like she was fighting and more like the fight was still happening somewhere inside her.
"Scarlett," he said again, flatter this time.
Still nothing.
Another punch.
Then another.
Ruth exhaled through his nose.
'How shall I do this?'
He stepped forward.
Scarlett's fist rose again, flames and lightning snapping around her arm.
"Enough," he said.
She did not hear him.
Or did not care.
Her arm came down—
and the air changed.
A figure appeared beside her without sound.
Older.
Tall.
A white ponytail fell down his back. Black pyjamas hung loosely from his frame, neat and absurdly casual, and yellow slippers rested against the volcanic stone like he belonged anywhere he chose to stand.
Ruth stopped at once.
The man lifted one hand.
Mana poured out of it in a soft, colourless wave.
It washed over Scarlett.
The flames around her body flickered.
The lightning snapped once.
Twice.
Then died.
Scarlett's body swayed.
Her fist loosened.
And she dropped.
The man caught her before she hit the ground, like this had happened many times before.
Ruth stared.
Then recognised him.
The man from before.
The one who had put them in the dungeon.
His breathing was still uneven, chest rising harder than he wanted, but his face stayed still.
The older man glanced at him, then smiled warmly.
"You have all done well."
His voice was gentle.
Almost amused.
Like this had been a lesson instead of a near disaster.
Ruth said nothing.
The man lowered Scarlett carefully to the ground.
Then he looked at Ruth again.
"Your reward is already in your pockets."
Ruth's eyes narrowed slightly.
Before he could check, the man blinked.
And the chamber vanished.
No light.
No tunnel.
No sensation of movement.
Just one blink—
and Ruth was back in his room.
The silence felt wrong.
His chest still rose harder than it should have, and the dull ache behind his eye had not fully faded. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at the familiar walls as if expecting the heat and ash to return.
They did not.
Slowly, Ruth slid a hand into his pocket.
His fingers brushed against something small.
Solid.
Real.
So it was not a dream.
His gaze lowered.
Then he exhaled quietly and shut his eyes for a brief moment.
Troublesome.
* * *
Aeron POV
They should be done soon.
Aeron walked without really thinking about where he was going.
His talk with the principal had gone better than expected. Well enough that the dungeon run, originally meant for two weeks later, had been pushed forward instead. Kyle and Lyra ranking up early had helped make that possible.
That did not mean there would be no consequences.
Once students started joining societies and going on outings, the sudden rise in their ranks would be noticed. Organisations would notice. Demons would too.
Aeron was not too worried.
They would probably manage.
Probably.
He would still keep an eye on them.
That was only half of what occupied his thoughts.
The other half was far more important.
The cooking society.
His mouth watered a little.
The thought of making his own mana-infused delicacies was enough to push more troublesome priorities further down the list.
Time passed strangely after that.
By the time Aeron properly noticed his surroundings, he had already drifted into one of the quieter corners of the academy. The usual noise had faded behind him, replaced by softer sounds: the faint rustle of evening wind through trimmed hedges, the gentle lap of water against stone, the distant murmur of students too far away to matter.
Ahead, the pond reflected the setting sun in trembling ribbons of gold, orange, and red.
Aeron kept walking.
His thoughts had drifted back to the dungeon.
Two weeks was not much.
And somehow, it was enough to matter.
The students would grow stronger sooner now. That much was obvious. But strength was never the only thing people noticed. Push one thing forward, and something else might arrive early to meet it.
Without thinking, he reached the bench by the pond and sat down.
The wood was cool beneath him.
Beyond the water, the sun was sinking into the sea of clouds below the academy's edge. Gold bled into amber. Amber into red. Across the pond, the reflection stretched thinner and thinner until it looked less like light and more like something being pulled apart.
Aeron stared at it quietly.
The world felt calm.
Too calm, maybe.
Like the pause between breaths.
Like the silence just before something remembered to happen.
A breeze passed over the pond.
The reflection broke.
Then a voice cut through his thoughts.
"That's my seat."
Aeron blinked and looked up.
The last light of evening fell over her softly.
Her hair was pitch black, darker than the coming night, drinking in the gold of the setting sun rather than reflecting it. The light traced her figure and touched her face with something warm enough to feel almost holy.
She was pretty.
Effortlessly so.
But it was her eyes that caught him.
Green. Vivid and alive. And at their centre, where a black pupil should have been, was a lighter green shape in perfect jagged symmetry, as though a star had burst there and frozen mid-explosion.
Aeron met her gaze—
and froze.
No way.
A cold spike ran down his back.
Then the sweating started.
Did I actually walk all the way to her seat?
His mind stalled for a second, then immediately began turning on itself.
How did I even get here?
He had been thinking about the dungeon. And the principal. And consequences. And the cooking society.
At no point had he given his feet permission to do this.
Yet somehow, here he was.
Sitting in Angelina's seat.
Looking directly at Angelina.
Aeron felt a very real urge to vanish.
Not because of anything weird.
Just because some people were built in a way that made direct eye contact feel like standing too close to something majestic and potentially fatal.
He opened his mouth to reply.
Nothing useful came out.
"Ah—uh... mm... I—"
That was not language.
That was a dying collection of sounds pretending to be a sentence.
Aeron stared at her, faintly horrified at himself.
Angelina held his gaze for another second before letting out a soft sigh.
"I come here to get away from stares," she said quietly.
Her eyes flicked over him once.
"And instead, I meet this fool."
Aeron felt a deep and immediate regret for every decision his feet had made on his behalf.
He decided, almost instantly, that this was no longer his seat, his park, or his evening.
"Understood," he said, despite understanding nothing about how he had ended up here in the first place.
He rose from the bench with urgent respect.
"Then I will be leaving."
A beat passed.
"...Now."
He turned immediately and began walking away at a speed just barely slow enough to pretend it was not retreat.
It absolutely was.
Where is Iori when I need him?
Then Aeron felt it.
Mana.
Behind him.
His steps faltered.
A cold prickle ran across his skin.
His trait caught it before the rest of him could fully process it, the sensation brushing against the edge of his awareness like something quietly reaching out.
Aeron's soul shrivelled.
Oh no.
Something curled around his ankle.
He jolted so hard he nearly tripped, then looked down to find a root wrapped neatly around his leg.
For one horrible second, he just stared.
Then, slowly, he turned his head.
Angelina was still standing there in the evening light, black hair drinking in the last gold of the setting sun, green eyes fixed on him with a calm that felt far too deliberate.
Aeron did not need anyone to explain it.
She did that.
"Iori!" he cried anyway.
The sound came out less like a call for help and more like a man being spiritually folded in half.
Inside, he was already gone.
No.
No, no, no.
She rooted me.
Why did she root me?
What did I do besides wander here and exist badly?
The root tightened just enough to make the answer obvious.
He was not leaving.
Not unless she allowed it.
And that, Aeron thought with deep despair, was how his peaceful evening ended.