"Leave the students to me. I'll handle them," she remarked, a confident smirk curling her lips.
The warmth in the atmosphere made everything feel alive—it was as though the wind itself obeyed Elara. It felt like the arena breathed with her. Every shift in the fog, she could sense.
Dravok stood, his heart aching slightly. Though he had long forgotten her, her return felt like a blessing etched into his soul. After more than a thousand years, he was finally going to witness the Frostfire Queen in action.
The air shifted in one sweeping arc from Elara's outstretched arm, forming a near-perfect circle. A sudden burst of wind and crystalline ice shot outward. Dravok ducked instinctively, moving with the ease of someone who knew her attacks intimately.
The fog was blasted away, revealing a circular battlefield. Sixteen students stood in random formation, unaware of each other's presence until now. Some stood side by side, yet hadn't known it. Most were hybrids; a few were pure-blooded demons.
A shockwave ran through their spines, paralyzing them like thieves caught in the beam of a watchlight. Then chaos erupted.
Some attempted to flee back into the fog. Others were overwhelmed by multiple foes. A few moved as though their lives depended on it—but to Elara, they were all prey.
With a fiery blast from her heels, she launched into a blur of motion, circling the arena at blinding speed. Her mana radiated a seamless balance of magic and anti-magic—she was a perfect hybrid.
Dread filled the circle. The students in black and red stood confused, some frozen in place. Questions spun wildly through their minds: Who do we attack? Who's the real threat?
Elara's suffocating presence made them forget they even had magic coursing through their veins.
In a flash, the wind calmed. Elara reappeared at the far side of the battlefield, holding black and red tags in her hands. The arena was now dotted with frozen statues. Only Dravok remained untouched by either frost or flame.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the moon began its ascent. Creatures of the magical forest stirred awake.
"Well done, Eli," Dravok called.
Elara blushed, her cheeks warming at the sound of her old pet name.
"Thank you, Lord Dravok," she replied.
With that, Dravok took her hand and teleported them to the forest's edge, where other students had begun regrouping according to their uniforms. Only twenty-six students remained, including all teams.
Clang... Clang... Clang...
The two-hour mark bell rang. The moon had fully risen, as if it had been waiting for the final toll. Anyone left behind in the magical forest was as good as dead.
A man emerged from the opposite side of the forest. Tall and regal, his dark eyes commanded authority, though his expression was one of fairness. He wore a white shirt adorned with golden stripes and stars on the shoulders. A badge on his chest identified him as a Two-Star Demon Knight. Even without effort, his presence was chilling and oppressive.
His white trousers matched his shirt, with golden stripes etched in a horizontal pattern. His mature horns were sharp and brown.
"I am Knight Ravien, instructor of the Demon King Academy," he announced.
The students flinched. Most hadn't expected to see an instructor in person until much later in their training. His voice, eerily familiar, confirmed that he had been monitoring them through the hidden speakers.
Clearly, he held a special interest in this year's aspirants—or in a select few.
"Group One, step forward with your achievements."
The red-robed group looked helplessly back into the forest. Their leader, Kia, was nowhere to be found. Unbeknownst to them, Mia and Kia had fused back into the singular being they were born as.
A short, dark-haired girl with broad hips stepped forward boldly among the remaining eleven demons. She collected the wooden tags and approached without hesitation.
"I'll be representing Kia," she said, offering the tags to Ravien with a respectful bow.
"No, you will be replacing her," Ravien replied, counting the tags. "Eighteen. Well done, Liora."
As the academy's instructor, he knew the names of all students from first to third year.
"Group Two."
Adam stepped forward—a broad-shouldered hybrid with dominant demon traits. He didn't seem excited, but composed.
He handed over the tags. Ravien counted them.
"Thirteen."
The royal faction wasn't openly mocking the numbers, but they were more curious about Team Three's total. They used Adam's count as a benchmark.
Before Ravien could call Team Three, the royals fell into stunned silence.
A hybrid will be leading the class...
"Team Three," Ravien called.
Dravok stepped forward—not with pride, but clam purpose.
Ravien looked deep into his eyes. For a moment, it felt as if he stood before an ancient god.
"Nineteen. Congratulations, Dravok Velcrune. You've earned the first seat of the Demon Academy's Year One class."
He paused, then clapped. A ceremonial stole appeared in his hand and wrapped itself around Dravok.
"A true leader doesn't need to be told his responsibility."
Dravok offered a simple nod and a faint smile—he did not bow. His gaze alone asserted dominance.
Ravien swallowed hard. Dravok's presence triggered a warning deep within him.
"Dismissed."
The students, whether thrilled, disappointed, or indifferent, scattered. None dared confront Dravok. Most didn't even notice Elara—who looked eerily like Mia and Kia. All they knew was that Dravok had a teammate, and she wasn't to be trifled with.
Elara walked beside him as he led her home. They laughed and reminisced beneath the full moon. But there was one memory Elara hadn't recovered—one she yearned for.
"How did I die in my past life, Lord Dravok?"
Dravok's mind flashed back.
---
It was during the great war.
He stood at the frontline, his subordinates behind him, caught between the armies of the Human and Spirit Kingdoms. He had sought peace—but his followers sought conquest, a desire they could never fulfill under his command.
That same day, Ely Varlis—the Spirit King—abandoned the battlefield to infiltrate the Demon King's palace. His goal: the sacred blade Venuzdonoa, a weapon capable of rewriting destiny.
Elara intercepted him.
But she was no match.
She fell with Ely's blade in her neck
---
Dravok returned to the present. He could sense a presence near them, a familiar one other than Elara—but he chose to shield her from it.
He took a breath, voice steady, tone low.
"With a blade in your neck," he said.
Elara didn't ask further. His reaction said enough.
They stood in front of her bungalow—a regal off-white structure. No more words passed between them, just a warm, relieving kiss her fingertips tracing his shoulders.
"Goodnight, Lord Dravok," she whispered.
Dravok glanced over her shoulder at the rooftop, then looked back at her.
"Bye, Elara."
As she entered the house, his expression changed. The air thickened.
"You can come out now," he said coldly.
A cloaked figure leapt from the roof—Gerad Azrema, the First Elder Demon.
"I come with a message," he said.
"What do you want, Gerad?"
"The Demon King wishes to speak with you."
Dravok's face didn't flinch. There was no fear—only curiosity. An invitation from my nemesis? Intriguing.
"When and where?" he asked calmly with bold confidence.
"Now. At the Demon King's castle."
Dravok nodded.
"Let's go."