The following day, the lecture hall felt colder.
Not because of magic. Not because of the weather.
But because everyone knew what was coming.
The continuation of the Forbidden Seven.
Even Kael, while sipping lukewarm tea someone accidentally left behind, stayed in his seat.
Instructor Rehlan returned, silent as ever, scroll hovering behind him again.
"Yesterday," he said, "we witnessed the structures of man, dragons, and shadows."
The scroll spun again, forming a new set of glowing emblems. This time—more primal. Rougher. Older.
"Today, we meet what came before kingdoms. What the gods tried to seal. And what still watches the world… waiting."
---
V. The Primal Beastkin Tribes
The first image was of endless plains.
Then forests.
Then mountains.
All alive—not with humans, but with powerful humanoid beasts. Towering tiger-warriors with glowing runes. Owl-eyed priestesses whispering to the wind. Wolf clans dancing in the moonlight.
"Beastkin are often mocked as savages," Rehlan said coldly. "Only by those who've never seen a Beast Lord crush an army with their bare fists."
He gestured to the center of the image—where a lion-headed warrior sat on a throne of stone and bones, surrounded by chieftains.
"The Beastkin are ruled by the Great Circle—a council of ten primal Lords, each representing a major tribe."
As the image zoomed in, students saw battle rituals, spirit dances, and massive totems glowing with ancient mana.
"They wield Spiritbound Magic—a form that predates human spellwork and divine invocation. Raw, wild, and bound to their blood."
Kael tilted his head. "So they're magical gym bros?"
Rehlan blinked. "In a way. But gym bros don't summon thunder wolves from their ancestors' graves."
"Oh."
---
VI. The Elven Dominion of Elarion
The next image glowed green. Vines coiled across the walls of the hall. A faint flute echoed in the air.
The forest unfolded into elegant cities—grown, not built. Trees shaped into homes. Rivers that sang. Silver-haired elves meditating midair.
"Elves are not merely long-lived humans," Rehlan said. "They are born of mana. And their homeland, Elarion, is one of the oldest living lands."
The vision zoomed in on a colossal tree whose roots pierced the planet's crust.
"Yggelthas. The World Tree. Said to connect all magic in this realm."
From it descended the Elven Triumvirate—three sovereigns: The Moonseer, The Thorn Empress, and The Lifebinder.
"They govern with unity and unbending principle. No outsider steps into Elarion without permission. And none leave with their memories intact."
Lyra leaned over to Kael. "Creepy memory magic. I hate that stuff."
"Sounds peaceful," Kael said. "Just a forest full of magical introverts."
Rehlan's eyes darkened. "Peaceful, until provoked. The last army that marched into Elarion was reduced to moss and regrets."
---
VII. The Abyssal Legion of the Deep
The room dimmed again. The scroll turned black.
Something deep groaned from below.
Then came visions of oceans—massive trenches, forgotten cities buried in salt, and creatures made of scale and shadow.
"The sea is not empty," Rehlan whispered. "It is full of them."
Tentacled kings. Siren queens. Deepfolk with glowing eyes and cursed runes etched into their skin.
"The Abyssal Legion is ruled by no single creature. It is a collective. Minds linked by old will. They once ruled the world's coastlines—before the surface nations pushed them back into the trenches."
Kael raised a hand. "So they're just mad fish?"
Rehlan turned to him. "Do not joke. One Abyssal General sank a floating city the size of Elun's capital. With a hum."
Silence.
"They don't speak. They sing. And when they do… the tides change."
---
The Final Map: A World on the Edge
The seven emblems hovered in a circle now, forming a glowing map above the entire lecture hall.
Seven continents. Each linked by leylines, war routes, ancient seals.
The instructor spoke one last time:
The Demon Army controls the Blasted Wastes to the north.
The Seven Human Kingdoms hold the central continent of Aldaemar.
The Secret Society of Shadows operates everywhere—unseen.
The Dragons of the Accord slumber in the peaks of Celestarn.
The Primal Beastkin Tribes roam the wild lands of Korr'thar.
The Elven Dominion guards the living forest of Elarion.
The Abyssal Legion waits beneath the seas of Nyr'ven.
Kael muttered, "No wonder my back hurts. The world's carrying too many plotlines."
Lyra laughed.
Rehlan bowed his head.
"Seven forces. Seven balances. And we… stand in the middle."
---
Somewhere Far Away
In a dark temple on a forgotten island, a blindfolded woman raised her head.
She whispered.
"He awakens."
A shadowed figure nodded. "And so the wheels turn."
From the depths, something answered. Not in words. But in a sound like chains breaking underwater.
---
Kael sneezed.
"Ugh. Someone's talking about me."
He stretched on a bench beneath the lecture balcony.
Then sat up.
"...Did I forget lunch again?"
Behind him, a dragon watched.
Below him, a shadow wrote.
And far away, all seven forces felt a tiny ripple.
Nothing large.
Just a tilt in the air.
As if someone had finally… sat up straight.
---