Asrial's eyes jolted open to an unfamiliar void.
A world of silence and oppressive stillness. No sky, no ground—just a sea of floating white silk threads, suspended in the air, weaving and twisting around each other like an endless tapestry.
The threads spiraled upwards, entangling the heavens. They formed a circular prison, suffocating and absolute. There was no wind. No warmth. No sound.
It was as though the world itself had paused.
What is this place? Asrial thought, his breathing steady but sharp.
His gaze followed the delicate threads into the sky, where his eyes widened.
A colossal black hand—its form wrapped in layers of shimmering white silk—descended like a god stretching across reality. Its fingers twitched lazily, yet the very air trembled with the weight of its presence.
Asrial instinctively summoned fire to his palm. His body reacted before his mind could catch up.
Before him, the silken threads began to condense, twisting and warping into the shape of a humanoid figure.
It was tall and slender, completely draped in pure white silk. Its form rippled as though breathing.
Where a face should have been was instead a dragon mask, its carved grin permanently frozen, tethered to the body by thin, almost invisible threads.
Then it spoke.
A thousand voices echoed at once.
Deep, high, male, female—each overlapping, each out of sync.
"Welcome… to my domain, Unfated One."
The voices drilled into Asrial's skull like needles.
But he didn't flinch. He didn't step back.
"Drop the act," he snapped, fire crackling in his hand.
"I know who you are. You're the dragon who's been pulling the strings behind all this. You're here to erase me."
His grip on the spear of fire tightened.
"I don't know what your game is, but I'll be the one absorbing you, you silk-wrapped lizard."
The figure tilted its masked head slightly, as if amused.
"You choose violence so quickly. Intriguing. But I have no interest in fighting you—not yet."
Its many voices softened, their chaotic rhythm now almost melodic.
"Instead, you'll fight your own people."
Asrial narrowed his eyes. "What are you planning?"
"Tomorrow's entrance exam… I will interfere."
The massive black hand above twitched, and the threads around Asrial quivered as if they were alive.
"I will bend the fates of your opponents, twist the battles, distort the outcomes. You will fight… but not on equal ground."
"If you survive—and if you can defeat Yuu in the final round—I shall grant you the right to wield my power."
Asrial scowled. "And if I fail?"
The threads suddenly snapped forward, coiling tightly around his arms, legs, and neck.
The suffocating pressure made his vision blur.
"If you fail, I will erase you from this world. You will be nothing. A forgotten echo."
"And I will bring back my sister—Xucutle—the rightful dragon who should have consumed you."
The threads slowly retreated as the figure began to dissolve into shimmering silk.
"If you seek the truth about your existence, survive my trial. Or die as a nobody, forever blind to the answers."
And then—silence.
---
Asrial gasped, jerking awake in his room.
His chest heaved. His body drenched in sweat.
But then he realized—he couldn't move.
His limbs were frozen, bound by unseen threads.
A faint sensation crept over his skin, as though countless silk strands were wrapping tighter and tighter around his soul.
Weiver's voice thundered in his head.
"The Dragon of Fate, Weiver, has begun interfering with the world. Your body will soon be mine. None can escape fate."
His legs trembled, moving without his will. Panic shot through him.
His hands reached out—not by his choice.
"No… I won't be your puppet."
The more he struggled, the tighter the threads constricted. His breathing grew ragged.
His mind screamed,
Think! Fire can burn silk—can it burn fate?
With desperate resolve, he ignited his palm—not to attack—but to set his soul ablaze.
The searing pain consumed him.
It wasn't just his body that burned—it was his spirit. His life-force.
It was like tearing his own existence apart with fire.
He bit his tongue to avoid screaming. His vision darkened. He felt like his heart would rupture.
But then—the threads cracked.
One by one, they smoldered, disintegrating into ash.
The suffocating grip weakened, and he collapsed onto his knees, gasping. The air smelled of burnt silk and scorched earth.
The threads were gone.
But the whisper remained:
"You may burn the strings… but you cannot burn fate itself."
---
Asrial forced himself up, changed his clothes, and strapped on his armor.
His movements were sluggish, but his determination burned fiercer than ever.
Outside, he met Therisia, who was fully dressed in her armor, her sword resting proudly at her waist.
"There you are!" she grinned. "Took you long enough. Oversleeping on exam day? You must be too relaxed."
Asrial chuckled, his voice low and teasing. "I had a nightmare."
Therisia arched an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "My brave knight—haunted by nightmares? What a scandal."
Without warning, he gently pinched her cheek, earning a yelp.
"A noble lady shouldn't crack jokes so early in the morning."
"I'm not a kid anymore!" she pouted, swatting his hand away.
Their laughter faded as they walked toward the academy's grand coliseum. The walls buzzed with life.
Students, nobles, and aristocrats filled the stands, awaiting the spectacle.
The head examiner's voice roared across the arena.
"Today, the second entrance exam will test your combat prowess. We are honored to welcome Her Majesty, Queen Analise, and the Academy Chief among us."
All bowed toward the royal balcony, where the queen sat with a composed expression, her delicate hand briefly raised in acknowledgment.
The examiner's smirk widened as his eyes settled on Asrial.
"Due to the extraordinary talents displayed in the first exam, select individuals will face heightened challenges."
His voice darkened.
"Some will fight three opponents at once."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"The first contender: Asrial."
Therisia's eyes flickered with concern. "Three at once? That's unfair!"
Asrial stood, brushing invisible dust from his shoulder. "It's the lizard's game. He's already moving the pieces."
He glanced at Elenor, seated among the nobles, her chin resting elegantly on her palm, her golden eyes sparkling with amusement.
She planned this.
But Asrial simply smirked, stepping onto the battlefield.
"Fine," he muttered under his breath. "Let's show them who's really pulling the strings."