Far from the shining spires of the academy city, beyond the trembling glow of its walls and the hum of its mana veins, the forest lay deep and endless. The moon hung pale above the treetops, spilling its silver light through the tangled canopy, but beneath those leaves, the world was swallowed by darkness.

And there, hidden among the roots and moss, stood a cabin.

It was small, crooked, and ancient — a forgotten relic, half-rotted and covered in ivy. No one ever visited. No one even spoke of it. To every passerby, it was simply empty.

But beneath it, deep below the rotten wood and soil, the air was alive.

There, under the cabin, carved into the earth itself, was a room — round, low, and silent save for the breathing of five figures.

The stone walls were damp, the flickering bulb above them long past its prime. The faint buzz of its dying filament gave the illusion of movement, of shadow crawling.

They sat around a circular table of black iron, faces hidden by heavy hoods, their forms dim except for the faint glimmer of their eyes.

"The time has come," one of them said. His voice was gravelly, the words drawn like smoke.

"The entrance examination will be over soon," another replied. "Gaia's power wanes with the passing season. This… is when she sleeps."

A third voice, sharper, rougher: "Then it is time the revolution strikes. Time we carve down those who call themselves worthy."

A chuckle slithered through the dark. "Yes. Let us slaughter them all. My blood already sings for it."

"Calm yourself, Ripper," came another voice — quiet but firm, cutting through the air. "The time has not yet arrived."

"And we still have no plan," said the calm one again. "No method. You think they'll simply open the academy gates because Gaia is weak?"

Ripper exhaled in annoyance beneath his hood. The faint red light of his eyes flickered. "You always bring down the fun, Jaime."

From across the table, green light burned faintly where Jaime's eyes were hidden. "Fun won't save us from the Professors, idiot."

Before Ripper could retort, a heavy sound rumbled through the chamber — the deep scrape of stone and the creak of a chair groaning under massive weight.

A new voice spoke. Deeper. Rougher. It rumbled like thunder in a cavern. "I hate to admit it," the voice said. Both Ripper and Jaime turned toward it, where the largest figure sat, half-crouched so his massive shoulders didn't hit the ceiling. "But Jaime's right."

The speaker leaned forward, his bulk bending the table slightly. "As much as I'd love to crush their bones, we'll need distractions for the Professors. Even monsters like us would die against them."

Ripper's grin faded. Even he wouldn't argue with Smasher.

"I agree with him," came a smooth voice — composed, colder than the rest. "I've seen the Professors fight. They are not the fools their students are." The one who spoke raised a gloved hand, examining it in the dim light. Beneath the glove, faint scars crossed his fingers. His eyes gleamed a crystalline blue. "Even I, the strongest among us short of the Captain, could not do any damage to one."

He set his hand down hard on the table. The surface shuddered, sending tremors through the floor. Dust fell from the ceiling like rain. The flickering light bulb above them buzzed louder, flared once, then shattered — the shards raining down in dull glints as the room sank into thicker darkness.

"Strongest?" Smasher's voice rolled through the dark like a beast's growl. "Let's test that theory."

He rose from his chair, the iron legs scraping against the floor, his massive frame blocking what little light remained. The table shifted as he stood. "Get up, Rapier. Pick up that thin piece of metal you call a weapon. Let's see who's strongest in this little group."

Across the table, Rapier didn't move. He folded his arms, unimpressed, his posture straight and unbothered. "I don't fight brutes like you," he said coolly. "And for the record, I call it a rapier, not a sword."

Smasher's low chuckle rumbled through the room. "You named your toy after yourself?"

Rapier exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his hood. "My pseudonym is Rapier because I use a rapier, you half-witted rock. Why am I even explaining myself to a—" He stopped mid-sentence. "Forget it."

"What did you just say?" Smasher's voice thundered, rising in volume. He leaned forward, one massive palm slamming onto the table. The iron buckled under his weight, sinking slightly into the cracked stone beneath. Dust and loose earth rained down from above.

Before the tension could snap, a fifth voice broke the silence.

"Enough."

It was calm. Soft. But it silenced them immediately.

The others turned their heads toward the last man at the table — the one who had spoken almost nothing until now. His tone carried authority, measured and patient.

"Let's not destroy the meeting before it begins," he said. "Wait for the Captain. We move when he moves."

The room went still.

"Speaking of the Captain…" Jaime said quietly, looking toward the massive chair at the end of the table — larger, broader, untouched. The air seemed to thicken around it, and then… darken.

The shadows in the corner began to crawl.

A black fog rolled up from the floor, seeping from cracks in the stone. It wasn't ordinary darkness. It moved, thick and sentient, swallowing the light as it spread.

"Here he comes," Jaime whispered.

All five immediately stood, their chairs scraping sharply against the floor. They placed their fists against their chests and dropped to one knee, their chants rising in perfect unison:

"Glory to the Revolution."

"Glory to the Revolution."

"Glory to the Revolution."

Their voices echoed through the chamber, growing louder and louder until it felt like the earth itself trembled.

And then, the Captain's voice — low, rasping, commanding — cut through the chaos.

"Rise."

They obeyed instantly.

The darkness condensed upon the great chair, forming the outline of a man. When it cleared, the figure sitting there looked much like the others — cloaked, hooded — but his aura was suffocating. It felt as if the shadows themselves bowed before him.

He looked slowly to his left, then to his right, his words carrying like a whisper and an order all at once.

"The time has come," he said. "We will show those in the academy the true nature of the Dark Horsemen. We will make them pay for their sins."

A rhythmic pounding began — thump, thump, thump — as Smasher banged his fist on the table, and the others followed in unison until the sound became a deep, steady drumbeat of zeal.

The Captain raised his arm, and silence fell again like a blade.

Jaime spoke, his tone hesitant. "Captain… what is the plan? We can't simply walk into the academy unopposed."

The Captain turned his head slowly, the dim light catching the faint gleam of a golden tooth inside his hood. "Do you fear them, Jaime?"

"N–No," Jaime stammered, "it's just—logically, without a—"

"I understand." The Captain cut him off with a slight nod. "And yes… I do have a plan."

"Then share it," Rapier said, leaning forward slightly, curiosity finally overtaking his arrogance.

The Captain chuckled. Low. Almost pleasant. "I have an inside man," he said.

A collective murmur rippled around the table.

"What?"

"Inside man?"

The Captain tilted his head. "Men," he corrected softly. "Inside men, to be exact. They will open the gates, guide us through the city walls, and lead us into the academy itself. To the artifact."

"The artifact," Ripper muttered, leaning closer. "They know where it is?"

"Yes."

"Then they must hold high positions," Rapier said. "Are they… Professors?"

The Captain said nothing.

Silence stretched.

Then he finally spoke, his tone shifting to a quiet, final whisper.

"The time is near. Prepare yourselves."

And then, one by one, the figures vanished — the sound of their departure like fading echoes in a tomb.

When the last one disappeared, only the Captain remained.

His golden tooth glimmered faintly as he whispered to the empty room, "Glory to the Revolution."

His eyes glowed from under the hood — not red, not blue, but something darker. Something ancient.

Meanwhile, back at the academy…

Avin crossed his arms, looking at the prince standing smugly over the bruised boy still on the floor.

"What are you doing with him?" Avin asked flatly.

Beric glanced down, smiling as though nothing were out of place. "Oh, him? He's simply performing his duties as a commoner."

He looked back up at Avin, that same smile twisting slightly. "Would you like him to perform his duty for you as well?"

Avin's brow furrowed. "Is he trying to peer pressure me into bullying?" he thought, blinking.

He studied the prince's face — the arrogance, the careless amusement — and wondered if the entire royal family of the Northern Lands were this deranged, or if Beric was a singular breed of psychopath.

He sighed. "Great," he muttered under his breath. "Just what I needed."

To be continued.

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