In a room with drawn curtains, shrouded in calm darkness, an elderly man with white hair sat at a desk.

It was none other than Gaston Galimar, the headmaster.

He sat motionless, his eyes closed in deep concentration.

The teacup balanced on his fingertips was growing cold, untouched.

“...”

Not even the faintest movement.

The atmosphere was heavy, almost oppressive.

Though silent, it carried an undercurrent of chaos and turmoil.

The old man stood amidst the shattered fragments of a future breaking apart violently.

And then—

“...Has it begun?”

The prophet murmured.

He sensed it—the foreboding from deep underground.

The beast’s howl, laden with fear, rage, despair, and sorrow.

The sticky stirrings of malice.

It seemed the story was flowing unchanged.

In the end, it would not escape the prophecy.

The ticking hands of fate moved as inexorably as the executioner’s axe falling upon the condemned.

The old man set aside the teacup filled with red tea.

For a brief moment, the trembling crimson surface reflected his weary self, laid bare before duty.

His aged lips parted.

“Betrayer.”

To a certain boy, the prophet uttered a plea that would never reach him, his heart growing heavier.

“Please... take care of that child.”@@novelbin@@

His voice dispersed into emptiness, and the headmaster fell silent once more, as if swallowed by the waves.

***

In the academy’s underground, blood and corpses lay scattered everywhere.

It was a space steeped in darkness.

The ceiling was so high it couldn’t be measured, the damp air added to the eerie atmosphere, and the pervasive stench was overpowering.

The temple seemed to embody humanity’s descent into depravity.

The very depths of sin.

And we stood at its center.

BOOM!

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