Chapter 459: Chapter 459: Talk With Daemar

The tension eased—not all at once, but enough to breathe again.

Noel leaned back slightly in his chair as the weight of the conversation settled. The shard. The Northern Isles. Pillars. Allies. It was all out in the open now, at least with them.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Laziel cleared his throat. “So,” he said casually, folding his arms behind his head, “before classes start… can we talk about something actually important?”

Marcus raised a brow. “This wasn’t important?”

“No,” Laziel replied, dead serious. “This is.”

Everyone turned to him.

Clara tilted her head. “That never sounds good when it comes from you.”

Laziel coughed once. “…I might be getting to know someone.”

There it was.

Roberto choked on his drink. “WAIT. Stop. Rewind. You?”

Garron blinked. “Like—romantically?”

Marcus stared. “After almost two years?”

The table exploded.

“No way,” Roberto laughed. “The academy’s ending and this is the miracle we get?”

Laziel scowled. “I hate all of you.”

Clara smiled warmly. “I think it’s nice.”

“Traitor,” Laziel muttered.

Noel watched quietly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. The noise, the teasing, the normalcy—it grounded him more than he realized he needed.

Noir stretched atop his shoulder. ’This is better than brooding, Dad.’

“Yeah,” Noel murmured. “It is.”

The laughter slowly faded, replaced by the low hum of the cafeteria returning to its usual rhythm.

Roberto leaned back in his chair, still grinning. “You know what? I’m calling it now. Third year starts and suddenly Laziel decides he’s a main character of a romance novel.”

“I swear,” Laziel said flatly, “if this becomes a running joke—”

“Oh, it already is,” Marcus interrupted, smiling. “You just don’t know it yet.”

Garron nodded solemnly. “We’ll carve it into history. The Day Laziel Almost Got a Girlfriend.”

“That’s not—!” Laziel stopped himself, exhaling through his nose. “…I hate this group.”

Clara laughed softly, then glanced toward the entrance. “Strange, though. Classes are about to start and neither Seraphina nor Director Daemar are anywhere to be seen.”

Noel followed her gaze. She was right. Normally, at least one of them would have passed through by now—Seraphina moving with her usual composed urgency, or Daemar making his quiet rounds.

“Maybe they’re already busy,” Noel said casually, though his thoughts lingered on it longer than he let on.

Marcus tilted his head slightly, studying him. “You alright?”

Noel met his eyes and nodded. “Yeah. Just… timing.”

Roberto smirked. “Here it comes. The mysterious Noel look.”

’He’s doing the thing,’ Noir muttered smugly in his mind. ’The thinking-before-chaos thing.’

Noel ignored her.

The bell rang again—louder this time.

Students began standing, chairs scraping against stone. Conversations broke off mid-sentence as schedules reasserted themselves.

Garron stretched. “Mana Manipulation first, right?”

Marcus nodded. “Daemar’s class.”

That earned a few groans.

“He’s brutal in the mornings,” Roberto complained.

“But fair,” Clara added.

Noel stood, adjusting his coat. “Let’s go.”

As they gathered their things, Laziel hesitated, then glanced at Noel. “Hey… about what you said earlier.”

Noel looked at him.

“…Thanks for telling us first,” Laziel finished. “Whatever this turns into—we’ve got your back.”

Noel paused for half a second.

Then he nodded. “I know.”

They filed out together, blending into the flow of students heading toward the lecture halls.

The lecture hall settled into a disciplined hush as students took their seats.

Daemar stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back, posture relaxed yet commanding. Despite being the Director of the academy, he still taught regularly—and when he did, no one treated it lightly. His presence alone carried weight.

“Mana,” Daemar began calmly, his voice carrying without effort, “is not a resource you use. It is a force you negotiate with.”

A few students straightened unconsciously.

Noel leaned back slightly in his chair, listening with full attention. This wasn’t new material—but Daemar never repeated lessons the same way twice. There was always something buried between the lines.

“Those who attempt to dominate mana,” Daemar continued, “will eventually be crushed by it. Those who fear it will never progress. Balance is not a concept—it is a habit.”

He raised a hand, and a sphere of pale mana formed above his palm. It shimmered, unstable for a fraction of a second—then settled into perfect stillness.

“This,” he said, “is control through understanding.”

Noel’s eyes narrowed slightly. He could feel it—the subtle way Daemar wasn’t forcing the mana into shape, but allowing it to rest there.

Marcus scribbled notes furiously. Clara watched with quiet focus. Garron frowned, as if trying to physically wrestle the concept into his head. Roberto had already leaned back, arms crossed, pretending he understood.

Daemar’s gaze swept the room—and stopped on Noel.

“For those of you already approaching higher thresholds,” Daemar said evenly, “this stage becomes dangerous. Mana begins to respond not only to will… but to intent.”

Noel felt that land directly on him.

“Your state of mind,” Daemar went on, “will shape your casting speed, stability, and backlash risk more than raw output ever will.”

The mana sphere dispersed without a ripple.

“Which is why,” he concluded, “reckless advancement kills more prodigies than enemy blades.”

The bell rang shortly after.

Students stood, gathering their things, conversations restarting in low murmurs.

Daemar remained at the front, eyes briefly meeting Noel’s as the room emptied.

Noel hesitated.

Then, instead of following the others, he stayed seated.

Daemar noticed immediately.

When the last student left, the Director spoke without turning around.

“…What happened this time, Noel Thorne?”

Noel replied. “I need to be absent from the academy. Not just me—most of Class S.”

That earned a slow lift of Daemar’s brow. “I see.”

Noel straightened slightly.

“I went to the Holy Capital,” he said calmly. “With Charlotte. After the situation in my family’s territory… and everything that followed.”

Daemar let out a slow breath, resting one hand on the desk.

“I imagined as much,” he replied. “Events of that scale don’t happen in isolation. Especially when you’re involved.”

“There, we found something,” Noel continued. “A shard. A crystal. We don’t fully understand what it is—but we know it isn’t good.”

The air shifted.

A ripple of shadow peeled itself away from Noel’s feet, and Noir emerged, hopping up onto the edge of Daemar’s desk and sitting with unsettling composure.

“I detected traces of a Pillar,” Noir said matter-of-factly. ’Only two remain.’

Daemar’s eyes widened a fraction.

“…You can speak now?” he asked quietly.

“Mentally,” Noel clarified. “With people she chooses. Before, it was only me. But as I grow stronger… she does too.”

Daemar studied Noir for a long moment, then nodded once. “I see. Continue.”

“The shard comes from the Northern Isles,” Noel said, rubbing his thumb against the edge of the desk. “Orthran was certain of that.”

Daemar nodded. “That much aligns with what little records exist.”

“And it’s being used as fuel,” Noel continued. “Lighting, enchantments, infrastructure… which means it should have spread fast.”

He paused.

“In Valor, it didn’t.”

Daemar raised an eyebrow.

“No trade reports. No rumors. No shortages. Nothing,” Noel said slowly. “And that only makes sense for one reason.”

He lifted his gaze.

“The Estermonts.”

Daemar’s eyes narrowed in understanding. “They control the majority of large-scale trade routes in Valor.”

“Exactly,” Noel said. “If something like this had entered the continent, Elyra—or her family—would’ve noticed immediately.”

Silence followed.

Noel’s thoughts kept moving.

Northern Isles as the source. Valor untouched. Then what about everywhere else?

His breath hitched.

“…Shit.”

Daemar straightened. “You’ve realized something.”

Noel nodded once, expression grim.

“It isn’t Valor that’s in danger,” he said quietly. “If the shards are spreading unchecked anywhere…”

He looked up.

“…then an entire continent is at risk.”

Daemar’s voice dropped. “Which one?”

Noel didn’t hesitate.

“Elarith.”

Daemar exhaled slowly, then—surprisingly—smiled.

“Alright,” he said calmly. “Then prepare to leave.”

Noel blinked. “…That’s it?”

“You’ve already connected the pieces,” Daemar replied, turning to face him fully. “Panicking won’t help. Preparation will.”

The tension in Noel’s shoulders eased a fraction. Daemar wasn’t alarmed—he was focused. That alone steadied him.

“You won’t be going in blind,” the Director continued. “I’ll quietly begin gathering information from our contacts in Elarith. If something is spreading there, we’ll know more by the time you move.”

Noel nodded. “Thank you.”

Daemar studied him for a moment, then added, almost casually, “And don’t worry about the academy. Absences like this were part of our agreement. Just like with Nicolas.”

Noel let out a small breath. “I figured you’d say that.”

He hesitated, then spoke again. “There’s one more thing. Seraphina.”

Daemar raised a brow. “What about her?”

“I should talk to her,” Noel said. “But… it’d help if you told her first. Coming from you, she’ll take it more seriously.”

Daemar’s lips twitched. “So you want me to break the bad news.”

“…Yes.”

The Director chuckled softly. “Very well. I’ll inform the Student Council President.”

Noel winced internally.

She’s going to be furious.

Daemar turned back toward the window, hands clasped behind his back. “If she is, she’ll get over it. She always does.”

Noel wasn’t so sure—but he trusted Daemar’s judgment.

He stood. “Then I’ll start getting ready.”

Daemar nodded once. “Go. And Noel?”

Noel paused at the door.

“Come back alive,” the Director said simply.

A faint smile crossed Noel’s face. “That’s the plan.”

He stepped out into the corridor, Noir slipping from his shadow to his shoulder.

’She’s going to yell, she is going to overwork herself, she will need more students in the student council to help her,’ Noir murmured.

“Yeah,” Noel sighed. “And I’m absolutely letting Daemar take the hit first.”

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