Obinai steps into the room, expecting an air of authority, maybe even grandeur, from the headmaster of such a prestigious academy. Instead, he is met with a sight that makes his brows furrow.
Bookshelves line the walls. Scrolls pile up in between them, some neatly stacked and others spilling onto the mahogany desk, litter the space alongside intricate brass contraptions humming with quiet energy. The walls are adorned with maps—some shifting before his eyes, ink rearranging itself in real-time. The scent of parchment, candle wax, and something faintly metallic lingers in the air.
But at the very center of this, sprawled across the cluttered desk, is an elven man who looks completely out of place.
His white hair, streaked with unruly strands of black, drapes over scattered documents. One arm hangs limply off the desk, fingers twitching slightly in sleep. His other hand is curled near his face, which rests awkwardly on an open book, a small trail of dried ink marking the side of his cheek where he'd clearly dozed off mid-writing. His robes—deep blue, embroidered with golden filigree—are rumpled, the cuffs stained with ink and what looks like potion residue. A faint, undignified snore escapes him, accompanied by the soft rise and fall of his breath.
The tiefling woman leading him, stops just inside the door, her tail flicking once in irritation.
Her horns—sleek and polished—catch the light as she crosses her arms, the rich black fabric of her fitted coat pulling taut against her shoulders.
She takes a measured breath, then speaks, her voice crisp and commanding, like steel wrapped in velvet.
"Headmaster Lythandor!"
The elf jerks upright, eyes wide and unfocused. His hands flail for purchase—too late.
With a resounding thud, he crashes to the floor. A scroll, dislodged by his fall, rolls off the desk and bounces onto his shoulder.
Obinai stiffens. He isn't sure if he should be concerned or—
"What? What is it, Morwenna?" the elf mutters. He rubs the back of his head, wincing, as he slowly sits up. His eyes, despite their drowsiness, hold a strange, sharp clarity.
Morwenna pinches the bridge of her nose, her tail flicking again—a warning sign, Obinai notes.
"This is completely unacceptable, Lyth! You have a student waiting to speak with you, and you're napping on the job?" Her tone remains regal, but there's an edge of exasperation woven into it. "This is not how the headmaster of Elona Academy should conduct himself!"
Lyth waves a lazy hand, still seated on the floor.
"Oh, Morwenna, must you always be so dramatic?" He yawns, stretching like a cat. "I was merely... meditating. Yes, that's it. Deep in thought about the next lesson plan."
Morwenna's tail lashes once, her expression sharpening like a blade honed to a fine edge.
"Meditating?" She strides forward, stopping just short of stepping on his robe. "With drool on your desk?"
Lyth blinks, then glances at his desk.
A thin sheen of dried saliva glistens faintly on the surface of an open manuscript.
He winces.
"Details, details," he mutters, standing and dusting himself off. He adjusts his robes with a flourish—or at least attempts to; the ink stains and wrinkles refuse to cooperate. "Now, what was so important that you had to wake me from my…meditation?"
Morwenna exhales, her patience visibly unraveling.
"This is Obinai." She gestures toward him with a graceful sweep of her hand. "He has come with a letter from his teacher and is here to attend Elona Academy."
Lyth blinks at Obinai, as if just now realizing he exists. Then, as if a switch flips, his face brightens into a genuine smile.
"Ah, yes! Obinai, welcome!" He strides forward, extending a hand. His grip is firm, warm—despite his previous display of incompetence, there's something undeniably commanding about him.
Obinai hesitates for just a moment before shaking his hand.
"It's... uh, nice to meet you, Headmaster."
Morwenna, seemingly satisfied (or perhaps just exhausted), turns on her heel.
"I'll leave you two to discuss matters. But remember, Lyth, this is important. Try to act like a headmaster for once."
She doesn't wait for a response—just spins and sweeps out, closing the door with a firm click.
Lyth watches her go, then chuckles softly, shaking his head.
"Don't mind Morwenna. She means well, but she's a bit... intense." He gestures toward a chair. "Sit, sit. Let's see this letter."
Obinai hands over the envelope, watching as Lythandor examines the seal with a slow, amused hum. The flickering glow of enchanted crystals around the room casts shifting shadows across his face.
When he opens the letter, his lips twitch upward.
"That crazy old hoot," he mutters, a note of fondness in his voice.
Then, without warning, the letter bursts into flames.
Obinai jerks back, heart hammering as the paper disintegrates into glowing embers, vanishing before they hit the floor.
Lyth offers him an easy grin.
"So, tell me, are you human?"
The question lingers in the air...
Slowly, Obinai reaches up and pulls back his hood.
"Yes, I am."
Lyth leans back in his chair, his grin widening.
"Excellent! Finally, all races can attend Elona Academy."
Obinai stares.
"You mean—"
"Yes," Lyth interrupts, nodding enthusiastically. "You are officially enrolled. You see, Elona Academy has always prided itself on being a place of learning and inclusion. For years, we've had students from every corner of the world—elves, dwarves, tieflings, gnomes... but until now, we had yet to welcome a human into our ranks. You, Obinai, are the first."
Obinai barely manages to rasp out a weak, "Great…"
His own voice sounds distant to him.
Headmaster Lythandor chuckles, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yeah… it's a lot, huh?" He leans back in his chair, stretching with a groan. "Your teacher wrote quite a bit about you, Obinai. I accepted you immediately, but now I see there are two rather large reasons that could get me not just fired but hunted and executed."
Obinai stiffens. "Two reasons?" The words leave his mouth before he can stop them.
Lyth nods, crossing his arms. "Oh yes. One was already bad enough—you're human and part of the Forsaken. But the second?" His voice takes on a strange lightness, like he's discussing the weather. "Vale wrote that you house a Sin."
The breath in Obinai's lungs stills...
Lyth tilts his head, watching him. "Well, Vale seemed quite adamant that you would not be a problem. And I trust Vale's judgment. He even mentioned reconstructing your soul so that the Sin doesn't bother you."
Obinai swallows hard, throat dry. "Bother me?" His voice trembles, but he clenches his fists under his cloak to steady himself. "What does that even mean?"
Lyth's expression shifts ever so slightly—his usual air of careless amusement dims, his golden eyes sharpening. "It means," he says quietly, "if that Sin inside you hadn't been sealed, I wouldn't have accepted you."
The unspoken words hang thick between them.
I would have killed you.
Obinai feels like ice water has been poured down his spine.
Lyth's demeanor snaps back to ease as quickly as it had turned serious. He waves a hand dismissively, as if the moment hadn't happened at all. "No matter, though! You're protected."
Obinai forces himself to speak through the lump forming in his throat. "Protected… by what?"
Lyth grins, resting his chin on his hand. "By law. You're officially a student of Elona Academy, and that grants you immunity from execution under the council's jurisdiction. The academy is a sovereign institution—an agreement made in the Third Epoch between the ruling kingdoms and the Academy's founders before the war. They can't just march in here and take you, not without violating ancient accords."
Obinai processes this slowly. His fingers tighten in his cloak. "So… as long as I'm a student, I'm safe. But if they find out what's inside me—"
"You're on borrowed time until you graduate," Lyth finishes for him, the mirth never quite leaving his tone. He drums his fingers lazily against his desk. "But I wouldn't worry too much. If someone does find out, they'll likely try something long before graduation. Political maneuvering and all that."
The words settle like iron in Obinai's stomach.
Lyth stretches his arms behind his head, exhaling deeply. "But you're the trailblazer! With your arrival, we can finally say our doors are open to all. A historic moment for Elona Academy!" He grins. "You should feel honored."
Obinai forces a bitter chuckle. "Right. Honored."
But Lyth's grin fades. His expression turns unreadable. "You're worried about the students."
Obinai's jaw clenches. "You said the academy was open to all. But what if they don't accept me?"
Lyth regards him for a moment, then sighs, shaking his head. "They won't."
Obinai's blinks. "Then why—_"
"Because eventually, they will."
Lyth leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his voice dropping lower. "I know the history. I know what mankind has done to the other races—entire cities razed, ancestral lands stolen, generations of suffering. I don't deny any of it. But I also know something else."
Obinai watches him warily.
Lyth's gaze sharpens. "What we were told as children… isn't what happened."
Obinai exhales slowly. He doesn't know what to say to that.
Lyth straightens, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It will be tough. I can't guarantee you won't face scrutiny. But there's one thing you do have, Obinai—"
Obinai furrows his brows. "What's that?_"
"An impression."
Lyth's eyes twinkle with mischief. "You're a mystery. A contradiction. And people fear what they don't understand. But they're also drawn to it. Show them humanity has changed. Show them the truth—the real truth. Make some friends."
Obinai lets out a slow breath, nodding hesitantly. "I can try… sir."
Lyth's smile turns genuine. "I know you will."
He pushes himself up from his chair with a groan. "Now, let's get you settled! A tour of the grounds, your dormitory assignment… oh, but before that—"
Obinai blinks as Lyth's eyes flicker to his cloak.
"Keep that close," Lyth says, voice suddenly quieter. "They don't make those anymore."
Obinai's fingers brush over the thick, heavy fabric instinctively. "Why?_"
Lyth exhales, his gaze distant. "That cloak… was crafted during the Second Epoch—the era when the gods became… restless."
A chill prickles Obinai's skin. "Restless?"
Lyth nods. "Their disputes escalated, their tempers flaring, but no wars broke out—not yet. Instead, they grew so petty in their grievances that they merged streams of time together. Past, present, and future… tangled and knotted into a mess."
Obinai feels something stir in his gut, a gnawing unease. "And then?_"
Lyth's easy smile falters, if only slightly. "Then… came the Third Epoch. And the war."
Obinai swallows. "And this cloak?"
Lyth exhales sharply, his expression hardening just enough for Obinai to notice. "Dwardens."
A beat of silence. Then, Lyth's demeanor shifts back, easy and light. "But you should be fine! Now, come on—let's get you sorted out."
He extends a hand.
Obinai hesitates for only a moment before shaking it.
"Welcome to Elona Academy," Lyth says, his voice filled with something oddly genuine.
Obinai exhales, nodding. "Thank you, Headmaster. I won't let you down."
As they exit the office, Morwenna is waiting outside, arms crossed.
Lyth grins. "Morwenna, dear, please arrange a tour for our newest student."
Morwenna studies Obinai, her tail flicking slightly, then nods. Her expression softens just slightly—not quite welcoming, but no longer hostile. "Follow me, Obinai."
Obinai pulls his cloak tighter around himself and follows.
...
Lyth watches as Morwenna leads Obinai down the hallway, his eyes tracking the young man's every step. The door swings shut behind them with a faint creak, sealing the room in silence once more.
For a long moment, he remains still. Then, with a quiet sigh, he turns back into the office, his footsteps soft against the polished wooden floor.
Reaching his desk, he eases himself into the high-backed chair and leans forward, resting his elbows on the surface. The warmth of his earlier expression fades, the easy grin slipping from his face like a mask being set aside.
He rubs a hand over his face, exhaling deeply.
He blinks...
One eye—blood red, slightly shining in the light.
The other—milky white, clouded with something unnatural, shifting faintly like mist trapped behind glass.
Lyth lets his hand drop, staring at nothing in particular. A humorless chuckle escapes his lips.
"There are seven of them."
His voice is barely more than a whisper, yet it fills the room.
The Cardinal Sins.
Monsters. Calamities. Unpredictable. Uncontrollable. Unforgivable.
They were so dangerous that entire kingdoms—warring factions that would have sooner slit each other's throats than agree on anything—had come together for one singular purpose: to erase them.
And yet.
Lyth chuckles again, leaning back, the wooden chair creaking under his weight. His fingers drum idly against the armrest.
"Who would've thought…" he muses.
A human.
A human, of all things, had not only survived banishment but was now here, walking Elona's halls—housing something that should have been nothing more than myth.
He hums, tilting his head. "I wonder how the Royal Council will feel about this…"
His grin returns.
"That is… if they find out."
The candlelight flickers, the shadows stretching long against the walls, as if they too were listening...