A man with long white hair, partially tied back with a steel clip, stepped calmly into the spotlight.
His long, dark coat bore faded embroiderya burning moon surrounded by runesand he carried a cane that pulsed faintly with restrained energy.
His eyes glowed with violet sorcery.
Professor Shirogane.
Yesthe Shirogane.
The very same sorcerer who had once stood beside Aethernos, who had fought the Demonlord, and who had survived the Age of Flame.
Through some mystery of time and soul, he was still here.
Shirogane (voice calm, ancient):
“Sorcery is not merely the shaping of energy. It is the shaping of memory. Of legacy. Every spell is a word in a book we are all still writing.”
Alarich leaned forward in his seat, notebook open, pen already moving furiously across the page.
Shirogane: “There are three forms of control: Energy Control, where the body channels what it absorbs. Soul Control, where the self becomes the source. And Loop Control… reserved for those who’ve walked this world more than once.”
At that, his eyes scanned the roomthen rested, for a split second, on Alarich.
The boy froze.
Something deep in his blood stirred.
His hand trembled around his pen, and his ears caught a whisper that wasn’t spoken aloud.
“You are watched, Alarich Zauberwal. The blood remembers.”
Then Shirogane turned back to the chalkboard and drew a glowing sigil, and the room collectively exhaled.
Hilda (whispering): “He totally looked at you. What did he say?”
Alarich (quietly): “I… don’t know.”
But deep down, something in his soul had shifted.
As Professor Shirogane’s voice echoed through the vaulted hall, explaining the mechanics of highorder sorcery and loop resonance, Hilda was only half listening.
She was too busy staring.
Hilda (elbowing Alarich):
“Did you see the way he adjusted his coat? Like whooshinstant elegance. That’s not just magic, Al. That’s confidence.”
Alarich (deadpan):
“He’s probably 1,800 years old, Hilda. That’s older than the steam core grid.”
Hilda (sighing dreamily):
“Exactly. Mature. Wise. Immortal. Hot.”
Alarich:
“Please stop.”
Hilda:
“No. You stop. Look at his jawline. He probably forged it out of starlight and discipline.”
On stage, Shirogane gestured, and a phoenix made of light spiraled above the audience.
The class oohed.
Hilda swooned.