Night settled over the academy dorms slowly, moonlight easing through the windows of Room 47 in pale strips across the floor.
The rune lanterns had been turned low, just enough to see by, and somewhere outside crickets kept up a steady, unbothered rhythm that made the whole idea of a survival island feel, for a moment, almost unreal.
Gota sat cross-legged on his bed, still buzzing with the kind of energy that hadn’t fully processed what “survival island” actually meant.
“This is insane,” he said, grinning.
“A whole island, real beasts, no safety net — we’re actually going to get stronger out there.”
“No more classrooms, that’s for sure.” Kakame had a shadow tendril looped lazily around one of the pillows, tugging it back and forth without much purpose.
“Hunting, building shelter, fighting off whatever those crabs and apes actually turn out to be.”
Nagi leaned back against the wall, half-lidded eyes on the ceiling.
“Yeah,” he said.
“It’ll be something.”
Gota leaned forward, more serious now.
“Since it’s gonna be the three of us most of the time, we should actually plan this out. I can reinforce shelter walls with earth magic — that’s easy for me. Kakame’s shadows are basically built for night watch and scouting.”
“And Nagi’s speed’s good for grabbing supplies fast, or getting someone out of trouble quick.” Kakame glanced over.
“Even if it’s only sixty seconds at a time.”
Nagi nodded slowly.
“Sounds good. We stick together, share whatever we find, don’t panic when it gets hard.” He paused, and the next part came out the way it always did — worn smooth, familiar, older than the sentence itself.
“Just flow, step by step. We’ll survive.”
It was his mother’s phrase, really, more than his own.
He’d said it so many times it had stopped feeling borrowed a long time ago — though somewhere underneath the calm, if he’d stopped to actually examine the feeling, he might have noticed it didn’t sound quite like a promise anymore so much as an instruction he didn’t remember agreeing to.
He didn’t stop to examine it.
The three of them just laughed, low and easy, and let the night carry on.
Across the courtyard, in a room considerably nicer than Room 47, Yuji paced a slow track across expensive carpet, eyes bright with something that hadn’t cooled down since the assembly hall.
“It’s finally happening.” He said it like a countdown reaching zero.
“On that island, I’ll show that Nagi boy exactly where he stands. I’m the son of a noble house — he has no idea what real power looks like. My thunder is going to crush everything out there.”
“Yeah!” His wind-magic friend pumped a fist.
“We’ll show those commoners.”
“They’ll be begging for mercy once we’re done dominating that place,” the other added, grinning. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
Yuji’s smirk widened, certain of himself in the particular way that only came from never having been tested hard enough to doubt it.
“Exactly. Watch me shine.”
In a quieter wing of the palace, the King sat across from his daughter in a private chamber lit by a single steady lamp.
Nicolle sat straight-backed, dressed simply despite her title, her expression calm but unmistakably resolved.
“My daughter.” His voice softened in the way it only did when they were alone.
“You know I love you. But you don’t have to do this. You’re the princess — the island has beasts that have killed trained soldiers. I don’t want you risking yourself out there.”
“Father.” Her smile was gentle, but there was iron somewhere underneath it.
“I’m going to be queen one day. If I want to lead people through hard things, I need to know what hard things actually feel like. Not just hear about them in reports.”
He sighed, something conflicted crossing his face.
“No. I really don’t think you should go, Nicolle. It’s too dangerous.”
She stood a little straighter, meeting his eyes without flinching.
“I’m going, Father. No matter what you decide. I want this. Please — just understand that.”
He didn’t answer right away.
He didn’t need to.
The silence between them said everything about a battle he already knew he’d lost.
The academy docks were quiet with early morning fog when the first-years gathered the next day, packs light, breath visible in the cold air.
Ships waited at anchor, their hulls dark against the pale water.
Kirito stood at the front of the group, energy already at full volume despite the hour.
“Morning, morning!” He gestured toward a long weapon rack set up near the gangway.
“Anyone who wants something sharp, help yourselves. Swords, spears, knives — grab whatever actually fits your flow.”
Nagi, Gota, and Kakame drifted over together.
Gota picked up a reinforced staff, testing its weight with an approving nod.
Kakame turned a short dagger over once before deciding it would do.
“Mm,” he said, which for Nagi counted as approval.
Kirito clapped his hands once, and the goofiness dropped out of him like a switch being thrown.
“Groups,” he said, all business now.
“You’ll be relying on these people to survive out there, so listen closely. No switching once you’re assigned — you trust your team, or you fail together. Understood?”
He unrolled a scroll and read without ceremony.
“Group one: Mikey, Yuji Kunagumi, Kei, and their noble crew.”
Yuji’s chest puffed slightly, satisfied.
Mikey offered a calm nod.
Kei’s acknowledgment was little more than a graceful tilt of her head.
“Group two.” Kirito’s eyes flicked up briefly.
“Nagi Akama, Gota, Kakame—” a beat, “—and Princess Nicolle.”
Nagi blinked, the only outward sign that the name had registered as unexpected.
Gota and Kakame both went momentarily stiff with disbelief.
Nicolle crossed over to them without any of the ceremony her title might have suggested, offering a warm, easy smile.
“Nice to meet you all,” she said.
“Let’s do our best out there. I mean that — survive together, not just survive near each other.”
“Yeah,” Nagi said, matching her ease without much effort.
“Welcome.”
The ships took on their passengers one group at a time, hulls settling low under the added weight, sails catching the first proper light of morning.
Kirito stood on the lead ship’s deck, waving with one hand in his usual careless way, while his eyes — for anyone paying close enough attention — stayed sharp and unreadable, fixed on the mist-wrapped shape of the Whispering Isle waiting somewhere out past the horizon.
Behind him, tucked among the crowd of first-years finding their footing on unfamiliar decks, Nagi stood quietly at the rail, watching the shoreline recede the same way he’d watched his village disappear behind a curve in the road, days that already felt like they belonged to someone else.
He didn’t notice the way the gulls following the ship kept a wider distance from his end of the deck than any of the others.
Nobody did.
There wasn’t any reason yet to think it meant something.
*End of Chapter 12*