The Last Godfall: Transmigrated as the Young Master

The afternoon sun stood high over the academy garden, casting light on the neat rows of orange flowers that lined the long reflecting pool. Streams of water rose at intervals, sending gentle splashes into the shallow basin as ripples spread outward. The air was cool, laced with faint hints of damp earth and stone.

Near the fountain sat three young men.

Elías tilted his head. "Ven, what do you think true love is?"

Vencian truly had no answer. As Luke, the question had never found shape in his life. There had been moments of attraction, quick and fleeting, yet when they passed he had seen them for what they were. Passing interest, never anything deeper, never something that could stand on the word love.

He squinted at the fountain, buying time. "…I don't know." He tossed another pebble, watching circles bleed outward.

Elías smirked and shifted. "Then what about you, Rapheldor? Your wisdom, if you please."

Rapheldor let his chair thump forward, his voice low. "It's giving someone the power to destroy your life… and trusting they won't."

A silence lingered. Even the fountain's splash felt sharper.

Elías blinked, then forced a laugh. "That's grim. Bad experience, buddy? Want to drown it over a drink?"

Rapheldor shook his head once. "Not really. But why the sudden question?"

Vencian raised an eyebrow. "Because I think the prince has finally found his first heartthrob."

Rapheldor's lip curled. "Is that true? Who's the unlucky girl?"

Elías eased away from the column, standing upright with a trace of irritation in his movements. "Calm your horses. I haven't lost my mind yet. No offense, Ven."

Vencian gave him a sidelong glance. "Offense taken. Don't bother asking me for class notes later. But… continue."

Elías rolled his eyes, then relented. "Fine. Anyways, I went to see a play—Reowen of Rewyn. Famous one. Packed house. Honestly? Blew me away."

Rapheldor nodded slowly. "I've heard others gossip about it."

Elías brightened. "Exactly! Everyone talks about it, so I had to go. And it wasn't just good—it was… alive. Every scene twisted in ways you didn't expect."

Vencian smirked faintly. "What was it about? A naïve girl stumbling through a cruel world until she finds 'true love'?"

Elías opened his mouth, then hesitated. "…Not entirely wrong. But it was more—fate, chance meetings, threads weaving into a final shape. The whole thing tied together so well it—" he broke off, searching. "—it felt inevitable."

Vencian leaned back, hands in pocket. "Coincidences, then. That's fiction for you."

Before Elías could answer, a servant approached with a tray of drinks. One of them was meant for Vencian, marked by its red tint. Yet in his vision the color was dulled, almost indistinguishable from the others. The illusion had not loosened since last night. He had worn Lucian's face for too long.

Illusions always demanded a price. Large ones tore away whole shades in a single night, while the smaller ones bled slower, color draining piece by piece. He had kept this one going to cover the bruises across his face, and though it held, the world around him was losing its distinction. He trusted his judgment less with each passing hour.

He stayed still, letting the others reach first. Rapheldor took his without thought. Elías grabbed next, then paused. He squinted at the liquid. "Hold on. I think this was meant for you, Ven."

Vencian glanced at it, expression unreadable. "If you say so."

Elías laughed it off, lifting the glass anyway. "No harm done. Don't pout if mine tastes better." He tipped it back with a grin, missing the faint tension that passed over Vencian's face.

The interruption dissolved as quickly as it came. Elías rested against the fountain again, his gaze trailing across the spray of water. "Still… imagine if life worked like that. A single chance meeting, and everything changes."

For a moment, silence sat between them. Vencian turned his glass, watching the liquid shift before lifting his gaze.

He drained his glass and rose. "Too bad. I don't believe in coincidences."

Elías frowned. "Lecture's still on."

"Then go," Vencian said, brushing off his jacket. "I'm tired for the day."

It was true enough. His body ached, the bruises hidden behind a thin veil of illusion. He needed time to recover before night pulled him back to Deluos.

Vencian left the courtyard behind, his steps carrying him into the quieter stretch of the corridors. The echo of conversation faded until Quenya's voice was the only one to follow him, her occasional remark slipping into the silence. She rarely spoke at length, but when she did, it was enough to remind him she was still there, watching as always.

He moved without hurry until two figures came into view further ahead. Even from a distance, their postures told the story. Marvik Montaro leaned slightly forward, his words pressed with insistence. Roselys held her poise, lips curved in a polite smile, though the stiffness in her shoulders betrayed a different truth.

Vencian's brow shifted faintly. Montaro's tone carried enough for fragments to reach him. The words "dinner" and "invitation" were clear, wrapped in the professor's eager cadence. Roselys's replies were softer, her smile never faltering, yet there was little in it beyond courtesy.

The gap between them closed. For Vencian, turning away would only have drawn more attention, so he allowed the path to carry him straight into their presence.

"Miss Marendil," he said as if nothing else existed around them, "I had a few doubts from Professor Thalverin's lecture. Would you mind clearing them up?"

She turned at once, her expression lightening in a way that seemed more genuine than before. "Of course."

Vencian inclined his head slightly and fell into step beside her, letting her guide the direction away from Montaro.

Behind them, Morvick's mouth tightened as the moment slipped from his hands. Vencian kept his eyes forward, giving him nothing.

Once they had put some distance between themselves and Marvik, Roselys glanced sideways at him, her tone low. "You didn't need to do that. I could have handled it."

Vencian caught the way her eyes lingered, as if testing whether he would deny what she already understood. "Maybe," he said. "But I did have questions."

She kept her gaze on him, the silence sharp, as if giving him room to reconsider what he'd said.

He let the silence stretch before clarifying. "Fine. It's not about Thalverin's lecture." His voice lowered slightly. "About your own work. The lunar covenant hypothesis."

Roselys slowed, the words catching her off guard.

For Vencian, this was the right moment to press further, to gather more about her hypothesis before deciding his next step.

---

The cafeteria had thinned out. Tables were left scattered with books and half-finished trays.

Vencian sat across from Roselys, watching her as much as he watched the notes spread near her. He didn't want the polished summary. He wanted the pieces she hadn't written down, the parts that stayed only in her head.

Roselys wasn't the type to return to the academy for the sake of helping Thalverin. She carried her mentor's death and her own investigations with her. She noticed details others overlooked, and that alone was dangerous.

"Why did you call your thesis _Lunar Covenant_," he asked, "when the speculation about the Erythrai clan's symbol and the scarlet trail barely takes up space in it?"

Roselys folded her hands on the table. "It's phrasing. The title is interpretive. I wanted something broad enough to cover the resemblance between the lunar phenomenon and the symbol."

Vencian tapped his finger against the wood as he thought. "And about the deity they worshiped? Anything more than what's already in your thesis?"

She shook her head. "No. Nothing beyond the fragments we already have."

He leaned back slightly. "But the Church of True Light holds power in Airantis. Wouldn't that make the Erythrai heretical by default?"

Roselys answered quickly. "No. Their civilization predates the Church's dominance. Thousands of years before it grew from a minor sect. Calling them heretics would be anachronistic."

That answer caught him. The timeline mattered more than any label the Church might put on it. He gave her a small nod. "Then, if you had to guess, what are the chances their symbol connects with the scarlet trail on the moon?"

Roselys let out a slow breath. "The site's condition made interpretation difficult. It was already in ruins when discovered, with erosion erasing most of what remained."

Fragments again. Broken artifacts and incomplete records. Vencian hated gaps like those. They left space for misleading interpretations and false conclusions.

Fragments hid the truth instead of protecting it.

Still, he pressed. "So is there anywhere else we might find records? Somewhere the traces of their culture still exist?"

Roselys tilted her head, her words careful. "That's the question without an answer. We don't know what ended them. Whether they were destroyed, absorbed, or scattered. If they had descendants, no one has proven it."

Her words gave no closure, but they sparked something in his mind. If remnants existed, then somewhere, they were waiting. Preserved in places overlooked.

If anything survived, he had to be the one to find it first.

Roselys rested her elbows on the table. "It isn't necessarily a dead end though."

That caught his attention. His expression grew tense. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes shifted back to him. "I can tell you. But I have a question first."

His curiosity pressed harder now, but he held back. "Go on."

"Why were you following me on the day of our first class?"