Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

Cadet Name: Darien Vale

Rank: 340

Division: Mid-Combat Track

Discipline: Mixed Weapon + Wind-Ether Conduction

Background: No known noble ties. Partial orphan record. Sponsorship through anonymous provincial benefactor.

Affinity: Listed as Wind-Type.

Mana Cycle: Clean. Consistent.

But—

Overlaying the glyph structure from his last recorded sparring exam revealed something curious.

His Wind Magic wasn’t circulating traditionally.

It folded.

Recurred on itself.

Looped.

Almost like lunar-phase constructs.

Unconscious? Perhaps.

But real.

Leonard tapped his finger once against the slate, setting a soft marker. Not a guild recruitment tag—he didn’t need any competing interest. This one was private.

Silent. Reserved. Watchlisted.

Then, with a second motion, he pulled up Darien’s latest dungeon assignment.

Team Thirty-One. Lower fog zone rotation. Scheduled within the next hour.

Perfect.

Leonard stood, brushing down the front of his coat, slipping easily back into the bearing of a field scout. One among many. Just another contractor browsing talent.

But his mind was already turning over the next approach.

Observation would only get him so far now.

He needed proximity.

A closer interaction.

Words. Pressure. Presence.

The Kin of the Moon wouldn’t reveal themselves to crystal screens and filtered glyph traces. Their awakening would coil inward—private. Veiled in instinct. Subconscious defenses.

He needed to provoke clarity.

And if this Darien Vale was truly one of the final candidates…

Then a conversation might be the key to unraveling everything.

*****

He didn’t have time.

Not to wait. Not to circle back. Not to risk losing another lead to guild scouts who watched with pockets full of contracts and eyes full of hunger.

Darien Vale’s resonance wasn’t stable—it was veiled. And the longer it stayed buried, the harder it would be to trigger.

But Leonard knew the rules.

The Academy’s neutrality was law here, old and unyielding.

No scout was permitted to approach cadets directly during private cooldown phases.

No observation beyond the designated sectors.

And no mana-marking—not without a sanctioned clearance rune.

That meant one thing.

He couldn’t follow Darien directly.

Not here.

But…

He didn’t need to.

As Leonard turned from the prep alcove, his fingers brushed the inside of his coat, tracing a hidden glyph sewn into the inner lining of his sleeve—an invocation seal, woven by the Church’s Lightbearers, dormant until called upon.

He stepped into the shadow of one of the hall’s arched corridors, head bowed slightly—a quiet, devout posture, unnoticed in the flow of instructors and logistics officers.

Then, in a breath that didn’t stir the air, he whispered the chant.

“Lux sōlis oculum… Aperi et vigila.”

A subtle heat bled into the air. Not burning. Not even warm.

But ancient.

For a moment, the dust motes in the corridor froze—as if the very particles of light hesitated to fall.

And then—

A flash.

Silent. Sudden.

The sunlight that filtered through the high-arched windows pulsed—not brighter, but purer.

Refined.

A single ray broke through the lattice of protective wards above and struck the ground before Leonard’s feet, forming a glyph—a perfect ring, inscribed with sun-shaped radial arms, twelve in total, like the spokes of a celestial dial.

In that moment, Leonard’s eyes flared softly—not gold, but amber-orange, shot through with radiant streaks, like sunlight refracted through stained glass.

Above him—far, far above—a single solar fragment bloomed in the sky, invisible to all but him.

A Heliowatch.

A divine projection tethered to a sliver of celestial mana—a scouting satellite given shape through sunlight itself.

It would see what he could not.

Follow what he must not.

And relay back what no one else could interpret.

The world shifted slightly as the spell completed. His sight split—not fully, but partially. A flicker of vision tethered to the skies, fed directly through the heliowatch’s luminous arc.

He whispered again:

“Mark the cadence of wind. The gait of silence. The boy who walks like dusk.”

The sun heard him.

And obeyed.

Far above, a shimmering trace—a thread of light-bonded resonance—anchored itself to Darien’s form the moment he stepped out from the dungeon’s exit platform and back into the campus recovery zone.

No one would see it.

No one would feel it.

But Leonard would know.

****

Through the tethered sliver of his vision, Leonard watched the boy move.

Darien Vale.

He emerged from the dungeon’s stone-ringed gate alongside his assigned squad—his gait light, but not reckless. A boy forged through discipline, not impulse. One of his teammates nudged him, speaking with casual familiarity, and Darien offered a tired, half-smile in response. Muted. Unassuming.

Yet the cadence of his movement remained the same—centered. Not too relaxed. Not too guarded. The kind of posture that didn’t draw attention because it was always prepared for it.

Leonard tracked the team from his elevated position near the north-eastern path—too far to engage, but not too far to observe.

They didn’t linger in the open square.

Instead, they veered left, toward the academy’s main building sector—specifically toward the lower levels of the central cafeteria wing.

Off-limits.

Scouts weren’t permitted inside. Not without direct faculty clearance.

Leonard’s jaw tightened slightly—not in frustration, but quiet calculation.

They’re smart. Or just hungry.

Either way, he could not follow.

He leaned slightly against one of the pathway arches, eyes flicking back up toward the sky’s distant glimmer. The Heliowatch spun quietly overhead, its anchored thread still pulsing—subtle, golden, undisturbed.

He waited.

Minutes passed.

Thirty-two to be exact.

Until, finally—

Movement.

Darien emerged again—this time alone. A disposable container in hand. Must’ve grabbed something extra, or stepped out early. He took the narrow garden-bound route that wrapped around the southern dormitory—a path accessible to scouts under standard grounds rights.

Leonard’s coat caught the wind just slightly as he stepped down from the arch.

He didn’t rush.

Just walked.

Intersected the path naturally—timed to cross just as Darien slowed to check the enchanted message slate at his side.

“Darien Vale,” Leonard said, letting his voice settle like a warm afternoon.

The cadet blinked, then looked up.

Leonard’s expression was professional—polite without being forced.

He offered no pressure. No flourish.

Just presence.

“Leonard Elric,” he said, extending his hand in a quiet gesture. “Solstice Dawn. I’ve been keeping an eye on your run today.”

Darien hesitated for half a breath, then accepted the handshake.

His grip was firm, but not postured.

“Didn’t know I was worth scouting,” the boy said.

“You’re worth noticing,” Leonard replied smoothly, eyes reading not just movement, but every faint tremor in Darien’s mana flow.

And as their hands touched, Leonard activated the artifact beneath his tunic—silently.

No light.

No glow.

Just a whisper of divine resonance flowing down his spine, into his palm, and outward—

—into Darien.

The artifact listened.

Measured.

Waited.

Leonard continued speaking, casual.

“Your wind techniques loop. That’s rare. Intentional?”

Darien blinked. “Not really. It’s just how they come out. The academy’s been trying to ‘correct’ the patterns, but… I guess I’m stubborn.”

“Or ahead of the curve,” Leonard offered mildly. “That rhythm isn’t common, but it has tactical merit. Did you learn it from someone?”

The boy shook his head. “Self-taught. Trial and error. My instructor just let me run with it after a while.”

More nods. More smiles.

But no pulse.

No reaction.

The artifact hummed faintly—neutral.

Not even a flicker.

The celestial tether above pulsed once—flat. Dormant. Unmoved.

Not the one.

Leonard allowed the conversation to continue for another minute—asking questions, letting Darien speak, listening for hesitation, for forced memory, for dissonance.

There was none.

The boy was gifted. Disciplined. Slightly odd.

But ordinary.

No prophecy.

No tethered fate.

Just another good cadet in a sea of many.

Leonard exhaled internally.

“Thank you for your time,” he said, offering a polite nod. “If Solstice Dawn reaches out, take the offer seriously. You’ve got promise.”

Darien offered a quiet, grateful smile. “Appreciate that.”

Leonard turned away calmly, stepping off the path and into the shade of the stone arches once more.

And as he vanished into the crowd, he deactivated the solar fragment with a murmur:

“Obscura sōlis.”

The Heliowatch vanished.

The thread severed.

Darien Vale faded from the list.

One more possibility eliminated.

The list was growing shorter.

And time, as always, was moving.

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