As Frost Moon entered its latter half, Alderan welcomed a rare sunny day. After the thin mist dispersed, sunlight that had long neglected the imperial capital streamed into the city. Even deep within the long, profound corridors of the Royal Mage Association, there was suddenly natural light beyond the glow of magic lamps—sunlight passed through the ancient narrow crystal windows, casting slanting beams across the walls and ceilings. They drifted over the portraits lining the inner corridors, creating distinct patterns of light and shadow across the faces of those long dead, who had once brought the Association glorious renown.
Yet the people hurrying past those patches of light and shadow clearly had no time to enjoy the long-lost warmth.
Mages in robes of every style hurried through the corridors. These great figures, wise and exalted within human society, now all wore more or less worried expressions. Those who once loved idle chatter had no interest in talking, while even the most cheerful and optimistic people wore tense faces—the people in this building still maintained their daily work and kept the Association running, but beyond that, they clearly had no heart to think of anything else.
Daniel, dressed in black robes, walked hunched among them, his pace no different from usual. As an old mage who normally seemed somewhat gloomy, he had always been particularly conspicuous whenever he entered the Association. But today, with nearly everyone looking grim, he instead blended perfectly with the surrounding atmosphere.
The old mage raised his head, sweeping his gaze across the worried "colleagues" around him. The corner of his mouth seemed to curl in mockery.
Of course, he knew what these people were worried about. He had learned the truth behind everything two days earlier. It was an unimaginable truth; even he had trembled when