Chapter 153: Cute little Wolf

Chapter 153: Chapter 153: Cute little Wolf

Who could he have been?

The question refused to leave Theon’s mind. He stood quietly, his thoughts still circling the revelation they had just uncovered. Someone had entered the Imperial Academy and had managed to bypass a barrier powerful enough to keep out beings like Asmodeus.

But who? What kind of person possessed enough knowledge to interfere with a barrier of that magnitude?

Theon narrowed his eyes. *Who is capable of authoring a barrier like that, and then finding a way through it?* He tried to piece together everything they knew: the mysterious visitor who had approached Seraphina, Asmodeus’s escape, Noel’s appearance, the academy’s barrier itself. There had to be a connection somewhere.

But before Theon could fully assess the possibilities, something suddenly burst from within him. A strange presence erupted through his body, and he stiffened as a voice rang out across the room.

"I’m free!"

Everyone turned. The voice sounded strangely excited.

"I’m finally free!"

Theon looked up sharply, his eyes widening. A tiny figure had appeared, hovering in the air before him. A little wolf. He knew exactly who it was.

"Little wolf?"

The wolf’s ears twitched, his eyes narrowing at once. "That’s not my name, you human!" The words came out in a surprisingly cute voice, which only seemed to irritate him further. His tiny cheeks puffed, his mouth tightened, and his eyes rounded in a way that made his anger look almost adorable despite itself. His little paws curled into fists, squeezing repeatedly as though trying to hold onto whatever dignity he had left.

Ifrith stepped forward, his gaze settling on the small creature. "You’ve been here all this time?"

"Of course I have!" the wolf huffed. "If not for this little boy who sealed me up—" He jabbed one tiny paw toward Theon.

"Since when?" Ifrith asked.

The wolf’s eyes widened in disbelief. "Since the time you went into berserk mode!" His small body trembled with fury.

Theon stared at him while the wolf continued fuming, cheeks puffed and knuckles tight, gathering himself as though preparing to explode entirely. Then Theon remembered.

"Oh." He scratched the side of his head. "That’s true. I actually sealed you." A pause. "I forgot."

The wolf froze, his expression collapsing into pure disbelief. "How could you have forgotten?! I almost killed you Once"

Theon shook his head. "Nah." He gestured vaguely elsewhere. "It’s not me you almost killed. It’s actually Cryvathar you fought with."

The wolf turned his head slowly, his eyes moving toward Cryvathar, then toward Seraphina. The hatred between the two remained obvious, their gazes still locked, neither willing to yield an inch. The wolf’s expression shifted, his anger draining away, ears lowering as he fell quiet. What had happened between him and Cryvathar clearly hadn’t been forgotten.

While his attention was occupied, he failed to notice Lyra crouching down beside him. His eyes widened only when she reached out and scooped him up.

"Eh?!"

"Wait—!"

She began ruffling his fur immediately, fingers moving through it, touching his ears, his head. The wolf’s expression turned to horror.

"LET ME DOWN!"

Lyra ignored him.

"LET ME DOWN, HUMAN!"

He kicked helplessly. "I WILL DESTROY YOU!"

Lyra only smiled. "I can destroy you far more easily."

The wolf kept struggling, still shouting to be released, until Lyra finally looked directly at him.

"You can’t do anything." She hugged him closer. "My big brother is here." She pointed toward Theon. "He’ll defeat you with a single strike."

The wolf turned toward Theon, his expression darkening with fresh fury. "You—" He struck immediately.

Theon’s body reacted on instinct, but his mind had already begun drifting elsewhere. The wolf, Lyra, the chaos surrounding him, all of it faded into the background as something else returned to the front of his thoughts.

The vision.

Lyra’s body lying lifeless on the ground.

The memory struck him with terrifying clarity, his chest tightening around it. It hadn’t felt like an ordinary vision. It had felt real, too real, the stillness and lifelessness settling into him with a certainty that refused to loosen its grip.

*How do I prevent it? How do I protect her?* He needed more strength, more power, something capable of overcoming an enemy far stronger than himself.

Celestial noticed the change in him almost immediately. She looked at his face and understood at once that something was wrong, his expression shifted, his eyes gone distant, the worry plain across every line of him. She reached out and took his hand.

Theon glanced down. His instinct was to pull away, but he stopped himself, uncertain why, only aware that he needed the comfort more than he wanted to admit. He let her hold his hand and said nothing.

Behind them, Lyra continued snuggling the little wolf, who was still protesting loudly.

"Let me go!"

She laughed. "Stop moving!"

"Human!"

Lazaria finally stepped in, attempting to pull Lyra away from the wolf. "Lyra, let him go."

"No!"

"Come on."

"No!"

The wolf kept struggling while Lazaria worked to separate them, but Theon’s attention had already drifted elsewhere. He rose from where he sat and walked toward the balcony, the doors opening ahead of him, cool air brushing against his face as he stepped outside.

For a moment he simply stood there. Then his gaze moved toward the forest, the place where the battle had taken place. The memories returned: the destruction, the fighting, the damage. But something had changed since then. The forest had begun recovering. Many of the plants had grown back, and trees once shattered by the fighting had returned, nature slowly reclaiming what the battle had torn apart.

Theon watched in silence until footsteps sounded behind him. Ifrith emerged onto the balcony and stood beside his master.

"Master."

Theon didn’t turn.

"You’re worried about the premonition of her death, aren’t you?"

"Yes." His eyes remained fixed on the forest. "I need to find a way to protect her."

Ifrith was quiet for a moment before speaking. "You need to get stronger, Master."

Theon lowered his gaze. He already knew that. His recent battles passed through his thoughts one after another, every enemy, every fight, every moment he’d been forced to push himself further than before. He finally understood what those battles had been trying to show him.

"These recent fights," he said slowly, "the ones that keep coming our way. They’ve been giving me signs that I need to get stronger." He shook his head. "But I never understood it. Not until I saw that vision." He closed his eyes. "It felt almost real. Like I was there. Like she was lifeless on the floor."

Ifrith watched him carefully, then spoke. "You need a powerful spell. One strong enough to defeat an enemy stronger than you."

The words struck something inside him, a memory surfacing unbidden: a classroom, an instructor standing before them, a lesson on magic. Original Magic. The possibility of combining multiple elemental cycles together, taking different forms of magic, understanding how they interacted, and merging them into something entirely new. An original spell.

The instructors had warned them clearly. It wasn’t something to attempt casually. One missed step could ruin the entire process. One mistake could cause the spell to turn against its creator, and if the backlash was strong enough, the caster could die.

Theon stared into the distance. The idea seemed almost absurd, the risk enormous. But then Lyra’s face returned to his mind, her lifeless body, the vision, the fear, the unbearable thought of losing her, and his hesitation disappeared entirely.

*It doesn’t matter. As long as it works, it has to.* His eyes hardened in determination. *I need to protect Lyra. No matter what. No matter the cost.*

He turned toward Ifrith. "I think I know what to do."

"What is that, Master?"

Theon stared ahead, his answer certain. "I need to create an Original Spell."

Ifrith’s eyes widened. "What?"

The wind moved across the balcony, and Theon said nothing more.

Far beyond Imperial Academy, past the surrounding forest and deeper still into the ancient woodland, the southern mountains rose into a darkened sky, their peaks enormous and silent. Among them stood a massive mansion, abandoned in appearance, as though something had died there long ago.

Inside, a little boy crawled across the floor, his clothes dirty, his breathing uneven, yet he continued forward regardless. He crawled through the entrance and into a massive hall shaped like a throne room. At its far end stood an enormous throne, and upon it sat someone waiting.

The boy stopped and lowered his head. "Supreme Lord."

A voice echoed down from the throne. "What have you brought for me this time, little boy?"

The boy raised his head slightly. "It’s me, Sire. Noel."

The figure on the throne leaned forward. "Noel?" His voice carried recognition. "Aren’t you the lackey of Asmodeus? Where is your master?"

Noel remained silent for a moment before a grin slowly spread across his face, his hands clenching. "My master is gone."

The figure scoffed, a quiet laugh escaping him. "I warned him." Noel’s expression shifted. "Your master underestimated that boy. I told him that kid wasn’t ordinary."

"What do you mean, Sire?"

The figure looked down at him. "You peasants." The atmosphere turned suddenly oppressive. "Why would I explain something of such importance to you?"

Then a tremendous pressure descended, slamming Noel against the floor. His body trembled as he struggled to breathe, the pressure intensifying with every second, his chest crushed beneath its weight. His fingers dug into the ground as he fought to endure it, but the force only grew stronger, his breathing weakening until he could barely move at all.

The Supreme Lord remained seated the entire time. He didn’t need to rise. He didn’t need to lift a weapon. The pressure alone was enough.

Noel’s body finally went still. He had died.

The throne room fell silent. The Supreme Lord raised one hand and waved, and several men entered at once, approaching Noel’s lifeless body without a word, lifting him, and carrying him away. The doors closed behind them, and silence returned.

The Supreme Lord leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the empty floor where the boy had fallen.

"You actually killed him, Seventh Prince." A cold smile spread slowly across his face as he looked towards the dark and a shadowed figure appeared and bowed then he said to it. "Make the necessary arrangements to send that thing in the sealed room" His voice echoed through the throne room, loud and commanding. "Yes sire" the figure replied and retreated back into the shadows then the Supreme Lord said in his thoughts. *Am sure, little prince you will not survive this one.*