Bishop XIII

As Aden strolled through the Academy looking for his class, the disdainful gazes of others bore into him, but he remained indifferent to their judgment. Along his path, he encountered a colossal statue that demanded attention. Halting in his tracks, Aden found himself captivated by the imposing figure.

Viktor, on his way to the same class, noticed Aden's pause and approached him with a measured stride. "Magnificent, isn't it?" Viktor remarked, his gaze fixed on the colossal figure. "It's Rohan, the first of the heroes who managed to slay a Demon Lord in his time. Not every hero can boast such a feat."

The statue loomed as a testament to the valor and prowess of those who had come before, their exploits eternally frozen in stone, a silent narrative of battles fought and victories achieved. The Academy's halls echoed with the whispers of history, an ever-present reminder of the challenges that awaited the new generation.

Viktor continued to share his knowledge as they stood before the awe-inspiring statue. "In every lifetime, countless individuals become a hero, but only a handful possess the prowess to challenge and defeat a Demon Lord. For most, their tales remain untold, ending in obscurity, their valor unacknowledged. Some meet their tragic demise, their noble deeds fading into the annals of forgotten history."

As Viktor spoke, the weight of uncelebrated heroism hung in the air, a stark reminder of the harsh realities faced by those who dared to confront the forces of darkness. The grandeur of the statue now carried an added layer of melancholy, embodying not only the triumphs of heroes but also the silent sacrifices of the unsung.

Aden absorbed Viktor's words, contemplating the inherent struggles that accompanied the pursuit of heroism. The Academy, with its statues and history, seemed to encapsulate the complex tapestry of lives lived in the shadow of perilous quests.

Viktor's emotions flared as he spoke about the Demon Lord and the evil that emanated from the Demon Realm. "Some heroes unite in formidable parties, each member bringing their unique skills to confront the malevolent force that is the Demon Lord. They devise various strategies, each with their distinct approach to vanquishing the darkness that threatens our realm." His fists clenched involuntarily, a physical manifestation of the anger welling up within him.

"But the truth, Aden, the real root of this malevolence lies in the accursed heart of the Demon Realm itself," Viktor declared vehemently. His frustration echoed through the halls of the Academy, a poignant reminder of the ceaseless battle waged against an insidious enemy.

The grand statues surrounding them seemed to absorb Viktor's anger, their stone forms standing witness to the deep-seated resentment that fueled the heroes' pursuit of justice. Aden, in the midst of this impassioned revelation, couldn't help but sense the weight of responsibility that lay on the shoulders of those who dared to stand against the tides of darkness.

Viktor's sudden shift in demeanor caught Aden off guard, his anger dissipating as swiftly as it had surfaced. The outstretched hand before him was a gesture of reconciliation, a silent invitation to bridge the gap between them.

"I'm sorry," Viktor said, his voice tinged with contrition. He glanced at Aden, a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. "I suppose I didn't properly introduce myself earlier. I'm Viktor," he paused momentarily before adding, "Viktor Rohan."

Aden's jaw dropped at the revelation, his mind racing to comprehend the weight of the name. "Rohan," he echoed, turning to gaze at the imposing statue looming nearby. It stood as a silent testament to the legacy of heroes who had come before.

Viktor's discomfort was palpable as he acknowledged the connection. "Yes, that's my ancestor," he admitted, a note of humility coloring his tone. In that moment, amidst the hallowed halls of the Academy, the echoes of the past reverberated through the present, binding the two young men in an unexpected bond forged by lineage and destiny.

Viktor sensed Aden's astonishment and understood the weight that his family name carried. He extended a comforting smile, seeking to dispel any unease that might have settled in Aden's mind.

"The name Rohan is reserved for the firstborn in our lineage," Viktor explained with a casual ease, hoping to put Aden at ease. He had grown accustomed to the reaction of others when they learned about his ancestry – the reverence, the distance, the almost mythical aura that surrounded the Rohan name. "So, you can be comfortable with me."

Viktor's attempt to downplay the significance of his lineage was genuine. He knew the burden of expectations that came with such a renowned family name, and he wanted Aden to see him not as a distant figure from a heroic past but as a fellow student.

Viktor's extended hand hung in the air for a moment, the weight of expectation palpable. Just as he began to resign himself to the possibility that Aden might maintain a certain formality, he felt a reassuring touch on his shoulder. Startled, Viktor opened his eyes to find Aden standing there, a wry smile playing on his lips.

"What the hell, man?" Aden exclaimed, his hand meeting Viktor's shoulder in a friendly gesture. "Stop being so formal; you're making me embarrass myself."

Viktor couldn't help but chuckle at the unexpected turn of events. Aden's easygoing demeanor and straightforward approach caught him off guard, but he welcomed the lack of pretense.

"I'm Xa-Aden, well, Aden for short. Son of David," he replied, choosing his words carefully.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "David? Is he a lord or a knight?"

Aden's expression shifted momentarily, a subtle mix of hesitation and guardedness. "He's a servant, of Lord Ivan House to be more specific," he responded, the weight of that revelation hanging in the air.

Viktor paused, processing the information. The Academy, a melting pot of nobility and commoners, was not unfamiliar with the dynamics between different social classes. However, Aden's presence as the son of a servant in the highest class of the Academy was sure to raise eyebrows.

Nonetheless, Viktor offered a genuine smile, breaking the potential tension. "Well, Aden, we're all here to learn and prove ourselves. Social status doesn't define your potential."

Aden leaned in closer to Viktor with a wry smile. "Well, I seem to have lost my way. Can you guide me to the class?"

Viktor chuckled at Aden's request, a genuine warmth evident in his laughter. "Of course, Aden. Follow me, and I'll make sure you don't end up wandering the halls aimlessly," he said, gesturing for Aden to walk alongside him.

As they navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the Academy, Viktor took the opportunity to point out various landmarks and points of interest along the way, peppering their journey with anecdotes and stories about the history of the institution.

Aden listened intently, his curiosity piqued by Viktor's animated retellings. Despite his initial apprehension about his new surroundings, Aden found himself drawn into the rich tapestry of knowledge and tradition woven into the very fabric of the Academy.

With each step, Aden felt a sense of belonging begin to take root within him, a feeling he had not experienced since his days in the Demon Realm. In Viktor's company, he found not only a guide but also a friend—one who was willing to overlook societal barriers in favor of genuine connection.