Elina stole the spotlight.

Seeing her run faster than Stini, clutching the figure wreathed in moon-pale flame, my first thought was exactly that—she hogged the scene like a sudden sunbeam.

Idiot, this is when you leave the stage lights to the Hero, like a lantern set at the center of the hall.

Like slapping away a noble sacrifice, to remind him with a sharp sting that his life is priceless, that countless hearts hang on his breath like dew on grass.

Yes, Elina took Stini’s job, like a hand snatching the banner mid-march.

I know what Alpha’s legendary spell is, but look—I moved with Stini’s steps like a shadow, not running wild like a brushfire.

Those who shine brighter than a Hero burn out fast, like moth or flare—die as martyr, or as villain undone. Either way, gone like smoke.

So I kept a deadpan mask, feet drumming behind Stini, pretending I knew nothing, a pebble rolling with the stream.

“Teacher! Do you have a death wish?!”

“Oh, Elina. Go back. This battlefield isn’t where children play,” he said, voice tired as ash on wind.

I couldn’t see his face through the fire, only the tone, a sagging banner in rain.

Alpha told the Demon King, “Sorry,” and waved us off, like brushing snow from a sleeve.

“No! I—I’m a Divine Healer. I can see your life shrinking! You’ll die soon!” Her voice trembled like a plucked string in winter air.

“Perfectly normal. Where there’s light, there’s Shadow. Where there’s birth, there’s death. A battle with the Demon King writes a page in history like chisel on stone.”

“Fool! I can see the speed of it. Even for the Lunarfolk, this rate—” Her words scattered like beads from a torn cord.

“Shut it. Go back. I’m not that soft-hearted Mire who won’t attack. I’ll count to three. Stay, and I’ll beat you back,” his temper cracked like ice on a river.

Alpha tore free of Elina’s grip and turned toward Anna, a storm wheeling to face open sea.

Across the flames, Anna hugged her scythe and watched, amused, like a cat before a lantern, not moving to disturb us.

“But I…” Elina’s burst of courage broke like foam, and she shrank again, eyes wet, beast-ears and tail drooping like wilted grass.

“Got guts now? Daring to bark at your teacher? Take your team and scram. Watch how adults stake their lives,” his words fell like stones on a drum.

“Um… but…” Her voice thinned like mist at dawn.

I couldn’t watch anymore. The breath in my chest knotted like a kite string twisted in wind.

“Hey. Wait.”

I cut off Elina’s retreat, the word a pebble flicked into a still pond.

I’d meant to let Stini speak, but she didn’t know Alpha’s legendary spell. She charged to stop him on pure instinct, a swallow diving.

Instinct is a compass in fog, always true; but Stini didn’t see what that meant, like a sailor hearing surf but not seeing reef.

On the surface, Alpha’s choice was sound. A strong teacher shields students; even burning life for a trump fits, like a candle saved for nightfall.

Our squad was in rough shape anyway, a patched sail in rough chop. Stay, and we’d be weights on Alpha’s ankles. Best to leave the field to him.

The “salvation” a Hero wants lost its banner, a flag soaked and torn by rain. As the hope others pinned their eyes on, Stini doubted her gut like a bird in gale.

So she stood, face grim, watching, a statue holding a storm behind stone eyes.

I couldn’t expect more from that. I tilted my head, weary as a crow on a frost branch, and said:

“Teacher Alpha, your legendary spell burns life, doesn’t it?”

“Kid, did you skip Magic Flow class? For people, mana is life. What spell doesn’t burn life?” His scorn drifted like smoke from a guttering wick.

Truth is, I don’t like this slovenly, washed-out teacher. If I could, I’d enter Mac the Unbroken Bulwark’s class, a cliff against waves.

With Mac, we’d hold until Augustus rushed back, like dawn after a long night, not risk ourselves to save a teacher sinking like a stone.

If Alpha dies, Stini and I could go there, doors opening ahead like a hall of mirrors.

…But I don’t want Alpha’s funeral, or the Hero Squad steeped in gloom like tea gone bitter. The next act is grander, a river thundering to sea.

I won’t let a small death toss pebbles into my current.

So, sorry, Alpha. Heroes are heroes because they die. If you don’t die here, don’t save the city alone, you won’t wear that laurel wreath.

“No. People die the way candles do—burning forward, never waxing back,” his voice flickered like a spending wick.

“…”

“Your magic is like a candle too, but the flame eats from the base. The higher it climbs, the faster it goes. It’ll be gone soon,” my words fell like cold rain.

“Not true,” he said, thin as tin in rain, a bell with a crack.

“And your second legendary spell trades lives, right? Your life for ours, for everyone at the Academy,” I pressed, a nail into wood.

I owe knowing Alpha’s tricks to my brother, Daviya, a pale moon in my old sky.

In a past life, when “Dispute,” the Demon King, clashed with Alpha, I saw his moon-pale fire scour all—first legendary spell, Burning Moonlight, a tide of frost flame.

And the breaker that shattered shackles, smashing everything at the price of his life—second legendary spell, Resigned Resolve, a blade against fate’s chains.

I know what those two woven together become, twin rivers flash-flooding a canyon. If Anna slips, she could die here like a lantern snuffed.

That would ruin the garden I’ve been tending, careful as moss.

I want Anna dead, but not today. Some doors open only while she breathes. If she falls now, I lose a dozen keys like leaves in wind.

For now, both Anna and Alpha are more useful alive, chess pieces kept in play on a rainy board.

“…You can tell?” He heard the truth and sighed deep, wind through pines on a cold ridge.

“I can’t see it. I’ve just grown sensitive to ‘life’ lately,” I said, the upgrade of Shadow Artisan Andor prickling like frost under skin.

“Ah, Andor. I’ve let you win plenty at cards. We’ve got a rhythm at the table. Why blow my cover here?” His laugh was a dry leaf skittering.

I noticed Stini’s hand on the Holy Sword, Galewind. Raven’s bangle bled magic light like dawn on steel. Princess Golia shifted her weight to run.

Only Elina, that soft and stubborn fool, still clutched Alpha’s arm, thinking pleas could melt a man who’d already walked into winter.

“Idiot Elina, still don’t get it? At times like this, only force can bench a bigger idiot of a teacher,” I said, a knife wrapped in velvet.

I drew the Greatsword, Valor, from the Shadow, its edge a crescent torn from night, and leveled it at Alpha like a cold moon.

The moonwhite flame had been gentle, breath on skin brushing Elina’s arm. Now it snarled and hurled her back like a wave in storm.

“Teacher?” Her cry broke like glass on stone.

Elina hit the ground, rolled, and sprang up in a clean fall like a cat—she’s learned a fighter’s bones.

“Didn’t expect to discuss life with my own students before facing the Demon King,” Alpha muttered, turning, battle intent pointing at us like a spearhead.

On Anna’s side, a chair, a table, and tea ware appeared like a roadside picnic. Water steamed like breath. She wouldn’t cut in for now.

Polite as rain on eaves, we gave the first move to our captain—Hero Stini, a blade in morning light.

I stepped a heartbeat late. When Alpha brushed aside the Holy Sword with bare hands, I aimed his flank and hewed down with Valor like a falling gate.

“You brats… planning to take my life? I’ve cut you slack on grades, you delinquents!” His bark cracked like thunder from a storm shelf.

“Lunarfolk don’t die that easy. Hang in there, Teacher Alpha,” I said, words like stones, feet like drumbeats on earth.

The moon-pale fire grew bodies and teeth, snapping at us like wolves from snowdrifts.

Raven summoned a Titan-class Construct. Its special coating turned the flame back, a mirror bending sunlight to sky.

For Princess Golia, form or formless didn’t matter. Her fist crushed through all the same, a hammer through paper lantern.

Our fight looked gorgeous, sparks like meteors, but it lacked Anna’s brand of tragedy, a bonfire’s howl.

At best, it was students and a teacher trading blows in a schoolyard storm, rain on flagstones.

No killing intent, no hatred, no tragic resolve—just power speaking for our hearts, drums across a valley.

“Kids these days have no manners. Win, and you crow. Lose, and you curse. You don’t get grown-up grace,” his protective flames shattered under Golia’s punch like brittle glass.

Her force thudded into Alpha’s back like a piledriver, and he still complained, words flapping like laundry on a cold line.

“A gambling wreck lecturing grace? Don’t insult ‘gentleman.’ Old man, go home and retire!” I chopped at his head with Valor like an axe on oak.

Layered fire wrapped my blade like vines, and his boot thumped my gut. The organs he’d cooked and re-knit tore again, blood seeping like a reopened seam.

“You’re just giving me trouble. Can’t you let a teacher worry less?” I dropped my full weight and hacked again, an axe biting into a stubborn stump.

I was a hair from breaking the flames. I slammed my skull into the blaze. It didn’t burn me, but our foreheads cracked together, stars bursting like fireflies.

“Heroes never play by the book! Saint Mire’s soft rules can’t leash me, and your hard fists won’t either!” Stini severed a leg with one clean cut.

It regrew at once, bone sprouting like bamboo after rain.

“Your dad can leash you! Remember when I took the blame for you as a kid? Go back now, or Augustus won’t spare you!” Alpha snarled, voice like gravel.

Raven’s Titan grabbed Alpha’s arm with one hand and hammered his head with the other, a forge drum beating sparks.

“Teacher Alpha, why won’t you trust us just once?” While his flames battered Stini, I swung hard enough to tear muscle and sent him flying like a tossed log.

“We’re not children anymore. You can’t guard us forever.” I wiped blood from my lips, a red crescent in snow, and said it plain.

He pushed up from the ground. The moonwhite fire wrapped him again, burning slow like a first breath before dawn.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. I know what you’ve done, how much you’ve bled. But this isn’t a story where leads win forever like spring without winter.

“Life doesn’t rewind. Die once, and you don’t get a second coin,” he said, head shaking like a bell ringing out last light.

The fire stopped being tame. It turned feral, not just a hard shell, but a storm that ate more than eyes can name, like acid rain on stone.

“Know why my legendary spell’s called Burning Moonlight? I wasn’t born with your gifts. I can only burn myself, trade all I am for a heartbeat of power.

“The Demon King cursed me, barred my legendary magic. Joke is, that curse kept me from burning out, and I lived to this pale noon,” his laugh was hollow wind.

“If someone must fight first, let the old ones walk into the wind. We die first, then it’s your turn to fight for the world,” he said, steady as a mountain ridge.

“That’s the worth of our strength. Go back, kids. Don’t waste my resolve,” his words settled like snow on cedars.

“Sorry. If that’s truly the case…” Stini bowed her head, sadness a dark lake, then raised her empty hand and closed it on air like gripping the moon.

“Wha—what?” His voice cracked like thin ice over deep water.

The bright moon shattered and vanished into daylight.