3,000 Years of Agony

"Master, are you sure I can have it?" Lena asked while pressing the Arcanist Robe against her chest. Never did she expect that as soon as he received the items, Kilian would grant her the robe. And while she sought confirmation, her arms tightened around it.

"I...of course, you can. Arcanist Robes stretch or shrink to adjust whoever wears them. Do not fail me," Kilian replied, but with every word, felt as if flaming daggers stabbed his heart. But while Kilian's soul screamed to get the robe back, his reason prevailed. And as students and servants dove into the portal, little did they know that Kilian handpicked their locations, venting his frustration by dropping hundreds in rivers—Ayden and other von Skolls didn't escape.

Past the black-gold robes, Kilian no longer bothered choosing the students' locations. It mattered not. At the head of the silver robes, Kilian was about to step into the portal when he felt two stares nailing him. Esther, who stood at his left, and Carmen a step behind him.

With a smile, Kilian ambled into the portal, vanishing alongside Urag and Lena—Inyoka and the aistis hid in the Hellforge.

…

While 99.99% of students faced the portal, Anke sat in her room, hand on cheek, with her silver robe reminding onlookers of her status. A man Kilian would have effortlessly recognized as Wilfried—Klaus' guard captain—and the hand that carried out the tribe's slaughter, stood at her right.

"Your Ladyship, we're getting late," Wilfried said, but Anke's sapphire eyes didn't budge, remaining glued on the wall where seven paintings of the same man stood.

"Uncle is back?" She asked, and in response, Wilfried nodded.

"Indeed, His Grace has returned, stronger than ever. In today's Arcadia, few can rival him." Now aware of his master's secret, that Klaus emerged stronger from all mishaps, no longer surprised Wilfried. But as he considered the cost, a sigh left his lips.

The new Kilian threatens Arcadia's stability; for the sake of His Grace's goals, we must eliminate him. I took it upon myself to register as your servant so that together, we could dispose of this scourge. Your Ladyship mustn't waste my time," Wilfried explained. Though he addressed Anke as "Your Ladyship," his status in Kars only lost to Klaus. In Wilfried's eyes, only two types of people existed: Klaus and the rest. Naturally, unless Klaus willed it, he wouldn't allow "the rest" to waste his time.

"You didn't tell him about this, right?" Anke asked, and again, Wilfried nodded.

"His Grace needs time to recover from his slumber. We can't let the name disturb him." Better than most, Wilfried knew what the name "Kilian" represented to Klaus. Klaus only ever passed one despotic law: banning that name from Kars. Before Kilian's birth, and after his death, Kars didn't have another Kilian. And while Wilfried too didn't know the exact roots of that obsession, he feared that the existence of a world-famous Kilian would distract Klaus from his recovery—not that he could hide it for much longer.

"I suppose that's for the best. How many have I killed so far?"

"Since the Young Duke's death, on average, you strangled three Kilians per day, a total of 272," Wilfried replied and glanced at the seven paintings drawn by Anke, each depicted Kilian from 12 to 18. Used to this sight, he had no strong reactions.

"Then I suppose it's time for a 273rd. Let's hope this one feels more real," Anke said. For a second, an eerie glint flashed in her eyes—but before Wilfried could spot it—she rose from her seat and walked out the door. He followed right after.

…

As Kilian, Lena and Urag stepped into the portal, a passageway of shifting light appeared before their eyes. The spectacle didn't last over one breath, and the three turned into arrow-shaped beams that vanished through the exit. As in many other locations of the Sura Plane, a vortex opened, letting two arrows of light dive into the new world. The arrows landed on a verdant ground, morphing to become Kilian and Urag.

"Eh? Where is the lass?" Urag asked, puzzled by Lena's disappearance.

"For the sake of her growth, I sent her someplace else," Kilian leisurely replied, while picturing Lena's cries of indignation.

"You're sure you're not taking revenge for the robe?"

"Nonsense, why would I get revenge for something I gave her?"

"With you, you never know. It's not like you're an unpredictable and erratic mofo," Urag countered.

Ignoring him, Kilian swept the landscape with his amber eyes. The Sura Plane's sky was an eternal icy blue. Yet, lush prairies and peach blossom forests stretched as far as the eyes could see. And this was only in Kilian's location.

If there was one thing the Sura Plane didn't lack, it was vegetation. What men saw as exotic trees and forests became commonplace in this fairy tale of a land. The weakest of all immortal races, suras were born pacifists, content in raising new varieties of flowers and trees. They didn't have cities in the proper sense and lived in communion with nature. Split into 3,000 tribes, three million suras populated this tiny, circular plane, and revolved around the royal tribe.

They didn't need to eat and drank liquefied dra from their translucent rivers. Humans called it divine water. Before their first contact with humanity, besides their floral practices, suras sang and danced all day long. But starting with Adramelech's establishment of the von Skoll dynasty and first invasion of this plane, they lived in constant fear and agony.

With enthralling beauty that rivaled fehls, a physique human magi could seal in Elemental Crystals for mouth-watering boons, and a plane so rich that it filled Exarchs with wanton greed, the suras soon fell to humanity's assault. Captivity, rape, and slaughter galore marred this world.

Guilty of wealth, guilty of weakness, they couldn't fight back, and from the initial 100 million, the suras shrank to one million. Fortunately for them, foreigners couldn't remain in the plane for over three months. Humans also realized that by indulging their new vice, they'd exterminate a massive source of wealth. So the empire restrained Sura Hunts and limited the quotas to the top academies.

With 3,000 years of "paced" abuse and low fertility, they could only grow back to three million. And while suras were all born able to weave dra, they possessed execrable arcane talent. Most stopped at Lesser Emissaries, and across a population of three million, they didn't have ten Archons.

An alluring world in ruins, that was the Sura Plane.