Chapter Three — The Shadow That Watched the Flame
Part One: The Path Not Meant to Be Walked
The Lyceum loomed somewhere behind them, unseen beyond the trees. But Kaelen Voss didn't care. Not today.
The boy walked a little faster than Yolti. His boots crushed frostbitten moss. His coat—a faded navy longcloak—billowed with every step he took through the forest's edge. He wasn't looking at the path. He wasn't even watching the sky.
He was following memory.
"I still think we should've stayed on the route," Yolti muttered. Her breath curled in the morning cold. "This wood's grown tighter. You sure it's still safe?"
Kaelen didn't slow. "It's the same path."
"Six years changes a lot."
He finally stopped at the bend in the trail. Just ahead, between two bent trees, sunlight bled through the pine canopy, turning the clearing gold.
"I know," Kaelen said. "That's why I had to see it again."
Yolti stepped beside him. Her silver hair was tied in a braid today, tucked behind her ear like she always did when nervous.
The trees up ahead were familiar.
Too familiar.
Six years ago, they ran screaming through this forest, watching the sky burn behind them. Six years ago, they buried a scarf in the earth and lied to the King.
Now, it was quiet. Not peace. Just silence.
"We haven't trained here since…" she started, but her voice faltered.
Kaelen nodded. "I know. But if we're going to pass the next Pulse Scan, I need to be ready. And something about this place still feels… open."
He didn't explain what he meant. He never could, not fully. But Yolti knew that look.
He was reaching back again. To a flame long lost. To a boy whose name hadn't been spoken above a whisper in six winters.
They moved deeper in.
The trees grew thicker. Crooked. Uneven. As if the forest had leaned in to listen to the past—and had never straightened since.
Yolti drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders. "I don't like this."
Kaelen reached for the hilt strapped to his back. Not the real Crystal Monarch. Just a training blade. Even so, he rested his hand on it like a tether. "It's fine. If anything's still out here, we'll see it coming."
They didn't.
The hum came first.
Low. Beneath the soil. Like a memory vibrating inside bone.
Yolti froze. "Did you feel that?"
Kaelen turned, eyes narrowing. His Veilmark flickered across his palm—a ghost of flame, a warning. "Don't move."
A crack in the underbrush.
Then silence again.
Then—
Movement.
It came from behind the pine trunk—its shape wrong, slouched, too long in the arms, its legs backwards-jointed like a nightmare walking upright.
The Riftborn stepped into view.
Not just any.
The Grinn.
Its face stretched from ear to ear. Not with a smile—but with something worse. A crescent tear, flesh strained, as if it had once learned how to grin and had never stopped.
Kaelen shoved Yolti behind him. "Back! Now!"
The Grinn didn't charge. Not yet.
It stalked.
Sniffing the air like it could taste their pulse. Its eyes shimmered obsidian—empty, reflective, wrong.
Kaelen flared his hand. "Veilmark Art—"
Nothing.
Flame sparked. Then collapsed inward.
He screamed.
The fire coiled around his wrist and scorched the inside of his arm. He dropped to his knees.
Yolti cried out and reached for him. "Kaelen!"
The Grinn moved.
One breath.
Two.
Gone.
It appeared behind her.
Yolti spun too late.
Its arm coiled around her throat, lifted her effortlessly off the ground.
Her legs kicked. Fingers clawed.
Air vanished.
Kaelen staggered up, eyes wide. "YOLTI!"
She couldn't answer.
Her vision blurred. The Grinn's grin seemed to widen as her body went limp in its grasp.
Her lungs begged for air.
And in that final flicker—she saw them.
The old memory.
Zephryn's hand, reaching.
Selka's voice, quiet.
Kaelen's laugh in the sun.
She closed her eyes.
And whispered, barely audible:
"…please… someone…"