Fear.
Raw, suffocating, primordial fear gripped Gray's heart, colder than any ice, heavier than any blow. His legs trembled, threatening to buckle. His mind emptied of everything but the urge to flee. He could not move. He could not breathe. He was utterly, completely paralyzed.
It was a violation, a foreign terror injected directly into his soul. This was no simple intimidation; it was the fear of being prey, the deep-seated knowledge that something ancient and predatory had you in its sights. The boy's violet eyes were twin voids, and Gray was falling into them. He could feel the chain-links of his own will snapping, one by one. His fingers, which had been curled into fists, went slack. His knees, locked to keep him upright, began to quiver with the strain of simply defying gravity. A cold sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his temple. The world had narrowed to those two points of violet light and the screaming of his own instincts.
'Move. Just move goddammit!' his mind shrieked, a desperate, silent plea. But his body was no longer his to command. It belonged to the fear.
The silence in the courtyard stretched, becoming awkward, then unnerving. Whispers began to ripple through the crowd of students.
"Why aren't they moving?"
"Is this a standoff?"
"What's he waiting for?"
They saw nothing. They felt nothing of the psychic tsunami holding Gray captive. To them, it looked like two fighters locked in a battle of wills, a tense stalemate. Only Gray knew he had already lost. He was a statue, a monument to his own terror.
The instructor's brow furrowed, his initial patience giving way to confusion, then to a dawning alarm. He saw the fine tremor in Gray's hands, the unnatural rigidity of his posture, the sheen of sweat on his pale face. He saw a boy who looked like he was staring into an abyss the rest of them couldn't see.
"Enough!" the instructor barked, his voice sharp as a whip-crack. He strode forward, his boots scuffing against the dirt, and his hand clapped down on Gray's shoulder.
The contact was a seismic shock. The invisible chains shattered.
Air rushed into Gray's lungs in a ragged, desperate gasp that was half-sob. He staggered violently, his legs finally giving way, but the instructor's firm grip kept him from collapsing entirely. His whole body shuddered, his teeth chattering uncontrollably for a moment before he clenched his jaw to stop them.
"Gray!" the instructor said, his voice tight with a concern he made no effort to hide. "Are you all right? What happened?"
Gray forced a jerky nod, his throat too constricted, too raw, to form words. He could only stare past the instructor at the white-haired boy, who now stood perfectly still, the violet light in his eyes fading back to a placid, washed-out gray as if it had never been. His face was a smooth, unreadable mask. He hadn't even broken a sweat.
The instructor's gaze snapped to the boy, his expression hardening. "What was that?" he demanded, his tone leaving no room for evasion.
The boy offered a slight, indifferent shrug. "A standoff, sir. He is cautious. I am patient."
It was a lie, delivered with such calm conviction that it was almost believable. But the instructor's eyes narrowed. He had seen too many fights, too many strange affinities, to be entirely fooled. Yet, with no visible violation of the rules, he could do nothing.
"That will be enough for today," the instructor said abruptly, his voice carrying a finality that silenced the rising murmurs. "Dismissed. We will continue the evaluations tomorrow."
The courtyard erupted in a wave of confused chatter as the students began to disperse. Gray avoided their eyes, focusing on the simple, arduous task of making his feet carry him out of the circle. His body felt like it had been run through a millstone—every muscle ached with a deep, residual tremor. The whispers followed him like a swarm of insects. Why did he freeze? Did he choke?
He moved stiffly, his mind a chaotic whirlwind. What was that? That power… it was terrifying. It had to be his Affinity. Could it have been fear?
A hand patted his back suddenly. Gray flinched as if struck, whipping his head around so fast his neck cracked.
Aurelle stood there, his face as unreadable as ever.
"You—" Gray began, his heart, which had just begun to slow, hammering against his ribs again. "Why did you do that?"
"Something was on your back," Aurelle said simply, his voice a calm, flat monotone.
Gray blinked, confused. He glanced over his shoulder but saw nothing but the coarse fabric of his simple uniform. His lips parted, then closed. The explanation was so mundane it was disarming. "Thanks," he muttered finally, the word tasting like ash, before turning to continue his retreat.
He didn't see what happened behind him. Aurelle did not move immediately. He glanced down at his own palm. For an instant, a faint flicker of blue, the color of deep, still water, rippled across his eyes. The world around him shifted, color draining away into stark monochrome. The vibrant greens and browns of the courtyard bled into shades of gray, but hints of red and orange shimmered faintly where Vyre pulsed strongest in the dispersing students.
And there—clinging to his own palm where he had touched Gray's back—was something. A twisted, slimy shape, invisible to the naked eye, writhed faintly, as though resisting its exposure. It was a leech. Left by something, or someone. Aurelle's expression sharpened with distaste. He summoned a thin, precise thread of his own Vyre, letting it surge into his hand. The parasitic shape sizzled with a sound only he could hear, then burned away into nothing, leaving behind only the faint, metaphysical smell of ozone and ash.
When he looked up, his eyes, now back to their normal hue, found the white-haired boy standing across the emptying courtyard. Their gazes locked. The boy's expression had not changed—calm, unshaken. Yet something passed between them in that look, a silent, electric acknowledgment that bypassed words entirely.
His lips curved into the faintest, most fleeting of smiles. It was not a friendly expression. Not at all.
Gray hadn't see any of it. He had already left, dragging his feet toward the sanctuary of the dormitories. The wooden door to his small, sparse room creaked open, and he stumbled inside, not even bothering to turn on the lights. The dim twilight seeping through the single window was enough. His body screamed for rest, every muscle and nerve ending frayed from the aftermath of that paralyzing fear. He collapsed onto his hard cot without removing his boots, staring blankly at the cracks in the ceiling plaster.
His thoughts churned relentlessly. What exactly happened? What is that power? How do you fight something that doesn't throw a punch, but just… looks at you? He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to block out the memory of those violet eyes pinning him in place, of the mountain in his dream shattering into nothing.
He told himself not to think of it, not to let the fear take root and fester. But it was already there, a poison ivy woven through his veins, its thorns catching on every heartbeat.
Eventually, sheer exhaustion dragged him under. His eyes closed, and the world slipped away.
At first, his dream was quiet. He stood at the base of a massive, serene mountain, its peak stretching so high it vanished into soft, white clouds. The sight filled him with a profound awe, a sense of something eternal and indomitable. It felt like peace.
The evergreen trees that surrounded him. The noises of the birds chirping. The cold, chilly air penetrative his lungs. All of this made him feel like he was there.
Then, with a deafening crack that had no sound but vibrated through his very being, the mountain shattered. The ground quaked violently beneath his feet, fissures splitting open like wounds, swallowing stone and sky alike. The majestic landscape crumbled into dust and scree in moments, leaving nothing but devastation.
Gray stumbled, his dream-heart hammering. When the dust settled, he was no longer standing on rock or soil but suspended in a vast, lightless void. Shadows stretched endlessly in every direction, cold and suffocating, a silence so absolute it pressed in on his eardrums.
He thought himself utterly alone. His breath didn't even echo in the crushing emptiness. But then—movement.
From the darkness directly before him, a figure emerged as if stepping through a curtain. White hair glimmered with its own faint, sickly light. Violet eyes burned like twin stars in the void, fixed on him.
The boy from the courtyard.
He turned slowly, his gaze locking onto Gray's. This time, he did not smile. He simply stared, and the void itself seemed to stare with him.
The fear returned, fresh and cold as the grave.
And Gray woke choking on his own breath, the phantom dust of the shattered mountain still clinging to his throat.
And alongside withe the fear, the deep, rumbling whispers came too.
"Vh'laen… dosk thrynn… ashaar…"