They all fall asleep like a tide slipping back—Juno's steady breathing, Ari's ragged, excited exhale, Rhea like a small, held silence. I keep my eyes open longer than I mean to, staring at the dark ceiling until the room blurs and thoughts unspool.
When I finally tuck myself into Ari's abandoned sleeping bag, I feel like I'm sinking into a place that's almost mine and not mine at all. Lucid dreams have been coming more and more. Always the same edges—broken buildings, sirens, a smear of panic—but tonight the noise is gone. This time it is quiet. Too quiet.
I am standing in a field of stars. It was wide and clean, the air a cold, clean clarity that makes the constellations feel like punctuation. A single tree stands alone, its silhouette black against glittering sky. Someone is already there, sitting with knees up, hands folded over them.
Nyxshade.
She is me and not me: the same face, the same slope of cheek, the same freckle at the corner of the eye, but her irises are molten ember. When she looks, it's like looking into an ember—hot, patient, indifferent. She pats the ground beside her with a practiced casualness, as if she expected me.
I sit. The grass is cool under my palms.
"How is academy life?" she asks, voice low and almost amused.
I tell her—honest, threadbare—that it's been…good. That tonight was fun. That the duels were beautiful. I expect a smile, or a shrug. Instead she watches me like she's cataloguing fractures. There's that tilt of her head she does when she wants to unsettle me without touching me.
"If it's so good," she says, "why do you sound sad?"
I blink. I hadn't noticed the sadness in my own voice until she said it. The answer is immediate and ugly in my chest: it's because of them. Because being with them—Juno's practical gravity, Ari's combustible grin, Rhea's steady weight—makes me feel whole and small at the same time. That tug, warm and sharp, makes me ache.
I tell her that. I try to explain without breaking.
My hands twist in my lap. I pick at the hem of my sleeve. "They're…they're kind," I say finally. "They're bright. They laugh and they poke and sometimes they hurt—by accident—but they stay. I… I want to be close to them. It's everything I wanted and everything I'm terrified of."
Nyxshade watches, one corner of her mouth lifting. The ember in her eyes doesn't soften; it studies the wound like a surgeon. Her fingers trace a line in the dirt, slow and casual.
"You're afraid," she says, name as much observation as accusation. "Afraid they'll see you and leave. Afraid you'll have to choose."
A hot little sound escapes me. "They'd leave," I say. The words scrape. "If they knew who I am, what I am…they'd leave. Because I—" I choke and the sentence breaks. I press both palms to my mouth. My shoulders tremble. "I don't want them to leave. I can't lose them. Not after we've—" My voice folds in on itself.
For a long time I simply stare at the ground and breathe.
Nyxshade's hand finds mine and covers it, larger, colder. Her skin is the same as mine, but there is a steadiness to it that unnerves me. She squeezes once—not comfort, not exactly—and says, plainly, "If it comes to it, I can do it for you."
I look at her, all the words I want to say jammed in my chest. "No." The answer is quicker than thought. "No. I could never ask that. It would be worse—to be saved from the weight of the choice. If I must do it, it must be me. Even if it kills me."
She tilts her head, surprised into a softness that passes so quickly it might have been my imagination. "You are stubborn," she says.
We sit and watch the stars. For a while there is comfort in the silence, but then she leans forward and her voice drops like a stone into dark water.
"Be careful of Ari," Nyxshade says. She names Ari like a fact, not a warning, but there's emphasis in the words that makes my stomach hitch. "She has no mana of her own, yes, but she sees where the world hums. She reads mana flows like others read books. She hears the undercurrent. She can find things—people—others keep hidden. Anti-mana bullets aren't something a child on a dare picks up. She has reach. She has…access."
My throat tightens at the image—all the things Ari had laughed about knowing how to get. The pistol in her hand tonight wasn't just a toy. The thought of Ari with the Bureau's forbidden gear makes something cold and precise click into place in my chest. Whoever made that technology—the artifact—can let even the sightless police borrow power. It's a loophole for people who have no mana, Nyxshade had said before; now she expands the idea with a small, clinical description in words that feel like they belong to a different life. Tools that let the manaless touch mana, tools that turn the powerless into temporary wielders. I nod slowly. It makes sense and it makes my teeth ache.
Nyxshade watches my reaction with something like approval. "Do not trust her." She says it simply, like a verdict. "Not yet."
I want to tell her about the way Ari hugs me on bad days, about the quiet way she slips me information, about how easily she makes me laugh until it hurts. I do not. Saying it would make the warning heavier, sharper. Instead I listen.
Then the conversation moves, as if we both knew where it would land. My voice is small when I say it: "If they stand in my way—if they try to stop me from what I have to do—then I will not…I will not hold back."
Nyxshade's expression hardens in a way I recognize down to the bone. Where I falter, she steels. She stands up like a shadow folding into itself and finishes the sentence for me, cold and inexorable:
"The heroes who took everything from us will pay," she says. "Operation Black Dusk was a wound that never closed. The ones who pulled the strings—the ones who will call themselves saviours—will breathe their last in the hands of those they broke. We will find them. We will unmake them. Innocents, heroes, shields—if they stand between the debt and its payment, they will burn. I will not stop until every name is ash and breath is gone."
Her words are absolute. There is no room in them for mercy or regret. The ember in her eyes flares and the air feels thin, as if the night itself is holding its breath.
For a moment I am horrified at the clarity of her intent. For a moment I feel the two of us snagged on the same wire—one of us wanting friends, the other promising ruin to the world if it gets in the way.
Nyxshade steps back into the shadow beneath the tree. She folds up into herself, a practiced, beautiful thing. Then she says, softer this time, like an almost-thought: "Be careful. Ari sees. Don't lead them to you."
I do not answer. My fingers curl around the grass and the stars keep watching. When the dream folds, it carries the cold with it into waking.
I wake with the taste of metal in my mouth. Dawn is a pale bruise through the curtains. The room smells like drying sweat and the faint afterglow of other people's sleep. I roll onto my back and press my palm to the bandaged skin on my arm.
Some promises are not made to be gentle. Some promises are made to be kept.
Outside, the academy hums with preparation. Inside, the two of me breathe—one small, ashamed, and clinging to the last slender thread of something like friendship; the other patient, like an ember that will not go out until the world is ash.
My eyes cracked open to the sound of quiet breathing — Juno curled like a soldier in her bag, Rhea hugging her pillow with the faintest furrow on her brow, and Ari sprawled out like she owned the place, one arm draped lazily across my blanket.
I pushed myself up, rubbing my eyes. "Wake up," I whispered, tugging on Ari's shoulder first. She groaned, muttered something about coffee, and rolled over. Typical. Juno, at least, sat up the moment I said her name. Rhea… well, I had to tug the pillow out of her arms before she blinked awake with that sharp, assessing stare she always had first thing in the morning.
We didn't talk much as we got ready. Words weren't necessary — there was a kind of silent rhythm now, all of us pulling on our hero suits, zippers and straps and gloves echoing through the dorm room. Ari, of course, added her own flair, striking a pose in the mirror. Juno told her to hurry up. Rhea tied her hair back with methodical precision. And me… I checked the fit of my gloves twice, maybe three times.
By the time we left for the arena, my nerves were buzzing under my skin.
The main stadium was packed — students from every year, sponsors in sleek suits, even pro heroes stationed around the edges. The atmosphere felt different today. Tense, yes, but charged too, like the air before a storm.
That was when Soraya stepped onto the stage. Her voice, amplified and confident, silenced the entire crowd.
"First," she began, bowing her head slightly, "I want to apologize. Yesterday's abrupt cancellation of the Hero Festival was regrettable. The barrier was compromised in a way we could not anticipate, but it has since been reinforced. Stronger than ever. And today—" her voice lifted, echoing with a bright edge "—we continue."
A ripple of cheers surged through the stadium. Even I felt a flicker of relief.
Soraya let the noise build before holding up her hand. "However," she continued, "the Hero Bureau and Duskfall Academy have decided that simply continuing as before isn't enough. "Day Two of the festival has always been the Tactical Trials. But this year—" she paused, smiling faintly as if savoring the tension, "—we're changing the rules."
A hum of whispers spread through the crowd.
"Traditionally," Soraya said, "the Tactical Trials are simulated emergency operations. Squad-based missions where heroes demonstrate coordination, leadership, and adaptability. But this year, to push you further, to test you harder, we've added something new."
She extended her hand, and a massive holographic screen came alive behind her. A battlefield simulation unfolded: forests, rivers, a fortified camp, markers for hostages and a looming red bomb countdown.
"This year," Soraya declared, "the Tactical Trials will be squad battles. Participants will be divided into two roles: heroes and villains. The battlefield is a simulated terrain, and each squad will have thirty minutes to achieve their objectives."
The crowd roared — sponsors leaning forward, heroes nodding in interest, students buzzing with excitement.
Soraya gestured to the hologram. "The heroes' objectives: infiltrate the villains' camp. Neutralize enemy combatants. Rescue the hostages. And defuse the bomb before time runs out. Points will be awarded based on the number of hostages saved, the success or failure of defusing the bomb, the defeat or capture of villains, and the level of teamwork displayed."
She shifted her hand, and the simulation twisted, now focusing on the villains' perspective — the camp fortified, hostages visible, traps being set.
"The villains' objectives: prevent infiltration by any means necessary. Capture or knock out opposing heroes. Let the timer run out to ensure the bomb detonates. The villains are also permitted to use any and all underhanded tactics to maintain control — this includes psychological warfare, feints, deception, even threatening or harming hostages to stall for time."
A murmur ran through the students — excitement and unease mingling in equal measure.
"Additional points," Soraya said firmly, "will be awarded for tactical creativity, combat performance, and leadership under pressure. Conversely, points will be deducted for reckless endangerment of teammates, disregard for objectives, or unnecessary collateral damage."
She let that sink in before delivering the final twist.
"This year, the Tactical Trials will be watched not only by the Hero Bureau but by representatives from the global hero community. Your performance here may very well decide the course of your careers."
The stadium erupted. Cheers, gasps, even a few nervous groans.
Soraya raised her hand once more. "Choose your squads carefully. Find partners who complement your affinities and gifts. The trials begin soon. Work hard—and make your academies proud."
The cheers reached a fever pitch.
I stood there, pressed shoulder to shoulder with Ari, Juno, and Rhea, feeling the ground almost shake beneath us. Ari's grin was feral, like she'd just been handed the keys to chaos itself. Juno adjusted her gloves, expression sharp and steady. Rhea's eyes glinted, unreadable but determined.
And me? I couldn't stop my chest from tightening with excitement.
Heroes versus villains. A stage where deception was encouraged. Where strategy meant everything.
For once, I wasn't just nervous. I was… looking forward to it.