LYRRISE POV;
Morning came too fast.
Cyril was already up, stretching near his bed when I dragged myself out of the sheets. He gave me a small nod. "You didn't sleep much, huh?"
"Not really," I muttered, rubbing my eyes. "Had… stuff on my mind."
He tilted his head but didn't press, just grabbed his jacket. "See you at training."
——
The day's session focused on advanced mobility drills. High platforms, retracting walls, rotating beams—designed to mimic Riftborn hunting grounds. Kaelen stood in the center, mask reflecting the morning light.
"Today's lesson is simple," he said. "Get to the top platform without being tagged by the drones. Fail, and you run it again until you succeed—or collapse."
I rolled my shoulders, ready to climb. Then I caught Mathilda's eyes from across the arena. She was smiling—but not the confident, I'm better than you smile. No, this one was sharper, colder.
"Here we go…", I thought.
When it was my turn, I sprinted up the first wall, hands gripping the ledge and flipping onto the second level. The drones immediately activated, their sensors locking on me. I ducked and rolled, springing up toward the next platform.
But as I reached for the support beam—snap!
The beam gave way. Someone had loosened it. My hand slipped, and I nearly plummeted, grabbing a side rail at the last second.
Laughter echoed below—Mathilda's laughter.
"You alright up there, redhead?" she called, pretending innocence.
Kaelen barked, "Who tampered with the equipment?!" His voice was like a whip, but no one answered.
I gritted my teeth, hauling myself back up. My blood pounded, instincts screaming again—move, don't think. I bounded across platforms, twisting under a drone's sensor sweep and reaching the final ledge in record time.
When I landed, the system beeped: FASTEST CLEAR TIME – LYRRISSE MARCILLES.
The students below erupted in murmurs. Mathilda's smirk cracked.
Kaelen's lens turned toward her. "Corven. Stay after class. We need to talk."
Her eyes widened, but she masked it quickly. "Yes, Instructor."
When class ended, Mathilda stormed toward me, her spear clutched tight.
"You think you're clever? You think you can embarrass me twice?" she spat.
I crossed my arms. "You embarrassed yourself, Mathilda. I didn't loosen that beam."
"You can't prove anything."
"No," I said calmly, stepping closer, "but Kaelen can. And when he does? Good luck keeping that perfect little reputation of yours."
For a moment, I thought she'd swing at me. Instead, she shoved past me, muttering, "This isn't over."
I watched her leave, my grip tightening on my katana's hilt. Why does she hate me so much? Is it just because I'm better than her? Or… is it something else?
The Feeling Again…
Later, as I walked back to my dorm, the dizziness returned—sharper than before. The world tilted, red light flashing in my vision like the sky outside had followed me indoors. My hand clutched the railing, and again, images of crimson skies and Riftborn claws tore through my head.
"Why do I keep seeing this…? Why does it feel like I've done all of this before…?"
"Lyrrise."
I looked up, startled. Cyril stood at the end of the hall, arms crossed, eyes narrowing slightly.
"You're pale," he said softly. "Sit down. Now."
I sat, unable to argue, and he crouched in front of me, studying my eyes like he was looking through me.
"You've fought before, haven't you?" he asked quietly.
I shook my head. "Not like that Riftborn yesterday. But my body… it moves like it knows what to do before I think about it. It doesn't make sense."
Something flickered in his eyes—concern, or maybe recognition. "Maybe you're remembering something you didn't know you forgot."
I stared at him, confused. "What does that even mean?"
He just smiled faintly. "Don't push too hard yet. Whatever's waking up inside you… let it come on its own."
And with that cryptic line, he stood and walked away, leaving me with a racing heart and a hundred new questions.
I stayed seated on the hallway bench, still catching my breath, while Cyril stood there studying me like I was a puzzle he'd seen before.
"You really don't look okay," he said softly. His tone wasn't teasing or casual like yesterday—it was serious, careful.
I managed a weak laugh. "Thanks, I feel amazing."
He crouched slightly, looking at me straight in the eyes. His green eyes were sharp but warm at the same time, almost unnervingly steady. "That's twice now," he said. "You nearly collapsed yesterday, and today you look like you were about to fall over again. This isn't just fatigue, Lyrrise."
My stomach twisted. "You… you noticed yesterday?"
"I caught you yesterday, remember?" he said with a faint smile. "Not exactly hard to notice."
I exhaled, rubbing my temples. "It's weird. When I fight… it's like something takes over. My body just knows what to do, like I've done it before, but I don't remember ever learning that."
Cyril leaned back, folding his arms. "That scares you, doesn't it?"
I hesitated. "...Yeah. A little."
He nodded slowly, like he understood perfectly. "Sometimes, the body remembers things the mind can't. Reflexes, instincts… maybe even memories you buried or forgot."
I frowned. "What are you, a therapist?"
He chuckled softly, then leaned closer, lowering his voice. "What if it's not training? What if it's… something in you waking up?"
That sent a chill down my spine. "Waking up? What are you implying?"
He held my gaze, his expression unreadable. "Just… trust me on this, Lyrrise. Don't push it. When your body moves like that, let it. Don't fight it. And when you feel like you're about to break, stop. Promise me."
I stared at him, suspicious. "Why do you even care? You barely know me."
For the first time, his composure cracked—just slightly. His green eyes softened, almost sad. "Maybe I know what it's like to lose control of something you don't understand."
The hallway went quiet. I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, but he stood and offered his hand. "Come on. Let's get you back to your room before you pass out again."
I took his hand reluctantly, letting him help me up. His grip was steady, warm, but something about it felt… different, like there was more strength in him than he showed.
When we reached our room, I paused at the doorway. "Cyril… are you hiding something?"
He glanced at me over his shoulder, smirked faintly, and said, "Aren't we all?"
And just like that, he walked inside, leaving me standing there with more questions than answers.
The dorm was quiet except for the faint hum of the air filter. I set my katana on the wall mount and sank onto my bed. Cyril was sitting at his desk, cleaning a sleek pair of combat gloves that definitely didn't look like Academy issue.
I watched him for a moment before speaking.
"So… what class are you in?"
He looked up, one eyebrow raised, as if he hadn't expected me to ask. "Blue Dagger Division," he said after a beat. "Same as you."
That surprised me. "Really? I didn't see your name on the top rankings."
He smirked faintly. "That's because I wasn't here for orientation day. I transferred late."
"Transferred? From where?"
His smirk softened into something unreadable. "Another training program. Nothing official."
I leaned back on my bed, arms crossed. "You're vague, you know that?"
"I get that a lot," he said casually, continuing to clean his gloves. "What about you? Why'd you pick Blue Dagger? You could've fit Red Shield with how you charged at that Riftborn yesterday."
I snorted. "Because I'm not trying to be a meat shield. I'd rather end a fight than just stand there and take hits."
"Fair enough," he said, smiling faintly. "You fight like someone who's been doing this forever, though. Even for Blue Dagger standards, you're… different."
That hit a little too close to home. I shifted on the bed, looking away. "Yeah… I've been told."
Cyril didn't push further. He just leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. "Well, different is good. Just don't burn yourself out, Lyrrise. This place… it chews people up if they don't know their limits."
There it was again—that strange weight in his words, like he was speaking from experience.
I sat up slightly, studying him. "Cyril… are you always this mysterious, or is that just for me?"
He gave a lopsided grin. "Depends. Are you always this curious?"
"Touché." I smirked, but inside I couldn't stop wondering—who exactly is Cyril, and what's he hiding?
The room was quiet again except for the faint clink of Cyril adjusting his gloves. I leaned on my bed frame, studying him carefully. Something about the way he handled his gear was… deliberate, almost ritualistic.
"You always carry those gloves around?" I asked, nodding at them.
He paused, glancing at me before smirking. "Habit. Old training methods."
"From your 'other program'?"
"Something like that," he replied vaguely, slipping one glove on to test the fit.
I frowned. "You're still being mysterious. Are you hiding something from me?"
His smirk softened into something almost thoughtful. "You really want to know?"
I sat up straighter. "Yeah."
Instead of answering, he stood and peeled off his left glove, extending his arm toward me. Faint white lines traced across his forearm—scars. Not random ones either. These were deep, precise, patterned like claw marks but too uniform to be animal-made.
My eyes widened. "Those are…"
"Old mistakes," he said quietly, pulling his sleeve back down before I could study them further. "Training injuries. Some scars stick longer than others."
There was something in his voice—something heavy.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," I said carefully.
He chuckled softly but without humor. "Good. Because some things… are better left alone."
I leaned back on the bed, processing. "You're full of secrets, Cyril."
He smiled faintly. "And you're full of questions, Lyrrise. Maybe that's why we're roommates."
I rolled my eyes but smirked despite myself. "Fine, keep your secrets. But I'll figure you out eventually."
Cyril just gave me that same unreadable smile, leaning back in his chair. "We'll see."
-----
The next morning, the air in the Academy felt heavier than usual. Everyone was gathered at the Main Evaluation Arena, whispers bouncing between the stone walls and steel pillars.
Today wasn't just another training drill—this was the True Rank Evaluation. Not the temporary placements from orientation, but our official starting rank within the Academy system.
Instructor Kaelen stood at the center, mask reflecting the bright arena lights. "Today will determine your true standing within the Blood Moon Heaven Academy. Your score will dictate not only your class assignments but also the opportunities available to you from this day forward. There is no appeal, no retest. You show what you are today—or you don't belong here at all."
The crowd quieted, tension thick enough to choke on.
Kaelen held up a small device—a black cube glowing with Riftborn energy. "One at a time, you will face Riftborn combat simulacra tailored to your abilities. The system will record every strike, every movement, every mistake. Your rank will be decided by your performance."
Mathilda's Turn
Mathilda stepped forward confidently, her spear gleaming under the lights. She shot me a smug glance before walking into the simulation field.
The moment the test began, a wave of Riftborn constructs appeared—humanoid, wolf-like, and even one flying type. Mathilda didn't hesitate. She spun her spear with fluid grace, her strikes sharp and elegant. For all her attitude, she was good. No, she was really good.
When the final construct dissolved, the cube projected her score:
RANK: SS – LEGENDARY
Gasps erupted across the arena. Even Kaelen seemed to stiffen slightly.
"SS?!" someone whispered. "That's… impossible for a new student!"
Mathilda turned with a victorious smirk, twirling her spear. "Legendary. Guess you all have something to look up to."
Her eyes locked on me as she walked out. "Try not to embarrass yourself, redhead."
I clenched my fists. SS? That was higher than even most graduates. What the hell was going on?
My Turn Approaches
The names kept being called one by one. Some students scored Rank C or B, a couple reached A. Every announcement made my stomach twist tighter.
Cyril hadn't gone yet either; he just stood nearby, calm as ever, watching everything like a silent hawk.
Then Kaelen's voice echoed: "Next: Lyrrise Marcilles."
I swallowed hard, stepping into the arena. My hands trembled slightly around my katana's hilt. What if I fail? What if yesterday's Riftborn fight was just luck?
The simulation field lit up, crimson holograms materializing around me—wolf-like Riftborn, humanoids, and one massive brute type with twin blade-arms.
"Okay… just breathe."
Somewhere in the stands, I thought I saw Cyril watching me with an oddly focused expression—like he knew something I didn't.
"Don't think. Just move."
The test began.
The moment the test began, my body moved before I could think.
The Riftborn simulacra lunged—wolf types circling, humanoid constructs charging with brutal precision, and the massive brute-type roaring as it swung its twin blade-arms down.
But something inside me shifted. My breathing slowed. The noise around me faded. Every motion, every strike, felt familiar—like I had done this before, a hundred times, maybe more.
I darted forward, my katana humming as I struck the first wolf, slicing through its neck joint without effort. I pivoted, ducking under the brute's blade and driving my katana deep into its core before vaulting over its collapsing body.
"This isn't normal… I shouldn't be this fast."
One by one, they fell. My blade flashed crimson under the simulated light, my movements fluid and flawless.
Then it ended.
The final simulacrum dissolved into energy, leaving me standing alone in the silent arena, my katana steady in my grip and my chest barely heaving.
The Result
The black cube in Kaelen's hand glowed brightly, processing the data. The holographic ranking appeared above me.
Not a letter.
Not even a number.
Just one single, glowing symbol:
Ω
The entire arena went silent.
"...What?" one student whispered.
"Is that… even a rank?" another muttered.
Kaelen froze. For the first time since I had met him, his mask tilted slightly like he was staring at something impossible. His voice was low, almost disbelieving. "Ω…"
Even the other instructors shifted uncomfortably. And up in the higher observation deck, Edric Valemont himself stood, his golden eyes widening ever so slightly. The generals beside him exchanged grim looks, whispering to each other.
Mathilda broke the silence, scoffing loudly. "What the hell does that even mean? Is that some kind of glitch?!"
I looked up at the hologram, confused and uneasy. "Uh… Kaelen? Why is it just a symbol? Where's my rank?"
Kaelen didn't answer immediately. He slowly lowered the cube, his posture stiff. "The test is complete." His voice was flat, but there was something different in it now.
I sheathed my katana, stepping forward. "That's it? No explanation? What does Ω mean?"
Kaelen turned sharply, addressing the entire arena. "Training is over for today. Everyone is dismissed."
Students erupted into murmurs, confused and irritated. Mathilda stomped toward the exit, glaring at me like I'd just stolen her crown.
But I stood there, staring at Kaelen. "Instructor, I'm asking you a question. What does—"
"Enough, Lyrrise," Kaelen interrupted, his voice sharper than before. "Go back to your dorm."
Something in his tone shut me up instantly.
The Observation Deck I saw them talking to each other but couldn't hear what they're talking about.
Up above, Edric still hadn't moved. One of the generals leaned closer. "Sir… did you see that?"
Edric's eyes stayed locked on me, his voice low. "Ω… I thought we buried that rank decades ago."
The generals exchanged uneasy glances.
By the time I returned to the dorm, my head was spinning. I sat on my bed, staring at my katana.
"Ω… What does that even mean? And why did Kaelen and Edric look like they'd seen a ghost?"
Cyril leaned on the doorframe, watching me silently. For a second, I thought I saw recognition in his eyes when he heard about my result earlier… but he said nothing, only muttering:
"Things just got complicated for you, Lyrrise."