LYRRISE'S POV...
The dream haunted me. Every time I blinked, I saw the crimson room, that red-haired figure, and the way he said my name like we'd met before. Aralin.
I tried to push it out of my head the only way I knew how: training harder.
Edric's new drills were already brutal, but I pushed past every limit—running until my lungs burned, striking until my arms felt like lead. Kaelen's holographic Riftborn simulations were faster than anything human, but I still cut through them with perfect precision.
"Another perfect score," Kaelen said, voice flat through his mask. "You're exceeding thresholds set for elite assassins."
Even Mathilda, who had been watching from the side, shook her head. "Show-off." But her voice lacked venom—it sounded almost… impressed.
I dropped to one knee, exhausted, sweat dripping down my face. Perfect scores… but it doesn't stop the dream.
The Sudden Mission
Just as I was about to leave, the Academy speakers blared:
"Team Veil. Report to the Crimson Veil Agency headquarters immediately. Priority mission."
Cyril appeared almost instantly, strapping his twin blades onto his back. Mathilda arrived seconds later, scythe spinning in her hand.
"Priority mission?" Mathilda muttered. "That's new for us."
Cyril glanced at me, expression neutral but eyes sharp. "Better get ready. Priority means dangerous."
Agency Briefing
The Agency headquarters was colder than the Academy—steel walls, sharp lights, the faint hum of Riftborn technology. A senior agent stood waiting, visor hiding their eyes.
"You are being deployed to investigate abnormal Riftborn activity in Sector 9," the agent said. "Scanners detected Rift surges similar to the Original you encountered."
Mathilda groaned. "Oh, great. Another big one."
I gripped my katana, my heart pounding—not in fear, but in… anticipation.
That night, before deployment, I stepped out to get air, leaving Cyril behind in the dorm. Or so I thought.
He sat on his bed, staring at one of his blades. His reflection in the steel seemed distant, haunted. Under his breath, so quiet I almost wouldn't have heard it if I'd been there, he whispered:
"Aralin… I didn't think I'd hear that name again."
His grip on the blade tightened.
"Lyrrise… what are you really?"
I stepped back into the dorm quietly, the cold air from outside still clinging to my skin. Cyril sat on his bed, one blade resting across his lap, his head slightly lowered. His lips moved just enough for me to catch it:
"Aralin… I didn't think I'd hear that name again."
My chest tightened. He does know something.
"What was that?" I asked, stepping closer.
Cyril's head snapped up, his usual calm face sliding back into place like a mask. "Huh? Oh, nothing."
I raised an eyebrow. "No, I heard you. You said something about Aralin. What's that supposed to mean?"
He blinked once, then smirked faintly. "Aralin? No, no—you misheard. I was talking about… uh, a summer vacation."
I stared. "A summer vacation?"
"Yeah," he said smoothly, leaning back like nothing was wrong. "Haven't had one in years. Figured I'd daydream a little before we go fight things that want to kill us."
I narrowed my eyes, unconvinced. "Right. Because we all whisper about summer vacations like it's some dark secret."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're too serious, Lyrrise. Focus on the mission, not my… vacation plans."
I crossed my arms, still staring at him. He's lying. He definitely knows something.
Minutes later, the Agency transport took off, carrying Team Veil toward Sector 9. Mathilda leaned back, eyes closed, resting her head against her scythe. Cyril sat across from me, looking out the window like nothing had happened.
But I couldn't stop glancing at him. His voice, the way he reacted—it wasn't just a lie. It was a practiced lie. He knows who Aralin is… and he doesn't want me to know.
The transport landed in Sector 9, a stretch of ruined farmland scorched by Riftborn activity. Broken fences jutted out of the dirt like ribs, and what used to be houses were nothing but piles of ash.
The air smelled of iron and something sour—Rift energy lingering like a storm that never left.
"Stay sharp," Cyril said as he stepped off the transport, scanning the horizon. "If scanners are right, Rift surges here match the one we saw with that Original."
Mathilda twirled her scythe lazily, trying to hide her tension. "Fantastic. Another nightmare beast."
It didn't take long. Crimson tears split open the sky, and Riftborn poured out—wolf-types, humanoid types, even one with spines running down its back like jagged armor.
"Positions!" I shouted, sliding my katana free.
Cyril and Mathilda split off to cover the flanks while I intercepted the first wave. My body moved on its own again—perfect, fluid, instinctive. My blade cut through the first wolf with almost no resistance, pivoting to sever a humanoid's arm before it could strike Cyril from behind.
"You've been holding back in training," Cyril said mid-spin, his twin blades flashing.
"Maybe," I said, breathing steady. Or maybe I'm not controlling it anymore.
When the first wave slowed, I caught Cyril's arm. "We need to talk—now. You knew that name. You whispered it when you thought I wasn't there."
His green eyes met mine, calm but firm. "Lyrrise, this isn't the time."
"You keep acting like you know something about me—about why that Riftborn didn't kill me. Tell me the truth, Cyril. Who is Aralin?"
Before he could answer, Mathilda landed beside us, breathing hard. "What are you two whispering about now? Planning secret vacations again?"
"Not now, Mathilda," Cyril snapped, his usual calm cracking slightly.
Mathilda blinked, then narrowed her eyes. "You're hiding something. Both of you. First her eyes glow like a Riftborn, now you're saying names no one's ever heard of. What the hell is going on with this team?"
"Focus!" I barked, slashing through another wolf before it reached her.
The ground shook suddenly as a larger Rift opened, twice the size of the others. The Riftborn on the field immediately retreated into formation, like soldiers answering a commander's call.
Mathilda's face paled. "That's… that's just like before."
Cyril clenched his blades tighter. "Whatever's coming, it's big. We don't have time for arguments. Lyrrise, can you handle the left? Mathilda, with me."
I hesitated, but nodded, stepping forward, katana ready. Still, the question burned in my mind as I glanced back at Cyril. Who are you, and what do you know about me?
I didn't hear Cyril. I didn't hear Mathilda.
All I heard was my own heartbeat—and the ring of my katana cutting through Riftborn flesh.
They came at me from every side, claws and fangs tearing at the air, but it didn't matter. My body moved without thought, instincts drowning everything else. One swing, two thrusts, a spin—I didn't even look at them.
"Aralin…" The name echoed in my mind like a curse. Who is he? Why do I feel like I know him?
By the time my thoughts cleared, the battlefield was silent. Every Riftborn lay in pieces, dissolving into crimson mist. My katana dripped their blood, the blade humming like it had absorbed their fear.
I stood there, panting, my eyes still glowing faintly crimson, until—
The Voice
"Impressive… and terrifying."
The voice was smooth, feminine, with a strange edge of amusement. I spun around, katana up, expecting another Riftborn.
Instead, I saw a woman standing there.
She wore a black training suit with a cropped top that revealed tight, toned abs, her short green hair framing her angular face. Her eyes were jet black, reflecting the faint light of the rift like mirrors. There was something sharp and dangerous about her, yet undeniably… attractive.
She clapped slowly, smirking. "You move like you've been doing this for decades. But you're… what? Fifteen? Sixteen?"
I raised my katana slightly. "Who are you?"
She tilted her head, eyes scanning me like a predator studying prey. "Just someone who's been watching you, Lyrrise Marcilles."
My grip tightened. "How do you know my name?"
Her smirk widened. "Oh, I know a lot more than your name."
The woman didn't move closer, but her eyes locked on me with an intensity that made me instinctively raise my katana again.
She smiled faintly. "Relax, sweetheart. If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead."
"Who are you?" I asked, still keeping my stance.
She placed one hand on her hip and gave a small bow, almost mocking. "Name's Kyria Vale. I'm not from your Academy, if that's what you're wondering. Actually… I'm not from any official one."
That instantly set me on edge. "Then why are you here?"
Her black eyes gleamed. "Because you're making waves, Lyrrise. Big ones."
I frowned. "Waves?"
Kyria chuckled, walking slowly around me, circling like a predator. "Your little stunt with the Original Riftborn? The way it just… walked away? That's not just gossip in your precious Blood Moon Heaven Academy anymore. Other academies, private guilds, even rogue factions are whispering your name. Mythical rank isn't just rare, girl—it's legendary. And legends get attention."
My grip on the katana tightened. "So what? You came here to tell me I'm famous?"
Kyria stopped, her smirk turning sharper. "No. I came here because I know why you fight like that. Why you move like someone who's been doing this for decades. And because I know the name Aralin."
My stomach dropped. "You… know him?"
She tilted her head. "Let's just say Aralin isn't a dream, and he's not some random memory. He's real. And if you're seeing him…" She grinned wider. "It means something big is about to happen."
I stepped forward, katana shaking slightly in my hands. "Tell me who he is."
Kyria only winked, stepping back toward the treeline. "You'll find out soon enough, Mythical girl. Just… try not to die before then, yeah?"
And then, before I could move, she was gone—vanishing into the crimson-lit trees like she'd never been there at all.
Kyria hadn't gone far—she lingered just at the edge of the treeline, like she wanted me to chase her.
"Wait!" I shouted, lowering my katana slightly. "One more thing."
She stopped, half-turning, her short green hair glinting under the crimson Dris light. "Make it quick, sweetheart. I don't usually hang around Academy kids."
I stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "How did you even know I was thinking about Aralin? I never said his name out loud to you."
For the first time, her smirk faded into something sharper, more serious. "Because you wear it on your face every time you're lost in thought. You've been thinking about him since before I even stepped out of those trees."
"That doesn't explain how you knew his name."
Kyria tilted her head slightly, then pointed a gloved finger at my chest—right where my heart was pounding hard. "Because people like you always think about Aralin when the power wakes up."
I froze, every muscle locking up. "…What does that mean?"
She smiled again, but this one was different—almost knowing. "You'll understand when you stop asking who he is… and start asking why you know him."
Her words sank into me like a blade, and before I could respond, she stepped back into the trees and vanished once more, leaving only the echo of her voice.
By the time Cyril and Mathilda reached me, the rift had closed completely, leaving the area quiet except for the faint hiss of Rift energy fading into nothing.
"You good?" Cyril asked, scanning me with sharp eyes.
"Yeah," I lied.
We made our way back to the transport in silence, carrying our weapons heavy but ready. Once we reached the Academy's walls, the sight waiting for us made me freeze—a crowd of students and instructors cheering.
"Team Veil! You did it again!" someone shouted.
"Look, it's the Mythical girl!" another called out.
Mathilda lifted her chin proudly, clearly eating up the attention, while I just gripped my katana tighter, my mind still replaying Kyria's words. "You'll understand when you stop asking who he is… and start asking why you know him."
Cyril Notices
As we walked deeper into the Academy, Cyril slowed to fall into step beside me, his green eyes studying me carefully.
"You're quiet," he said with a faint smile. "And not your usual sarcastic quiet. What's on your mind, Lyrrise?"
I hesitated, then finally said it: "I met someone in the forest. A woman. Short green hair, black eyes, crop top. She… she knew things about me. About Aralin."
Cyril's smile faltered slightly, but only for a moment. "Kyria Vale."
I looked at him sharply. "You know her?"
He nodded. "Everyone in the advanced divisions knows her name. Rank SS. She's from an academy in the Eastern Territories. Different place, same structure—same classes, same ranking system. She's… one of their best assassins."
"An assassin?" I repeated, frowning.
"Yeah," he said, tone even. "Her class is Blue Dagger Division—like yours. Only difference? She's been doing this longer than most people have been alive. If she was there, she wasn't sightseeing."
I stopped walking. "So she really is from another academy."
Cyril gave me a small, knowing smile. "And if she's talking to you, Lyrrise… that means word about you isn't just gossip anymore. It's spreading to people like her. People who usually don't care about students from other academies."
I didn't say anything after that, just let the crowd's cheers fade into background noise. Kyria knew about Aralin. She knew why I was thinking about him. And she came looking for me.
"People like you always think about Aralin when the power wakes up."
I gripped my katana handle tighter. What power? Why me?
And why did I feel like this was only the beginning?
—————
The dorm was quiet, only the hum of the air filter breaking the silence. I sat on my bed, leaning back against the wall, staring at the ceiling while Cyril sharpened one of his blades on the other side of the room.
"You've been thinking a lot lately," Cyril said casually, not looking up from his work.
"Yeah," I admitted. "Too much, maybe."
"You'll burn yourself out if you keep it up." He smirked faintly. "Even Mythical-ranked people need to sleep, you know."
I gave him a small, tired smile. "Fine, you win. I'll try."
He set his blade aside and sat on his bed. "Good. Tomorrow's going to be heavy anyway—rumors are flying about Kyria, about you, about everything. Get some rest while you can."
I slid under the covers, letting my eyes drift closed…
The Alarm
WEEEOOOO—WEEEOOOO—WEEEOOOO!
My eyes shot open as the Academy's alarm system blared through every corridor. Red lights flashed across the dorm ceiling, and the PA system crackled to life:
"All students, wake up immediately! This is not a drill—repeat, this is not a drill!"
Cyril was already up, grabbing his blades in one fluid motion. "What now?" he muttered, pulling his jacket on.
I stumbled out of bed, grabbing my katana. "Is it Riftborn?"
The PA repeated:
"All divisions report to designated stations immediately!"
Cyril glanced at me, his usual calm replaced by focus. "Something's happening, Lyrrise… and it's big."
The red lights didn't stop flashing as Cyril and I tore into our uniforms. My ankle still ached faintly from the last mission, but adrenaline pushed the pain aside.
Cyril tightened the straps on his twin blades and threw me my combat jacket. "Move, Lyrrise!"
I slipped into my uniform, securing my katana sheath as Mathilda came crashing through the door, hair half tied, scythe already in hand.
"What the hell is going on?!" she demanded, breathing fast.
Before I could answer, the PA crackled again:
"All combat-ready personnel to the central courtyard! A Riftborn entity has breached the inner walls. This is not a drill!"
Mathilda froze, her knuckles whitening around her scythe handle. "Inside the walls? That's impossible."
Cyril shook his head. "Guess not anymore." He met my eyes, serious now. "You ready?"
I gripped my katana. "Always."
The Courtyard
We arrived in the courtyard alongside dozens of other students, all dressed and armed. Edric stood at the center, his golden eyes reflecting the flashing alarms. Beside him was Kaelen, mask glowing faintly.
Edric's voice cut through the noise like a blade. "Listen up. A powerful Riftborn managed to bypass the outer defenses and is somewhere in the east wing. This isn't a test—this is real. If you're not combat-ready, stand down now."
No one moved.
Edric nodded. "Good. Team Veil—you're with me. Everyone else, hold perimeter until the breach is sealed."
Before we could move, a roar erupted from the east wing, shaking the ground under our feet. A red shockwave burst from one of the corridors, sending debris flying.
Mathilda swore under her breath. "That's no normal Riftborn."
Cyril's blades slid free with a metallic hiss. "That's… strong. Be careful, Lyrrise."
I tightened my grip on my katana, heart pounding—not with fear, but with that same dangerous excitement I felt before.
Another powerful one… inside the Academy. Perfect.
The Academy's east wing was unrecognizable. Lights flickered overhead, sparks falling from broken panels, and the floor had deep claw marks etched into the tiles. We split into search groups, the alarms still blaring faintly in the distance.
"Stay sharp," Cyril said quietly as we advanced. His blades were already drawn, gleaming under the emergency lights. Mathilda walked on my other side, scythe gripped tightly, her knuckles white.
I gripped my katana tighter, my heartbeat steady but heavy in my chest. This was supposed to be a Riftborn breach, and yet… the air felt different. Too focused. Too intentional.
Ahead, a shadow stood at the far end of the corridor. At first glance, I thought it was just another student—but as we got closer, every detail screamed wrong.
He was tall and slim, dressed in black with a sleek mask covering his face. Strange crimson markings pulsed faintly beneath his skin, like veins of light. The energy radiating from him was unmistakable: Riftborn energy.
But… he was human-shaped.
Students around me froze, whispering frantically.
"Is that… a person?"
"No, look at his energy signature—he's Riftborn."
"How is that even possible?"
The boy slowly tilted his head as if studying us—and then he spoke. His voice was smooth, calm, and disturbingly human.
"So… this is where you've been hiding."
The sound of his voice froze me in place. Riftborn didn't talk. They snarled, screamed, roared—but this one… spoke like us.
He stepped forward, ignoring everyone else, and his masked face turned directly toward me.
"Give her to me."
A chill rippled through the hall as his words echoed. Dozens of eyes turned on me, confusion and disbelief flashing in their faces.
I took one step forward, not out of fear, but… instinct. Something inside me pulled toward him, like gravity itself was trying to drag me closer.
But before I could take another step, a scythe blade swung up in front of me, stopping me dead.
Mathilda stood firm, her body between me and him, eyes blazing with fury. "The hell do you think you're doing, Marcilles? You're not walking toward that thing."
"He's asking for me," I said quietly, still staring at him.
Mathilda didn't budge. "Yeah, and I'm telling you no. Whatever that is, it's not human, and you're not handing yourself over."
The boy tilted his head again, as if amused by the gesture of protection.
"You don't understand, do you? She's not yours to protect."
Mathilda shifted her stance, ready to strike. "Oh yeah? Try me."
The boy took another slow step forward, the air distorting around him as red energy leaked from his body like smoke. Even standing still, he radiated power that made the other students tense, their weapons shaking slightly in their hands.
He spoke again, voice sharper this time:
"She belongs to me."
The words were like ice water pouring over my skin.
I swallowed hard, gripping my katana tighter, my eyes locked on him. Belongs to him? What does that even mean?
Behind me, I could hear some of the younger students whispering:
"Is he saying Lyrrise is… a Riftborn too?"
"No way… that's impossible… isn't it?"
The boy slowly raised one hand, crimson energy flaring around his palm. The walls around him cracked under the pressure, and the ground rumbled faintly beneath our feet.
Cyril moved closer to me, his blades crossing in front of my chest as he stepped in front of Mathilda. His voice was calm but dangerous. "You take one more step, and I'll cut you down."
For a second, it felt like the whole world had stopped moving.