The world fractured. One moment, we were encased in the divine, sterile light of Liora's sanctuary; the next, it shattered like glass, dissolving into nothing. The solid ground beneath our feet was replaced by damp moss and tangled roots. Cold, heavy air, thick with the scent of alien pollen and wet earth, rushed in to fill the void. The twin moons cast long, menacing shadows through the canopy of the enormous trees, and the forest, once a distant backdrop, was now our terrifying reality.
Panic, raw and shrill, erupted from the other ninety students. They scrambled, shouted, and stared into the darkness, looking for a goddess who had abandoned them. But while they were lost in their fear, my mind was already on the next move.
"We're leaving," I commanded, my voice cutting through the noise.
My team didn't hesitate. They gathered around me, their faces tight with resolve in the dim moonlight. As we turned to leave the chaotic clearing, I felt dozens of eyes on my back—glares of envy, suspicion, and a predator's hunger. We were organized. We were calm. In this new world, that made us a target. We ignored them and melted into the shadows.
For an hour, I led us through the oppressive darkness, using the map Jin had acquired to navigate1. Our destination was a small, secluded grove nestled between a sheer rock face and a babbling stream. It was defensible. It was isolated. It was the perfect place to begin our work.
"Here," I said, finally stopping. "This is where we figure it out."
Our first and most urgent goal was to unlock the incredible powers we'd been given. We had assumed it would be simple, a matter of will and a command word.
Masha, ever the composed one, stepped forward to try first. She held her palm out towards the stream, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Cryomancy"2. The air around her hand seemed to chill, her breath misting, but the water flowed on, completely unaffected. She tried again, her voice sharp. "Cryomancy!"3. Nothing.
A ripple of frustration went through the group. Jin gripped his sword, focusing on his Swordsmanship4, but the blade felt like dead weight in his hands. Edgar stared at a tree, repeating "Appraisal" until his head throbbed, but received no data5. The power was there, a tangible presence inside each of them, but the door was locked.
I couldn't test my own ability. My Necromancer skill required a corpse as a catalyst, and I had no intention of creating one just yet6. So I watched, my mind sifting through the problem. They were trying to force it, to command a power they didn't understand. That wasn't the answer.
Soon, the grove was filled with the quiet sounds of their struggle. Some sat in meditation, searching inward. Others began physical training, hoping to trigger their skills through action.
My eyes landed on Erica. She stood by the stream, her body trembling with the sheer force of her effort. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she pushed her hands out, her voice raw as she whispered every word she could think of. "Fire. Burn. Ignite. Pyrokinesis!"7.
The air around her felt marginally warmer, but no flame appeared. She was going to hurt herself. I walked over, my footsteps silent on the moss.
"Erica," I said gently. "I think you need a break."
Erica's POV
His voice was the last thing I heard before the world tilted. My strength gave out completely. I felt a wave of dizziness, my vision swam with black spots, and my legs buckled. The cool, damp ground rushed up to meet me.
I have to be stronger. For him. The thought echoed in my mind as I fell into darkness. I have to be the one he relies on.
My consciousness drifted, pulling me back to a memory, a moment that had branded itself onto my soul. It was from our time in college, long before this madness. I had always seen Dante as a shadow in our class, a brilliant, handsome mystery. He was always alone, a silent observer who never seemed to need anyone. I wanted to talk to him, to understand the thoughts behind his quiet gaze, but I was a coward. I was a quiet observer myself, and Masha was my only friend because she had been persistent enough to break through my shell.
The memory sharpened to one specific afternoon. A furious rainstorm had broken out, and I was stranded under a small shop awning, soaked and shivering. Just as I was about to give up and run, a figure emerged from the downpour. It was Dante.
"You're wet," he said, and I saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He hesitated, then blurted out, "Wanna come to my house for the time being?"
I froze, a knot of fear and surprise tightening in my stomach. Before I could respond, he shook his head, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, looking away. "I don't know how to talk to a girl. That was stupid. Wait here."
He vanished back into the rain, leaving me stunned. A minute later, he returned with two umbrellas and a small, dry towel. "Here," he said, handing me the towel. "Wipe yourself off."
As I did, he offered me the dark jacket he was wearing. "It's getting cold. You should change out of your wet coat. There's a storage room back there you can use for privacy."
His kindness was so direct, so practical, it left no room for my usual anxiety. I accepted his jacket, and after changing, the warmth felt like a miracle. He walked me home, one umbrella for each of us. The journey was silent, but it wasn't awkward. It was a comfortable, protective quiet, shielding me from the storm.
When we reached my building, I thanked him and hurried inside. From my window on the third floor, I looked down and saw him still standing there in the rain. He waited, a solitary figure under the streetlights, until he saw my light flick on. Only then did he turn and walk away.
He was being protective. He was kind.
A calm, familiar voice pulled me from the memory. My eyes fluttered open. I was lying on the soft moss of the forest floor. Kneeling beside me, his expression unreadable in the dim moonlight, was Dante.
"Erica," he said again, his voice steady and low. "You need to rest."