The woods at night breathed like a sleeping giant.Mist threaded between the roots of ancient oaks, their trunks pale as bone beneath the moon.
Fireflies pulsed faintly in the dark, like fragments of forgotten constellations drifting low to the earth.
A brook ran nearby, its water silver under the stars, whispering to no one in particular.
Gareth lay stretched on the grass with his hands folded behind his head, the white mask resting loose beside him.
He did not need it here. The woods asked nothing of him. They only gave: the smell of pine, the hush of leaves, the patient company of stars.
A twig snapped. He did not rise, only tilted his head lazily toward the sound.
"Cassiel," he said, half-smiling. "You always step too heavy."
From the shadows, Cassiel emerged, arms crossed, a crooked grin betraying his annoyance."Maybe I want you to hear me. Ever think of that?"
Gareth chuckled, closing his eyes again. "And here I thought you'd be at the feast, listening to the nobles brag about their fathers' vineyards and their mothers' jewels."
"Gods forbid." Cassiel dropped down into the grass beside him with a huff. "If I have to hear one more boy sing about his lineage, I'll strangle him with his own velvet sash."
They laughed softly together, the kind of laugh that didn't echo far, as if afraid to disturb the woods.
Then another voice—familiar, rougher, carrying something the forest itself seemed to lean toward.
"Still running from noble braggings, are you?"
Gareth sat up quickly. His eyes widened."Kael."
Out from the trees he came: tall, a little worn by travel, his black armor dim under moonlight.
His steps were slow, hesitant—yet his presence made the woods themselves hush.
"It's been too long," Kael said quietly. "I missed you, for real."
For a moment, Gareth said nothing. Then he stood and crossed the grass. They clasped forearms, then pulled each other into a quick, rough embrace.
When they pulled apart, Gareth's grin was brighter."Cassiel—this is Kael. Kael Draven. A stubborn bastard, but one of mine."
Cassiel gave a mock bow, though his eyes studied Kael with care."And I thought Gareth had no friends beyond me. Seems I was wrong."
The three of them settled in the grass. No feasts, no halls, no walls. Just woods and sky.
Above them, the stars burned—myriads, pale and endless. The kind of sky that made the world feel both eternal and fleeting.
They spoke, not of war, not of destiny, but of smaller, truer things.
Kael, leaning back with his arms behind his head, admitted with a smirk,"There was a girl once.
In Aurensport. Black hair, eyes sharp enough to cut. She never looked at me twice, but… gods, I'd have crossed the sea for her smile."
Gareth laughed, rolling onto his side. "A girl? I thought you were too busy polishing your sword to notice women."
Kael shoved him lightly, but his grin stayed.
When it was Gareth's turn, he tilted his face toward the stars.
"Me? Yimen. The food. You don't know peace until you've tasted Yimen bread straight from the fire. I could live and die for it."
Even Kael chuckled at that.
And then—Cassiel. He said nothing at first. His fingers plucked nervously at the grass, his gaze fixed on the brook.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet."I don't… I don't have anything like that. No crushes, no feasts, no good memories. Just noise. Just scraps I'd rather forget."
The silence that followed was gentle, not heavy. Gareth reached over and nudged his shoulder with a smile."Then we'll make new ones. Starting here."
Kael nodded. "Under these stars. Let this be one you keep."
Cassiel looked at them both, his eyes glinting faintly in the starlight. For the first time that night, he smiled—not wide, but enough.
The three lay back again, side by side, the constellations burning their quiet stories above.The woods kept their secret.The night went on.
The woods finally grew quiet. Their laughter had thinned into silence, replaced by the hum of crickets and the long breath of the night. Gareth stretched, yawning.
"Enough stargazing," he murmured, brushing grass from his cloak. "I'll see you both tomorrow."
Cassiel grumbled but didn't argue. Kael only gave a small nod, the ghost of a smile on his face as he lingered, still watching the sky.
Gareth slipped back through the forest paths alone.
The academy loomed ahead, its spires pale and skeletal against the starlight.
His dorm room waited—small, bare, walls close enough to press the air from his chest, yet strangely comforting after the vastness of the world outside.
He pushed the door closed with a weary hand, set the white mask on the table, and lay down fully dressed.
His eyes closed almost at once.
For a heartbeat, there was peace.
Then—
"Gareth."
The voice was not sound. It was a weight, pressing against the inside of his skull, spilling through his chest like black ink in water. His breath caught. His eyes snapped open to darkness.
The dorm was the same: four stone walls, the narrow bed, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the slit of a window.
But the air had changed. Heavy. Dense. The shadows leaned closer.
"Did you think you could sleep without me?"
Umbrael.
Gareth sat upright, fingers clutching at his sheets, heart pounding."I didn't call for you."
"You don't need to. I live where you close your eyes. I walk when you dream."
The corner of the room darkened, swallowing moonlight whole.
A shape pulsed there, formless, but vast. Not seen—felt. The Vault's whispers, the ruins, that night of binding—it all lingered in its presence.
"You shouldn't be here," Gareth muttered, though his voice cracked against the stillness.
"And yet…" The shadows quivered, threads of black mist reaching like fingers across the stone.
"I am. Because you are mine, boy of the Eclipse. Because the sun rises, and even here, I will not let you forget me."
Gareth pressed his palms against his face, dragging them down with a groan.
Sleep was gone now. The warmth of the woods, Cassiel's laughter, Kael's embrace—all felt miles away, stolen.
"Did you enjoy your little night?" Umbrael's voice curled, neither mockery nor kindness. "The stars. The smiles. The boy with no memories, the knight with his fleeting crush. All so… soft. Did it feel human enough for you?"
"Leave them out of this." Gareth's fists clenched.
The shadows only stirred, slow, patient. "I cannot. You carry me. And where you walk, my shadow walks too."
The window rattled softly, though no wind passed. Gareth stared at the ceiling, jaw tight, eyes burning with exhaustion.
"…Then at least let me rest," he whispered.
Umbrael said nothing. But in the silence, Gareth felt it smile.
Gareth's fingers dug into his sheets as the silence stretched. His jaw tightened.
"Why are you acting like this?" His voice was low, sharp with the edge of exhaustion.
"Enough with the shadows, enough with the games. If you're going to haunt me, then stop acting like some phantom in the dark and just—" he exhaled.
Steadying himself, "—just tell me how things are in Yimen." The air shivered.
The shadows rippled as if amused, though no laughter came. For a long moment, Umbrael said nothing. Then the voice stirred again, smoother, lighter, almost playful:
"…So, you prefer honesty over dread."
The corner of the dorm shifted. Darkness folded in on itself, threads weaving, twisting, until form emerged. Bare feet touched the stone first, pale against the cold floor.
Then the figure rose, shaping itself with every ripple of shadow until a woman stood there—tall, graceful, her hair black as midnight silk.
Her eyes glimmering like stars caught in ink.
Her presence was still wrong, too fluid, too flawless, but it was human enough.
She tilted her head, lips curving faintly.
"Everything is well in Yimen."
Gareth blinked, startled by the sudden gentleness in her tone. He sat back slowly, still tense. "That's all you had to say."
Umbrael moved closer, her steps soundless. The pale moonlight brushed her face, softening her into something almost serene.
"The city breathes. The people sleep. The towers stand unbroken. Even the cathedral's bells rang true this evening."
Her smile lingered, not cruel, not sharp—simply calm.
"Yimen is as it should be."
For the first time that night, the weight in the room lessened.
The shadows clung to her still, but they no longer pressed against Gareth's chest like a blade.
He ran a hand through his hair, half annoyed, half relieved. "You could've just said that from the start, you know."
Her eyes—too bright, too deep—lingered on him. Then she sat on the edge of his desk, folding one leg neatly over the other, posture relaxed.
"But then," she said softly, "you would not have looked at me."
Gareth leaned back against the wall, watching her carefully.
Even in that softened form, the shadows curled faintly at her edges, restless, like they could never quite let go.
After a pause, he asked quietly, "And what about you? The injuries… Did they heal?"
For the first time, Umbrael's gaze faltered.
She blinked once, her expression unreadable, then turned her hand palm-up as if to show him. Pale fingers unfurled—smooth, whole, unmarred.
"They did," she said softly. The words carried no drama, no mystery, only calm certainty. "Wounds leave no trace on me for long."
But the way her eyes dropped to the floor betrayed a flicker of something else.
Gareth frowned. "You hesitated."
Her lips curved, though faintly. "I'm not used to being asked if I hurt. I Umbrael does not ask. The world does not ask."
Slowly, her gaze lifted back to him, the glimmer in her eyes gentler now.
"But you do."
The shadows behind her shifted like a slow exhale, and for a moment, the weight in the room felt almost… intimate.
Umbrael's form stilled, the softness in her face hardening into something sharper.
The shadows around her pulsed once, like a heartbeat, before she spoke.
"Gareth," she said, her voice low but carrying weight, "stop hiding yourself in the woods. Stop pretending solitude will heal you."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't speak.
"You sit beneath trees, staring at stars, as if silence can stitch back what was torn. But it won't ."
"You carry his ghost with you—your captain. You drag him into every breath." Her eyes glimmered, cutting through him. "He's gone. You must accept it."
The words struck him like cold steel. Gareth looked away, fists curling in his blanket, breath uneven.
Umbrael leaned closer, her voice softer now, but firm, commanding.
"Move on, Gareth. Rely on others. Rely…" her form flickered, and she let the mask of composure fall for a heartbeat, "…rely on me."
For a long moment, the only sound was his shallow breathing, the weight of her words pressing against him like the night itself.
Gareth's lips twitched into a faint, brittle smile as he pulled the blanket tighter around himself.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered, voice clipped, eyes fixed on the wooden ceiling above him. "I've already moved on."
Umbrael tilted her head, shadows bending with her shape. For a moment she said nothing—only studied him with those unblinking eyes. Then her voice cut through the silence, sharp as a blade.
"Liar."
The word rattled inside him. He tried to laugh, a hollow sound. "I'm fine, Umbrael. Really. Just tired, that's all."
She stepped closer, her form solidifying into the womanly silhouette she favored, her presence pressing against him like a storm at sea.
"You think I don't feel it? Every time you sit alone in those woods, every time you look at the stars, every time his name crosses your mind—your grief screams louder than your words."
"I said I'm fine." His voice rose, but it trembled, the edges fraying.
Umbrael's tone sharpened.
"Then why do your hands shake when you grip your sword? Why do you dream of his voice in the night? Why do you carry his death like a chain around your throat?"
"Stop—" Gareth sat up, his breath ragged, but Umbrael didn't relent.
"Stop lying, Gareth Valven!" Her voice thundered through the small dorm, shadows swelling on the walls, pressing him into a corner.
"You haven't moved on."
" You never said goodbye. You carry his ghost in silence because you're too afraid to let him go. You bury yourself in solitude because you're terrified of needing anyone again."
His chest heaved, his defiance breaking under the weight of her words. His fists loosened.
Then, like a dam shattering, the breath tore out of him, and he collapsed forward, knees hitting the floorboards.
His body shook as he pressed his hands into the ground, head bowed.
"I…" his voice cracked, almost a whisper, "…I can't keep pretending."
Umbrael's shadow softened, her edges blurring.
She stepped close, kneeling, her presence no longer sharp but steady.
Gareth lifted his head slightly, eyes red, voice raw."Then tell me… what do I do? Just tell me what to do."
For the first time, Umbrael's gaze flickered with something like warmth. She reached out, a shadowed hand brushing against his shoulder.
"Stop running. Stop carrying the weight alone. Lean on others… lean on me. That is what you do."
And in that moment, Gareth—boy of the Eclipse, child of loss—bowed his head, no longer as a warrior, but as someone finally too tired to carry everything himself.
Gareth's breath still shuddered in his chest as he knelt there, broken by the weight of his own silence.
The dorm was cold, but sweat clung to his skin, his hands trembling as if every bone wanted to give way.
The shadows around Umbrael rippled.
Her form twisted, blurred, then sharpened again—this time not into the womanly figure she often wore, but into him.
Gareth froze.
Before him stood another Gareth Valven, his exact face reflected back at him.
Same eyes, same scars, same untidy hair—only this version of him looked steadier, stronger.
The double crouched before him, mirroring his position, but its voice was Umbrael's—low, haunting, and yet steady.
"You still clutch the chains, Gareth," Umbrael whispered through his own lips. "But you don't have to."
His throat tightened. "Stop… stop using me. Stop this trick."
But Umbrael leaned closer, shadow-Gareth's eyes boring into his. "No trick. Only truth."
The words echoed the way they had on that day, the day of fire and betrayal, the day Gareth had lost his captain.
Umbrael's tone deepened, each syllable heavy as iron.
"I'll take the burden from you."
Gareth's heart stopped.
Those were the same words he had shouted to his crew, the same vow he had sworn as the world collapsed around him.
To hear them now—from his own lips, from this shadow that wore his face—was unbearable.
"I'll take the burden from you," Umbrael repeated, firmer now, as if etching the promise into his very soul.
Gareth's eyes burned. He wanted to look away, to scream, to deny it—but his body wouldn't move.
The reflection of himself reached out, pressing a steady hand against his trembling chest.
"You can't keep carrying it alone. Let me."
The weight in the room pressed down on Gareth until he broke again, his head bowing, his hands curling into fists
. His voice was nothing but a hoarse whisper.
"…Then take it."
The shadows flared—like a cloak wrapping around him—and Umbrael's mirrored form smiled faintly, a smile Gareth himself hadn't worn in months.
The shadows flared—like a cloak wrapping around him—and Umbrael's mirrored form smiled faintly, a smile Gareth himself hadn't worn in years.
Gareth's chest heaved, sweat clinging to his skin, his hands still trembling.
The dorm room had grown still once more, though the air still carried Umbrael's weight.
He leaned back against the wall, trying to gather himself.
The night outside was quiet, too quiet, the moon casting pale strips of light across the stone floor.
And then… a creak at the door.
Gareth's head snapped up. The door, which he had closed moments before, now stood slightly ajar.
Moonlight spilled through the gap, but it was not the soft, silver glow he expected.
It painted a figure—small, lithe, yet impossibly imposing.
A girl.
Her hair shimmered blue, like liquid sapphires in the moonlight. Her eyes glimmered cold, sharp as frost.
Her form seemed almost unreal, the shadows around her shifting as though reluctant to touch her.
She didn't move like a human; she moved like a current of water, fluid and dangerous.
"You," she said, her voice a hiss that slid beneath Gareth's skin.
"I've been waiting."
Before he could react, she lunged. Fast, silent, lethal.
Gareth barely had time to throw up his arms before the world tilted.
The edge of her hand, glowing faintly, grazed his shoulder, sending a jolt of pain up his spine.
Gareth stumbled back, mask forgotten on the table, his heart hammering.
"Who… what are you?" he demanded, voice rough, but the words barely carried over the rush of air and the thrum of his pulse.
She smiled, but it was not warmth. It was a predator's curve, chilling and beautiful all at once.
"You're mine now. No hiding. No shadows to protect you. No one to save you this time."