Gareth stumbled backward as the blue-haired girl lunged again, her hand glowing faintly as it grazed his shoulder.
Pain shot through him, but before he could recover, the door creaked violently.
A second figure—a boy about Gareth's age, hair the same striking blue—burst through the doorway.
He moved with calm precision, grabbing the girl mid-motion and lifting her effortlessly off the ground.
"Enough," he said quietly, though the command carried weight. The girl wriggled but froze under his grip.
Gareth blinked, chest heaving. "Who… who are you?"
The boy's eyes met his, calm and piercing. "I'm her brother. I'm… sorry for her behavior. She can be… difficult."
His gaze flicked briefly to his sister, then back to Gareth. "Please… forgive her."
Gareth's hand hovered awkwardly, and the brother extended his own in a deliberate gesture. Gareth hesitated, then shook it—tight, measured, and cautious.
"Let's… be friends," the boy said, a small, almost polite smile tugging at his lips.
"Y-yeah," Gareth replied, voice clipped, eyes narrowing slightly. Suspicion curled in his gut. Something's off.
The brother lowered the girl gently, his hold never loosening entirely, and the two left as quietly as they had come, shadows swallowing them in the night.
Gareth remained in the dorm, pulse still racing, staring at the pale moonlight spilling across the floor.
Was that really over? Or just… the beginning?
The morning sun slanted through the academy's windows, catching on the pale stone floors.
Gareth adjusted the sharp lines of his Highwarden uniform, the crisp fabric heavy with the weight of expectation.
He traced the emblem on his chest absentmindedly, feeling its cold edge bite into his palm.
Something's off.
He walked down the corridor, boots echoing against the stone.
Students passed, laughter and chatter spilling from the halls, but his mind wasn't on them.
Each smile seemed calculated, each glance deliberate. Even the teachers, faces he'd known for years, felt like strangers today.
Why can't I put my finger on it?
He paused at the edge of the courtyard, hands gripping the railing, eyes scanning the students below.
Cassiel and Kael had gone ahead, laughing quietly about something mundane, but even their lightheartedness didn't reach him.
Everyone seems… suspicious. Not dangerous exactly… but guarded. Like they're all hiding something. And me? I don't know if it's them or just… me.
The breeze rustled the banners above, snapping him from his thoughts.
He glanced down at his hands, clenched tight. The memory of the blue-haired girl and her brother lingered like a shadow.
Was it a test? A trap? Or… something else entirely?
His jaw tightened. I need to stay sharp. Strong. I can't let uncertainty decide for me.
He straightened, shoulders squared, and started toward the training grounds, each step deliberate.
The world moved around him in sunlight and laughter, but in his mind, the dark of last night lingered—a whisper he couldn't shake.
I'll find out. Soon enough.
The training grounds buzzed with life—students clashing in sparring matches, steel ringing against steel, laughter cutting through the air.
Gareth walked stiffly, his hands buried in the folds of his Highwarden coat, eyes darting over every movement.
A cough from a passing noble. A whisper between two girls. The glint of a dagger at a boy's belt.
Everywhere I look… masks. Smiles hiding teeth.
He stopped at the edge of the sparring ring, his breath shallow. Even Kael, even Cassiel… could they be? No. No, that's madness.
They've stood with me since the beginning. They've bled with me. But then again—so had others. And they betrayed.
A hand landed firmly on his shoulder.
Gareth spun, eyes wide, fist half-raised, breath tearing out of him.
It was Cassiel.
"Whoa!" Cassiel pulled back, hands raised in mock surrender, laughing. "Easy, Gareth. You nearly broke my nose."
Gareth froze, heart hammering. His hand trembled in the air before he forced it back down to his side.
The laugh didn't reach him—it grated against his skin.
Why did I react like that? Why him?
Cassiel tilted his head, studying him. "You all right? You've been… twitchy all morning."
Gareth forced a nod, swallowing hard. "Yeah. Just didn't… sleep well."
His voice cracked slightly, but he turned away before Cassiel could press further.
As he walked toward the training circle, the thought echoed in his head like a curse:
If I can't trust even him… who's left?
Gareth's steps carried him away from the crowd, toward a dim corner where the lanterns' light faltered.
He breathed in shallowly, eyes flicking over the other students, every laugh and clatter a potential threat.
Too many eyes. Too many masks.
He crouched low, pressing himself against the wall, and let the shadows of the courtyard creep around him. A faint hum ran through his veins—the taught pulse of something alive beneath his skin.
Stage 1.5… just like Professor Draeven said. Partial merging… barely enough to hide, barely enough to move unseen.
He let the darkness swallow him, a thin veil stretching across his body.
He could see faint outlines of the students beyond, unaware of the figure melting into the black. Every heartbeat, every whisper, felt amplified.
So this is what the instructors meant when they said, "Trust the roots… trust the void."
He stretched his hand into the shadow, feeling the pulse of it coil and respond. Movement became silent.
Breathing slowed. In this half-world, he could watch without being seen.
But the isolation gnawed at him—the shadows offered concealment, yes, but no warmth, no safety.
And yet… it was better than facing the world with suspicion eating at every nerve.
A faint sound—a chuckle from somewhere across the courtyard—made him tense.
His fingers twitched, a whisper of power waiting to be unleashed if needed.
Gareth drew back slightly, letting the shadow loosen its hold. I can move within it now.
Stage 1.5. But only barely. I need more control… more strength.
Even as he thought it, a cold flicker of doubt ran through him. Stage 1.5 wasn't enough to shield him from what was coming.
And I don't know if even Kael or Cassiel could stop it.
He emerged from the corner, blending back into the crowd, eyes sharper than before, every sense heightened.
Gareth closed his eyes for a heartbeat, then stepped fully into the shadows.
The courtyard, the academy, the walls of the dorms—all of it dissolved into blackness, swallowed by a dimension that mirrored his world yet warped it into something infinite.
The stone walls stretched endlessly, the sunlight light gone, replaced by the pulse of shadow under his skin.
Every step made no sound, every breath felt heavy with the weight of unseen vastness.
The world of light was still there, just beyond his perception, but in here, he alone moved unseen.
Figures passed him in the real world—students laughing, walking, sparring—but in the shadow world, they were white outlines, motion without awareness.
None could see him. He was a ghost in a world of ghosts.
Stage 1.5… partial merging… enough to see, enough to move… but barely enough to exist here without being swallowed.
He slipped along corridors that stretched wider than any human eye could measure, hallways of darkness folding and twisting like the inside of a dream.
Every step felt infinite, as though the school had no end, as though the roots of the Veilbound world itself ran beneath and around him.
A pulse in the shadows called him forward—his unique power reacting instinctively.
He pushed further, letting his senses extend, letting the black coil around him like a protective shroud.
Then he reached a window, one dorm he had never seen so clearly before.
And there, in the faint shimmer of the shadow world, he froze.
A figure crouched inside—a figure, alone, marked.
A snake coiled along his skin, dark against pale flesh, twisting in a way that seemed almost alive.
The figure's head lifted slightly, and Gareth's heart stuttered.
"Who… who is that?"
He leaned closer, careful not to break the fragile barrier between dimensions.
Just a glimpse—just enough for his senses to brush against the figure's presence.
Blue hair, glinting faintly even in the blackness of the shadow world.
He reached out, fingers straining toward the boundary, toward the boy, toward a connection he could not yet name.
Blue… just like the girl's hair.
The image lingered only a heartbeat before the pull of reality threatened to drag him back. Gareth's chest tightened, every nerve on edge.
He had glimpsed something important—someone who shouldn't exist here, someone dangerous, someone tied to the creeping shadows he was only beginning to understand.
And yet… he couldn't turn away.
I have to know more.
Gareth's breath caught as the white-shadowed form lunged toward him.
It's glowing hand stretching impossibly long, a streak of cold light against the dorm walls.
"Is someone there?" he called, voice ragged, but the figure didn't falter.
No time. He vaulted through the window, boots scraping stone, cloak flaring behind him.
The world blurred beneath him as he fell, heart hammering in his chest.
Instinct ignited his power. His telekinesis flared, raw and biting, coiling around him like living wire.
Fingers splayed, he reached into the air, tugging himself upward, higher, into the sky.
The shadow world recoiled, claws of darkness trying to drag him back.
Above, the dark sun hung low, a swollen black disc, bleeding shadow across the noon sky.
Pain lanced through him, a fire crawling up his arms, searing into his chest.
Blood welled at his palms, trailing down his arms, but he didn't falter.
With a snap of his fingers, the shadow world tore away from him.
Sunlight exploded across the courtyard.
Noon poured in golden and unrelenting, striking the academy walls, the trees, and his bloodied hands.
The white shadow at the dorm window vanished like mist.
Gareth hung in the air for a heartbeat, chest heaving, arms trembling, crimson dripping onto the stone below.
Every nerve screamed, every breath caught. But he was free.
The shadows whispered behind him, furious, unfinished, but the light burned them back.
Gareth let himself fall toward the courtyard, boots hitting stone with a thud, blood soaking the cuffs of his uniform, eyes blazing.
He had seen too much. He had felt the void. But he had survived. Pain, blood, and shadow could not claim him—not now.
The sunlight washed over him, a brutal clarity settling in his bones. He clenched his fists. Strength was the only law. Survival was for the weak.
And he would not be weak.
Gareth landed hard on the courtyard stone, boots skidding slightly on the edge of the fountain. Blood matted his hair, streaked across his uniform, but a grin tugged at his lips.
"Well… that was… epic," he muttered, a little breathless, a little absurd. "Shadow King strikes again. Bow before me, mortals!"
He laughed—half hysterical, half gleeful—then shook his head. "Okay, okay… maybe not mortals. Definitely just me."
The corners of his mouth curved further, a smirk sharper than sunlight on steel.
His fingers brushed the blood on his arm, dragging it in little streaks across the stone. "Shadow King… kinda has a nice ring to it. Don't you think?"
But then the thrill faded, replaced by the cold gnawing of doubt. He pressed his palms to his temples, closing his eyes.
Umbrael… he sent the thought, piercing, urgent. Are you watching me?
The response was almost instantaneous—not in sound, but in perception. A ripple in the mind, a brush of shadows, a presence heavy and deliberate.
He opened his eyes—and the world shifted.
Far away, in a cathedral bathed in moonlight despite the noon sky outside the academy, Umbrael sat—or rather, appeared—in Gareth's exact form.
The white mask rested lightly against the altar, worshipped by unseen figures, robes of black and silver brushing the stone floors.
Candles flickered, but no flame dared reach the shadows that clung to her like loyal beasts.
Her eyes—his eyes—glimmered with quiet calculation, cold devotion, and an uncanny serenity.
Fingers drummed against her knees as if counting time in some rhythm only she could feel.
She lifted a hand, not to wave, but to gesture, subtle, precise, as if acknowledging Gareth's telepathic inquiry.
Yes, her mind whispered, deep and calm. I see. Always.
Gareth shivered slightly, a mixture of awe, unease, and that childish thrill still tugging at his grin.
Always… huh? he thought back, voice only in his head. Good to know, Shadow King has… uh, backup.
The blood on his hands, the sunlight on the courtyard, the pounding of his heart—they all reminded him:
the world was vast, dangerous, and insane. And he was only just beginning to understand how deep the shadows ran.
But for now… he could laugh.
Gareth stood in the courtyard of Highwarden Academy, sunlight sharp on the stone floors.
His hand twitched at his side as he stared upward, eyes narrow, voice silent but commanding.
"Umbrael," he sent telepathically, the words sharp and deliberate. "Reveal everything about the sigil I saw."
Nearby students noticed him staring, whispering quietly.
A figure lifted a hand, not to wave, but to gesture, subtle, precise, as if acknowledging Gareth's telepathic inquiry.
"Yes", her mind whispered, deep and calm. " I'm here as Always".
"Was I there, master?" Umbrael's voice echoed, dripping with mockery. "Or shall I simply guess what you desire and tell it to you anyway?"
Some students from a far stared at Gareth and mummbled.
"Why is Gareth just looking up?. and why in god's name is he bleeding" one asked, eyes tracking his rigid posture.
"Probably thinking about something weird, you know what let's mind our own business" another replied, shrugging.
Gareth ignored them, lips twitching into an awkward grin. "Haha… yeah, guess… sure Umbrael".
"The sigil had a snake on it now go on then, what was it umbrael" he muttered under his breath, almost to himself.
Far away, in the cathedral, Umbrael's form shifted into Gareth's likeness, the white mask pristine, worshipped by kneeling followers.
A follower dared to speak, voice low.
"Master, is anything wrong?"
Umbrael's tone was calm, almost chilling.
"Nothing a god such as I must inconvenience himself over," the voice said, dismissing the concern with ease.
Then Umbrael's eyes, behind the mask, glimmered with serious weight.
"The sigil you saw," the voice continued, "is the mark of the cult the Devil Viking belonged to. You do not want to come into contact with them—they are dangerous. Escape while you can."
Gareth's gaze hardened, a flicker of panic at the warning, but his voice remained steady in thought.
"They still don't know my identity… and I don't know their purpose. But I need one follower here to watch for me, to investigate… and they won't see me coming."
Umbrael's tone softened slightly, approving yet cautious.
"Be careful, boy of the Eclipse. You walk among vipers… and not all of them are visible yet."
Gareth exhaled slowly, forcing his shoulders square.
The murmuring students shifted behind him, unaware of the telepathic exchange. He let a faint, almost self-mocking smile tug at his lips.
Sunlight returned fully to the courtyard, bright and sharp, washing over his sharp Highwarden uniform.
Inside him, the pulse of control, fear, and cunning churned. The game's begun.