Mist drifted low across the forest border, curling around armored boots.
Three Valerian soldiers moved in silence, spears angled toward the trembling treeline.
Only the wind spoke—cold, thin, uneasy.
A crow shrieked overhead, cutting through the stillness like a blade.
The lead soldier slowed, eyes narrowing toward the distant ridge.
Something in the forest felt wrong—off-balance.
Then it came.
A scream—far, distant, ragged—ripped through the direction of the lake.
The soldiers froze, breath turning to ice.
"Did you hear that?" one whispered.
But the others were already stepping back.
Because the scream… didn't sound human.
Voices clashed inside the giant prison, rising like sparks off iron.
Dozens of cadets argued—fear, anger, and exhaustion twisting every word.
"We can't stay here! We'll die before help ever comes!"
Another voice snapped back, rough and shaking.
"The walls are cracking—did you feel that tremor earlier?"
"We need to leave this place, now!"
Arguments spiraled, overlapping like storm winds.
Some shouted for escape, others for weapons, others for answers.
The air vibrated with panic.
Then the iron door slammed open.
A Valerian guard stepped in—towering, armored, face carved from stone.
His voice cracked through the chamber like a whip:
"ENOUGH."
The word struck the room, killing every whisper instantly.
"No more shouting. No more panic. Calm yourselves—now."
He stared them down, cold and merciless.
"You will stay where you are until ordered otherwise."
"And anyone who disagrees—will answer to me."
From the crowd, a voice cracked through the tension—raw, desperate.
"We can't live like prisoners! We deserve to—"
The words never finished.
Steel hissed.
The Valerian guard drew his sword in a single violent motion.
He strode toward the man without hesitation—deadly, efficient, merciless.
Gasps tore through the chamber.
The blade rose, cold and gleaming under the dim lights.
It arced downward toward the man's neck.
The Princely Prince of Dawn moved first.
He lunged between them, palm raised, breath sharp.
Steel met sunlight—intercepted a hair's width from skin.
The man collapsed backward, eyes wide, throat trembling.
Death hovered inches away—cold, real, hungry.
And fear broke something inside him.
A surge erupted.
Veil energy burst from his body—wild, frantic, uncontrollable.
It spiraled upward, pulling in stray threads of corrupted Veil.
Cadets staggered back as the air warped.
The ground trembled under the force of his sudden awakening.
He screamed—not in pain, but in terror—as power flooded him.
The guard didn't flinch.
He sheathed his sword with ruthless calm.
Then shoved the Princely Prince of Dawn aside, sending him crashing to the ground.
He stepped back toward the doorway.
Just before leaving, he spoke without looking at them.
Voice cold as iron:
"Survival depends on who adapts first."
He vanished into the corridor—the echo of his words colder than the steel he carried.
The chamber still trembled with echoes of the awakening.
Cadets whispered, breathless, shaken, unsure if they should flee or kneel.
Cassiel stared at the trembling boy in the center—still absorbing Veil like a dying star.
Beside him, Teramon stood in the shadows.
Silent.
Watching everything with eyes that never blinked.
Then he spoke—quiet, flat, cutting through the noise like a scalpel.
"I… just figured it out," he said.
"How to bypass the corruption."
Cassiel turned sharply.
Teramon didn't look at him—didn't look at anyone.
His gaze stayed fixed on the trembling cadet in the center.
"It's possible," Teramon said, tone steady, emotionless.
"But the window between control and collapse is… extremely thin."
"Too thin."
He exhaled once—slow, controlled, almost clinical.
"If I attempt it, I have a fifty percent chance," he murmured.
"Survival or death. Exactly even."
Cassiel's jaw clenched.
But Teramon didn't stop.
His voice lowered—still calm, but the truth slipped through.
"And honestly…"
His fingers trembled just slightly at his side.
"I'm terrified."
Teramon's eyes flicked to Cassiel.
Voice precise, sharp, devoid of hesitation.
"Use the bit of Veil you have," he said.
"Kill me. A reinforced punch… it's the only way."
Cassiel froze.
He could feel the weight of the words, the implication, the trust.
The boy was standing still, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on the cracked stone beneath him.
Teramon didn't flinch.
He looked down at the ground, jaw tight, muscles coiled like steel.
"I'm not moving. Do it. Stop joking."
Cassiel's fist trembled, Veil coiling like a storm in his arm.
He drew back… and then stopped.
The idea of hitting Teramon—someone who had never joked truthfully in his life—made his heart twist.
Teramon's eyes snapped upward.
Sharp, impatient, burning.
"I need you to be real this time, Cassiel. Not a half-step. Not a trick. Real."
The chamber seemed to shrink around them.
Every cadet, every shadow, every whisper faded into the background.
The survival of everyone here—maybe even beyond—hung on this moment.
Cassiel's voice was barely audible.
"I… I can't…"
Teramon's gaze didn't waver.
"Then someone dies," he said, flat, cold, but with a flicker of panic behind the words.
"This isn't practice. This isn't a game. Stop pretending you don't understand."
Cassiel clenched his jaw, Veil thrumming, wild, unshaped.
The air between them vibrated with tension, fear, and desperate need.
Because this time, it wasn't just about power—it was about survival.
The sun shone bright over Luminara, golden light spilling across modest homes.
Children ran and laughed, villagers worked under the warm sky, but all eyes often turned to him.
They whispered of miracles, of God's chosen—Teramon, the boy whose presence alone seemed to bless the day.
Even as a child, he felt the weight of their awe pressing down.
Every smile from a neighbor, every cheer, felt like expectation on his shoulders.
He could not play, could not laugh freely—he was too valuable, too important, too alone.
His older brother was his only comfort, a hand to hold, a voice to calm his lonely nights.
Together they explored the meadows, the streams, the forests, pretending the village's hope was theirs alone.
Those were fleeting moments of warmth before the world twisted.
The Day of Life ceremony came, sun high and radiant, music in the streets.
He returned home, heart light, visions of another miracle whispered in his head.
But the village lay in ruin—smoke curling, ash drifting, homes swallowed by fire.
Horror gripped him; his brother was gone, neighbors vanished, the air thick with death.
He ran through charred beams and shattered walls, lifting rubble, calling names that went unanswered.
Five days straight he searched; every stone turned, every ruin sifted, but the world had taken them all.
Then her small voice cut through the silence—sharp, accusing, unforgettable.
"You… you killed them all. Your miracles… are curses. I hate you."
She had been twelve, the same age, the only survivor—his crush staring at him with eyes of fire.
A burly Veil user had come, axes in hand, malice in every step.
His brother had fought, a desperate shield between life and death, but the power Teramon carried twisted the outcome.
Veil surged uncontrollably, unshaped and wild, feeding grief and rage, consuming the village in a single, horrific moment.
The streets he had once wandered gleamed with sunshine in memory; now, they burned in horror.
Every cry, every collapse, every flicker of flame etched into his soul.
"I am no miracle… I am a curse," he whispered, grief-stricken, trembling, yet alive.
Back in the present Teramon stood still.
Cassiel's eyes hardened, muscles coiled, Veil humming in his hands.
He stepped forward, every motion precise, deliberate, ready to strike.
The room seemed to shrink around the two, tension radiating from the very walls.
Teramon's chest rose and fell, sweat glinting on his brow in the dim light.
He closed his eyes, focusing inward, reaching past fear, past grief.
At last, his Veil anchored itself to his soul, forming a loop contained entirely within him.
Energy swirled around him, wild and hungry, yet restrained, tethered by his very essence.
Every pulse of power carried a risk—one misstep, one overreach, and death would claim him.
His fingers twitched slightly, veins glowing, as he balanced the loop perfectly against his life.
The cadets staggered back, whispers of awe and fear slicing through the chamber.
Cassiel froze, sensing the sudden calm amid the storm of raw energy.
Teramon opened his eyes, faintly trembling but steady, every ounce of power under his control—for now.
Teramon stepped forward, boots ringing hollow on the cracked stone floor.
The cadets parted instinctively, leaving a jagged path through the crowd.
Veil shimmered faintly along his arms, gold and black threads weaving around him like slow fire.
Nobles sneered from their clusters, whispers sharp and bitter.
"A commoner?" one hissed, silver hair catching dim light.
"Do you really think he can save us?"
Another laughed, soft, cruel, glinting with disdain.
"We've trained in the academy. We've fought, bled, survived.
And this boy… barely stands. A joke, nothing more."
Teramon didn't flinch.
He didn't raise his voice, didn't answer.
His eyes scanned the corruption in the air, measuring the danger, feeling the weight of every cursed whisper.
From the center of the chamber, he exhaled slowly.
Veil began to pulse outward in faint ripples, touching the edges of fear and uncertainty.
The nobles' smirks faltered—tiny threads of doubt slicing through their arrogance.
Teramon stepped fully into the center, shoulders squared, Veil coiling like dark gold lightning along his arms.
The nobles stiffened, cadets froze, whispers died.
He didn't raise his voice—but the air itself seemed to bow under him.
"You will listen," he said, flat, cold, each word striking like steel.
"Not because I am a noble. Not because I command rank.
Because I am the only thing standing between you and this corruption."
The crowd shifted uneasily.
Eyes flicked toward him, doubt gnawing at arrogance.
Some thought he might bluff—but the Veil writhing around him told a different story.
"I can touch curses," he continued, gaze scanning the chamber, sharp and deliberate.
"Corruption, decay, Veil twisted beyond control—I can absorb it.
I can stabilize it. I can destroy it."
A faint ripple of fear ran through the nobles.
"You think this boy can save us?" one murmured.
"Watch closely."
Teramon's fingers flexed.
Veil flared outward, black and gold threads reaching toward corrupted energy lingering in the room.
"It's called Curse Matriculation. I pull the curse or corruption from its source, untangle it, and either destroy it… or contain it inside myself."
He let a pause hang like a blade above the room.
"Every attempt carries risk. One wrong move, and I die. One misstep, and the curse spreads.
And if you think me powerless… you will be the first to regret it."
The air tightened.
Silence fell heavier than stone, broken only by the faint hum of Veil weaving through his veins.
The nobles' confidence cracked under the weight of what he had just declared.
A noble scoffed from the side, silver hair gleaming, arrogance dripping.
"It won't work. This boy's Veil is weak.
This… Curse Matriculation? A joke, nothing more."
Teramon's eyes narrowed, dark gold coiling in their depths.
He didn't speak immediately, letting the arrogance linger like a blade against the chamber.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he raised his hands.
Veil erupted around him—black and molten gold spirals crawling along the floor, twisting through the air.
Shadows became spires, tendrils, serpents of light and dark, writhing toward the noble.
The cadets froze; the chamber fell into a tense, suffocating silence.
The tendrils wrapped around the man, coiling like living steel.
They tightened, not to crush—but to control, to impose absolute authority.
Veil twisted around his jaw, sealing it completely, muting the arrogant voice.
A murmur ran through the room—but Teramon's gaze held every eye.
Even the Ash Prince faltered, chest tightening with unease.
The Princely Prince of Dawn's calm faltered, a flicker of fear passing across his golden eyes.
Cassiel's own fists clenched involuntarily, Veil pulsing in resonance.
Kael, Draeven, Velvar—lonely at the far corner—stiffened, eyes wide, hearts hammering.
Every noble, cadet, shadow—silenced, terrified, witnessing the raw, unyielding power.
Teramon's smile was slight, a tilt of lips cold and sharp as obsidian.
He looked down at the chamber, at the trembling figures, at the sealed noble.
And then, with slow, deliberate authority, he said:
"I will be leading this prison break."
The words landed like iron in stone.
The Veil around him shivered, dark and gold threads licking the walls.
And every person in the room knew—this was no longer a boy. This was the reckoning.