The motorcycle roared like a beast unleashed, its engine howling as it devoured the empty night road. Trees blurred past in streaks of black and silver, moonlight slicing through the canopy overhead. George clung tightly to the back of the sleek black machine, arms locked around the waist of Saya Venn—the enigmatic woman who had appeared in the wake of the Phantom attack that shattered his life.
The wind stung his face. His thoughts raced faster than the wheels beneath them.
Then, in an instant, everything changed.
The motorcycle shimmered, energy rippling around its frame. With a low hum, it vanished—not crashed, not stopped—simply blinked out of existence.
George stumbled forward, boots landing softly on pristine, paved stone. His eyes widened.
Before them stood an immense fortress, unlike anything he had ever seen.
It rose in tiers, carved into the hillside with architectural precision and spiritual elegance. A vast citadel of stone and steel, its walls etched with glowing runes that pulsed like a living heartbeat. Bridges arched gracefully between towers. Crystalline lanterns hovered in the air, casting soft, celestial light. The surrounding forest fell silent, as if in reverence.
This was no ordinary base.
This was the Institute of Phantom Hunters.
Saya looked over her shoulder. "Keep up."
George followed, struggling to gather his thoughts. The Phantom. The fight. The fire in his veins. The voice in his head. Saya's arrival. Nothing made sense.
"I have questions," he muttered.
"You'll have answers. Soon."
They approached the front gates—tall slabs of metal reinforced with ancient enchantments. Two sentinels flanked the entrance, clad in the same black battle armor as Saya. Their faces were expressionless, posture disciplined.
One of them stepped forward—a tower of muscle, face marked with old scars.
"New recruit?" he asked gruffly.
Saya nodded. "George Reese. Survived possession. Damaged the Phantom physically. Aura has awakened."
The man raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
"Seriously."
He stepped forward and offered his hand. "Griffin. Class A Hunter."
George took it warily. "George. Uh… high schooler."
Griffin smirked. "Not anymore."
They were waved through. Inside, the Institute stretched even more impressively. White marble floors gleamed under crystal light. Walkways split off in every direction. Operatives passed them with purpose, some holding tomes bound in chains, others with blades humming with suppressed energy.
George drank it all in, silent.
Finally, they reached a large set of double doors. Inlaid in the center was a silver crest: two swords crossed behind a burning eye.
Saya knocked once.
A voice answered: "Enter."
They stepped inside.
The office felt more like a war chamber. Maps covered the walls. Shelves of ancient texts lined the corners. A massive desk of dark wood sat in the center—behind it stood a man who exuded both authority and danger.
He was tall and broad, dressed in a reinforced officer's uniform. His gray-streaked hair and the long scar down his left cheek told stories George didn't want to imagine. His eyes, though calm, were volcanic.
"Chairman Lawrence," Saya said, saluting. "Reporting."
She recounted everything: the attack, the Phantom, George's resistance, the discharge of lixar. Lawrence listened silently, hands folded behind his back.
When she finished, he nodded once, then turned to George.
"You're standing on the edge of a new world, son," he said, his voice a low thunder. "Let me show you what lies ahead."
George stood a little straighter. "Please do. Because right now, I feel like I'm dreaming."
Lawrence walked slowly around the desk.
"What attacked your family is called a Phantom. They are the remnants of condemned souls—murderers, tyrants, traitors. After death, their spirits descend to the Underworld, where they rot. But some… escape."
George frowned. "How?"
"The seals holding the Underworld in place are weakening. No one knows why. When a Phantom slips through, it returns warped—mad with hunger and rage."
He paused.
"And they feed on human souls."
George's stomach turned.
"Why Mystic Town? Why my family?"
"Because Mystic Town sits atop one of the world's highest spiritual nexuses. The aura there is potent. Phantoms are drawn to it like moths to flame."
Lawrence studied him carefully.
"But you… you resisted. You were possessed, and you fought back. That means your soul wasn't ordinary. It Awakened."
George took a step back. "I didn't ask for any of this. I just want to go home. Live a normal life."
Lawrence's eyes hardened.
"Then you should have died. Because the moment you awakened, your life changed forever."
The silence was suffocating.
"From now on, you'll see things others don't. You'll feel the presence of Phantoms nearby. You won't be able to unsee them. Whether you fight or flee—they will find you."
George swallowed hard. "So I have no choice."
Lawrence stepped closer. "You always have a choice. But so does the enemy. And they choose to kill."
He let that settle.
"When that Phantom held your brother… when your mother bled at your feet… did you feel helpless?"
George flinched. "Yes."
"Then don't ever feel that again. Become strong enough to stop it. Not just for your family. For everyone."
George clenched his fists.
"I don't want anyone else to go through what I did. I'll do whatever it takes."
Lawrence smiled faintly. "Good. Then you're ready."
He reached into his desk and pulled out a small obsidian card. Etched in gold letters were two words:
Phantom Hunter: Initiate
But just before handing it over, he held up one finger.
"One last test."
George narrowed his eyes. "What kind of test?"
Lawrence raised his fist. "Dodge this."
George blinked. "Wait, wha—"
Too late.
The punch hit like a cannon blast.
George flew across the room, smashing into a stack of reinforced crates. Pain exploded in his ribs. He rolled to his feet, coughing.
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
Lawrence was already walking toward him again.
"Welcome to induction."
George wiped blood from his lip and dropped into a fighting stance. Martial arts reflexes kicked in. His muscles screamed, but his mind locked in.
The second punch came fast. George slipped to the side—almost. It grazed his shoulder, sending him sprawling.
"Focus," Lawrence barked.
George snarled, eyes narrowing. He remembered the Phantom. The fire in his chest. The surge of instinct. His aura.
The third punch came.
He moved.
Not dodging. Reading.
A breath. A twitch in the Chairman's elbow. George ducked low and rolled forward.
The fist missed by a whisper.
George stood, panting.
Lawrence laughed. "That's more like it."
He extended the obsidian card.
"Welcome to the Phantom Hunters, George Reese. You've earned your first step."
George reached out, hand trembling, and took it.
The journey had just begun.