When the morning bell rang out across the training grounds, Kairo noticed the missing space.
Itsuki's position in their formation was vacant. Not unheard of for someone who was late, but Itsuki wasn't late, not for something important.
"He's not in his quarters," Takumi told him, falling into a position beside him with a hint of strain in his breathing. "I stopped by twice. The bed's made, but no one seems to have slept in it."
Kairo didn't speak. He was already doing math. Itsuki had said nothing much last night after orientation, shut down in a way that indicated he was working something out. But shut down did not equal absent.
"Perhaps he went for an early walk," Takumi went on, though half-heartedly. Small flames danced around his fingertips. "You know how he gets when he's thinking too hard."
"I walked the perimeter before dawn." Kairo's voice was emotionless, "All the paths, all the training fields, even to the meditation gardens. He's not on campus."
Morning training began behind them by other students. Wooden practice blades clashed. Instructors called out corrections. The sounds should have been comforting, familiar even, but they were off without Itsuki present.
By mid-morning, word had gotten out.
Sayaka greeted them in the inner courtyard, her usually calm face creased by what might have been concern or might have been scheming. With her, it was hard to tell.
"Anything?" she asked.
Nothing," said Takumi. "We've looked everywhere. Even asked the night guard. No one saw him leave the dorm."
"I used the sound echoes in his room," Maya Ikeda said, standing beside them with that creeping silence her power afforded. "There is activity from last night, but nothing after midnight. It's as if he just stopped existing in that room."
The group fell silent. Every person had a theory, but nobody wanted to voice the obvious one.
"We need to report to Instructor Himons," Sayaka said. "If Itsuki's really missing."
"Missing?" The voice came from behind them, authoritative and firm.
They turned to see instructor himons standing there...
"You certain he didn't go out early for individual training?"
"We've searched everywhere, Instructor," Sayaka said. She'd marched in and taken command as she did with everything. "His belongings are still in his room. His training equipment is untouched. There's no indication of where he might have gone."
Himons was silent for a very long time. His mind was clearly weighing options, measuring information that they could not observe. Finally, he walked to the window that overlooked the training grounds.
"I want all of you to return to regular training," he said to them. His voice was calm, steady. "But stay in groups. No one trains alone until further notice."
"Instructor." Takumi came forward, his normally taciturn nature exploding. "You do know something, don't you? Something about what could have happened to him?"
The instructor's image in the glass was of a man who was burdened by knowledge. He remained silent for a few seconds before talking.
"There are skills in this world for which particular skills are more valuable than others. Itsuki's skills, his potential, they make him the target of those who would utilize such talents for their own purposes."
The words would have been reassuring in their admission of danger. They made matters worse. For if Instructor Himons concluded that Itsuki was abducted by agents who could bypass Zenkai Dojo's defenses, what chance did they have to get him back?
As the students departed the Chambers, their minds were filled with what they still could not grasp, Himons was left alone by the window. After the students had left, he walked over to his desk drawer and drew out an envelope with an official seal, the Beyond Order insignia.
He'd received it three days ago, with brusque instructions to keep Itsuki under close observation and report at once if anything unusual happened. The letter had mentioned "interested parties" that would attempt to kill students lucky enough to have abnormal powers. Especially students with reality-altering powers.
And now the warnings were too late...
He pulled out a sheet of white paper and began to write a report. The Beyond Order had to be informed immediately.
Life in the Zenkai Dojo continued, though, despite their fear.
The rest of the team dove into training with a desperate zeal, as if learning their trade would somehow bring their friend back to life. Or prepare them for what was coming.
Kairo pushed his ability to the breaking point, teleporting back and forth with increasing rapidity until fatigue brought him down to a snarl. Every leap took him a bit farther, a bit more precisely, but also reminded him of how he'd lost track of Itsuki disappearing. If he'd been more focused, more aware, he could have felt something was wrong.
Takumi's fire blazed stronger than before, fueled by emotions he could not name. Burns scarred the training dummies. Instructors had to intervene more than once when dummy blades in his hand grew deadly hot.
That evening, when students sat down to eat in the large dining hall, conversation was hushed and anxious. News of Itsuki's disappearance had circulated in the dojo, growing and modifying with the telling.
"My cousin at Chronoblade Dojo says that students have disappeared there as well," a first-year muttered to his tablemate. "Three in the last month."
"Rumors," one of them answered, although the certainty in their voice was missing. "In any event, this is Zenkai Dojo. We are safe here."
"Safe from whom?" a third student asked. The question made all of them uneasy. "If someone can just take people from their beds without anyone even realizing."
They were interrupted as Sayaka walked by their table. With night descending on the dojo, there were unofficial sentinel groups among the students. No one wanted to be alone in the darkness. Even the most courageous among them had reason to be staying up late, practicing forms, or reading in groups, anything but the darkness and solitude.
Kairo and Takumi were on the roof of our dormitory building, gazing out across the moonlit campus. I had once thought the peaceful beauty of the grounds was captivating. It now seemed frustrating.
"He's alive," Takumi exclaimed with sudden enthusiasm. "I can sense it."
Kairo turned to his friend. "How do you know?"
"Because if he were dead, it would feel different." Takumi's eyes gleamed with the starlight above. "Itsuki's like gravity. People tend to orbit around him, even when he's not even noticing. If that gravity were gone, we'd know."
He trailed off, but Kairo understood. They all did, honestly. Itsuki wasn't only their friend, he was the glue that held their group together, the quietly unshakeable cornerstone that made each of them more than he or she would be alone.
And now he's gone…
Hours after the students had finally exhausted themselves, Instructor Himons was still awake in his chambers. There were a few papers on his desk he'd never thought he'd have to examine: emergency procedures, phone numbers for the Beyond Order, and a sealed envelope that said "In Case of Abduction."
He was a sensei for over ten years. He had instructed hundreds, had his fair share of tragedy and loss, but this was something different...
Whatever was done to Itsuki Naoya hadn't been any accident. He had been purposely targeted by someone, and they'd been thoughtful enough to select him right out from under Zenkai Dojo's noses. That level of strategy and manpower entailed enemies much more nefarious than common criminals or rogue Drifters.
Itsuki Naoya's allies will want to search for him, Himons considered.
He transferred them to another drawer, one he'd not opened since his own combat warrior days.
There were special training manuals for combat arts.
If Itsuki's disappearance was connected with larger forces at work on the world, forces that the Beyond Order had been tracking, then his friends would need every edge he could give them.
For some reason, despite all his experience and instinct, Instructor Himons was sure this was just the beginning.
As the clock tower struck the midnight hour, moonlight streamed through the window of Itsuki's empty room. His bed remained neatly made, his practice garments folded over the chair where he had last placed them. A letter to his parents, half-written, lay across the desk, ink dry where his pen had paused in the middle of a sentence.
The room looked like someone who'd just stepped out for a bit and would be back at any moment…