Cyrus lay still in his bed, his breathing deep and steady, lost in the throes of an intense dream—or was it a vision? The world around him twisted into a hazy, otherworldly realm. When he opened his eyes, he found himself standing in the midst of a battlefield unlike any he had ever seen, drenched in shadow and flame. Blue and black fires crackled across the landscape, licking at the charred remains of twisted bodies and scorched earth, casting an eerie glow over the fallen.
The air was thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood. Cyrus took a slow, cautious step forward, feeling the ground vibrate under his feet. His vision was blurred, almost distorted, but the overwhelming sounds of battle were sharp and piercing. Echoes of roars, screams, and the clash of steel flooded his ears, blending into a cacophony of chaos.
As he moved, a path opened before him through the bodies of wizards, monsters, and shattered weapons. He couldn't control his movements—it was as though he were drawn forward, guided by an unseen force toward the center of this apocalyptic war. Through the smoke, the battlefield stretched on endlessly, with clashes of blue and black fire lighting the darkened sky like vengeful stars. Above, the heavens themselves seemed to weep dark clouds of ash.
His eyes fixed on the heart of the battlefield, where the clash of titans unfolded before him. Wading through the carnage, Cyrus found himself at the edge of a massive confrontation. Dragons circled above, spewing jets of flame and acid upon a wave of goblins, orcs, and twisted demons, their leathery wings casting enormous shadows over the ground below. Amidst this chaotic storm of beasts and spells, his gaze fell upon the two figures locked in a deadly dance at the very center.
One of them was a towering, black-winged demon, a nightmarish beast unlike any Cyrus had ever seen. The creature stood twice the height of any man, its massive frame clad in an armor of shifting shadows. Enormous, jagged horns curved from the top of its head, framing a lion-like face etched with cruelty. Its eyes gleamed with a fiery red light, and two massive tusks jutted from its lower jaw, as sharp as the serrated edges of its blood-streaked sword. Every movement it made was raw power, primal and unstoppable.
The creature roared, its voice a low, rumbling growl that reverberated through the earth. It raised its enormous sword, and the blade seemed to drink in the surrounding darkness, becoming an extension of the beast itself. With a thunderous swing, the demon brought the sword crashing down, aiming for its opponent.
Opposing the monster was a lone figure in a tattered black cloak. The wizard was shrouded in an aura of crackling blue electricity and flames that danced around him like vengeful spirits. Tendrils of power wrapped around his body, flickering and spiraling into the air. A crow was perched on his back, its wings spread wide as if drawing power from the chaotic battlefield around it. He radiated an energy so fierce it seemed to bend reality itself, warping the air in rippling waves of raw magic.
"LEON!" the demon's voice rumbled, shaking the very ground beneath them as it swung down its monstrous sword. The wizard—Leon—met the strike without flinching, raising a blackened dagger that seemed to pulse with a dark energy, identical to the one Cyrus possessed. Sparks flew as the demon's sword clashed against Leon's dagger, blue flames erupting from the point of contact, filling the air with a brilliant blaze.
The two forces locked together, neither one giving ground, each pushing against the other with an unbreakable resolve. Around them, other wizards fought their way forward, their robes torn and bloodstained, their faces twisted with fear and determination as they threw bolts of energy, spells of fire and ice, to assist the black-cloaked wizard. Their magic was powerful, but it was dwarfed by the raw energy pouring from Leon.
Cyrus felt a pull, an undeniable urge to move closer, but his legs wouldn't respond. He was trapped, a spectator to a battle that transcended mortal understanding. It was as though he were staring into the past, witnessing something both legendary and nightmarish.
The demon let out another earth-shattering roar, its voice a fusion of hatred and pain, and forced Leon backward, sending shockwaves across the battlefield. But Leon held his ground, his red-glowing eyes boring into the creature with a fierce resolve, as if defying the darkness itself. Cyrus's breath caught as, in a fleeting moment, those same red eyes turned to him, piercing through the chaos and locking onto his soul.
The intensity of that gaze sent a shiver through Cyrus. He felt exposed, as if every secret he held was laid bare before this ancient warrior.
Then, without warning, the vision splintered. The sounds of battle faded, the fiery landscape blurred, and Leon's figure dissolved into shadows. The world around him twisted, collapsing inward as if sucked into a void.
Cyrus jolted awake, his breathing uneven, his heart racing. The room was still, save for the sounds of Dale's and Teef's deep, steady snores. He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, the vivid images of the dream still fresh, lingering like an unshakable shadow in his mind. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the others, and silently left the room. The cool night air hit him as he stepped outside, a welcome balm for the tension buzzing in his veins. He wandered instinctively, his steps guiding him to the academy's garden.
The garden was bathed in silver moonlight, the delicate light casting intricate patterns across the flowerbeds and trees. Cyrus found himself gazing up at the stars, their faint, distant light strangely comforting. As he traced constellations in the sky, a faint rustling from a nearby branch snapped his attention back to the shadows.
A black-feathered crow perched above him, its dark eyes glinting with an intelligence that always sent a chill down his spine. But tonight, something more stirred within him—a sense of recognition he couldn't explain. He felt a faint, instinctive pull toward the crow, as if its presence were woven into a hidden part of him, something he could almost remember but not fully grasp.
A flicker of memories brushed through his mind. Not memories he could name, but impressions—unfamiliar halls cloaked in shadows, the faint rustle of wings, a feeling of belonging to something ancient and dark. The crow's gaze seemed to reach into his thoughts, a silent presence that made his pulse quicken.
"Cyrus Vale, my child," the crow cawed, its voice low and eerie, yet unmistakably familiar. "What brings you out this late into the night?"
The voice of Zarek. Cyrus snapped out of his thoughts, recognizing the crow as more than just a bird; it was Zarek, speaking through it, as he sometimes did to monitor and advise Cyrus.
"A daunting dream is all," Cyrus replied, his voice steady but laced with the weight of the vision. "I needed to recollect myself, Master Zarek."
The crow cocked its head, its unblinking gaze fixed on Cyrus, as if assessing him. Silence stretched between them for a moment before Cyrus spoke again, the question he'd never dared ask now clawing its way to the surface.
"Master Zarek," he began, a note of hesitation in his voice. "What do you know of my origins… my parents?"
The crow shifted on its branch, and a pause lingered in the air, thick and expectant. Zarek's voice emerged, slower this time, more cryptic. "Why now, Cyrus? Why this sudden interest in your roots?"
A chill prickled down Cyrus's spine as the crow's voice grew softer, almost thoughtful. "You've never asked before… but I can feel something within you, a change. Something has stirred that was once dormant."
"Tell me," Cyrus pressed, his voice firmer, though doubt twisted within him. "If you know something, I have a right to know."
The crow tilted its head, regarding him with a mix of amusement and reluctance. "There are secrets older than time, my child. Ones that are not easily unraveled." Zarek's tone grew softer, almost regretful. "Your origins… they are not a simple matter, Cyrus, and this is neither the time nor place to speak of such things."
Before Cyrus could respond, the crow's gaze sharpened, its head swiveling toward a distant corner of the garden. "But heed my words," Zarek continued, his tone shifting back to command. "You have a mission to complete, and there is no room for distractions. Beware—someone approaches."
The crow flapped its wings and took flight, vanishing into the night sky, leaving Cyrus alone once more in the stillness. He turned at the sound of soft footsteps behind him, tensing for a brief moment.
"So now you're a bird watcher?" a playful voice broke through the silence, and he relaxed, recognizing Siera's tone.
She moved closer, her face half-shadowed by the moonlight, a small smirk on her lips. Cyrus looked at her, still half-lost in thought, unsure how to respond. Her gaze held a hint of mischief as she tilted her head, studying him.
"Always out past your bedtime, I see," she teased.
He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "So are you."
She laughed, a quiet sound that seemed to blend with the night breeze. "Touché. You caught me." She glanced upward, letting the moonlight wash over her face, her expression unreadable as she studied the sky.
"So…" she murmured, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.
"So… what?" he asked, turning his gaze to her, curious.
She smirked, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What's the deal with you and Layla?"
Cyrus blinked, taken aback. "What do you mean?"
Siera took a step closer, her gaze unwavering as she closed the distance between them. Now standing face to face, she tilted her head, her expression a mix of curiosity and something else he couldn't quite place.
"You know what I mean," she said, her voice softer, her tone more serious. "Do you… have feelings for her?"
Caught off guard, Cyrus hesitated, searching for an answer. "Layla is… she's a good friend. I care about her, and I want to protect her."
Siera's grin widened, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Is that so? And yet, you don't share everything with her, do you?" Her voice held a teasing edge as she tilted her head, studying him with an intensity that was almost unnerving. "You keep secrets from her. Like your… other abilities."
Cyrus felt his jaw tighten. She was digging, prodding at things he hadn't shared with anyone. "Some things aren't worth mentioning," he replied, his voice steady, though he felt a strange discomfort under her scrutiny. "Besides, I'm not hiding anything from her. There are answers I don't even have myself."
Siera's smile didn't waver, her eyes gleaming with a sly glint. "Right," she murmured, the word drawn out, as though she didn't entirely believe him. "Well, if that's the case… I suppose you wouldn't mind if I did this."
Before he could react, she leaned in, her face close to his, her breath warm against his skin. She placed her lips softly on his, a kiss that was both surprising and intense, sending a jolt of energy through him. His thoughts scattered, leaving him momentarily dazed.
She pulled back, a satisfied grin on her lips as she turned, walking away with an air of triumph. She glanced over her shoulder, her smirk deepening as she whispered, "Goodnight, Cyrus," before disappearing into the shadows of the garden.
Cyrus stood rooted in place, the night air feeling colder now, his heart pounding as he tried to make sense of the encounter. Siera was a mystery—one he wasn't sure he'd ever unravel.
Cyrus groaned, rubbing the last traces of sleep from his eyes as he slowly sat up.
Teef and Dale were already standing over him, both with wide, mischievous grins that immediately grated on Cyrus's nerves.
"Get up, sleepyhead," Teef teased, already dressed and looking far too energetic for this early hour. "We were about to send a search party for you."
Cyrus groaned, shifting uncomfortably under their scrutiny. "You two are really starting early today," he muttered, the bite in his tone barely masked by his morning grogginess.
Dale smirked, crossing his arms. "My, my, Vale. Never seen you with a smile on your face like that before. Care to share what was so… amusing?"
Cyrus blinked, feeling an unwelcome flush creep into his cheeks, and rubbed his face as if it would clear both his sleep and the embarrassment. "What are you talking about?" he replied, sharper than intended, trying to deflect.
Teef's grin widened as he leaned closer, undeterred. "Oh, we don't know, but it sounded like you were having quite the… pleasant dream. A little too pleasant, maybe?" His eyes sparkled with mischief as he waggled his eyebrows.
Cyrus rolled his eyes, trying to brush them off, but he felt his face getting warmer. "You two are ridiculous," he muttered, grabbing his clothes and pulling them on, but he could feel their laughter following him around the room. As he laced up his boots, he threw a glance back at them.
"Come on, leave me alone," he said, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hide the hint of a smile creeping onto his face. "Don't you both have something better to do?"
Dale shrugged, still grinning. "Not when we've got this much free entertainment. But seriously, Cyrus, if you've got something on your mind—or someone—you know we're here for you."
Cyrus only rolled his eyes again, brushing past them. But as he left the room, he couldn't help but feel that strange, unspoken thrill from the night before.
But the truth was, Cyrus did have a lot on his mind—far more than he let on. The events of the night before drifted through his thoughts in pieces, each more puzzling than the last. His origins, the cryptic words Zarek had spoken through the crow, and then Siera… The memory of her, the way she'd spoken to him, that kiss—each detail clashed and wove together, leaving him disoriented in a way he wasn't used to. He'd been trained to be clear-headed, focused, yet now a quiet storm was brewing inside him.
And then, without warning, a thought of Layla crossed his mind, catching him off-guard. Layla was steady, her warmth a constant he hadn't realized he needed until now. Around her, he felt grounded, as though his chaotic thoughts could settle, finding structure and purpose he hadn't allowed himself to recognize. Layla's presence made him feel known, as if she saw past the walls he kept up, seeing something deeper and accepting it without question.
Then, like a flicker of shadow, Siera slipped into his thoughts—a different force entirely. Siera stirred something in him that was neither grounding nor gentle but a pull toward the unknown, a kind of challenge he hadn't known he was looking for. With her, he was forced to confront his own mysteries, the hidden power he was beginning to uncover but not yet understand. She was an enigma, one that set his blood racing and made him question things he'd otherwise leave buried.
His mind spiraled, caught between the secure warmth of Layla and the dark, tantalizing pull of Siera. The two seemed worlds apart, yet both stirred something within him he hadn't expected, leaving him more distracted—and more unsure—than ever.
Snap out of it, he told himself firmly. There were more pressing matters to focus on. His mission, the ancient threat of Grevious Darkstar, the Silent Light—these things needed his undivided attention. Yet, just as he started to steady himself, a darker worry crept in. The Crow's End mission—the one thing he was trained to keep always at the forefront of his mind—had been slipping from his focus. A pang of guilt struck him as he realized how easily he'd allowed himself to feel… comfortable.
Comfortable. The word felt foreign, almost dangerous. Had he become so entangled in his connections here, with people like Layla and Teef, that he was failing the Crow's End? If Zarek could sense this shift in him, what would he think? Would he see it as a weakness, a lapse in his loyalty? He forced the thought away, trying to regain his usual focus, but the lingering doubt clung to him. He couldn't afford distractions—not now.
Pushing down the unsettling feeling, he reminded himself of his duty. The Crow's End had entrusted him with a mission, and any attachment here was only useful if it served that purpose. But still, the feeling gnawed at him, casting a shadow over his resolve as he hurried to catch up with Teef and Dale.
Just then, Teef's hand slapped his shoulder, jolting him back to the present. "Let's get moving, daydreamer," Teef said, grinning. "If we're late again, Professor Thaddeous will make us spar each other for an hour."
"Yeah, unless you're hoping to do that anyway," Dale added with a smirk. "Looked like you've been training in your sleep."
Cyrus shook his head, forcing a small chuckle. "Let's go, then. We can't keep Professor Thaddeous waiting."
With that, the three of them hurried out of the dorms and down the bustling hallways, weaving through students as they made their way toward the classroom. The weight of Cyrus's thoughts lingered, but he forced himself to focus on the day ahead. He'd need every bit of focus he could muster because, somehow, he knew that what lay ahead would demand everything he had.