The rest of the hunt went smoothly after the creature dissolved into mist, but the uneasy silence hung over the group like a thick fog. No one spoke much. No one asked questions. It was clear they were all processing what had just happened—or trying to understand why I was able to take down the shadow creature so easily.
By the time we returned to the academy, the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the campus. The air was cold, a bitter reminder that winter was approaching. The group walked in silence, though I could feel the weight of their curiosity pressing against me. It was only a matter of time before someone spoke up.
As we entered the main hall, Ilya Ferros caught up to me, her footsteps soft but purposeful.
"You're hiding something," she said, her voice cool but tinged with an edge of suspicion.
I didn't look at her, my eyes forward. "What are you talking about?"
"You killed that thing," she continued, her eyes narrowing. "But it wasn't just the gun. You knew exactly where to aim. And you weren't affected by the time distortion I saw... What are you?"
I stopped walking, my hand gripping the strap of my gun. I was used to suspicion. Used to being an outsider. But Ilya wasn't someone who would let things slide easily. She was calculating, a thinker. A sharp observer.
"I'm nothing special," I said, my voice flat. "Just a survivor. Nothing more."
She didn't seem convinced. "You're not fooling anyone, Kael. You have an ability—something that doesn't fit. And I don't think it's just luck that saved you today."
I glanced at her, my expression unreadable. "I don't care what you think. I didn't ask to be here."
Ilya's lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, it seemed like she was going to say something more. But then she simply nodded, as if accepting that she wasn't going to get anything more from me right now. "We'll see."
With that, she turned and walked away, her figure fading into the crowd of students.
The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, but I couldn't shake the feeling that Ilya's words lingered in my mind. She was smart, perceptive. She would figure me out sooner or later. It was only a matter of time before my abilities were more than just a curiosity. They would become a threat. Or worse, a tool for someone else.
The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Later that night, I found myself back in my room, the silence of the academy wrapping around me like a thick blanket. The moonlight filtered through the window, casting faint shadows on the floor. My thoughts were racing—thinking about my place in this world, in this story.
It wasn't just about surviving anymore. I wasn't just Kael, the orphan who barely mattered. I was Elias Vayne, the author. And somehow, I had ended up inside my own creation, caught between the lines of a story that wasn't mine to begin with.
A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.
I frowned. "Come in."
The door creaked open, and Reynard Vale stepped inside, his expression unreadable. I raised an eyebrow.
"Need something, Reynard?" I asked, my voice cold, detached. I didn't expect him to seek me out. He was the golden boy of Veylin Academy, the one everyone looked up to. He didn't need someone like me.
"I… wanted to thank you," he said, though his voice was stiff. "For what happened earlier, with the creature. It saved us."
I didn't say anything for a long moment, letting the words hang in the air. "It wasn't your fight," I replied finally. "I don't need thanks."
Reynard's eyes flickered, as if my blunt response had caught him off guard. "You don't care about any of this, do you?" he asked.
I shrugged, not meeting his gaze. "It's not my story. I'm just here."
A long pause followed before he spoke again, quieter this time. "You're hiding something. I can tell. But I won't push you."
I didn't respond.
Reynard lingered for a moment, his figure outlined by the faint moonlight, before he turned and left without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, and I was left in silence once again.
It was inevitable. Sooner or later, they'd all start noticing. And when they did, it wouldn't be just about surviving anymore. They'd want answers. And I wasn't sure how long I could keep lying.
The plot was twisting, and I had no choice but to follow it—whether I wanted to or not.
But I would make my own choices. I always did.