The courtyard of Vantaria Academy was bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, casting long, creeping shadows that stretched across the ancient stone pathways. Despite the warmth of twilight, a lingering unease clung to the air—a silent whisper in the back of Lucian's mind, urging him to be wary.
He stood in the middle of the open courtyard, his arms crossed as he stared toward the distant mountains, where the last sliver of sunlight was vanishing beneath the jagged peaks. The sky darkened, painted in streaks of crimson and violet, but it did nothing to ease the tension in his chest.
Lucian's thoughts were tangled, haunted by Uren's parting words from the assembly earlier that day:
"The consequences of failure are worse than death."
His grip tightened on the silver pendant around his neck. He had always trusted his instincts—those sharp, intuitive feelings that guided him even when reason failed. But right now?
Nothing felt right.
The air itself felt… wrong.
Even the other students, usually loud and reckless after an assembly, had grown strangely subdued. They gathered in hushed groups around the courtyard, whispering about the Trials, about Uren's warning, about what it could all mean.
"What does he mean, 'worse than death'?"
"Has something like this happened before?"
"The Trials have always been dangerous, but this… this feels different."
Lucian barely noticed Serena stepping up beside him until she spoke.
"You're staring at the sky like it has all the answers," she murmured, her voice laced with dry amusement.
Lucian didn't turn to look at her. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where the darkness stretched further with every passing second. The feeling in his chest wouldn't leave.
"I don't think the sky has answers," he muttered. "But something's been set into motion. And I don't know if we're ready for it."
Serena's sharp green eyes flicked toward him, assessing. The last of the sunlight caught in her fiery red hair, making it look almost aflame. She tilted her head.
"Maybe it's not about being ready," she said. "Maybe it's about surviving what's coming."
Lucian didn't respond. A part of him wanted to argue—wanted to say something defiant, something reassuring. But he knew she was right.
Because something was coming.
And they might not be able to stop it.
---
A Growing Sense of Unease
As the last of the students drifted toward the dormitories, the courtyard emptied, leaving Lucian and Serena standing alone beneath the ancient archways of the Academy.
A cold breeze stirred, carrying with it the scent of damp stone and something else—something metallic, sharp… unnatural.
Lucian's fingers itched toward the dagger strapped to his belt.
Serena noticed. "You feel it too, don't you?" she asked, her voice quieter now, more cautious.
Lucian exhaled through his nose. "Yeah."
The feeling was faint but unmistakable—an unnatural presence, lurking just beyond the edge of perception. It wasn't the usual pressure of the Academy's powerful wards or the weight of centuries-old magic embedded into its walls.
It was something older. Colder. Watching.
Serena rolled her shoulders. "Whatever it is, it's making my skin crawl."
Lucian finally looked at her. "You think Uren knows?"
She let out a humorless chuckle. "Uren always knows."
The Headmaster's cryptic warning hadn't been meant as mere theatrics. He had been preparing them. The Trials were no longer just about skill, bloodlines, and ambition. They were about something bigger.
Something darker.
Lucian's thoughts were interrupted by the distant sound of footsteps echoing against the courtyard stones.
Someone was approaching.
---
A Warning in the Dark
Lucian turned sharply, his instincts flaring. Serena's hand was already near the hilt of the short sword strapped to her hip.
A figure stepped out from the shadows beneath one of the towering pillars.
Aric Lorne.
Tall, broad-shouldered, his Stormveil insignia embroidered on the collar of his dark blue coat. Aric had always carried himself like a warrior, a natural leader. But tonight?
Tonight, he looked shaken.
"Lucian." Aric's voice was steady, but his posture was tense, his gaze flickering toward the shadows of the courtyard.
Lucian didn't relax. "Something wrong, Lorne?"
Aric hesitated. Then, in a lower voice, he muttered:
"You need to be careful. Something's happening in the Academy. Something we're not being told."
Lucian and Serena exchanged glances.
"Be more specific," Serena said.
Aric exhaled sharply. "It's not just the Trials. It's—" He glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice. "Students are going missing."
Lucian's blood ran cold.
"Missing?" he repeated.
Aric nodded. "I overheard some of the faculty talking earlier. At least three students from different Houses have disappeared over the past month."
Lucian frowned. "And no one's talking about it?"
Aric's jaw tightened. "They are talking about it. They're just making sure we don't hear it."
Serena swore under her breath. "That's why Uren's warning felt different this year. This isn't about just preparing us for battle—he's trying to keep control."
Lucian's mind raced. If students were disappearing, and the Academy was covering it up…
Then something was already happening.
Something they were already too late to stop.
---
The Shrouded Hallways
Later that night, Lucian couldn't sleep.
The Academy hallways were eerily silent as he moved through them, his boots making no sound against the ancient stone.
The feeling of being watched hadn't left him.
If anything, it had grown worse.
He tightened his grip on the hilt of his dagger, his instincts screaming at him that something wasn't right.
And then—
A whisper.
Soft, almost imperceptible, carried by the cold draft snaking through the corridors.
Lucian turned sharply.
Nothing.
The hallway stretched before him, lit only by the flickering torches lining the walls. The shadows seemed longer than they should have been, stretching unnaturally, shifting as if something was moving through them.
Lucian exhaled slowly.
"I know you're there."
Silence.
Then—
A faint movement, just beyond the edge of the torchlight. A shadow slipping between pillars, too fluid, too fast to be human.
Lucian's pulse quickened.
"What in the hells…?"
The whispering grew louder.
And then—a voice.
Not loud. Not urgent. But ancient, cold, and knowing.
"You were never meant to return, Heir of Frostborne."
Lucian's breath caught.
And then, before he could react—the shadows moved.
Something lunged.
Lucian barely had time to draw his dagger.
The fight had begun.