The days bled together in flame, sweat, and blood. Mornings began with sparring, afternoons with meditation, and evenings often ended with a barrage of advanced drills that left Kyle's limbs sore and his mind sharper than ever. The training ground—the same forgotten ring of columns—had become a second home.
Now, with only a week left before term break, the sun dipped low in the Ardenhall sky, casting long shadows through the broken arches. The hum of spent mana still lingered in the air like static.
Kyle rolled his shoulder, wiping a line of sweat from his brow.
"Not bad," Vera said, stepping forward and flipping through her notes. "You've definitely improved. Physique's caught up with your mana output. No more collapsing after a third cast."
Cynric nodded, tossing Kyle a small towel. "Your reflexes are sharper. Balance, too. You've nailed most Tier 1 spells—especially bindings and attack-based ones. That Dark Leash you used earlier was tight. Clean."
Vera crossed her arms. "You're wasting energy trying to juggle all types of magic, though. Illusion, healing, barriers—it's not for you. If you want to survive your next year, focus. Master what you're good at."
"Which is…?" Kyle asked sarcastically, catching his breath.
"Binding. Offense. Direct confrontation," she said. "Stop trying to be a jack-of-all-trades."
"Agreed," Cynric added, slapping Kyle on the back. "Your body's built for swift combat. You don't need to be a duelist in the classic sense. But you should develop your own style—something tight, brutal, efficient. Once you find your rhythm, the rest will click."
Kyle looked between them, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Thanks. Both of you."
Vera scoffed. "Don't get soft on us, prettyboy. Mirai will kill me if you did."
"Too late," Cynric added with a grin.
"Which part?" Kyle asked innocently with a chuckle.
They laughed, and the tension melted like the last of the twilight. For a moment, it was just friends—no politics, no shadows, no names hanging in the air.
They packed their gear and returned to the dorms under a navy sky dotted with faint stars.
In the dormitory halls, the light flickered as Kyle stepped into his room. His boots hit the floor with a dull thud, and he exhaled through his nose—bone-deep exhaustion settling in.
He turned toward his bed—then froze.
A figure sat there.
Himself.
Or rather, the shadow version. Identical in form but dark as night, with eyes that shimmered like cracks in obsidian.
Its legs were crossed. Head tilted. It smiled.
"Back so soon?" it purred.
Kyle said nothing. He locked the door behind him, sighed, and began removing his coat.
The entity pouted. "Oh come on, I've been so bored. You train, eat, sleep, repeat. You're starting to feel like a monk. Where's the fire? The chaos?"
Kyle remained silent, stripping off his shirt and heading to the sink.
"You've mastered Tier 1," it continued. "Even Tier 2 doesn't scare you now. You've tasted what you could become… so why do you hold back?"
Kyle stared at his reflection in the mirror. Behind him, the shadow leaned in close.
"Tonight will be the last time I beg you," it whispered. "So I'll ask only once…"
Its voice dropped an octave, coiling in his ear.
"Will you accept me now… or not?"
Kyle met its gaze through the mirror. Cold. Unflinching.
Then he turned away, climbed into bed, and faced the wall.
The shadow didn't follow. It just sat there in the dark.
Watching.
The sun had barely risen when Kyle walked into the dining hall. The smell of fried eggs and morning stew wafted over the long tables, but the warmth didn't reach his expression.
Until—
"KYLE!"
Two bodies tackled him from either side.
"Holy crap, where have you been?" Orin blurted, crushing him in a bearhug. Mirai latched on from the other side, practically lifting him off the floor.
Kyle wheezed. "I—missed you too?"
"You've gone completely ghost," Mirai said, finally releasing him. "We were gonna send a rescue team to the north tower."
"Orin wanted to leave a note in blood," she added.
"It was berry juice, thank you," Orin huffed. "But seriously, man. Don't do that again."
Kyle offered a small smile. "I was safe. And… I missed you both."
Mirai smirked. "Weird. Vera never said that."
"I didn't ask her to," Kyle muttered.
"Still, it's good to have you back," Orin said, slapping his shoulder.
They settled in with trays, and for the first time in weeks, Kyle felt something close to peace. Not trust. Not yet. But comfort.
Even if the shadow still watched.
And it definitely was.
Meanwhile, in the underground halls of the East Wing, Professor Tepes stood in the dark, fingers laced behind his back. His eyes narrowed on the cracked mirror floating above a pedestal—blank now, but moments ago it had flickered with a faint image of Kyle.
"He's resisting," he said quietly.
"Didn't expect that?" came a voice behind him.
Luwen stepped into view, clad in a deep violet overcoat. Calm. Collected. Dangerous.
"I told you," Tepes said, "the environment would crush him or awaken him. And still… he chooses denial."
"Then it's time," Luwen said. "Shall I collect him?"
He didn't answer right away. Just stared into the mirror's empty surface.
"…Bring two others. Don't damage him."
"Of course," Luwen said, bowing slightly. "We'll be ready."
He left, a plan set in motion—its purpose known only to those clad in violet.
Later that morning, Kyle found himself attending Magic History class. It had been weeks since he last came, but he was confident he could keep up.
The room was quieter than usual. Kyle sat near the back, eyes half-lidded. He hadn't skipped class out of laziness, but distance. He'd felt… out of place.
But now, as Professor Gellar discussed the Reign of the Three Emperors and the Rise of Arcane Law, he listened.
Not just heard. Listened.
His resentment toward Chris—toward so much—felt faded. Like smoke. Like something a younger Kyle would have clung to just to feel like he mattered.
Childish. That was the word.
A thud sounded somewhere in the distance.
Kyle didn't react. He exhaled.
The instructor droned on about territorial wars between mage clans.
Then—
BOOM.
The East Wing shook. Students cried out. Dust rained from the ceiling.
Kyle stood, but didn't move.
His blood went cold.
Not because of the explosion.
Because he'd felt it before it happened.
His vision swam.
His breath caught.
And inside his mind, a voice whispered:
"I. Told. You."