"Next player," the voice echoed, low and merciless.
"90°, 1.2 kilometers north."
A hush settled over the woods again.
Then the voice continued, smooth and taunting:
"Chubby, messy dark hair. Faded blue jacket. Bare hands." He chuckled, "Seems you dropped your weapon during the first game, one wristband missing. Looks like someone had a rough start. You are... in the game."
Far off though not too far, I felt a shift in the air.
Someone had heard their name without it being spoken. He knew it was him.
The boy in question crouched low beneath the thick roots of a fallen tree, breath ragged. His chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm. He didn't move. Not a twitch. Not a blink.
The forest around him was too quiet.
He pressed his back tighter against the bark, pulling his arms inward. He whispered to himself… soft, frantic.
"They can't see me. They can't. He's bluffing... he's bluffing."
But the voice knew.
"Oh? Hiding under a tree root? I see you."
The boy's head shot up, turning sharply.
A figure stood on the edge of the slope above him, no footsteps, no sound, just... there.
He bolted.
Thorns tore at his ankles as he sprinted through low brush crying for his life. His footfalls echoed as twigs snapped behind him. He didn't look back. Not once.
But the woods weren't the same anymore. The trees shifted behind him, closing like silent jaws.
He ran straight into a clearing but it wasn't empty.
There, in the center, stood a figure cloaked in faint mist. No eyes. No shadow. Just the grin and the voice.
"You were fast," it said, tilting its head. "But not fast enough."
A scream tore through the clearing short. Croaked. Then… silence.
At that moment, we all understood it was real. This wasn't just a game anymore. It was death, dressed as a game." Everyone at their locations stood wide eyed.
Another red blip vanished from the academy monitor.
And somewhere, deep in the woods, the voice whispered again:
"Hey, howling cubs, that's three down. Are you ready for the next player?"
—
I tried to gather the pieces again.
If he was using the same pattern Drazel had murmured earlier… then the next player would be at 45°, 4 kilometers from where I stood, that's southeast, an injured girl.
I didn't wait for the voice to name them and bolted backward, feet hitting the ground hard, breath sharp in my chest.
Then… he spoke up.
"Next player."
"45°, Southeast. 4 kilometers."
A pause.
—
Back at the academy, Ms. Zerra stood with her eyes fixed on the radar.
This time, the screen was much larger, nearly half the wall and every instructor in the room watched it in silence as they noted..
Ms. Zerra suddenly stepped forward. "Sir," she called up to the headmaster, her voice tense. "A blip is moving."
"Where?" he asked, already turning.
Ms. Zerra narrowed her eyes. "Backward. And at high speed."
"Who is it?" the headmaster urged.
She leaned closer to confirm. "263."
"And the direction he's heading… there's another blip." She looked up. "103."
She tilted her head. "But why is he moving at that speed? Do you think he's being chased?"
"By who?" the headmaster asked.
That was the question none of them could answer. All they knew was this blip 263 was moving backward and fast, not random or panicked as if he knew what direction to take.
—-
Then the voice flowed like smoke, cold and calculated.
"Injured girl, short black hair. Limping. Wrapped shoulder. Brown boots, gray cloak. A dagger strapped to her thigh... You are in the game."
Somewhere beyond the thicker part of the forest, where the canopy opened just enough for light to trickle through, the girl exhaled shakily. Blood soaked half of her shirt. A knife was lodged deep in her thigh and she clutched her bleeding stomach with one hand. She crouched low beside a mossy stone, eyes scanning every shadow.
A backpack hung off one shoulder, loose and heavy. No weapon in sight, just pain and silence.
She heard the voice and knew it was her time to play but she couldn't move her limbs.
Her breath trembled, chest rising and falling too fast. "He's coming."
Her leg refused to move right, she had twisted it earlier while trying to escape a trap. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood as she forced herself up, gripping a nearby tree to steady her stance.
"I'm not... going out like this."
She limped forward, one step at a time, dragging the leg behind her. The woods ahead were dense.
—--
When I reached closer, I saw someone ahead, limping, struggling to move forward with blood soaking her whole body.
I stared at the girl… something felt off. Her appearance didn't match the last description. The clothes, the hair… close, but not exact.
I slowed, watching her more closely, unsure. But then… a scream tore through the air. Sharp, sudden.
I whipped my head toward the sound, but couldn't pin the source.
Then the voice returned, smooth and amused:
"Ah… seems I gave the wrong location. But the right description."
He mocked me.
"Sorry, she wasn't ready for the game. But yeah… she's out."
And that's when it hit me. He fooled me with that last coordinate, it wasn't real. He tricked me, sending me to go backward. That bastard… whoever he was.
—--
Back at the academy everyone stood frozen, confused. "What is going on?" Haldris asked for everyone, eyes fixed on the radar. Another red blip had just vanished all of a sudden.
—--
Now… this game is starting to get boring." the voice echoed. A sigh slipped through the trees. Mocking. Disappointed.
"Let's change a few rules, shall we?"
"Or better yet… let's play a different game."
"A guessing game." the voice decided.
"So in this new game, I… am Player 1."
The announcement wasn't loud but it echoed. Not in sound, but in effect.
The name stuck like a thorn. Player 1.
The instigator. The watcher. The one in control.
His voice sharpened, cutting through the woods like a blade against silk.
"All of you, every last student cast into this world, you are Player 3."
A long pause. Enough for the confusion to sink in. Students hiding in the woods furrowed their brows, glanced around, exchanged quiet, panicked looks from behind trees and stones and roots.
Player 3? What does that mean?
The voice let the confusion stew, feeding on it.
"That leaves one question, doesn't it?"
"Who… is Player 2?"
The world stilled. Not a branch moved, not a footstep dared to fall. Even the insects seemed to fall silent, as if they too were listening.
"You have one hour. That's sixty minutes to figure it out. Once you find Player 2… kill them."
"Only then do you get to leave this world free."
"If you fail?"
A soft laugh. "Then we start a new game. One that's much, much harder."
He let that linger. Soaking in.
Somewhere, a student stumbled through leaves, panicked. Another dropped their weapon. Another whispered prayers beneath their breath.
"So… think fast."
"One hour."
"One target."
"One kill."
"The rules are simple," the voice said, tone darkening. "When I say move, you move. Fail to move, you're out."
Silence stretched.
"And when I say stop, you stop. Fail to do so… you're out."
The rules weren't playful anymore, they were orders. And breaking them meant one thing, elimination
His voice dropped low, almost a whisper in the wind.
"Let's see who wants freedom badly enough."
Then, as if satisfied with his own performance, the voice exhaled in laughter fading, twisting, vanishing between the trees like vapor.
And for the first time… the woods understood what fear truly meant.
—--
The headmaster turned sharply, his cloak flaring behind him as he faced the center console. His voice cut across the room.
"Haldris. Find me any Shinkari available right now. Immediately."
The room stilled.
Haldris stiffened where he stood, hands already hovering above the panel, but pausing now, reluctant.
"Sir…" he said slowly, "at this moment, there are only two."
The headmaster's expression didn't shift, but his voice did.
"Who?"
Haldris swallowed. Even saying their names seemed to drag a weight across the floor.
"…Thalor Ashenhive. And Toro."
A beat.
The headmaster's jaw clenched. "Only one of the Seven... and the other?" His voice dropped. "That unstable, thick-skulled cannon waiting to explode?"
Murmurs rippled through the room. A few instructors exchanged wary glances. No one dared interrupt.
Haldris gave a small nod. "The other five are still overseas. Trapped behind travel wards, they won't arrive in time."
"And you're telling me…" the headmaster's tone dropped lower, colder, "…our only viable option is Toro?"
"Yes, sir," Haldris said, choosing each word carefully. "Since the higher-ups' rules forbid Mr. Ashenhive from stepping within reach of his son…"
The room went silent.
A long, heavy silence.
The mention of his son hit like a crack behind the words. No one spoke it aloud but they all knew who that referred to.
The headmaster's fingers curled tightly at his side. Veins surfaced against the back of his hand. He said nothing for a moment, just stared at the floor like the weight of the decision had frozen time itself.
Two options., both dangerous and costly. And neither truly an answer.
Only two Shinkari remained. And calling either of them would change everything as well as break the rules.
His lips parted, a whisper escaping under his breath not meant for anyone but the room heard it anyway.
"If only the rules of the barrier were different…"
He exhaled, bitter.
"…we wouldn't need any of them."