Morning broke strangely over the academy.
The bells had not yet rung, but the air already felt thick — like sound itself was afraid to move.
Students whispered in half-formed sentences. Some stood by the corridor windows, staring toward the first-year dormitory where instructors had gathered in grim silence. The courtyard that once thrummed with chatter now carried only the brittle rustle of wind through the trees.
The body had been found just before dawn.
A boy — a first-year, no older than fifteen — slumped against the wall outside his own room. His blood had dried in a dark trail across the marble. His head lay neatly beside him, eyes open, the expression on his face still calm, as if he hadn't even realized what had happened.
No one knew who found him first. No one wanted to.
When the Academy Master arrived, even the air seemed to bow. His presence filled the corridor like a weight. Behind him trailed the instructors, their faces pale, eyes darting anywhere but the body.
"Move the students into the hall," the Master said, his voice low — a command that left no space for argument.
The instructors obeyed instantly.
Within an hour, every student in the academy had been gathered in the great hall. The tension was tangible — sharp enough to taste. Even the most talkative first-years sat wordlessly. Some stared at their hands. Others couldn't stop glancing toward the front, where the Master stood upon the platform, hands clasped behind his back.
"I will speak plainly," he began, his tone calm but heavy. "One of your peers was killed last night. The attack was silent, deliberate, and precise. This was no accident, no beast from the dungeon. Someone within these walls is responsible."
A ripple ran through the crowd — disbelief, shock, fear.
"Until further notice," he continued, "all dormitories will be locked by curfew. No student will enter or leave without an instructor's oversight. Those found disobeying will face expulsion."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
He turned toward the group of instructors standing to the side. "Instructor Varron," he said.
The man in question — tall, dark-haired, clearly sleepless — stepped forward, sweat glistening along his temple.
"You were responsible for the first-year dorms," the Master said. "And yet this occurred beneath your watch."
"I… I had patrols stationed, sir. No one entered or—"
"Then either your eyes were closed, or your patrols were incompetent," the Master cut him off, voice like a blade. "You are hereby suspended from your duties until further notice. Instructor Heilen," he turned to another, "the first-year dorms fall under your care now. I trust you'll not make the same mistake."
Heilen swallowed hard and nodded.
A faint murmur spread across the hall. The students' fear had evolved — from sorrow to paranoia. Every look now held suspicion.
Asher sat near the back, silent.
His friends — Kael, Selene, Ronan, Iris, and Lilith — were beside him, their faces pale under the light of the mana stones.
Selene clenched her fists under the table, knuckles white. "Who would even do something like this?" she muttered.
Kael shook his head slowly. "That cut… if what they're saying is true, it wasn't done by a blade from any normal student. It was too clean."
Ronan's voice trembled slightly. "You mean an instructor?"
"No," Iris said softly, her tone firm despite its quiet. "Someone skilled. Very skilled. But there's no trace of mana at the scene. None at all."
Asher's eyes narrowed slightly at that.
No mana trace. No scent. No presence.
A perfect silence.
"They can't see it." the abyss whispered to him.
'So they actually can't sense it.' Asher thought to himself. 'It's written all over the scene of the crime. Abyssal essence— Chaos Mana.'
He leaned back slightly, gaze unfocused as the world around him faded. His mind started scanning out the whole hall, trying to find the culprits. With his high perception ability he scanned out the hall for traces of guilt but found none.
'The culprit is definitely amongst the students....' Asher thought. 'If no student harbors guilt in this hall then it could only mean that..... this person.... is just like me.'
When the assembly ended, the academy shifted into chaos.
The Master had ordered a full-scale interrogation — every dorm, every hall, every student.
For two days, the search continued. Rooms were turned upside down, belongings scattered, questions repeated until even the instructors' patience began to fray.
Still, nothing.
No clues, no witnesses, no sign of intrusion.
And then, late on the third evening, Asher found it.
He was returning from the west courtyard when a flicker of black against the stone path caught his eye. He bent down.
A feather.
Small, delicate — no longer than his finger — but its color was impossibly deep, swallowing the light around it. When he picked it up, it was cold. Not the kind of cold born of air, but something… older.
The abyss inside him stirred, faintly.
The darkness within shifted like a creature sensing something familiar.
His fingers tightened around the feather. He didn't need to look around before knowing that the cost was clear.
He slipped the feather into his pocket.
His expression didn't change, but in his chest, he felt a quiet pulse — a warning.
That night, the Academy was still awake long after curfew. The fear was thicker now, more visible in the eyes of every student. Groups whispered behind closed doors. Even the instructors walked the halls in pairs.
But far above them, in the west tower, Lauren Hi'orei sat alone in her office, the light from the mana torch glowing softly against her papers.
She rubbed at her temple, fatigue pulling at her features. The day's reports had yielded nothing — not a single lead. Her brother's face flashed in her mind, calm and detached as always.
She had tried not to think about the last time she'd seen him, the sharpness in his voice when he spoke of the Hi'orei name. But now, as she sat in the silence of her office, that conversation haunted her.
She sighed and reached for the final stack of documents. That's when she saw it.
A folded letter sat on her desk — placed neatly atop the pile she had been working through just moments ago.
Her heart stopped.
She hadn't heard anyone enter.
The window was still locked. The mana wards on her office were intact.
The seal, pressed in silver wax, was unmistakable.
The Hi'orei clan head's insignia.
Her father's.
Slowly, she reached for it, fingers trembling. The parchment was cold — like it had been sitting in frost.
She didn't open it immediately. For a long moment, she just stared, her heartbeat echoing in her ears.
"How…" she whispered.
Her gaze darted around the room — which was empty. Quiet.
The light flickered violently for a heartbeat, and then everything was still again.
Across the academy, in a tower on the opposite end, the Academy Master sat behind his desk. He had just dismissed the last instructor from his office when he noticed something on the edge of his desk — something that hadn't been there a moment ago.
A letter.
Sealed in the same silver wax, marked with the Hi'orei emblem.
He stared at it, unmoving, for a long time.
The light trembled.
For the first time in years, the Master felt something he hadn't known in a long while.
A prickle of unease.
Someone had walked freely through his wards — through his protection — and left without a sound.
He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing. "This ... is serious."
And far below, in the first-year dorms, Asher lay awake in the dark — eyes open, the black feather glinting faintly in his hand.
The abyss whispered softly to him again.
Like it was laughing.