The Headmaster's office felt like the eye of the storm by comparison.
Outside in the academy the noise was deafening - a cacophony of countless students were training, talking, living within the sturdy walls. At that place, we were guarded by thick doors and towering windows, and we were quiet, nothing.
The air seemed to have a faded smell of ancient books and wax. Hints of sun illuminated the curtains and made gentle golden lines across the dark wood of the floor.
The headmaster, Alistair, sat folded behind his large oak desk, with hands folded, and thin, wise gray eyes were directed by age and thought. Today, it seemed the lines of his face were voids. Four of the academy's finest stood around him, Magister Kellan, Professor Valerius, Rayan, and Serena, the instructor of mages.
A large, detailed map was spread across the table down before them. The edges rolled away from the table, the parchment old, and cracked.
Ink islands littered a vast sea, a sea with red and black runes inlaid to signify danger.
"The reports are consistent," Kellan stated with a calm but firm manner. His finger glided along the map's perimeter until it settled on an aggregation of islands. "Demon activity in the outer isles has increased again. Small raids. But they're smarter. More organized. Someone's organizing them."
Rayan leaned forward, his scar catching the candlelight. "We've heard that before," he muttered. "They're testing our response time. Next they'll come for our borders."
Valerius moved his glasses to the side and raised one eyebrow. His voice was flat, clipped and cautionary. "If that is true, then it is reckless to send first year students there. They've only had a few weeks of training. They're not ready for real combat. To face demons — even weak ones — is to risk their lives."
Rayan's sharp laugh broke the stillness. "A training dummy doesn't fight back, Valerius. It doesn't bleed or scream. They'll never learn what fear feels like unless they see it — unless they face it and keep moving anyway."
Valerius gave him a cold look. "And when fear freezes them in place? When the first demon tears one apart?"
Kellan's voice cut through the tension before it could grow. "Enough." His tone was steel. "You both know what's coming. The demon threat is evolving faster than our training system. We can't wait another year. We need to know which students can handle the real thing."
He tapped the map again. His finger stopped over a small island drawn in faint ink — an island ringed by cliffs and mist.
"The Isle of Whispers," he said quietly. "Remote. Contained. The perfect ground for a practical mission."
Serena tilted her head. "That place still exists?" Her voice held both curiosity and unease. "I thought it was sealed off after the last expedition."
Kellan nodded. "It was, but the recent scouting reports confirm new demon presence there. Rank one Sprites. Rank two Razorclaws. Nothing higher." His gaze lifted toward Alistair. "They'll be safe if properly supervised."
Valerius crossed his arms, his voice firm. "Safe is not the word I would use. Demons of any rank are still demons."
Kellan's expression hardened. "The ruins there hum with dormant magic — traces of something ancient. That's why they call it the Isle of Whispers. But it's quiet now. The perfect place for them to learn."
Kairen stood in the front of the room with the other first-years, Dain, Ilya, and Lia. A weighted lead rested in his gut, the palm of his hand was cold. The hall was cramped, and everyone appeared to be visibly vibrating — the whispering, the gasps, the tension in the hall and all people came to realize that something was going to happen.
He shook it off. Probably his imagination.
Headmaster Alistair finally spoke. His voice was soft, but every word carried weight. "The risk is calculated," he said. "And it is necessary. This generation cannot grow in comfort. Send them."
The room fell silent.
Even Valerius didn't argue this time.
The following morning, all first-year students were gathered in the Grand Seminar Hall, brimming with energy and nerves. The wide hall had chairs in many rows for students, and then a large cleared area. Once Kellan the Magister entered the hall and sat at the dais on the opposite end of the hall, the chatter quieted down.
Kairen stood in front of the hall with the other first-year students: Dain, Ilya, and Lia. He had a weight in his gut, and his hand felt cold in the palm. The hall felt tight, and everyone looked fidgety - the whispering, the gasps, and the feel in the hall of everyone thinking something was going to happen.
Kellan's impressive stature loomed above the room as his voice readily boomed.
"You have all been tested as individuals," he began. "Now, you will be tested as soldiers."
The words landed like stones. The hall grew still.
"We're at war," he went on. "Not against kingdoms or men -- but against demons. They are infinite. Ruthless. And they adapt. To defeat them, first you have to understand them.
With a flick of the wrist, he created and brought into existence behind him an illusion -- a small, floating, lit illusion of a little bat-like creature with glowing red eyes and sharp teeth.
"Rank One: Sprites and Imps," Kellan said. "They are weak alone, but vicious in swarms. They fight by instinct — wild, reckless, and hungry."
The image changed. Now it showed something larger, crawling, its limbs twisted like blades. The sight drew a few gasps.
"Rank Two: Razorclaws and Ghouls," Kellan said grimly. "Faster. Smarter. They move in packs. They think just enough to hunt you, flank you, and tear you apart if you panic."
A low murmur ran through the hall.
Then the illusion changed again — a hulking, dog-like creature surrounded by black flames.
"Rank Three: Hellhounds and Gargoyles," Kellan said. "Real predators. They think, plan, and kill with purpose. It takes an entire squad to defeat one."
The hall was silent now. No one dared breathe.
And then, Kellan's voice dropped lower. "Rank Four: Demon Lords."
The image now showed a monstrous figure — the same type of beast Rayan had fought months ago. Massive horns, eyes like burning coal.
Kellan's tone was almost reverent. "They command others. They twist the world around them. Few who face them live to speak about it."
The final image appeared — a blinding silhouette made of shadow and light, shifting as if it weren't made of flesh at all.
"Rank Five: Archons," he said quietly. "They are not creatures of body or mind, but pure, corrupted energy. They don't just kill you… they erase you."
The words sent an icy chill along Kairen's spine.
It was almost instinctual that Sam promptly felt the quick tingle moving along the lines of his mark. A tingle slithering up his back spine and stopping at his shoulders. The hallway of shadows darkened for a brief moment and the only sound he could assertively hear was a whisper so quiet he almost didn't catch it.
He stopped.
It was like someone — or something — had brushed against his mind.
Then Kellan's voice pulled him back.
"In a week's time," he had said, "you will be going on your first field mission. You'll be going to the Isle of Whispers to remove the demon influence there.
The room broke out in awed whispers. Kellan went on, his voice steady but authoritative.
"The demons on that island are confirmed to be Rank One and Rank Two. You are capable of handling them. You will be divided into your class groups and assigned sectors to clear. Your instructors will accompany you, but you will lead the combat."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"This does not count as an exam." He spoke slowly. "This is a mission. People get hurt on real missions. That is why you will train harder than ever this week. Learn to fight for the person beside you. Your life -- and their life -- may very well depend on it."
His voice echoed throughout the auditorium. Then softer: "Dismissed."
The students started to leave, restless groups -- some with excited voices, some terrified. The air hummed with questions.
Kairen, Dain, Ilya, and Lia found each other blacked out near the door. Lia's face was pale, and she gripped her staff tightly and her hands shook.
"Real demons," she whispered. "Not practice golems. Not illusions. Real ones."
Her voice trembled. "But… I've only ever healed small cuts. What if someone gets really hurt? What if I'm too slow?"
Dain threw an arm around her shoulder — a little too hard — and gave his usual big, confident grin. "Hey, hey, don't worry about that! Kairen and I will be there! No demon's gonna get near our healer! We'll be your personal bodyguards — the mighty, brave, heroic…" He raised a finger dramatically. "Guard Dogs of Justice!"
Lia blinked, caught between laughing and crying. "Guard Dogs of… what?"
Ilya sighed, folding her arms. "Ignore him. He's loud, not logical."
Dain gasped. "Loud and logical can exist together!"
Ilya didn't even look at him. "No, they cannot."
Even Kairen smiled. But when he looked at Lia again, the fear on her face constricted his chest.
He spoke softly. "Ilya's right. We'll protect each other. You'll do your job, and we'll do ours. We won't let anything harm you."
Lia swallowed and nodded. "Okay." Her voice remained small but firm.
That evening, Kairen walked home under an orange-painted sky. The academy walls shone softly in the light, and the sound of training faded softly behind him.
But his heart was sore.
He couldn't help but think of the mission — the hushed word demon, the radiating remains, the creep that crawled up his spine.
When he arrived home, the house was filled with the smell of spices and smoke. His mother hovered in the kitchen, humming quietly as she chopped vegetables.
"Mom," he whispered.
She turned, smiling automatically. "You're home early. How was your day?"
He hesitated. "We got our first mission."
Her hands froze. The knife stopped mid-cut.
She turned to him slowly, her face pale. "A mission?"
He nodded quickly, trying to sound braver than he felt. "It's just a training raid. On the Isle of Whispers. Low-level demons only. Rank Ones and Twos."
Her eyes didn't blink. "When?"
"A week from today."
The silence hung between them.
She didn't reply. She simply went back to the cutting board, moving slowly, her hands shaking. The knife hit the wood at an odd angle.
Kairen wanted to say something soothing - something light - but the words sat like ashes in his throat. He noticed her shoulders shaking slightly. The sound of the knife hitting the board was the only thing heard in the kitchen.
At last, he whispered, "You're fine, Mom. I would never hurt myself."
She nodded, still facing away. "I know," she said softly. But her voice broke at the end.
Kairen remained on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. It was too quiet. The world felt still.
He thought about Lia's fear. Dain's wild grin. Ilya's calm logic. His mother's trembling hands.
And under it all — the faint warmth of the mark on his back. It pulsed gently, steady as a heartbeat.
"A real raid," he whispered to himself. His voice shook. "Real demons. Real danger."
He turned onto his side and stared at his wooden training sword resting against the desk. The sight of it calmed him down. It was nothing really — just polished wood — but it brought him back to why he was here.
He thought of his father, of Kellan's words about bravery. Of protecting people who couldn't protect themselves.
Not to be a hero like him, he thought. Just to be strong enough.
Strong enough to keep his promises.
A subtle determination took root within, pale and fragile, but actual. The fear was still present, though it had a shape - something he could push back against.
The mark on his back warmed again underlining once - like it was affirming his thoughts.
He smiled faintly into the dark.
He was scared. Terrified.
But he was ready.
Ready to face the whispers.