The dawn over the Academy of Crests was fractured—thin streaks of crimson mana bled through the morning haze, wrapping the towers in veins of trembling light. The usual hum of spirit wards pulsed irregularly, like a heartbeat out of rhythm. Every student could feel it. Every tamer whispered about it.
But Lyn heard more than the whispers. He felt them.
From the edge of the training fields, he stood alone, palm pressed against the cold surface of a mana barrier. The transparent veil rippled at his touch, light trembling in concentric waves before shattering into static silence. The distortion had grown worse since yesterday—like the world itself was unraveling.
"Umbra…" His voice was barely a breath.
A pulse answered from beneath his skin—a dark flicker running along the crest carved into his left arm. It burned, then cooled, a rhythm not his own.
—Lyn… can you hear it?
Umbra's voice slithered from the depths of shadow, neither male nor female, neither human nor beast. The bond between them trembled as if awakening from a long sleep. Lyn's heartbeat stilled, his breath catching as the surrounding world dimmed, drawn into the veil's distortion.
"Umbra? That's impossible. The barriers should cut you off completely."
—And yet here we are.
The world snapped back. Mana lights flickered, the distortion fading for a moment—but the voice lingered, echoing just behind his thoughts. Umbra's tone wasn't like before; it was fragmented, as though the shadow spirit was speaking through cracked glass.
From across the field, a voice called out.
"Lyn! You shouldn't be out here!"
Arden, his closest ally—and the one who never knew when to stay quiet—rushed forward, cloak whipping in the cold wind. His silver crest glimmered faintly under the dull light.
Lyn lowered his hand from the barrier, flexing his fingers. "It's happening again. The barriers are responding to something inside the shadow layer."
Arden frowned. "You mean Umbra. You've been hearing that voice again, haven't you?"
Lyn hesitated. "…It's not the same as before. This time, Umbra's voice comes from within the distortion."
Before Arden could answer, a shriek tore through the air—a sound like tearing fabric mixed with a soul's cry. The mana barrier along the northern spire buckled inward, forming a spiral of energy that twisted like a living wound. Every student nearby froze, their crests pulsing in wild resonance.
Then silence.
And from within the spiral, a whisper spread across the grounds—thousands of overlapping voices murmuring the same word:
"Return."
Arden drew his weapon, summoning his bonded spirit, a hawk of crimson flame that burst from the ether with a sharp cry. "That's not normal resonance. That's—"
"I know," Lyn said, voice low. His own shadow lengthened unnaturally, rippling like liquid midnight. Umbra's presence surged behind it, struggling to pierce through the collapsing veil.
—The seal weakens. The Veil between us thins.
Lyn clenched his jaw. "If you break through now, the Academy will detect your energy. They'll know I've been communicating with a forbidden spirit."
—Then you must choose, tamer. The words were calm, too calm. —Stay silent, or let the world remember my voice.
The barrier pulsed again. Cracks spidered along its surface, leaking ribbons of darkness that twisted through the light. Students screamed. Instructors shouted for containment wards, their chants ringing across the grounds.
"Lyn!" Arden shouted. "We have to fall back!"
But Lyn couldn't move. His body was anchored to the growing storm before him—his crest flaring, responding to Umbra's call. Somewhere deep in the distortion, he could see it: the faint silhouette of a beast with eyes like eclipsed moons. Umbra, waiting.
He whispered, barely audible, "If the veil is breaking, it means someone's tampering with the Academy's seal system. Someone inside."
Arden's expression hardened. "You think the Council's involved?"
"Or someone acting under their name."
The barrier flared white, then exploded outward with a blast of heat and mana. Lyn shielded his face as shards of light rained across the grounds. When the haze cleared, the once pristine tower bore a jagged scar—mana still dripping from the wound.
Umbra's voice faded, retreating into the dark.
—Our world stirs again, Lyn. The chains are not eternal.
He lowered his hand, the echo of that whisper still lingering like an afterimage. Around him, chaos reigned—students calling for aid, wardens scrambling to seal the fracture—but his gaze was fixed on the horizon.
For the first time, he understood. The rebellion didn't begin with a blade or a vow. It began with a whisper.