The dream began as they often did—without warning, without shape.
One moment there was nothing, and then there was ground beneath her feet. Uneven stone. A path carved not by hands but by the slow hunger of time.
She did not know who she was in this dream. She never did. Her sense of self blurred, thin as mist. She was someone and no one at once—only a pair of eyes, a beating heart, a body moving forward through a place that felt both foreign and inevitable.
Beside her, a boy walked. Or perhaps he was already a man. His age shifted with the shadows that crossed his face. He wore a dark coat, its hem torn from long travel, boots scraping against the cracked earth. His voice guided her steps—steady, unyielding—as if the valley itself bent to his knowledge.
Around them stretched a gorge swallowed by darkness. The cliffs on either side rose like jagged teeth, their peaks lost to a ceiling of perpetual cloud. No stars. No moon. The air pressed heavy against her lungs, carrying the metallic tang of stone and something fouler still—the musk of beasts that thrived where light could not reach.
"Don't fight the dark," the boy said, his voice calm and measured. "It will drown you faster if you resist. Let your eyes adjust. Let your steps learn the rhythm."
His words slid into her bones, familiar in a way she could not explain, as though she had heard them long ago. She obeyed without question, forcing her breath slow, softening her gaze, waiting for the faint gleam of pale moss on stone, the whisper of unseen water, the shifting texture beneath her boots. Bit by bit, the valley revealed itself—not bright, but navigable.
"You see?" he said. There was no pride in his tone, only quiet certainty. "The dark is not the enemy. Panic is."
She wanted to ask him his name. Wanted to ask why she trusted him so absolutely, though she had no memory of ever meeting him. But the words caught in her throat. She was only ever the spectator in these dreams. She saw, she felt, but never steered. It was like watching a film so vivid it swallowed her whole—yet her voice had no place in it.
The valley, however, was not content to remain still.
The growl rose first—low, rumbling, vibrating through the soles of her feet. Then came the scrape of claws against stone. Shapes slipped from the dark, darker still than the gorge itself, moving low and fast. Their eyes glinted like shards of broken glass.
Her pulse spiked. Her feet froze.
"Move!" the boy barked, his command striking like a lash. She stumbled forward just as the first beast lunged.
Its jaws snapped shut where her shoulder had been, the sound like stone shattering. She gasped, wheeling around in terror—but the boy was already there. His body cut between hers and the monster, coat flaring with the motion.
The fabric tore.
When he turned his back to face the beast, just for an instant—for a split second—she saw it.
A mark scrawled across his skin, jagged and fluid like ink poured into flesh. It pulsed faintly, threads of shadow gathering toward it, as though drawn to a gravity that did not belong to this world. It was not fully awakened—not yet—but the dim glow seared itself into her vision.
She caught a curve first, sharp and black, the edge of a crescent. Then the muzzle of a wolf curling inward, dissolving into smoke that seemed to move with him. The rest blurred, broken by shadows.
Her breath caught, sharp as knives in her chest. A terrible familiarity sank into her bones. She had felt this before. Not here, not now—but somewhere. In another place. In another life.
The boy shoved her back, steadying her with one arm as his other hand snapped upward. Shadows stirred at the valley's edges, writhing like smoke on the cusp of taking form—
And then the dream shattered.
She woke with a start, lungs burning, hands clawing at the sheets as though she had surfaced from drowning. For a heartbeat, the dormitory ceiling above her was unrecognizable, her mind still half trapped in the gorge. The mark's afterimage lingered in her sight: black lines coiled in silence, a faint glow still alive inside her chest.
She pressed a trembling hand to her heart, willing herself to be calm. But the thought would not leave her.
The boy in the dream.
The words that grounded her, guided her through that dark. She had heard them before.
And the mark on his back—
Its pulse had reminded her, unbearably, of Riel.
---
Still in bed, Riley recalled the blur of her week.
By midweek, the projection halls had been bursting with students. Booking one was near impossible; every slot had been claimed days in advance. Seniors guarded their spaces fiercely, some even threatening to hex underclassmen who lingered too long near the doors.
That was how Riley found herself standing in the quiet garden between the Comun wing and the mixed wing, staring at the broad sweep of darkness unfurling across the ground.
It was not a shadow in the ordinary sense. It was his.
Riel stood at her side, hand raised slightly, and the blackness obeyed. It stretched outward, forming jagged ridges, plunging ravines, twisting narrow passes. A landscape born not of soil and stone but of shadow—and yet it looked more solid, more convincing, than any projection crystal could ever conjure.
The Dark Valley.
Her throat tightened at the sight. Of all the randomized terrains Helstam had introduced months ago, this one had unsettled her most. Its reputation was infamous even outside the academy—treacherous paths that led to dead ends, monsters rumored to nest within its caves, fog that swallowed visibility whole.
To see it recreated on such a scale, mere steps away, made her palms damp with sweat.
"...You're sure this is safe?" she asked, her voice lower than she intended.
Riel didn't look at her, his gaze fixed on the stretching shadow. "Safe enough. They won't bite."
"That's not reassuring."
A quiet huff slipped from him—the closest thing he gave to amusement. He adjusted the contour of the shadows until one ridge sharpened into a knife-like edge. "You'll need to get used to it. If the roulette lands on this terrain, panic will kill you before the enemy even lifts a sword."
Riley crouched, tracing one of the shadow-valley's ridges with her fingertip. The texture was cool and smooth, not quite stone, not quite air. It made her shiver.
"You could've chosen the seaside again," she muttered. "Or the ruins. I was decent with those."
"You don't get to choose in war," Riel said simply.
She bit her lip. He was right, of course. He was always right when it came to this.
They spent the next hour walking through the simulation. Riel adjusted the shadows as they moved, shifting the valley walls and raising cliffs so they could run drills. Riley practiced anticipating ambushes, countering choke points, and finding hidden exits. Each time, he forced her to take the lead.
"Stop. Not like that. Remember, the dark is not the enemy. Panic is." His words cut sharply when she rushed her decisions.
Riley stilled. It felt strange, hearing that from the very icon of darkness. "You're right," she admitted. "I should approach the variables more calmly. This terrain is nothing but dark—and full of surprises."
Riel gave the faintest smile. "Let's try again."
She exhaled through her nose and set off once more, feet steady along the phantom ridge line.
At first, it was exhausting. Every misstep, every pause, every half-baked plan—he pointed them out without mercy. But repetition dulled the edge of panic. By the fourth run, her mind adjusted. She began to recognize patterns in the terrain, began to predict where an ambush might be staged or where a commander like Sam might order a reckless charge.
When she finally caught her breath at the end of a run, Riel dismissed the shadows with a flick of his hand. The valley melted away, swallowed by the night air.
"Better," he said.
It wasn't praise exactly. But from him, it might as well have been.
Riley sank onto the stone bench at the garden's center, hugging her knees for a moment. Sweat clung to her brow despite the cool night air. Her pulse was still uneven—but not from running.
"You're merciless," she muttered.
"That's the point."
She shot him a sidelong glance. He had already settled beside her, sorting through the endless pile of notes he always seemed to carry, indifferent as ever. But there was something else beneath his calm, something she couldn't name.
"How come you are this knowledgeable of all the terrains? Especially the Dark Valley?" Riley couldn't hold back her curiosity.
Riel paused for the faintest second before shrugging his shoulders. "Let's just say that I am more experienced than you."
Riley felt dissatisfied with the reply, but she accepted it anyway. And then, another curiosity took form before she could stop it. "...Why are you helping me this much?"
He didn't answer immediately. He stacked a few pages, adjusted the order, then finally said, "Because if you falter, the team falters. I won't allow that."
It was the expected answer. Practical. Cold. Entirely Riel.
And yet, it didn't explain the softness in his voice.
She looked away, embarrassed by her own thoughts. "...Still," she added, fumbling for lighter words, "it's a shame your shadows don't have color. Would've made it easier to see which path leads to death."
At that, he gave a quiet chuckle. Not mocking, not sharp—just a low sound, quickly gone.
"Death doesn't come with a warning label," he said. Then, almost as an afterthought: "But you're learning fast."
Her heart skipped at that.
They trained until the moon rose high, silver light spilling over the hedges. The academy was quiet by then; most students were locked in their dorms, cramming from last-minute notes.
"Again?" Riley asked hopefully as they finished another run.
"No."
His answer was immediate, firm.
She blinked. "Why not? I was getting better—"
"You were getting tired," he corrected.
"I'm fine!"
"You're not." This time he looked at her fully, eyes dark but steady. "Exhaustion clouds judgment. In the valley, one clouded decision is fatal. You've done enough for tonight."
Riley pouted, shoulders slumping. "Stop treating me like a child. What am I, ten?"
To her utter shock, Riel chuckled. Not the faint huff she sometimes caught, but an actual chuckle.
Then, before she could react, his hand came down lightly on her head. A simple gesture, almost careless.
"To me," he said softly, "you're still a child, though."
Her mouth opened—to protest, to scold, to ask what in the world he meant—but no words came out. Heat rushed to her cheeks instead.
And just like that, he stood, shadows trailing at his heels as he walked away.
She sat frozen on the bench, fingers tightening around the stone edge. What does that even mean?
---
Riley let out a long sigh. She really should get back to sleep. Tomorrow would be a busy day—the war tactics exam loomed ahead.
The Dark Valley still haunted her thoughts—but so did his words. And more than anything, the dream.
No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much else crowded her mind, she could not shake the warmth that lingered in her chest long after the shadows had vanished.