Dawn bled slowly over the volcanic island.
Crimson light filtered through the warded skylights of the Academy amphitheater, staining the obsidian floors like diluted blood. Even before the first bell tolled, the elite cohort had assembled—twenty figures seated in tense silence, hunched over holographic slates awaiting activation.
Today was not a lecture.
It was judgment.
The air felt heavier than usual—thick with ambient dread leaks that slipped through the academy's containment lattice. The wards overhead pulsed rhythmically, struggling to suppress the island's swelling terror tide.
The tournament loomed.
Even the Veil seemed to lean closer.
---
Instructor Harlan stood alone at the podium.
His gaunt silhouette cut sharply against the glowing arrays behind him, crystallized dread stump glinting like black ice.
No joint session today.
But Instructor Vale was present—observing from the upper gallery, half-veiled in perception distortions among the murals of the Twenty-Two Lost Chains.
Their fractured sovereigns seemed almost animate in the dim light.
Watching.
Judging.
Waiting.
---
"This," Harlan intoned, voice hollow as a tomb chamber, "is your final measure."
He raised a hand.
All slates ignited simultaneously.
"Theory without embodiment is hollow speculation."
Complex simulations unfolded instantly—layered Chain scenarios spiraling across each interface.
"Embodiment without theory," he finished, "is suicide in the arenas."
---
The test was adaptive.
Cruel.
Relentless.
Questions evolved based on prior responses, diving deeper into restricted doctrine:
* Simulate backlash reversal in a mixed-Dominion rift breach.
* Predict Veil alignment during sustained terror overharvest.
* Identify Original-echo signatures within hypothetical Flaw cascades.
Failure routes appeared as branching death outcomes—Dominions inverting, bearers dissolving, arenas collapsing.
"Overfeed your hunger," Harlan said flatly, pacing slowly, "and you become the abyss's puppet."
A pause.
"Balance is the chain that binds survival."
---
Bracket holograms glowed along the amphitheater walls.
Solo divisions.
Cohort team trees.
Seedings finalized.
Xia Ying scanned them once—brief, detached.
High placement.
Earned through flawless records and theory dominance.
Zuo Flameheart's seed stood just beneath his—suspiciously elevated despite recent instability.
Clan influence whispered beneath the numbers.
Irrelevant.
---
His slate hummed beneath his fingers.
He answered without pause.
Without strain.
Every scenario unraveled cleanly before him.
Where others simulated risk—he calculated inevitability.
---
One prompt lingered longer than the rest:
**Sovereign Echo Risk Assessment — Despair Alignment Variant**
His response flowed precise, elegant:
> "True Despair alignment metabolizes terror without personal inversion. External feedback loops are commanded, not suffered. Concealed sovereign depth compels Veil recognition into submission—reversing dread tides toward hostile vectors while sustaining undetected embodiment."
The system paused.
Processing.
Then—
Perfect score projection flared faintly above his slate.
---
Cohort reactions rippled outward.
Lin Mei glanced back—eyes bright with pride.
Wei Jun offered a small, approving nod.
Neutral students murmured:
"How does he know that?"
"Restricted theory…"
Even Harlan paused mid-stride.
"Unprecedented mastery," he admitted reluctantly. "Your distinction on echo command… exceeds curriculum depth."
Above, Vale's gaze sharpened.
Another perception probe brushed Xia Ying's concealment.
Deflected smoothly.
---
They test the chains one final time, Xia Ying thought calmly.
I have memorized every link.
Tomorrow—
I break them.
---
The test concluded.
Slates dimmed in unison.
"Scores finalize seeding," Harlan announced. "Prepare accordingly. Arenas open at dawn."
Dismissal followed immediately.
No ceremony.
No reassurance.
Only the weight of what came next.
---
## Hall of Whispers
The central common hall seethed with tension.
Essence braziers burned along vaulted pillars, casting flickering shadows across bracket projections suspended midair.
Alliances whispered strategy.
Solo fighters studied opponents.
But another current churned beneath preparation—
Fear.
Festering.
Uncontained.
---
Kai.
Ren.
Tor.
All still confined to infirmary isolation—muttering of shadows, fractures, internal unraveling.
No evidence tied Xia Ying.
But patterns screamed louder than proof.
---
A loose group converged as he crossed the hall.
Four… five students.
At their center stood Dax Mirage—wiry, sharp-eyed, minor illusion Dominion flickering restlessly around him.
"Too many accidents," Dax hissed, careful to keep distance.
"Kai challenged you—broke. Ren too. Tor yesterday."
Whispers fanned outward.
"All after crossing your path."
Xia Ying stopped.
Expression calm.
Concerned.
"The island amplifies weaknesses," he replied evenly. "Tournament dread leaks erode unstable Flaws."
But scrutiny triggered something deeper.
Months of planted Aura seeds bloomed simultaneously.
Fear of proximity.
Guilt.
Paranoia.
Ambient dread thickened like fog.
---
Dax's eyes glazed first.
"It's… watching…"
Personalized nightmare ignited within him.
Mirages inverted—cohort illusions tearing apart, exposing him as fraud.
Faces laughed as his Dominion devoured itself.
"Get out—OUT OF MY HEAD!"
He convulsed, collapsing.
---
Another student—a burly force-Dominion girl—snapped next.
She saw her strength implode inward, bones compressing under phantom gravity.
She fell whimpering, clutching herself.
---
The hall erupted.
Panic rippled fast.
"Not again—!"
"Stay clear!"
"He breaks people without touching them!"
Instructors intervened—containment wards flaring as victims were rushed away.
---
Fear crystallized openly now.
No longer whispers.
"Cursed presence…"
"Cross Xia Ying and shatter…"
Xia Ying assisted calmly—helping escort one victim, mask of concern flawless.
All while harvesting the massive ambient surge.
Collective dread.
Guilt.
Fear of him.
His core surged—dense, sustained, intoxicating.
Dread Projection sharpened further—duration extended, personalization instinctive.
Fear of the shadow, he thought.
They feed me by fleeing.
---
## Trio Synchronization
Evening settled over a private training arena.
A warded chamber lined with illusion projectors and adaptive dummy arrays—booked exclusively for the trio's final synchronization.
Lin Mei arrived first.
Bandaged hands.
Steady gaze.
"The hall today… they're terrified of you," she said softly.
A pause.
"But I know the truth. You protect us."
He inclined his head slightly.
"Fear blinds. You see clearly."
She stepped closer.
"I'll heal through anything. Overdraw if needed. Test me."
---
Training began.
Xia Ying triggered controlled Terror Feedback—phantom wounds across her arm.
Light blossomed instantly from her palms.
Seamless restoration.
He escalated simulations—multiple injuries layered rapidly.
She endured.
Healed.
Sustained without backlash.
Devotion burned incandescent.
---
Wei Jun entered mid-exercise, slate already active.
"Cohort isolating us," he reported. "Advantageous—opponents hesitate."
He projected bracket maps.
"Zuo unstable. Flame faction over-relies on synergy bursts."
Xia Ying shared perception evasion insights from Vale's scrolls.
"Mask shadows during flank rotations."
---
Team drills commenced.
Fluid.
Precise.
Shadow Tendrils lashed targets while Wei Jun's tracking pulses exposed weak vectors.
Lin Mei restored simulated damage instantly, maintaining combat continuity.
They moved as extensions of one will.
Instrumental.
Unbreakable.
---
Between rotations, Lin Mei spoke quietly.
"I'm afraid… of losing you in the arenas."
Her fingers tightened slightly.
"You're everything now."
Wei Jun exhaled through his nose.
"Alliance started pragmatic. Now personal."
A beat.
"We hold."
Xia Ying wove subtle essence threads through both—a reassurance binding loyalty tighter.
"We endure," he said calmly.
"Together."
Core synchronization complete.
---
## Rooftop Reflection
Late night.
Dormitory rooftop.
Storm seas churned below, reflecting volcanic glow like molten veins across black water.
Wind carried faint whispers through vent shafts:
"Don't cross Xia Ying…"
"He breaks minds…"
He stood alone.
Reviewing the day's harvest.
---
**Theory dominance** → respect edged with fear.
**Hall collapse** → open dread ignition.
**Trio synchronization** → loyal instruments forged.
His mask had evolved perfectly:
From lucky survivor…
To feared anomaly.
The Academy's gifts were claimed:
Knowledge.
Tools.
Terror.
Power coiled, primed for arena harvest.
---
Shadows lengthen before dawn, he thought.
Cohort cowers.
I claim the dark.
---
His interface pulsed crimson.
**Opening Ceremonies: Hours Remaining**
Dormitory halls buzzed with nervous energy.
Somewhere distant—Zuo's aura flared erratically, flame instability raging through the night.
At the window, Xia Ying watched shadows coil eagerly around his reflection.
Cohort whispers echoed in memory:
"Cursed."
"Untouchable."
He closed his eyes briefly.
Eve shadows fall.
Tomorrow—
The arenas open.
The feast begins.