The sounds of the others exploring, shouting for survivors, the sound of someone crying and collapsing from the horror of the aftermath all dim.
It feels like everything has slowed to a stop.
Because I can't tear my eyes from my room.
There's destruction all around us, but there's not a single sign of a Gloomdweller having even glanced in my room. Not a single sign that they tried to break down my door or force their way inside.
They knew.
The humanoid one knew my classmates would be there on that island. He had to. He knew they'd be there and that I'd be there. He said it himself. 'Seventeen souls'.
It wasn't a coincidence.
They'd planned it. It was a coordinated attack.
They attacked the island...not for us.
But to draw Thomson and the rest of the instructors away from the Order.
So the real attack could happen without any of the Order's strongest members to stop it.
A wave of nausea hits me as the full realization of the situation sets in. I stumble back, away from the doorway, away from the damning evidence of my own ignorance.
The world spins around me, and for a terrifying second, I think I'm going to be sick all over the floor of the hall.
"Caden!"
A familiar, frantic shout pulls me out of my spiral of despair.
I turn to see Amelia and Flynn rushing toward me, their faces pale and streaked with soot. Flynn's usually perfect blonde ponytail is messy and singed at the ends, and Amelia's red hair is tangled, a stark contrast to her usually immaculate appearance.
They stop a few feet away, their chests heaving as they struggle to catch their breath. Their eyes sweep over me, then over the untouched room behind me.
"Are you okay?" Amelia asks, her voice trembling. "We saw you from across the courtyard and..."
Flynn's gaze lingers on my door, a flicker of confusion crossing his features before he turns back to me. "Your room...it's..."
"It's untouched," I finish for him, my own voice hoarse. "They didn't even touch it."
I'm not sure if I'm more afraid to hear them say that their rooms are the same or that mine is the only one like this.
I'm not sure which implication would terrify me more. The implication of being singled out, of being somehow...not a valid target for the Gloom Dwellers? Or that they are able to scheme and trick us. The implication that they had a plan that involved us being away, that they purposely lured us out.
Flynn's expression darkens. "They left it alone. Just like..."
He trails off, but I know what he was going to say.
Just like they left Flynn's room. And everyone who was on that island.
Because the Gloom Dwellers who attacked the Order somehow knew who wouldn't be here. They knew we wouldn't be in our rooms. They knew Thomson and the other instructors would be away. They knew everyone else would be at their posts, going about their nightly routines.
They knew.
My stomach turns into a knot of ice.
"That's...not...possible."
Amelia's answering something no one's been brave enough to even say. I can feel the tremor in her voice, hear the fear that lingers just beneath the surface of her words.
"We need to find Classmaster Thomson. Now," she says, her voice shaking with emotion. "He needs to know."
"Right," I manage, my own voice barely a whisper.
The three of us start walking, the gravity of the situation pressing down on us, making each step feel heavier than the last. The silence of the ruined Order is a stark contrast to the usual hustle and bustle of this place. Now, it's a tomb.
As we make our way through the debris-strewn halls, we see more and more evidence of the carnage. Bodies are everywhere, some torn apart, others seemingly untouched but with the unmistakable, lifeless look of someone whose soul has been devoured. The air is thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of burnt stone.
It's an affront to everything the Order represents.
And I...
Feel relief.
A twisted relief.
Because at least it means I'm not somehow one of them. If they had left my room because I'm a half-breed, a traitor, some sort of latent Gloom Dweller... then this destruction...
It'd be because of me. My existence.
But it's not.
It's because they're intelligent, because they planned this.
It's not me, it's them.
And I know, intellectually, that's far more terrifying. And yet.
And yet I feel a measure of relief, sickening as it is.
I'm glad I'm not a monster.
I'm glad this isn't because of me.
That's a stupid thought.
It's selfish and idiotic to think such a thing when everyone I've ever known is dead.
But I can't help it.
It's some small thread of relief...because....
I still...
Haven't figured out how I'm supposed to deal with being able to control the very substance that did all this.
Amelia, Flynn, and I move through the wreckage in a tense, near-silent procession. Each new room reveals a fresh tableau of horror. Here, a group of trainees huddled together, their expressions frozen in a final, silent scream. There, the sprawled form of Instructor Lockton, her body twisted at an unnatural angle, her Exorcist Candle shattered beside her, its light extinguished forever. The sight of her, who had been so stern and formidable, now just another casualty, sends a fresh jolt of ice through my veins.
We find Classmaster Thomson in the Grand Hall.
It's the largest chamber in the Order, a place where celebrations and ceremonies were held. Now, it's the epicenter of the devastation. The vaulted ceiling has collapsed, and moonlight streams through the gaping hole, illuminating the scene of slaughter. Bodies are strewn across the ornate tiled floor like discarded dolls.
Thomson stands in the center of it all, a lone, unmoving figure amidst the carnage. His back is to us, his shoulders are tense, and he's staring at something clutched in his hand. For a moment, he looks as ancient and weary as the stones of the monastery itself.
Flynn clears his throat, the sound loud and jarring in the suffocating silence. "Master Thomson?"
Thomson doesn't turn. His voice, when it comes, is a low rumble, stripped of its usual academic sternness. It sounds like grinding stone. "Did you find anyone else?"
"No, sir," Amelia replies softly. "Just... more of this."
He finally turns, and the sight of his face is a punch to the gut. His features are gaunt, his eyes are hollowed-out sockets of pure grief. The ever-present glint of intellectual curiosity in his gaze has been extinguished, replaced by a dull, vacant fire.
"They knew," Flynn manages to say, voicing the terrible realization that's been coiling in my gut. "They knew we wouldn't be here. They knew the instructors would be gone. How?"
Thomson's gaze drifts past us, toward the ruined ceiling, as if searching for an answer written in the stars. "Intelligence far beyond anything we've encountered. A new breed. Or a new leader." He looks back at me, and his gaze is unnervingly intense. "The one you met on the island. The one that could speak."
I nod, my throat too tight to form words.
He slowly opens the hand he'd been clutching. Resting in his palm is a small, smooth piece of obsidian-like stone, etched with a single, elegant glyph that makes my skin crawl. It feels familiar, in the same way the Gloom does. A kind of kinship.
"This was on Maxwell's body," Thomson says, his voice barely a whisper. "He was always at the forefront of Gloom research. But the fool didn't leave a note. I've no idea what it is. Just... a feeling."
He looks at me again, and the unspoken question hangs in the air between us, heavier than the smoke and death. Did you know about this? Did you feel this too?
I shake my head, a gesture that feels both truthful and like a lie. I do feel something from it, a faint, almost imperceptible pull, like a distant echo. But I have no idea what it means.
"The island was a feint," Thomson continues, his gaze sweeping over the destruction. "A well-executed diversion. They distracted the strongest exorcists by threatening our young, our future... while their main force struck here, at the heart." He lets out a harsh, bitter laugh, a sound devoid of any humor. "...No matter what we did, we'd have lost."
He says it as if we had no choice in this....
But it doesn't feel comforting at all.