I stood alone on the rooftop, the wind brushing against my coat like a curious hand. Duskfall Academy stretched before me—regal, orderly, clueless. Lights glimmered in the dorm towers like the slow blink of a creature unaware it was being watched. Beneath those blinking lights, the security patrols marched their routes. Predictable. Human.
It was almost… sad. You believe you're safe because you've built routines. But you forget: routines are cages. And I've always been very good at breaking things.
I traced the courtyard layout with my eyes—the hedges trimmed into angular arcs, the benches placed like chess pieces, the blind spots between lamplight and stone pillars. I memorized every shadow, every sliver of delay between guard rotations. Every clumsy vulnerability wrapped in a uniform.
This place. This illusion. You think it's strong.
You think you're the hero.
You think this matters.
The sound of a door creaking behind me broke the stillness. I didn't turn.
"You're late," I murmured.
A man stepped onto the roof behind me. His boots barely made a sound. He was composed, posture straight, but I could smell the faintest tremor of doubt. He wasn't afraid of heights. He was afraid of me.
"I had to make sure the preparations were thorough," he said evenly. "You don't like surprises."
I tilted my head. "No, I don't."
He came to a stop a few feet behind me. I still didn't face him. He didn't deserve the intimacy of my gaze.
"You've done well, Tempestrike," I said at last. "Your timing was excellent. The new personnel will be useful, and the weapons cache in New Babylon… exquisite work."
The A-rank hero said nothing for a moment. Then, softly, "I only await your command."
The breeze picked up, tousling strands of my hair beneath the hood. I exhaled, slow and quiet, watching my breath vanish in the dark.
"It's almost time," I whispered. "A year in the shadows. Watching. Testing. Preparing."
My hands rested lightly on the railing. I leaned forward, feeling the balance tip.
"They still don't know who I am," I said, voice like silk over ice. "They look me in the eyes every day, and never suspect a thing. I've been learning their rhythms. Their power. Their hearts."
I turned, just enough to let him glimpse the crescent of my mask in profile.
"They don't understand the cost of peace. But they will."
Tempestrike's expression twitched. Regret? No—too late for that. He chose this path long ago.
I smiled. Not warmly.
"I'll make my debut soon," I said, stepping up onto the ledge. "We'll give them a story they'll never forget. Something… operatic."
"You're not actually going to—"
I let myself fall.
The wind swallowed me whole. For a moment, it was just silence and speed.
And then—nothing.
When he reached the ledge, there was no sign of me. Only the stillness of the night. No figure, no splash of sound. Just the empty rooftop… and the growing doubt in his chest.
In the quiet, you learn what people are really made of.
In the quiet, you make your mark.
I am the quiet that comes before the break.
Nyxshade
—
I was halfway through pretending to copy notes I'd already memorized when the chair next to mine scraped sharply across the floor.
Rhea didn't ask. She sat. Her presence was like a pressure drop—tight, suffocating, the kind you feel before a storm.
"Hey," she said, too casually. Her eyes, sharp and golden, never quite smiled. "Got a question."
I blinked up at her, pen paused mid-stroke. "Y-yeah?"
She leaned in, elbows on the desk, voice low. "Why'd you downplay your role in the mock battle?"
My heart didn't skip a beat. That would've been too theatrical. Instead, I tilted my head and gave her a sheepish little smile—something soft, forgettable. "I didn't. I mean, I just helped a bit. You did the real heavy lifting."
"Don't lie." Her voice sharpened, just a little. "You know I was watching. You weren't just good. You were… terrifyingly efficient. That trap you set? The way you timed the barriers? That was battlefield-level awareness. Tactical genius. People don't just guess that stuff."
I dropped my gaze to the notebook. Swallowed lightly. "You're overestimating me. I was just lucky, that's all…"
Rhea exhaled, leaning back. "You're doing this on purpose."
My breath caught—just slightly.
"This whole shy, clumsy girl act. The oversized sweaters. The stammering. You want them to underestimate you. Why?"
I gave a weak little laugh. "W-what? That's not—why would I—"
"You could end all the bullying," she said flatly, her voice now cold and rational. "You could destroy your reputation as a weakling in five seconds if you wanted to. So why don't you?"
I didn't answer.
Not with words, anyway. I curled in on myself a bit, forced a nervous little tug at my sleeves, and kept my voice low. "I just… I don't want attention. That's all."
It was a perfect response.
Soft. Harmless. Not quite a lie, not quite the truth.
Rhea didn't buy it. Her stare bored through me like a drill, her fingers tapping on the desk.
And in my mind, I seethed.
Too close. Too soon.
I had curated this image down to the thread count of my clothes. A shy, smart, harmless girl who barely scraped through combat class but helped in quiet, background ways. It had taken months of calculated social awkwardness, of throwing tests, of subtly missing punches and hesitating with spells. All so they would look past me.
And Rhea, golden and blunt, was pushing too hard. Tugging at loose seams.
"I just don't get it," she muttered, more to herself now. "It's like you're afraid of being strong."
I forced a smile and shrugged helplessly.
Rhea stared at me for another few seconds, then stood abruptly. "Whatever. But one day, that mask is gonna crack. And I hope I'm there when it does."
She left before I could answer.
Not that I needed to.
I stared at the desk for a moment longer, letting the weight of her words settle.
Then I turned the page in my notebook, added her name to the corner of a list.
Not on the kill list. Not yet.
But… potential threat.
—
The academy was quieter at night—dead quiet. Not the comforting kind, but the type that made every footstep feel like an accusation.
I tugged my hood lower, hands buried in my pockets, pulse steady but aware. The hallway outside the west wing library was dim, lit by those eerie blue lights that buzzed just low enough to irritate the brain. The wards here were passive, but not forgiving. You had to know how to ask the door to open.
And I did.
Whispers of sigils glowed beneath my fingertips as I pressed my palm to the cold ironwood surface. The enchantments stuttered once, then accepted me with a soft click.
Inside, the air was cold and dry, lined with centuries of dust and silence. Restricted Section 3B. Magical Infrastructure Theory—Obsolete and Experimental. Exactly what I needed. My fingers itched for the documents, and part of me hated how excited I was.
Magic was math and poetry. A cruel equation that bent the world to your will, if you could stomach the cost. And I could.
I moved like I always did—unseen, unnoticed, undeserving of attention.
Until her voice cut the silence.
"Most people sleep at this hour."
I froze. Not visibly, not externally. But inside, I filed away every variable that had just changed.
Soraya El-Amin . Third-year. Top ten in academics. Student Council. Daughter of the Minister of National Arcana.
She was leaning against a tall bookshelf, half-bathed in moonlight slanting through the high stained-glass windows. Her arms were crossed, but not tightly. Casual. Curious.
Troublesome.
"I could say the same," I replied, carefully modulating my voice to sound like it always did: soft, awkward, just a touch embarrassed. "I needed… a quiet place to study."
"A quiet place to study that just so happens to require a triple-pass enchantment to open." Her lips twitched. Not quite a smile. A test.
I clutched the folder tighter. "I'm doing a report for Professor Hayle. He gave me clearance."
Soraya tilted her head. "Did he?"
The lie was neat. Practiced. Plausible.
But Soraya wasn't the type to ask questions she didn't already know the answers to.
"You're smarter than you let on, Argent."
I flinched. Not at the name—but how she said it.
I forced a smile. "I just read a lot."
"I think you hide behind mediocrity to avoid being noticed."
"That's not—"
"You could be in the top ten. You could be on the council. You're not average, and you know it. So why pretend?"
There it was again. The thing that always clawed beneath my skin—when someone stared too long. Dug too deep. It made my stomach churn in the worst way. Like I was being peeled back layer by layer.
I took a slow breath. Let it fog up the cold air. "I'm just not interested in standing out."
"Interesting," Soraya said, stepping forward. "Because people who break into restricted wings at night usually are."
Silence stretched between us.
My instincts whispered to vanish. To erase this moment before it unravelled me.
But I stood my ground.
"And what are you doing here, exactly?" I asked. "Just admiring the stained glass?"
Her smile was all sharp edges now. "Touché."
She stepped back, slowly. Deliberate.
"I'm curious, Argent. I think you're hiding something… but I haven't decided what."
I shrugged. "You're giving me too much credit."
Soraya's gaze lingered just a second longer than it should have. Then she turned on her heel, her voice floating behind her like a challenge wrapped in silk.
"Be careful what you read. Some knowledge bites back."
And then she was gone.
I didn't move for a full minute. Not until her footsteps vanished down the far hall.
Only then did I allow myself to exhale.
She knew something. Or thought she did.
I'd have to reroute everything. Adjust the schedule. Reconsider what files I accessed and how. Rhea was already pressing too hard in daylight. Now Sandra at night?
Tch.
It was getting harder to wear this mask without it cracking.
But still… part of me felt something else too.
A thrill.
She saw me.
Not clearly. Not fully. But enough to make my pulse quicken in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
Interesting.
Very interesting.