The academy's halls buzzed with whispers. The announcement spread like wildfire: a test tomorrow, one that would decide rank, worth, and who belonged within Dawncrest. For many, it was a chance at glory. For others, it was a threat.
Kael walked among the students, his face carved with disdain. His hatred for Gareth still burned, and though he hid it, part of him longed to see Gareth humiliated before everyone. To Kael, the test wasn't about survival — it was about justice, about proving that weakness had no place in this world.
Meanwhile, Gareth sat alone near the outer wall of the academy, staring out into the city beyond. His hands trembled unconsciously as he thought of the curse, of the eclipse, of the blood he'd left behind. Every word of insult — pathetic, coward, disgrace — clung to him like chains.
And yet… there was a flicker inside him. A small, almost invisible thought. Maybe this is where I prove them wrong. Maybe this is where I prove myself wrong.
That night, the academy's bells tolled, summoning all students to the briefing chamber. A teacher, cloaked in silver robes, stood before them. His voice was sharp and commanding:
"Tomorrow, you will face the Trial of Insight. No sword, no shield, no allies. Only you… and the truth of your soul. The weak will be broken. The strong will ascend."
A hush fell. The words carried more weight than any sword.
Kael clenched his fists. This was his chance to bury Gareth's image forever.
Gareth lowered his head, heart pounding. A trial that exposed the soul… what would it show of him? Fear? Guilt? Or something else?
The night stretched long. Some trained. Some prayed. Some boasted.
But Gareth lay awake, staring at the ceiling, whispering to himself:
"No more running. Not this time."
The academy courtyard had been transformed. Where there was once stone and grass, now stood a circle of obsidian pillars, each etched with strange glowing runes. The air itself hummed with energy, pulling at the students' chests like invisible threads.
One by one, students stepped inside the circle. The runes flared, and their bodies went still, eyes blank, as if they had been pulled somewhere far away.
When Gareth's turn came, whispers rippled across the crowd. Some smirked, others sneered. The coward enters the trial… let's see how fast he breaks.
He stepped into the circle. The light swallowed him whole.
Darkness. Then a flicker of firelight.
Gareth found himself standing on a battlefield — the same battlefield where Shalkeer had slaughtered thousands.
The screams, the burning, the blood… all of it returned sharper than memory, like the world itself wanted him to relive his greatest shame.
Across from him stood a shadow.
It was him. Gareth — but taller, stronger, sharper, his face cold with disdain.
"You ran," the shadow spat. "You let them die. You're nothing but a coward wearing borrowed time."
The words cut deeper than steel. Gareth's knees trembled. He wanted to deny it, but every syllable echoed his own hidden thoughts.
Elsewhere, Kael entered his own illusion. He stood before a burning village, his father's body lying broken in the ashes. His mother's face turned away from him, vanishing into shadow.
And then, a voice whispered:
"No matter how hard you fight, you'll never be more than a shadow of those you lost. You're not saving anyone. You're just chasing ghosts."
Kael roared, summoning light to burn the vision, but the voice burrowed deeper. His heart ached, fury mixing with despair.
The shadow Gareth stepped closer, pressing a blade of black flame into his hand.
"You don't belong here. Say it. Admit it. Accept what you are."
Gareth's chest tightened. The shame, the fear, the endless running — all of it clawed at him. He wanted to collapse.
But then, through the fire and screams, another memory surfaced — Captain Ryn's battered hand gripping his shoulder, voice steady:
"A man isn't measured by when he runs. He's measured by when he stops running."
Gareth clenched his fists. His shadow's blade sliced his arm, pain sharp, real. But instead of backing down, Gareth stepped forward.
"You're right. I ran. I failed. I was pathetic. But so what, I'm still here. And I'm not running."
The shadow's flame flickered. The battlefield trembled. And then, for the first time, Gareth didn't feel the weight of the chains around his chest.
The obsidian circle pulsed again. Another student stepped forward.
Selene of Aurensport
Selene, sharp-eyed and always calculating, entered the trial without hesitation. Inside, she stood atop a gleaming throne of gold, surrounded by subjects kneeling in worship. Yet when she reached for the crown, it burned her hand, searing her flesh.
A voice whispered: "To lead is to betray. Who will you abandon first?"
Selene's jaw tightened. She hid her fear under a mask of composure. For her, the test wasn't about courage — it was about control.
Doran of Highwarden
Doran, the stoic son of a noble warrior family, faced a different vision. His ancestors — armored giants of legend — surrounded him, their eyes glowing with disappointment.
> "You are weak," they thundered. "Unworthy of our bloodline. Prove yourself or vanish from our name."
Doran's fists shook. All his life he'd trained to be perfect, but the weight of their expectations pressed him to the ground. In the real courtyard, sweat poured down his face as he muttered, "I won't fail… I won't…"
Lyra of Luminara
Lyra, the quietest girl in class, entered the trial trembling. She found herself in endless darkness, a hundred faceless figures laughing at her insignificance.
Then one stepped forward, taking the shape of her mother.
"You were born for nothing, Lyra. A flicker of light, destined to fade."
Her small hands glowed faintly. She whispered back, almost too soft to hear:
"Even a flicker… can guide the lost."
For the first time, the darkness around her wavered.
The circle pulsed violently. A boy from Sunstead staggered inside, his trial shattering too quickly. His scream echoed across the courtyard as black veins spider-webbed across his skin. His eyes turned crimson.
"I… I don't want to be weak!"
His body twisted, bones snapping, horns sprouting from his skull. In seconds, the boy was no longer human — but a snarling, demonic beast.
Another student fell next — a girl from Solara. She begged for forgiveness as shadows wrapped around her like chains. Her hands warped into claws, her voice cracked into something inhuman.
"Make it stop… make it stop Please!"
Her scream ended in a guttural roar.
The third was worse. A noble heir of Dawncrest. When his trial broke, the corruption surged stronger, as if drawn to his pride. He tore at his own face until nothing human remained. His hulking frame trembled with rage, wings of sinew ripping from his back.
The courtyard erupted into chaos. Screams cut through the night as the three corrupted students lunged forward, claws ripping through stone.
Kael froze. Other students stumbled back. Even the teachers wavered, unsure how far the corruption had spread.
Then Gareth moved.
Not like a student. Not like a boy.
Like a survivor.
His eyes clouded over, flashing with the memory of blood and steel. The battlefield where Shalkeer's slaughter had broken him. His hands trembled, then steadied — clenched like they had before he struck down men, monsters, and comrades alike.
The first corrupted creature charged. Gareth met it head-on, slamming his palm against its chest. Dark energy — raw, unstable, ugly — surged out in a violent wave. The creature's ribcage cracked inward, blood spraying as it collapsed.
The second one screeched, leaping high. Gareth didn't even flinch. He snatched it midair, dragging it down with brutal force, smashing its skull against the stone again and again until the screaming stopped.
The courtyard went silent, except for the wet sound of his blows.
The last corrupted student — the noble with twisted wings — hesitated for half a heartbeat. Gareth's gaze locked on him. There was no fear in it, no hesitation. Only rage.
He leapt, tackling the beast, teeth clenched so hard they bled. His fists glowed with dark energy as he pummeled, each strike tearing flesh and breaking bone. He didn't stop when the creature died. He didn't stop when it stopped moving. He kept striking, lost in the storm of memory.
By the time he finally staggered back, panting, his arms were coated in blackened blood. His classmates didn't see a savior. They saw a monster.
"...I deserve this," Gareth muttered under his breath, trembling.
Teachers pulled him away, horrified. Some whispered of punishment. Others of fear. The students shrank back, eyes filled with terror.
Kael clenched his fists, muttering low:
"Pathetic… or worse."
And just like that, Gareth was no longer just the boy who ran. He was the boy who broke.
The courtyard fell into a tense, trembling silence after Gareth's onslaught. His classmates didn't see a hero—they saw a monster. Eyes that had once cast pity now widened with horror; whispers became muttered curses, and muttered curses became venomous sneers.
Kael's lips curled into a slow, cruel smile. "Pathetic… and yet, somehow, worse," he muttered, shaking his head. Around him, a few others began to whisper in agreement. The word spread like wildfire: monster. abomination. he deserves it.
Students who had once smiled at Gareth, who had once tolerated his awkward presence, now crossed the courtyard to avoid his gaze. Some spat at his feet. One bold enough threw a stone, narrowly missing his shoulder.
Even the teachers recoiled. One, silver-robed, muttered, "We… must control him," though his voice lacked conviction. The other faculty exchanged uneasy glances. Gareth's display had shattered their perception of him—they had not anticipated a student capable of such raw, unrestrained power.
Gareth's chest heaved, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of every eye on him. Every look of fear, disgust, and hatred pressed into his skin like sharpened needles. He wanted to shout, to explain, to make them understand… but no words could pierce the wall of contempt.
He walked through the courtyard slowly, each step heavier than the last. The remnants of blood and blackened energy clung to him, a visible mark of the violence he'd wrought. Whispers followed him, building into murmured chants of blame:
"Dangerous… insane… he shouldn't be here…"
"Why is he allowed to live?"
"He's the curse of Dawncrest itself."
Kael's eyes never left him. "Enjoy your power while you can," he hissed. "They'll turn on you sooner or later. Everyone will. Just wait."
Gareth clenched his fists, dark energy flickering faintly along his skin. The rage inside him was no longer just from survival—it was from being hated, feared, and rejected by the very people he had once thought were his peers. Every insult, every scornful look, fed the fire burning within him.
And for the first time, Gareth realized: it didn't matter if they hated him. It didn't matter if the world despised him.
Because he had already survived their contempt. He had already stared into the abyss of their judgment—and lived.
And now… he would let them see exactly why.
The days after the Trial of Insight were tense. The academy's halls buzzed with hushed whispers, most of them filled with fear and contempt for Gareth. Students crossed to the other side when he walked past. Teachers avoided direct eye contact, unsure whether to discipline him or flee the wrath he carried.
Kael, meanwhile, saw opportunity in the chaos. He whispered in corridors, planting seeds of mistrust.
"Do you really want him near your group?" he asked one student in the dining hall, voice low. "He killed… anyone who stood in his way. I heard the teachers talking… they barely controlled him."
Another student, already uneasy, nodded. "He's dangerous. He's not like us. He… might turn on anyone who annoys him."
Kael smiled faintly. "Exactly. You'll see. Soon, he'll make a mistake… and then everyone will hate him even more. Even his so-called allies."
One afternoon, in the training yard, a group of students experimented with Veil Root magic—a rare, volatile art of channeling inner energy into raw elemental force. The air around them shimmered with unstable light.
A young student from Aurensport, ambitious but reckless, attempted a complex spell. Corruption energy still lingered faintly in the air from the previous trial, twisting and bending the Veil Root magic.
The spell flared violently. Dark tendrils of energy shot out uncontrollably, tearing at the ground, sparks flying in every direction. A scream echoed: "It's out of control!"
The magic swerved, heading straight toward Kael, who had been watching from the edge of the yard, smirking, unaware of the imminent danger.
Time slowed. Gareth saw it. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, slamming his body in front of Kael. The blast of Veil Root energy struck him full force.
Pain lanced through Gareth, energy ripping at his skin and clothes. The air smelled of ozone and charred stone. Students screamed, scattering in every direction. The young Aurensport mage fell to the ground, trembling, horrified at the near catastrophe.
Kael staggered back, wide-eyed. "W-what…?"
Gareth gritted his teeth, black energy flickering across his arms, holding Kael safe behind him. Every fiber of his body burned, but he didn't move. His gaze was icy, unyielding, and deadly.
"You… you almost got yourself killed,"
Gareth rasped, voice low, but controlled. "Next time… bastard my body just moved by itself."
Kael's smirk vanished, replaced by a flicker of fear. For the first time, he realized that no matter what schemes he plotted, Gareth was more than just a hated target. He was a force. A storm waiting to break.
The students whispered among themselves, fear and awe mixed in every glance. Some stepped back, others stared, realizing that Gareth wasn't just the boy they despised—he was a shield and a weapon all at once.
The courtyard fell silent after the blast of Veil Root energy. Even the teachers looked shaken—most notably the silver-robed instructor who had overseen the trial weeks ago. His eyes scanned the yard, lingering on Gareth's scorched arms, the faint flicker of dark energy still dancing across his skin.
Finally, he raised a hand, commanding attention. "Enough," he said, voice sharp and cutting through the tension. "This… display is a warning, not just to the students, but to all who dwell in this academy."
All eyes turned to him, fear and anticipation mingling in the air.
He continued, solemn, almost heavy with portent: "A new eclipse approaches… one year from now. It will test not just skill, but the soul itself. Those unprepared will break. Those who endure… may rise to something greater."
Whispers ran through the courtyard. Students exchanged anxious looks, Kael's expression darkened, calculating.
Later, in a quieter corner of the yard, Kael approached Gareth. His voice was low, edged with disbelief. "Why… why did you jump in? That blast could have killed you."
Gareth, still catching his breath, didn't meet Kael's eyes. He smirked faintly, almost to himself. "Because someone had to. Even if it's you."
Kael's jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to argue, but words failed him. For once, he was unsure, uncertain… maybe even a little afraid.
The scene shifted to the academy infirmary. Gareth sat on a cot, bandages covering burns along his arms. The faint hum of healing magic filled the room. He flexed his fingers, testing strength, a small, quiet smile tugging at his lips.
He thought of the trials, the corruption, the fear and hatred that now followed him like a shadow. And yet… there was pride there too. Not the kind that came from being loved, praised, or understood—but the kind that came from surviving, protecting, and standing firm when it mattered most.
Gareth leaned back, closed his eyes, and let the quiet settle over him. This was only the beginning. One year until the eclipse. One year to become stronger, smarter, sharper.
A faint flicker of determination shone in his eyes. The world could hate him. It could fear him. But Gareth would rise on his own terms.
And somewhere deep inside… he knew he was no longer the boy who ran.