The infirmary was unusually crowded. Gareth leaned against a bed rail, bandaged arm sore but spirits high, while Lyra perched nearby, Moon Veinroot aura faintly shimmering. Darius stood stoic, arms crossed, and Talia Nyx sat opposite, arms folded, trying (and failing) to look unimpressed.
Kael Draven sprawled across a bed, bruised, armor cracked, shadow aura flickering weakly. His glare swept over everyone like a blade.
Gareth smirked. "First—why are you here? Half-dead, embarrassed, and probably starving?"
Kael hissed. "Do you ever shut up?"
Lyra leaned forward, smirk teasing. "Seriously, Draven. You look humiliated. Did Darius hit you harder than expected? Or is this your new 'Shadow Prince' look?"
Kael's jaw twitched. "I—am not embarrassed! And I'm here for my own reasons, not for you idiots to worry about."
Talia snorted. "Then why do you look like you've been roasted by the sun and buried in shadows?"
Kael's shadow aura flickered angrily. "I said—I'm fine! Stop prying."
Darius spoke quietly, but firmly: "Kael, lying to yourself won't help. You survived. You're here. Accept that much at least."
Kael's hands flexed, shadows writhing faintly. He shot Gareth a glare. "…I don't need friends. And I certainly don't want them telling me what to do."
Lyra smirked knowingly. "Hah. You don't have to admit it, but I see the tiniest crack there. Don't worry—I won't point it out… much."
Kael growled, body tense. "You all… just leave me alone. I'll survive. That's enough."
Gareth tilted his head, watching him carefully. "You're not exactly friendly, but… maybe someday we'll see you lighten up a little."
Kael didn't respond, just fixed his gaze on the ceiling, but the faint flicker of his shadow aura seemed less aggressive, almost thoughtful.
Lyra leaned back, smirk softening. "Alright, fine. You're allowed your brooding… for now. But don't think we'll forget how stubborn you are."
A tense silence lingered, broken only by Kael's low mutter: "…I'm not done yet."
Outside, the sun glinted across the infirmary windows. Inside, the five of them—battle-worn, bruised, and uneven—shared a quiet understanding. Kael wasn't ready to call them friends, but he was no longer entirely alone either.
Gareth sat in the infirmary, muscles aching, mind still buzzing from the Coliseum fights. The room was quiet, broken only by the faint groans of the recovering students.
Then a voice, cold and ethereal, echoed in his mind.
"Gareth… I found it. The next Eclipse… one year from now."
His head jerked, eyes snapping open. Umbrael's telepathic voice—always calm, always unnerving—had reached him again. The words lingered, heavy with warning.
Before he could respond, the scene shifted.
Far from the Academy, in the shadowed underbelly of the kingdom, a clandestine meeting unfolded. Candles flickered along stone walls, illuminating a room filled with maps, symbols, and whispered voices.
The organization was known only as Eradicate—a network of assassins, spies, and manipulators, orchestrating chaos across the land. Its goals were obscured, but its influence was absolute.
A figure stepped from the shadows. Silent, precise, deadly—this was the first operative Gareth would unknowingly cross paths.
Kaelen's presence was like a blade in the dark. He moved without sound, eyes scanning the room, assessing, calculating. In his hands rested a pair of curved daggers, faintly etched with sigils that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
A shadowed elder addressed the group. "The Eclipse approaches. Our plans must proceed without error. Kaelen, your first assignment awaits."
Kaelen inclined his head, expression unreadable. "Understood. They won't see me coming."
The evening sun cast a golden glow over Dawncrest, the noble district alive with the quiet hum of magic and ceremony. Grand spires shimmered, their banners fluttering with intricate embroidery, and fountains glinted with enchanted water that danced in luminous arcs. Cobblestone streets reflected both sunlight and the faint aura of protective wards placed by the city's guardians.
Gareth, Lyra, Talia, Darius, and the reluctantly tagging-along Kael walked through the main plaza, the echo of their laughter blending with the soft music from crystal street lamps that floated above. The district was celebrating the annual Festival of Light, marking the sun's longest day, and the air buzzed with a mix of ceremonial chants, street performers, and merchants hawking magical trinkets.
Lyra's eyes sparkled as she dashed toward a stall brimming with glowing pastries. "First one to the fountain buys the next round of Sunfire tarts!" she called, a silver aura pulsing faintly around her veins as her laughter rang like bells.
Kael froze mid-step, glare sharp. "I am not racing a traitor's daughter," he growled, though his strides instinctively quickened.
Gareth tugged at Kael's arm. "Come on, lighten up. Don't tell me the Shadow Prince is afraid of losing to a girl."
Kael's jaw tightened, but a twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. Talia snorted, crossing her arms. "Pathetic. You two acting like children in a noble plaza."
Darius walked behind, arms folded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Focus, everyone. Enjoy it, yes, but keep your eyes open. Crowds can hide… surprises."
The plaza's center was a massive fountain, water arching magically into concentric rings that reflected both the sunlight and the flickering glow of enchanted lanterns. Gareth sprinted ahead, feeling the strain of muscles still sore from the Coliseum fade in the rush of adrenaline. He vaulted over the fountain's edge, landing lightly, and held his hand out for Lyra, who grinned and leapt to meet him.
Kael scowled, brushing dust from his coat. "This is absurd."
Lyra smirked, leaning casually against the fountain. "Relax, grumpy. Enjoy the view. Look around—you're in Dawncrest. This is one of the few times even you can pretend to be normal."
The five of them stood atop the fountain's edge, the city sprawled beneath them. Spires glimmered in gold and silver, magical lanterns swirled in the twilight breeze, and the distant chimes of the Temple of Dawn echoed like a heartbeat across the plaza.
Gareth looked at his friends, bruised, battered, but laughing and alive. "One step at a time," he murmured, eyes drifting toward the horizon. "But the Eclipse is coming. We have to be ready."
Lyra nudged him with an elbow. "Always brooding, huh? Even in celebration."
Kael huffed but didn't argue, his gaze sweeping the cityscape, a shadow of thought in his eyes. Even he couldn't deny the beauty—or the fleeting peace.
Above them, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Dawncrest in molten gold and violet, a perfect backdrop for a fleeting moment of camaraderie before the storms to come.
The evening sun cast a golden glow over Dawncrest, the noble district alive with the quiet hum of magic and ceremony. Grand spires shimmered, their banners fluttering with intricate embroidery, and fountains glinted with enchanted water that danced in luminous arcs. Cobblestone streets reflected both sunlight and the faint aura of protective wards placed by the city's guardians.
Gareth, Lyra, Talia, Darius, and even the begrudging Kael walked through the main plaza, laughter spilling from their lips despite bruises and fatigue. As they passed a fountain, Gareth's gaze lingered on the glimmering water.
For a moment, he remembered the first time he had set foot in Dawncrest—with Captain Ryn. He had been tense, unsure, overwhelmed by the grandeur and weight of the city. Captain Ryn had scolded him, guided him, and reminded him that discipline and courage would carve his path here. Back then, he had felt small, like a shadow in the spires.
Now… now he was with friends who made him laugh, tease, and feel alive. Lyra's silver aura pulsed faintly as she darted ahead, Kael begrudgingly keeping pace, and Darius maintaining his calm presence—all of them a part of a group he had chosen, not just survived with.
Lyra's voice broke his reverie. "First one to the fountain buys the next round of Sunfire tarts!" Her grin was mischievous, eyes sparkling like captured moonlight.
Kael froze mid-step. "I am not racing a traitor's daughter," he growled, though his strides unconsciously quickened.
Gareth grinned, tugging on Kael's sleeve. "Come on, lighten up. Don't tell me the Shadow Prince is afraid of losing to a girl."
Kael's jaw tightened, but a twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. Talia snorted, arms crossed. "Pathetic. You two acting like children in a noble plaza."
Darius walked behind, arms folded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Focus, everyone. Enjoy it, yes, but keep your eyes open. Crowds can hide… surprises."
Atop the fountain, the five of them laughed and teetered on the edge, the city sprawling beneath them. Spires glimmered in gold and silver, magical lanterns swirled in the twilight breeze, and the distant chimes of the Temple of Dawn echoed like a heartbeat across the plaza.
Gareth let himself breathe, for once free of the weight of expectations. "One step at a time," he murmured, eyes drifting toward the horizon. "But the Eclipse is coming. We have to be ready."
Lyra nudged him with an elbow. "Always brooding, huh? Even in celebration."
Kael huffed but didn't argue, his gaze sweeping the cityscape. Even he couldn't deny the beauty—or the fleeting peace.
Above them, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Dawncrest in molten gold and violet, a perfect backdrop for a fleeting moment of camaraderie before the storms to come.
The Next morning in Dawncrest was quiet, the golden sunlight cutting through the mist lingering over the streets. Gareth stepped into the plaza, expecting the usual post-festival chatter, the faint laughter of merchants and students echoing faintly.
But the air felt… wrong. Heavy. Silent.
A crowd had gathered near the carriage heading toward Luminara. Curiosity tugged Gareth forward. He pushed through the crowd, heart sinking as he noticed the long, ceremonial cloth covering a body being loaded onto the carriage.
Something in his chest tightened. Slowly, almost reverently, he reached for the cloth and lifted it.
The body beneath… was the granny he had met months ago, the kind, wrinkled woman who had given him guidance and warmth when he first arrived in Dawncrest. Her head had been brutally severed, her eyes empty, expression frozen in horror.
Gareth's stomach churned, fists clenching so tightly his knuckles whitened. Rage flared in his chest, hot and consuming.
"This… this can't be…" he whispered, voice trembling. His mind raced through every detail—the shadows that had flitted across the city streets, the faint whispers he had ignored, the dark stranger who had lingered near the festival.
A memory surfaced: Kaelen Veyris, the assassin of Eradicate, whose name he had only heard recently, and whose reputation was whispered among the underground.
Gareth's eyes narrowed, his body trembling with fury. "It's her… it has to be Kaelen. No one else moves like this. No one else kills like this."
He clenched his fists again, the Veilbound Root in his veins pulsing violently in reaction to his anger. His teeth ground together. "If it's her… if Eradicate thinks they can send someone like that to terrorize this city… they're about to find out exactly who they're dealing with."
The carriage rumbled toward Luminara, carrying her body to be sent off properly. Gareth trailed behind, silent, calculating. Every movement, every shadow, every whisper became a piece of the puzzle. He was angry, but methodical—deducing, plotting, and vowing vengeance.
By the time he reached the outskirts of the city, his resolve had hardened. The Festival of Light, the laughter, the camaraderie… it all felt stolen, replaced by the burning need to confront the shadow lurking over his city.
The next step was clear: find Kaelen Veyris, and make Eradicate pay.
The day after the funeral in Luminara, Dawncrest felt heavier. Sunlight filtered weakly through the city spires, but Gareth barely noticed. He walked past familiar streets, past cheerful students and merchants, nodding distractedly at acquaintances, avoiding his friends with practiced excuses.
"Gareth, breakfast?" Lyra called from the Academy plaza, her silver aura flickering faintly.
"Ah… uh, not hungry," he muttered, hurrying past.
Talia, Kael, and Darius exchanged glances, concerned, but Gareth ignored them, slipping into the shadowed alleys leading toward the city's outskirts.
Umbrael hovered silently behind him, almost invisible, a cup of steaming tea balanced perfectly in his hand. His voice was calm, measured, echoing only in Gareth's mind.
"You're moving too fast, Gareth," Umbrael said. "Slow down. Observe. Patience is part of precision."
Gareth didn't answer, his eyes scanning for any unusual patterns, signs of shadowy figures, or whispers of Kaelen Veyris. His muscles tensed, Veilbound Root pulsing faintly beneath his skin. Every detail mattered. Every shadow could be a clue.
He ducked into a narrow alley where the morning mist clung to the cobblestones. "She was here… she passed through here," he muttered under his breath, recalling the granny's route to Luminara.
Umbrael placed the tea beside him on a small stone ledge. "Drink. You will need clarity, not just fury."
Gareth ignored the words for a moment, closing his eyes. Images of Kaelen Veyris, her brutal strike, the lifeless face of the granny, flashed across his mind. His fists clenched, knuckles white, jaw tight.
"I will find her," he whispered, voice low and deadly. "And I will make sure Eradicate understands exactly who they are dealing with."
Umbrael said nothing, only watching, his presence steady and unnerving. Gareth took a long breath, finally lifting the cup, letting the warmth seep into his hands, grounding him just enough to continue.
The streets of Dawncrest and the path to Luminara lay ahead, but Gareth had already crossed the first line: no distractions, no jokes, no celebrations—only the hunt.
Night had fallen over Dawncrest, but in the heart of the city, Black Street thrived. It was a warren of narrow alleys and shadowed courtyards, where lanterns flickered weakly above piles of refuse and graffiti etched in ash told silent stories of crime and power. The smell of smoke, rot, and spilled ale clung to the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of blood and oil.
Rats scuttled across broken cobblestones, squealing as they dodged boots and shoving carts loaded with illicit goods. Merchants—half-hidden in the shadows—haggled over magical trinkets, rare poisons, and black-market weapons. Crude firearms, jagged knives, and enchanted daggers glimmered under the dim, swinging lanterns. A hooded man polished a crossbow while a young street urchin tried to pickpocket him, their movements a choreographed dance of survival.
Gareth moved silently, hood drawn, eyes scanning every stall, alley, and shadow. The Veilbound Root in his veins hummed faintly, attuning him to the subtle currents of magic and whispers in the street. He wasn't here to buy, bargain, or play spy—he was hunting a name: Kaelen Veyris.
A group of shady men leaned against a crumbling wall, gambling over dice that glowed faintly with forbidden magic. One of them spat, muttering a string of obscenities in a dialect Gareth barely understood. Yet in their casual arrogance lay the whispers he sought.
He edged closer, catching snippets of conversation:
"…saw her last near the docks…"
"…Kaelen moving fast, no one follows her shadow…"
"…payment delivered. She doesn't fail."
Gareth's jaw tightened. Every detail fit the pattern. He focused, letting Veilbound Root sense vibrations, tension, and intent. From the slightest flicker of shadow, the direction of hurried footsteps, the hushed way a vendor glanced over his shoulder—he pieced together Kaelen's likely route.
Finally, a small boy slipped past, carrying a package wrapped in black cloth, muttering under his breath. Gareth intercepted him effortlessly, using a tone that brooked no argument.
"Where did you see Kaelen Veyris go?"
The boy froze, eyes wide. "I… I don't know her name, I swear! She—she went toward the warehouse district near Luminara!"
Gareth let a faint exhale escape, letting the boy scamper back into the shadows. He had the lead. Every crooked street, every flickering lantern, every rat that darted beneath crates and refuse had pointed him here.
As he moved deeper into the twisting alleys, the air thickened with the scent of oil and rust, and the sounds of Black Street's denizens—shouts, laughter, threats, deals—blurred into a single, chaotic pulse. Yet Gareth was calm, focused, deadly. Kaelen's trail was sharp in his mind now.
Tonight, he would follow it, and for the first time since the granny's murder, his rage sharpened into precise determination. The hunt had begun. "Tonight, is going to be a long-long night".