The classroom still smelled of scorched wood. Students whispered, eyes wide, staring at the mess Gareth had left. His roots flickered faintly, pulsing like restless snakes.
The door opened lazily.
Black hair fell over the newcomer's brow, goggles perched on his face. Coat slung over one shoulder, boots dragging slightly. Every step was measured, relaxed, as if he had all the time in the world.
He stopped, looked at Gareth, and tilted his head. His smirk was calm, confident — almost mocking.
"Yo, bro," he said, voice casual, breezy, like he was talking to an old friend on a lazy Sunday. "You're really making a mess, huh?"
Gareth tensed, energy flaring. "Get out of my way."
Joren chuckled, slow, easy. "Nah, bro… I'm here to help."
Before Gareth could react, Joren moved — impossibly fast, yet still lazy, like gravity had no hold on him. One touch to Gareth's temple, and the world went black.
The roots pulsed, then vanished. Silence fell over the classroom.
Joren leaned back, hands behind his head, feet resting on the broken desk. "There we go. Nice and quiet. Bro, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right?"
Students stared. Draven gaped. Lyra blinked, unsure whether to be terrified or impressed.
Joren yawned, casually brushing some imaginary dust off his coat. "Alright, class, now that the party's over… let's get to work. And guys? Don't worry, I've got your back's… for now."
The room felt smaller, heavier. Everyone understood: Joren Dawnmere didn't just walk in. He owned the place — and he hadn't even tried.
The classroom still reeked of burnt wood and splintered desks. Gareth was still groaning on the floor, recovering from his knockout, while students whispered nervously, unsure if the destruction had ended.
The door opened again.
Black hair, sleek, slightly messy, goggles resting coolly over piercing eyes. Coat slung casually. Joren Dawnmere walked in as if the world owed him a favor. He didn't bother with the debris.
"Sup, bros and… ladies," he drawled, voice lazy and amused. "Looks like things got a little out of hand. I'm your new teacher."
Gasps filled the room.
Before anyone could process it, Joren flicked a hand lazily. In an instant, every student vanished from the classroom.
Gareth blinked — and then felt the world shift. They were no longer in the academy. The entire class now stood in a vast, deep forbidden forest.
Gareth's eyes fluttered open slowly, groggy. The classroom had disappeared. The walls, the desks, even the terrified students — gone.
They were standing on a jagged cliff overlooking the Forbidden Expanse of Dawncrest, a place where monsters roamed freely and the winds howled like battle cries.
Joren stood in front of them, hands casually in his coat pockets, goggles tilted back on his head. He leaned against thin air, smirk curling his lips.
"Alright, bro squad," he drawled, voice calm like he was announcing morning announcements. "Welcome to class. I'm your new… teacher." He gestured lazily at the expanse below. "Yes. This is the real classroom. Now get moving."
Before anyone could protest, he snapped his fingers. Students erupted from the ground, flying through the air as if gravity didn't exist. They landed scattered across the forbidden cliffs with only a second to react as monstrous shapes emerged from the shadows.
Lyra tumbled but rolled, quickly drawing her weapon. Draven's eyes narrowed, already calculating angles. The rest scrambled, some terrified, some exhilarated.
Joren didn't move. Not really. He just hovered, leaning slightly forward, watching.
"Bro… watch carefully," he said, voice teasing. "See that one with the sharp teeth? Don't die. That would be embarrassing." He yawned. "Or, you know… maybe die. Makes class more fun."
A massive wyvern lunged at Gareth's group. Lyra barely dodged its claws, Draven summoned a shield, but it barely slowed it down. Joren flicked a hand lazily, and a wave of magical energy slammed into the monster, sending it sprawling across the expanse.
"See? Easy," Joren murmured, smirking. "Bro, you guys really need to step it up. Can't have my students getting eaten before lunch."
Even Gareth, still dazed, felt the sheer weight of Joren's presence. This wasn't a teacher. This wasn't a peer. This was a living storm wrapped in sarcasm, and everything around him bent to his whim.
"Keep fighting, bro squad," Joren said, folding his arms behind his head. "I'll be watching… and judging. Maybe helping. Maybe not. Depends if you're interesting."
The monsters roared, the students scrambled, and Joren watched with that same unbothered, "I own this" attitude, the smirk never leaving his face.
The students scattered across the jagged cliffs of the Forbidden Expanse, dodging snarling monsters. Joren hovered above them, arms crossed, leaning lazily on thin air. His black hair glinted in the sun, goggles tilted just enough to look uninterested yet all-seeing.
"Bro," he called, voice echoing with casual authority, "you guys are really trying my patience. Step it up, or at least try not to embarrass yourselves. Seriously."
Lyra blocked a swipe from a clawed beast. Draven narrowly deflected another attack. Gareth staggered, panting, roots flickering like restless shadows across his skin.
Joren's smirk deepened. "Finally. Some actual effort."
Gareth gritted his teeth. He was learning—adapting. Every strike, every dodge felt sharper, faster. The chaos of the battlefield was teaching him what the classroom never could.
Joren's voice cut through the fray. "Not bad, Valven. Actually… interesting."
Before Gareth could react, a gentle tug on his shoulder—like a breeze—lifted him off the ground. He barely had time to flinch before the world blurred.
When he opened his eyes, he was standing in a ruined plaza on the edge of Dawncrest. Shadows twisted unnaturally across the cracked stone. In the center, a corrupted human, Level 1.3, snarled, claws glinting with dark energy.
Joren strolled up beside him, hands in pockets, looking almost bored. "Bro, meet your new friend. Don't worry… you'll figure it out. I've got a particular interest in how you handle this."
Gareth's pulse raced, roots tangling around his fists. The corruption hissed, advancing. He steadied himself, recalling every dodge, every lesson from the past moments. He was ready.
Joren leaned casually against a crumbling wall, head tilted, smirk unshaken. "Take your time, Valven. I'm genuinely curious how much you've actually learned. Impress me—or don't. Either way… this will be fun."
The corrupted human lunged. Gareth responded—roots flaring, aura sharpening. Every movement he made was faster, more precise, adapted from the chaos Joren had forced him through.
Joren's laughter, light and sarcastic, echoed across the plaza. "That's it, bro. Show me something interesting. I've been waiting for this."
The corrupted human screeched, lunging again. Gareth barely rolled aside, roots sprouting to block a slash. His breath came ragged, but his eyes were steady.
Joren leaned back against the wall, goggles catching the faint glow of corrupted energy. He clapped once, slow.
"Not bad, bro. You're starting to think. But if you don't even know what stage you're in, you're just punching in the dark."
Gareth grit his teeth, snapping a root forward to push the enemy back. "Then explain it!"
Joren smirked, raising two fingers lazily.
"Fine. Since you're my entertainment today, let's keep it simple. Power starts at Stage 1.0—Veilbound Root. That's where you are. Your roots? They're not just flashy effects. They're anchors, little leaks of the Veil's power bleeding into you. But you? You're basically a toddler learning to walk."
He twirled his hand, and the corrupted human froze mid-swipe, suspended like a puppet. Joren continued, voice dripping with casual mockery.
"Now… when you actually control those roots, when you stop trembling every time you use them, you push into Stage 1.1, Root Convergence. That's where the threads start to obey you instead of just lashing out. Handy for not destroying your desk in class, yeah?"
He flicked his wrist; the corrupted human slammed into a wall, stunned but not dead. Joren didn't even glance at it.
"From there it's Stage 1.2, Veil Resonance. That's when your energy stops being just yours. It sings with the world around you—shadows, stone, even air. You resonate, and it amplifies you. Fun stuff, but it's also when corruption gets real friendly."
His tone dipped darker for just a breath before he grinned again.
"Then we hit Stage 1.3—Veilbound Corruption. That thing—" he pointed lazily at the snarling, half-human abomination crawling from the rubble— "is a perfect example. A failed climber. Dipped too deep, lost too much. Stronger than you, bro, but dumb as bricks."
Gareth's eyes widened, pulse quickening. "So this is… what I could become?"
Joren tilted his head, almost sympathetic beneath the sarcasm. "If you're stupid, yeah."
Then his grin sharpened.
"Beyond that? Stage 1.4, Harmonized Root. That's when your roots stop looking like cracks in the floor and start weaving like threads of reality itself. Precision, power, elegance. Rare, but oh man, deadly."
He finally pushed off the wall, strolling forward as the corrupted human hissed at him. With a flick, it was shoved back again, powerless.
"And then comes the step most never even reach—Stage 1.5 Veil Shatter."
Joren's grin tilted sharper, almost cruel. "That's when your root doesn't just weave nicely. It breaks, fractures, and forces you to choose. Each shard of your power becomes a weapon, but each one also eats at you. Veil and sanity don't mix well, bro. Some call it the 'point of no return.' Others? Call it fun."
He gave a low chuckle, clapping once as the corrupted human staggered to its feet again.
"Past that razor's edge is Stage 2—the Dualism Spectrum. That's where Veil and Flesh finally split in you. Body and power, no longer fused, but partners. If you're strong, the two sides work in harmony, multiplying your strength. If you're weak…" His voice dipped, almost mocking. "…your body tears itself apart while your Veil half laughs at you."
Joren tapped his temple, goggles glinting. "You hit Dualism? Then you're worth teaching."
He turned, smirk aimed directly at Gareth.
"Question is, Valven—are you gonna climb all the way, or end up like him?"
The corrupted human roared and lunged again. This time, Joren didn't interfere, He teleported to the sky and watched.
High above the forest, Joren Dawnmere reclined in the air as if the sky itself were his hammock. Black hair caught the wind, goggles glinting in the sunlight. His hands were shoved in his pockets, legs crossed, body radiating a casual defiance of gravity.
"Not bad," he drawled, voice carrying as though the world bent to hear him. "Toss a bunch of half-trained kids into a death pit and watch 'em sink or swim. Classic."
Below him sprawled the Forbidden Dawncrest Forest, endless and alive. The canopy shifted like a living sea, waves of green broken by jagged ravines and silver waterfalls that crashed into shadowed depths. Birds scattered in frantic spirals when beasts howled from within. Roots as thick as towers arched over gorges, forming fragile bridges where students fought for their lives. The forest was no backdrop. It was a predator.
Joren tilted his head, smirking behind the goggles. "Let's see who screams first."
The class was scattered in clusters, each group swallowed by the forest's design.
On a root-bridge swaying above a bottomless gorge, two boys fought to keep their balance as a horned beast rammed the structure. Their blades struck wildly, sparks flying, every miss threatening to hurl them into the void.
Farther east, a quiet girl whose name no one bothered to remember snapped her fingers—and a wave of flame consumed a lunging beast. Her peers froze, stunned. She'd never spoken a word in class. Now her eyes burned like embers.
Talia Nyx spun with bloodied knives, laughing even as a cut split her cheek. She fought like it was a dance, joy stitched into every reckless slash.
Draven, by contrast, fought steady and efficient. His sword carved clean arcs, his boots planted firmly. He never once let the weaker students behind him falter. He didn't smile. He didn't laugh. He simply endured.
The forest pressed them all, testing, reshaping. Survival was the only language spoken here.
And then—far apart from the others—was Gareth Valven.
The place Joren had thrown him into wasn't forest at all but a scarred battlefield. The earth cracked open in jagged veins, trees long dead stood like blackened spears, and the air itself felt heavier—buzzing with twisted Veil energy.
At the center stood his enemy.
A corrupted human, stage 1.3, body bent by power gone wrong. His skin blistered in glowing patches, veins pulsing with sick light. His jaw hung too wide, teeth serrated where they shouldn't be. But his eyes—oh, they were human still. And that made him worse.
The thing growled, a sound half-choked, half-familiar, and Gareth's chest clenched.
From above, Joren's voice drifted like a lazy commentator:
"No training wheels here, bro. You fight till you drop—or you climb."
The corrupted human lunged.
Gareth barely rolled aside, dirt scraping his arms raw. His sword felt heavier than it should, every movement sluggish compared to the monster's inhuman speed. He swung—clash!—and the force nearly tore his arm from its socket.
Breathing ragged, Gareth stumbled back. Fear gnawed at him. I can't beat this.
The thing roared again, swinging a grotesque limb. Gareth blocked, the impact rattling his bones. He staggered—but didn't fall.
Something inside him stirred. The Veilroot he'd formed burned hotter, threads of energy stitching into his muscles, adapting, demanding he stand. Each exchange taught him: angle, timing, force. Each stumble became a step forward.
Sweat blinded him, blood slicked his palms, but still he fought.
Elsewhere, students bled and screamed and rose again.
One collapsed in exhaustion but refused to let go of his weapon. Another, trembling, drove a blade into a beast's skull, hands shaking at the kill. Lyra's own blade quivered, her breath broken, yet she pressed forward anyway—every cut proof of her defiance.
The forest was reshaping them all. Shattering them, rebuilding them, grinding weakness into something sharper.
From high above, Joren chuckled. Arms crossed, he hovered like a spectator in his own private coliseum.
"Not bad… not bad at all," he mused. "Guess a few of 'em might actually be worth something."
His gaze lingered on Gareth, who, bloodied and staggering, still refused to bow. Every strike he made rang louder than before, every desperate step carrying weight.
The goggles flashed as Joren smirked.
"You though, Valven… yeah. You've got my attention."
The corrupted human's claws raked across the stone, sparks screaming where steel-like nails tore grooves into the earth. Gareth staggered back, breath ragged, ribs aching where one blow had landed too deep. His Veil roots pulsed, desperate to mend, but every attempt left his body weaker.
It's too strong.
The creature lunged, its torso twisted wrong, face a blur of flesh stretched into a mask of hunger. Gareth raised his arm—and instead of blocking, stepped aside. The strike howled past him, and for the first time, he saw it.
A lag. A hesitation in its movements after the heavier blows.
Gareth's lip bled as he smiled faintly.
You're not perfect. You're slowing.
This time, he dodged cleaner, planting his fist into its side. His roots shot forward, searing into corrupted flesh, then withdrew. The monster shrieked. Gareth stumbled back, but there was fire in his eyes now. Every attack carved a lesson. Every wound taught him where to strike.
Up in the sky, Joren adjusted his goggles, watching lazily.
"Heh. The boy's finally catching on. Guess pain is the best tutor."
Elsewhere in the forest, chaos reigned. Students screamed as wolf-things leapt from the ravines, eyes glowing with sickly Veil light. Draven's blade cracked under the force of a pounce, and Talia's fire sputtered uselessly against a hide too thick.
They were losing.
And then—silence.
Lyra stood in the clearing, her breath calm, her eyes fixed ahead. She didn't shout. Didn't warn them. Her blade simply shifted. The metal lost its shine, darkening into a strange, moonless hue. With the first swing, the world itself seemed to flinch.
The air split soundlessly.
The wolf charging at Draven collapsed mid-air, body severed in two by a cut so precise it was almost invisible. Another slash, and three more creatures fell, their forms unraveling in ribbons of shadow. Her movements weren't furious—no, they were serene, as though she were sketching lines across the night sky.
Students froze, wide-eyed.
"That's… impossible."
"She cut through it like—"
"—like it wasn't even there…"
Fear turned into awe.
For the first time, they weren't looking at Lyra with disdain. They were looking at someone who had saved them, with power they couldn't deny.
High above, Joren smirked.
"The moon everyone mocked… huh. Doesn't look so dim now."
Back at Gareth's trial, the corrupted human roared, staggering under its own weight. Gareth's body was nearly broken, but his eyes locked onto the unstable core thrumming in its chest. The root of its corruption.
"Not… this time."
He lunged, his roots piercing straight through the knot of twisted Veil. With a cry that shook the cavern, the creature convulsed—and shattered into mist.
Gareth fell to his knees, clutching his chest, every nerve screaming. But he was alive.
From above, Joren's voice drifted down, amused.
"Not bad, Valven. Not bad at all. Maybe you're not just another failed root."
The mist of the corrupted human's remains drifted away, vanishing into the jagged cracks of the cavern. Gareth's chest rose and fell like a drumbeat, his vision swimming, but through the haze he caught his reflection in a pool of blackened Veil-water. His fists trembled, his body broken—but he was still standing.
I won… I actually won.
Above, Joren leaned back in the air as if the sky itself were a chair, one hand tucked in his pocket. His goggles caught the last glimmer of the fading corruption, and for the first time, he looked just a little serious.
"Not bad, Valven. You might even be worth my time."
His voice was casual, but his words carried weight.
Meanwhile, the battlefield in the forest was transformed. The wolves lay in heaps, cleaved apart by invisible arcs. The students, panting and wide-eyed, had nothing left to say but silent stares cast toward Lyra. For years, the whispers had painted her family's art as cursed, unwanted. But now, in the wake of her quiet slaughter, no one dared speak against her.
For the first time, she stood with her sword still dark, eyes calm, and the silence around her was no longer scorn. It was recognition.
The scene shifted back to Gareth. He struggled to his feet, blood soaking his side. Joren appeared at his shoulder in a flicker of distortion, as if teleportation itself were a shrug. He looked down at Gareth, smirking.
"See that, bro? That was just a taste. You scrape by now, maybe. But you're still nothing until you climb further."
Gareth coughed, glaring up at him. "Then… teach me."
Joren's grin widened. He tapped his temple, goggles glinting.
"Careful what you ask for. Next step up? That's where the real game begins."
And with that, the world itself seemed to shift—forests still groaning with battle, a boy who had just carved his first victory, and a girl whose blade had finally earned the world's respect.
Far above them all, dawn broke across the horizon.
The trial wasn't over. It was only just beginning.