Moonlight slipped through the iron grates high above, pale and cold, slicing the darkness into long silver bars.
It painted the massive cell in quiet fragments—stone walls etched with old scars, rusted chains hanging like dead serpents, bodies sprawled across the floor in uneasy sleep.
The guards were silent.
Some slumped against the walls, helms tilted low, breath slow and heavy. Others lay sprawled on stools, weapons abandoned at their feet. A thin haze of fatigue clung to them, thick enough to dull vigilance.
Midnight had claimed them.
Inside the cell, nearly a thousand cadets breathed as one organism—soft exhales, shallow dreams, the low murmur of the exhausted and broken.
No one spoke.
They were awake.
All of them.
They sat, leaned, or crouched in loose circles, their attention drawn toward the center like iron filings to a lodestone.
Teramon.
He sat alone on a slab of stone, knees drawn slightly inward, posture calm but rigid. Moonlight traced the sharp angles of his face, catching in his eyes—clear, steady, awake.
In his hands was a single sheet of paper.
He wrote.
The scratch of charcoal against parchment was almost inaudible, yet in the silence it felt loud—deliberate, final. His hand never trembled. Each line was placed with intent, no hesitation, no wasted motion.
Around him, cadets watched.
Some hugged their knees. Some clenched their fists. Some stared at his hands as if watching fate being carved into the world.
No one interrupted.
They didn't need to understand what he was writing.
Only that he was.
Minutes passed.
The moon climbed higher, its light shifting, crawling across the floor until it touched Teramon's feet, then his hands, then the page itself.
At last—
He stopped.
The charcoal paused, hovered for a heartbeat, then moved once more.
Just a few words.
Short. Heavy. Unavoidable.
Teramon stared at the page for a long moment after finishing.
Then he lowered it slightly.
Those closest saw the final line.
"One sacrifice must be made."
No explanation followed.
No gasp. No outcry.
The words settled into the cell like ash after a fire.
Some cadets closed their eyes. Others swallowed. A few looked away.
Teramon folded the paper carefully, once, then again, as if the act itself carried weight. He slipped it into his coat and leaned back against the stone, eyes lifting toward the fractured moonlight above.
Outside the cell, a guard shifted in his sleep.
Inside, no one slept at all.
The moon watched.
And somewhere beyond these walls, the night waited for blood to be chosen.
The silence lingered, thick and suffocating, heavier than stone or chain.
Every cadet shifted slightly, breaths shallow, each inhale carrying the weight of fear. Moonlight fractured across their faces, casting shadows that trembled like living things.
Teramon's gaze swept over them. Slowly. Deliberately. Every eye caught, every posture measured. The silence itself seemed to shrink beneath the weight of his stare.
"It's good to hide your Veil," he said finally. His voice was low, deliberate, slicing through the dread like a blade. "Not everyone needs to be seen. Not now."
He paused, letting the words sink. The cadets remained frozen, their fear pressed into their bones.
"But I need… a mind warper," he continued, his tone sharper now, almost clinical.
"Someone who can bend thought as easily as breath. Who can pour voices into another's head until they fracture. Someone who can speak and have the words follow in the mind… like a puppet obeying its master."
The weight of it hung in the air. The cell seemed smaller now, the walls closing, the moonlight trembling across the stone as if it too feared what he had said.
A faint movement at the back. Hesitant. Quiet.
A hand rose slowly, almost invisible, trembling at the wrist, fingers brushing against the floor. A shy girl, pale under the silver light, eyes wide and nervous.
"I… I have that ability," she whispered, barely audible, voice like a breath of wind through dead leaves.
Teramon's eyes shifted to her. Not anger. Not surprise. Only a measured calculation. He saw the potential. The danger. The key.
The moonlight fell across her trembling figure, illuminating the fear—and the power—she barely knew she possessed.
The cell held its breath. The guards snored. The night waited.
And Teramon… he waited too.
Teramon placed his palm against the wall. His fingers lingered for a second, then tightened.
"…Yeah," he said quietly. "They built the entire prison with Veil‑corrupted items."
A few cadets stiffened.
He tilted his head up, staring at the ceiling as if listening to something only he could hear. Then his posture changed—sharp, alert.
Footsteps.
Far above. Metal scraping stone.
Teramon straightened.
Kael Draeven stepped forward, jaw tight, anger barely contained.
"So what's the plan?" he demanded. "We're running out of time."
Teramon didn't answer immediately.
"There are too many cadets," he said at last. "Too many minds. Information won't spread fast enough."
He stretched his arms once, then motioned with two fingers.
"You. Come here."
The shy girl hesitated, then moved forward.
Teramon looked at her directly. "How many minds can you infiltrate at once?"
She swallowed. "A‑around one hundred and twenty… if I'm given enough time. About an hour."
The Ash Prince snapped instantly.
"An hour?" he barked. "We don't have an hour!"
Duskheart stepped in, voice calm but urgent.
"He's right about one thing," he said to Teramon. "Guards will rotate in one to two hours. After that, it's over."
The Princely Prince of Dawn spoke next, golden eyes steady.
"This is a do‑or‑die escape plan, Teramon" he said. "People will die. You should remember that."
Murmurs spread. Low. Uneasy.
"Will this even work?"
"What if the corruption reacts?"
"What if they track us the moment we leave?"
The noise pressed in from all sides.
Teramon felt it—tight in his chest, heavy behind his eyes. The weight of too many lives, too many expectations.
He walked forward.
"Enough," he said.
The room stilled.
"The plan is simple," Teramon continued. "Everyone will be saved. Maybe everyone."
A pause.
"But you tell me how."
Silence.
He turned sharply, voice rising.
"What's your plan once you're out of the cell? After the Dawn Shackles are gone?"
No one answered.
"What happens when they launch a manhunt?" he pressed.
"How many of you can outrun sight itself? How many can disappear when the sky is watching?"
No response. Only lowered gazes.
Teramon exhaled, slow and controlled.
"…I'm sorry," he said quietly. "The pressure's getting to me."
Then he looked up again—focused, sharp, unyielding.
"Now think," he said. "Because escaping the cell is only the beginning."
Teramon grabbed her shoulder.
Then her head.
Before she could react, Veil flooded out of him.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't measured.
It poured.
Her breath hitched, knees buckling as her eyes widened, pupils trembling. Veil rushed into her like a broken dam, filling every hollow, every crack.
"T‑too much—" she gasped.
Teramon didn't stop.
She sucked in air sharply. "With this much… I can infiltrate one hundred and twenty minds in ten minutes."
Teramon pointed toward the corridor beyond the cell.
"Beyond," he muttered.
More Veil surged.
Far too much.
The girl screamed silently as her consciousness expanded outward. Guards stiffened. One slumped. Another collapsed mid‑step. A third hit the wall and slid down, eyes empty.
She trembled violently. "I—I can't—there are too many minds—too many voices—"
Teramon leaned in, lips brushing her ear.
"Chaos," he whispered. "Give chaos to every prisoner."
Her body shook. Veins darkened. Sweat poured down her face.
The cadets stared. No one moved. All of them stood behind Teramon and the girl, backs to the cell, eyes locked on what was happening.
Teramon remembered the academy.
The instructor's cold voice.
Adrenaline sharpens focus.
Fear multiplies Veil output.
He smiled.
A slow, wrong smile.
The corrupted Veil responded.
He laughed—low, sharp, delighted.
"You're afraid," he said softly. "Good. Corrupted Veil loves fear."
She sobbed. "If I push more… I might break."
Teramon's eyes burned.
"Listen carefully," he said, voice calm, precise, monstrous.
"If you fail to break their minds—every single one—
I will curse you so deeply that death will be mercy."
Silence.
Then he added, smiling wider—
"Now go."