The night was blacker than usual.
Even in Wildcrane, where the sky was filled with the smoke of alchemy and the moon looked like the eye of a madman, this night was... quieter. More dangerous. Unnaturally empty.
Kalen was awake.
He wandered through the distant corridors of the eastern tower. His heart was beating like a drum before an execution. He didn't know why he had gone there. He just couldn't stay in the tent. Everything seemed unfamiliar. Including himself.
I was almost groping my way. And that's when I heard the muffled voices.
He stopped. There was a wooden door on the left with an almost invisible crack. And from there...
"...he's become more dangerous than expected," a man's voice said. Low. Alien. Hard.
Kalen froze.
"I understand everything," Reina replied quietly. Cold. Tired.
"That's not why you were sent there, girl. Your job is to observe. If necessary, intervene. Or report. He's still your junior master, whether you want him to be or not."
Kallen clenched his fists. The shadows within fluttered.
"I don't forget my duty," she replied.
Pause.
The man sighed.
"The Lionheart family cannot allow their heir to be out of control. You know why you were sent. You are his eye. His shield. And... his comfort. He has faced darkness too soon. You must be there for him. To keep him... from breaking."
"Or to finish him off if he breaks," Reina added calmly.
Silence.
"So you understand," the messenger said at last. "We will convey your confirmation to Lord Velmut. Thank you."
Steps.
Kallen pulled back from the door and merged with the shadows. His breath was coming in short pants. He couldn't feel his fingers. His head was spinning.
Reina was sent…
...his family?
He clenched his teeth so hard that he almost broke his jaw.
"Am I just a surveillance target for you?"
"You're a weapon to them. And I'm a leash."
He turned and walked away. Silently. Like a dog that had been kicked out of its own kennel.
Later, in his solitary cell, he sat and stared at his palm. It was shaking. He hadn't even noticed when he summoned the shadow blade. It was black. With red patterns. Inside, it was a living flame of malice. The sword hissed like a breathing snake.
"I told you," said Ward's voice, "feelings are a weakness."
"Fuck you," Kalen whispered.
"Finally," Vard chuckled. "You're angry. Good. Use it."
He closed his eyes.
He won't ask Reina.
***
— …attention. The transfer is starting.
The voice echoed from the arena, sounding too calm, as if it were not a survival game, but a lesson in etiquette.
Kallen caught a glimpse of Reyna, her eyes as always, scarlet and calm. A silent "be careful," read without words.
And then —
flash.
Space gap.
And silence.
He fell onto something hard and cold. It was a wild land. There was fog. Broken trees, twisted like the claws of monsters. The entire space was vibrating with magical distortion, as if time itself was suffering from a fever.
"Separated," he cursed. "Of course, блядь."
No Reina, no familiar faces. Just a strange plain and the distant silhouettes of buildings that seemed... empty. Dead.
He stood up. He ran his hand over his back, and the tattoo flared up, trembling slightly with the excess of power. Vard was breathing somewhere below, close to the skin. He was silent, but he was on guard.
Three people stepped out of the shadows: two from the academy, one an elf, one a human, and the third a girl with ash magic.
Nervous, twitchy, and distrustful.
"Are we... together?" the elf said.
"Bye," Kallen said. "If you stay alive, you'll thank me later."
He went first.
The first hours were spent running through a place where the air vibrated with magic. Maps didn't work here. The sky didn't move. The compass spun nonstop.
"They threw us here to see who would eat who first."
The first monster emerged from the ground.
Something like a dog. But without skin. The skull protrudes. The mouth opens to the chest. The body pulsates like a сгусток pain.
"Run!" someone shouted.
But Kalen was already moving forward.
A sword from the shadows cut through the air. One strike, and the head was gone. Another, and the creature disintegrated, splattering the ground with black slime. The others froze.
"Survival," he said quietly. "It doesn't mean running. It means killing first."
Two hours later, Kalen had dug the first hole under a rock ledge. A primitive camp. Inside, a dark flame provided warmth. He created shadow sentries, instructing them to patrol the circle.
Of the 50 people who were dropped into the zone, he didn't see anyone else.
It was only at night, when the air thickened, that the first magical inscription appeared in the sky:
"Three dead. It continues.