The dormitory's stone walls seemed to close in as Lost Voss lay in his bunk, the flicker of torchlight casting shadows that danced like memories of that night ten years ago. The massacre of his family—the Voss estate in flames, his father's blade clashing against the ten espadachins, his mother's final scream shielding Lira and Thorne—haunted him still. Lira's letter, hidden in his pack, had confirmed Instructor Harlan Drake as one of the culprits, and yesterday's clash with Silas Varn, Drake's lackey, had proven it. The upperclassman's low thrust mirrored Drake's style from that blood-soaked night. 'Silas knows something,' Lost thought, his hand tightening on his sword's hilt. 'And Drake's watching me too closely.'
The Edge Alliance had grown tighter since their first trial against the dire wolves, their exploration of Vanguard Academy's grounds, the gauntlet of constructs, and Lost's risky duel with Silas. Joren Hale's earnest optimism, Mira Sol's sharp wit, Finn Reed's surprising agility, and Garrick Thorne's brute strength were becoming a shield against the academy's dangers. Athena Kade, though—her storm-cloud eyes and intuitive swordplay—stirred something deeper. Her words last night, after catching him fighting Silas, echoed: "You don't have to carry it alone." 'She's getting too close,' Lost thought, both wary and drawn to her. The vow to avenge his family burned, but her presence was a spark in the dark.
A sharp rap at the door snapped him back. Joren was up, lacing his boots. "Morning, Voss! Schedule's posted—first real expedition today. Into the Whispering Woods again."
Mira groaned from her bunk. "More wolves? My boots are still caked from the trial."
Finn adjusted his glasses, nervous. "It's not wolves. I overheard upperclassmen—something about 'relic hunts.' Sounds dangerous."
Garrick cracked his knuckles, grinning. "Good. I'm itching for a real fight."
Athena, already dressed, met Lost's gaze. "Ready, Voss? Or still picking fights with upperclassmen?"
He smirked, masking the tension. "Only the ones who deserve it."
Her lips twitched, a challenge in her eyes. 'She knows I'm hiding something. But she's not pushing… yet.' The group gathered their gear—swords sharpened, leather armor strapped—and joined the flow of first-years toward the Grand Hall. The air buzzed with anticipation, the memory of yesterday's gauntlet still fresh. Upperclassmen lined the halls, their smirks a reminder of the academy's hierarchy. Royce Blackthorn, the smug second-year, whispered to his clique, eyeing Lost. Torin Blaze, the loud first-year, strutted past, his gaudy sword glinting. Lila Wren, the quiet scholar, lingered near a tapestry, her gaze sharp as if studying them.
In the Grand Hall, Headmaster Darius Kane stood on the dais, flanked by Professor Elara Voss—her name a bitter sting—and Instructor Harlan Drake, whose cold eyes locked onto Lost for a moment too long. 'He suspects me,' Lost thought, steadying his breath. Kane's voice boomed, silencing the crowd.
"First-years, today you prove your worth beyond the arena. The Whispering Woods hold relics—ancient blades, tokens of past champions. Your task: retrieve one as a team. But beware—the woods are alive with threats, and not all are beasts. Constructs, traps, and… other students may interfere. Return by dusk, or don't return at all."
Whispers erupted. Joren leaned in. "Other students? That's not fair."
Mira scoffed. "Fair? This is Vanguard. Expect ambushes."
Athena's hand brushed her hilt. "We stick together, no matter what."
Lost nodded, her resolve grounding him. 'The woods are perfect cover. I can search for clues about Drake's allies.' Lira's letter had hinted at a relic tied to the Voss family, possibly hidden in the woods—a lead he couldn't ignore.
The Edge Alliance was assigned a section of the Whispering Woods, a dense maze of gnarled trees and shadowed glades. The air was thick with mist, the ground uneven with roots. They moved cautiously, blades drawn, senses alert. Joren led, his optimism tempered by caution after his injury in the gauntlet. Finn clutched his journal, muttering about relic lore. Garrick took the rear, his heavy steps reassuring. Mira scanned for traps, her noble training sharp. Athena stayed near Lost, their steps in sync.
"Feels like the trial," Finn said, voice shaky. "Those wolves…"
"Focus, scholar," Garrick said. "We've got this."
A rustle ahead stopped them. Two constructs—taller than the arena's, with blades that gleamed unnaturally—emerged from the mist. But worse, behind them stood Royce Blackthorn and Silas Varn, each with a pair of second-years, their swords drawn. Royce smirked. "Well, well. Fresh meat hunting relics. Hand over what you find, and we might let you walk."
Silas's eyes locked on Lost, the cut from their duel still bandaged. "You owe me, Voss."
Athena stepped forward, her blade raised. "You want a fight? You'll get one."
Lost's pulse quickened. 'A trap. And Silas is here for revenge.' "Stay sharp," he said to the group. "We take them together."
The constructs charged first, their movements jerky but lethal. Lost and Athena moved as one, his Echo Strike—a feint followed by rapid thrusts—splintering one construct's arm, while her Intuitive Parry deflected a blade aimed at his back. Joren and Mira flanked the second construct, their strikes coordinated. Finn darted in, targeting joints, while Garrick smashed through with raw power.
But Royce and Silas were the real threat. Royce lunged at Joren, his blade a blur, forcing the idealist to retreat. Silas targeted Lost, his rapier flashing with Drake's low-guard style. "You're dead, Voss," he hissed.
Lost parried, his training kicking in. 'He's good, but predictable.' He unleashed a controlled burst of his skill—a modified Echo Strike, three thrusts blending into a spiraling slash that caught Silas off-guard, slicing his shoulder. Silas stumbled, cursing, but Royce's shout drew attention.
"Enough!" Royce barked, signaling his group to retreat as the constructs collapsed. "This isn't worth it—yet." Silas glared at Lost, then followed, vanishing into the mist.
The Edge Alliance panted, battered but intact. "What was that about?" Mira demanded, wiping sweat from her brow.
"Upperclassmen being jerks," Garrick growled. "But we showed them."
Finn clutched a small, rune-etched dagger—a relic—found near a shattered construct. "We got it! This… this is ours, right?"
Athena nodded, but her eyes were on Lost. "You fought Silas like you knew him," she said quietly. "What's going on?"
Lost hesitated, the weight of her gaze heavy. 'She deserves a piece of the truth.' "He's tied to someone I don't trust," he said, voice low. "I'll explain… soon."
She studied him, then nodded. "I'm holding you to that."
The group pressed on, finding a clearing with a stone altar. The relic—a dagger with a Voss crest faintly etched—sent a jolt through Lost. 'Lira was right. Our family's secrets are here.' He pocketed it, hiding his reaction.
As they returned to the academy, dusk painting the sky red, the Edge Alliance laughed off their bruises, their bond stronger. Joren recounted their victory, Finn sketched the relic, Mira teased Garrick, and Athena walked close to Lost, her shoulder brushing his.
In the dorm, as the others settled, Athena pulled him aside. "You're carrying something heavy, Lost," she said, her voice soft but firm. "I won't push, but I'm here. You don't scare me."
His chest tightened, her words a lifeline. 'Trust her. Just a little.' "I know," he said, meeting her eyes. "And… I'm glad."
She smiled, a rare warmth breaking through. "Good. Because you're stuck with me."
As Lost lay in his bunk, the relic's weight in his pack, he felt the pull of vengeance—Drake, Silas, the ten—but also something new. Athena's trust, the group's laughter. 'I'm not alone,' he thought, the flicker of hope battling his darkness.