A small clock above a narrow alley ticked twelve times. Then an extra click like a throat clearing in the dark. Nobody noticed.
A silver shard glinted in the gutter, half-buried in yesterday's rain. Some things find you before you know you were looking.
The auditorium was vast, silent so silent it pressed against your chest. A single spotlight cut through the darkness, landing on Victor LaSalle. His presence was commanding, sharp, and heavy enough to make even the bravest student uneasy.
"History has always been written by the strong," his voice rolled like thunder, echoing in every corner. "But true greatness does not come from strength alone. It comes from choice. The choice to stand when the world tells you to kneel. The choice to protect, even when no one is watching."
He paused, letting the words settle like stone.
"Here, at Vanguardaum Academy, we do not raise weapons. We raise leaders. Protectors. Those who will inherit tomorrow's burdens and turn them into tomorrow's victories."
Victor's tone hardened. "Make no mistake. This is not a place for the faint of heart. You will be tested, broken, rebuilt. Some of you will rise… others will fall. That is the price of becoming a Vanguard."
The spotlight dimmed, leaving a humming tension in the dark a promise of wonder, danger, and destiny.
The afternoon sun spilled golden light across the streets. Clover Yeager walked alone, bag slung carelessly, hands in his pockets. His messy, light-brown hair caught the sunlight as he muttered to himself.
"Vanguardaum Academy… everyone keeps talking about it. Legends are made there. And me? Still stuck with boring history quizzes."
He almost bumped into Akira Nakahara. Straight-backed, sharp gaze, dressed neatly in her casual wear , she looked every inch the model student.
"Well, well," Clover smirked. "Look who's all official now."
Akira raised an eyebrow. "And look who's still skipping homework. Some things never change."
They fell into step together, childhood friends walking the same street but sensing the paths before them were diverging.
A sudden shout broke the calm.
"Hey! Wallet!"
A thief darted from an alley, trying to snatch an old woman's purse. Clover slowed lazily, hands in pockets. "Hmm… looks like trouble."
Akira's eyes narrowed. "You're just going to… stand there?"
Clover shrugged. "Eh… maybe someone else will deal with it."
The thief tripped over a stone, dropping the purse. Clover flicked it toward the woman with minimal effort.
"Here. You're welcome… I guess," he muttered.
Akira quickly restrained the thief. Clover grinned faintly. "I tried… with my foot. That's effort enough."
The Yeager home was warm and alive with the smell of supper.
Camilla Yeager hummed in the kitchen. Clara Yeager, Clover's blind younger sister, traced the windowpane with her fingertips.
"You're late," Clara teased. "I heard your footsteps before you even reached the gate."
Clover grinned. "You always hear everything. Guess I can't sneak past you."
Akira stepped in, greeted warmly by Camilla. Clover's chaotic attempts at cooking left flour on his face, soup spilled—until Akira quietly took over.
"Hand me that pot, genius," she muttered.
Later, Camilla's tone shifted. "At the end of the street, the old house. Someone left something for you. Be careful."
Clover froze. "The haunted house? Really?"
Camilla's eyes held quiet weight. "Sometimes stories hide truths. Take Akira. I'll feel better knowing you're not alone."
Clara called from upstairs: "Be careful! Don't let ghosts steal your dessert!"
Clover groaned. Adventure had found him again.
The house loomed like a corpse, windows gaping, gates rusted and squealing as they pushed through. Inside, the air was damp, musty, and alive with something older. Dust spiraled. Chains clinked from the rafters above. Floorboards groaned underfoot.
"Careful," Akira whispered. "It feels… alive."
Two golden eyes appeared a lynx . Her fur rippled silver and gold, muscles coiled, tail flicking, eyes sharp and menacing. She hissed low, a warning that vibrated the air.
Clover lazily grabbed a plank. "Friendly much," he muttered.
The staircase ahead splintered. Clover yawned, catching Akira's wrist with minimal effort. Nyx that's the lynx name darted ahead, reappearing on upper landings, glowing eyes warning them.
Rusty blades swung from the ceiling. Clover flopped sideways. Akira moved like a shadow, fluid and precise. Nyx hissed sharply, almost scolding Clover, then guided them deeper.
A smoke-filled room choked them. Nyx's glowing eyes illuminated safe stepping points. Clover coughed and muttered, "I hate running," while Akira moved silently.
Floorboards dropped into gaps. Chains rattled. Ropes with hooks swung like pendulums. Clover flopped dramatically. Akira navigated carefully. Nyx stalked, golden eyes gleaming like fire.
Finally, the upper hall. Nyx leapt to a landing, tail flicking, body tense, eyes fixed.
A tall man appeared: long coat trailing, bottle in one hand, cigarette glowing in the other. Smoke curled around him.
"Are you the owner?" Clover asked lazily.
"Ryker Jackson. The Ace," the man said, voice low and rough. Lightning flashed, illuminating scars. Nyx hissed low, acknowledging him. Akira said ,so this house isn't hunted .
"Shoo. Go home," Ryker said flatly. Nyx disappeared with him into shadow.
Clover slumped. "That's it?!"
Akira placed a hand on his shoulder. "A test. One we weren't ready for."
Clover challenged Akira to rock-paper-scissors. He lost.
A dusty envelope slid from the floorboards. Inside: an admission letter to the Vanguard Wing of Vanguardaum Academy.
A handwritten note:
"Trust in your instincts. Be responsible. The path ahead will test more than your courage. Prepare yourself, Clover Yeager." –Ryker Jackson
Clover dragged his feet home. "Why can't normal be enough?"
Akira smirked: "Normal was never made for you."
Camilla read the letter, softening. "Because you're meant for more."
Back in the haunted house, silence fell. Nyx's golden eyes glowed in the shadows as she prowled the upper hall, muscles coiled, tail flicking.
Ryker leaned against a wall, cigarette smoke curling around his scarred face. He tossed a small scrap of paper across the floor. Nyx pounced silently, claws retracted, and batted it back, golden eyes sharp, unreadable.
"You hungry, Nyx?" Ryker asked softly, crouching slightly. She circled him once, low growl vibrating through the hall, then paused, staring toward the dark corridors.
Ryker's eyes followed hers, sharp and calculating. "Good. Stay alert. They'll come back… and when they do, I want them to wonder who or what was really watching."
Nyx hissed softly, then vanished into the shadows. The house seemed alive, listening, and aware of them both.
That night, Clover dreamed of the haunted house again Nyx's golden eyes, swinging chains, collapsing floorboards.
Suddenly, he was in an endless hallway lined with broken portraits, faces twisted, eyes scratched out, whispering: Clover… Clover…
A soft, familiar laugh floated from the darkness. Ahead, a blinding light opened, and a figure stood at its center. She radiated warmth, her hair swaying gently.
"Wait… who are you?" he called.
She didn't turn. She walked away, drifting into the light.
"No don't go!" Clover ran. Chains lashed at his legs. Portraits whispered his name.
Just as his fingers were about to touch her, the floor collapsed into darkness. He fell, chains whipping past, and the last thing he saw was her outline bathed in light, fading like an echo.
Clover jolted awake, heart racing. He didn't know who she was, or why she appeared but he knew: this dream wasn't over.
The silver shard pulsed in Clover's pocket.
Far away, a clock clicked twelve. Extra click answered. The world tilted for a breath.
Characters Introduced
Clover Yeager – 16, 5'10", light-brown hair; sarcastic, reluctant hero.
Akira Nakahara – 17, 5'6", dark hair; disciplined, tactical, mysterious.
Victor LaSalle – 40s, tall; authoritative mentor.
Camilla Yeager – 36; warm, protective mother.
Clara Yeager – 12; cheerful, perceptive sister.
Nyx – Lynx; intelligent, loyal companion.
Ryker "The Ace" Jackson – 32, 6'2"; enigmatic mentor.