Dorms, zerathos room*
In the boys' dorm — Zerathos's room.
The boys slumped into the single chairs scattered across the meeting area.
"Huhhh, it felt like my head was gonna blow," groaned Chris, rubbing his temple.
"Yeah," Oscar replied, "but… do you guys think it's true? The Veyraxis?"
Immediately, all heads turned toward Vex.
"I don't know," he said, thoughtful. "Only the Eternal Scribe would know something like that."
"So it should be in the Obsidian Codex, right?" added Malen.
"Yeah, it should," Vex agreed. Everyone knew only two people held authority over that forbidden archive.
With little else to discuss, the room broke into routine. Oscar, Chris, and Miles moved to the training area, the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of their blows against the reinforced dummies soon filling the space. Marik finally got the viewscreen to life, bathing the room in a soft blue glow, while Vex remained seated, his keen eyes watching Zerathos.
Zerathos's POV
He squatted with the ancient manual open before him, the cracked leather cover faintly engraved with fading runes.
"You know," Vex began, folding his arms, "to learn this skill, you need to manifest a Veil Sigil.
A stronger sigil means a stronger and faster skill."
He leaned closer. "You do know how to draw yours, right? It's something every beginner learns."
Zerathos kept silent.
Vex sighed. "Alright, let me walk you through it."
---
Step 1: Still the Mind
Before a Veil Sigil can form, the mind must quiet.
Sit or stand naturally. Close your eyes.
Slow your breathing — the Veil responds to clarity, not chaos.
---
Step 2: Find the Pulse
Feel the faint thrum beneath your chest — your Veil Pulse.
It isn't a heartbeat but a rhythm connecting you to the Veilstream — the current between life and death.
Focus until it glows bright in your inner sight.
Some people see spirals, others shards or circles. For example, Oscar's carries the mark of his thunder trait — blue and sharp — but no two are the same.
"With just these two steps, after some time, you'll see it. It may appear as a simple spiral, a circle, or a shard-like rune. For people like Oscar, who already have an elemental trait, it will be marked with his thunder sign and be blue. But not everyone has a trait. And even with the same trait, no two Veil Sigils are exactly alike, though at times they are."
"Now," Vex finished. "Give it a try."
Zerathos closed his eyes. He pushed aside the noise from the training dummies, the glow of the screen, the memory of the fireball. He focused inward, seeking the rhythm Vex described. He breathed in, out, slowing the frantic beat of his heart. And then he felt it—a subtle, resonant hum deep within his sternum, a second, quieter drum alongside his heartbeat.
He poured his concentration into that pulse.
A moment later, a faint, gray ring of light flickered into existence in the air before him. It was unsteady, its light soft. Four thin, sharp lines extended from it like compass points, pulsing with a faint, silvery light. Tiny sparks of shadow and silver orbited the ring, and the air around it hummed with a nascent, unseen power.
"Nice," Vex said, genuinely impressed. "Didn't even take you long. I thought it'd take weeks — being from the slums and all… you're really talented."
"With more practice, you'll be able to do it in the blink of an eye," Marik added, his attention briefly stolen from the screen.
Zerathos let the sigil vanish. He turned his attention back to the book. On its front cover, the embossed circle had a tiny pinprick at its center. As instructed during orientation, he placed his palm flat on the cover and pushed a thread of his essence into it. A sharp, quick prick stung his hand as a drop of his blood was drawn into the book, linking it to his unique essence signature forever. Words shimmered across the parchment:
Skill Entry: Veil Art (Unrefined) — Half-Fade
Class: Proto-Veil Technique
Rank: Novice / Unstable
State: Incomplete manifestation of Whisperfade
---
Description:
Half-Fade is the first unsteady step toward vanishing into the Veil. Instead of fully merging, the user's body only partially phases out of visibility. The outline flickers like candlelight, the shadow lags a second behind. To the untrained eye, it's as though the caster is caught between existence and absence.
Activation:
Focus on the chest — where the sigil burns faintly.
Press two fingers to the mark and whisper: "Silent as the unseen
Effect: Visibility decreases, sound dampens slightly, but the body is still present in the physical plane.
Duration: 5–7 seconds, or until the user's focus breaks.
Visual Cue:
Smoke-like wisps spiral around the body — dark gray streaked with white — before sinking into the skin.
Eyes dull to pale gray.
"Took me three days to learn mine," as an unexpected wording appear.
"Though I never took it seriously. It's a pretty useless skill if you ask me. It won't do much in a real fight."
Good luck.
Zerathos stared at the page, his hope deflating. 'Useless? You've got to be kidding me,' he muttered, slamming the book shut in frustration.
A smirk appeared on Marik's face. " Beginner skills are always like that. Disappointing."
Ignoring him, Zerathos snatched the book and marched upstairs to his bunk,closing the door firmly behind him.
The Blood and the Mirror
Ten minutes later.
He sighed, staring at the floor.
"I've done this for fifteen minutes straight… not even a flicker."
Once more, he pressed his fingers to his chest.
"Silent as the unseen."
Nothing.
"Arghhh!" he roared, slamming his fist on the desk — loud enough that the others downstairs heard.
"Someone's learning the hard way," Oscar chuckled.
Zerathos's POV
He proceeded to lock the door, then turned to the full-length mirror in the corner. With trembling fingers, he unbuttoned his shirt. The faint, normal essence glow that usually concealed his torso faded away as he let his guard down. In its place, the raw, bloody scars were revealed anew. Some of the deeper pores wept fresh blood. He used his old, dirty shirt to staunch the flow before it could drip onto the floor.
If one looked closely at the latticework of wounds, they could see faint, conflicting colors shimmering beneath the surface—flecks of red, blue, purple, white. But above all others, two colors dominated,them all — black and crimson.
He exhaled sharply. Blood trickled from open pores. He wiped it away with a cloth, muttering,
"Not again…"
(Downstairs)
A sudden, calm chill passed through the common room. Vex shuddered violently, his head snapping up. He wasn't the only one. The others exchanged uneasy glances, the temperature having dropped for just a second before returning to normal. Shrugging it off as a draft, they returned to their activities.
---
Zerathos's POV
He decided to move into the attached bathroom, not wanting his blood to stain the bedroom floor. Wrapping the cloth tightly around his weeping torso, he resumed his practice. Again. And again. And again.
On his fourth attempt within the tiled confines of the bathroom, something shifted. A faint, smoke-like wisp—dark gray streaked with white—spiraled from his chest. It was followed by another, and another, until they swirled around his body before sinking into his skin. In the mirror, he watched as his eyes dulled to a soft, flat gray. His form became slightly translucent, like a ghost on an old recording, and the sound of his breathing dampened.
"Finally," he breathed, his legs giving way. He slumped to his knees, sweat and blood mingling and running in rivulets down his body. The tiles beneath his knees were soon speckled with crimson droplets. He canceled the skill immediately, a wave of profound weakness washing over him. It wasn't just from the skill's cost; it was his body, pushed to its absolute limit, finally giving up. With the last dregs of his will, he reactivated the concealing essence glow over his torso, the illusion of normalcy snapping back into place just before his vision blurred and he collapsed backward onto the cold floor.
---
Five minutes later, consciousness returned slowly. He pushed himself up, his body aching, and looked at his reflection. "I should be more careful," he croaked, looking at the bloody mess on the floor. "Clean it," he commanded.
A small, wheeled automaton, its surface etched with faintly glowing essence channels, whirred out from a compartment in the wall. Vuuuuummmm. A Veil Sigil, far more complex than the one he had manifested, appeared on the floor where the blood was, and the entire mess vanished without a trace.
"It still marvels me how these things work," he muttered. "The amount of essence they must use... and that sigil... Maybe I can learn a thing or two from this stuff." He left the bathroom, the essence covering his body flickering unsteadily. 'I rushed. I need to calm down,' he chided himself, reinforcing the concealing glow just as the door burst open.
Bam!
Oscar and Chris tumbled in, roughhousing. With a quick reflex born of a life of secrecy, Zerathos grabbed a blanket from his bunk and wrapped it around his torso.
"Oh, sorry, did we—" Oscar began, stunned, and immediately turned away. Chris, however, just rushed past and landed on his own bed with a triumphant groan.
"I beat you, Oscar!" he declared.
"What? No way! Zerathos was changing!" Oscar retorted, frustrated.
"That's not an excuse! We're all boys, what are you ashamed of seeing?" Chris shot back.
Oscar stormed to his bed just as Miles entered, shaking his head. "Seriously, you two need to act more mature." The huge man grabbed his toiletries and disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later, Vex and Marik entered, looking weary.
"I still can't believe the orientation lecture lasted for three hours," Marik grumbled, heading straight for his bunk.
Zerathos remained standing, wrapped in the blanket 'They all just troop in like it was planned. I need to get some clothes, but I can't drop the concealment.'
When Miles came out and slumped onto his bed, Zerathos saw his chance. He moved to the foot of his own bunk, retrieved a fresh set of clothes—a simple shirt whose fibers hummed with dormant preservation sigils—and retreated to the bathroom to change.
"He could have changed here, what's the big deal?" Chris asked to the room.
"Everybody is not like you, you pervert," Oscar retorted, and a pillow fight looked imminent until the bathroom door opened and Zerathos walked out, the concealing shirt now firmly in place.
'With this, it should at least hold for a day or two,' he thought, climbing into his bed and praying for a dreamless sleep.
The Next Day
The atmosphere was strikingly different. There were no blaring alarms, no instructors shouting orders. After asking Vex, Zerathos learned the academy operated on a principle of self-discipline; they weren't forced to attend general classes. With their specific instructor absent, he decided to stay in the dorm and practice.
Seated cross-legged in his room, in the common space, he opened the skill book again. A white glow appeared, followed by new script.
"Ah, so you've learned it… faster than expected.
Don't get carried away — that's still a novice technique.
But don't underestimate it either.
Even a novice skill can evolve.
My 'Mountain Slash' started as one, now it's something greater. You should know the stages and levels of a skill... Well, I'm just a skill book, not your teacher — but keep practicing.
Adiós."
He smiled faintly. "Guess I'll keep at it—"
Before he could finish, a voice boomed through the dorms:
> "All students, report to Combat Class. Now!"
"Perfect timing."
---
The Combat Class
Thirty minutes later, the students filled the combat stadium.
It was massive — an open field ringed by slanted walls, the ground divided into geometric tiles forming a vast square the size of a football field.
"Is this really a class?" Chris whispered.
"Looks more like a gladiator arena," said Oscar.
"Yeah — there's no seats," Vex muttered.
"Of course not," came a deep voice. Instructor Rual appeared at the center.
"Now, let's begin." He tapped his wristwatch. With a series of hydraulic hisses, the square panels on the floor slid aside, and rows of seating ascended from below, allowing the students to take their places. Where Rual stood, a long, electronic rod rose from the floor, a camera-like device at its top projecting a massive holographic board.
"Okay, I don't know what that old geezer taught you, but we will start from the beginning: Stages, Ranks, and Levels." Rual turned to the board, which glowed to life.
There are three main pillars that make up a warrior:
1. Your Essence Level.The most important. It's the foundation.
2. Your Skills.The application of your power.
3. Your Weapon Form.The amplification of your will."
"Now, let's list the stages. First, Weapon Forms. Weapons in this world are not lumps of metal. They are living conduits of essence. Each wielder bonds to a weapon, and as their essence matures, the weapon evolves—gaining new forms and powers."
The board populated with text:
· Form I – Dormant Form: Weapon is unawakened; an ordinary blade, staff, etc.
· Form II – Linked Form: Weapon responds to the wielder's will, glows with their essence.
· Form III – Manifested Form: Weapon gains a spirit; attacks leave elemental trails.
· Form IV – Ethereal Form: Weapon partially fuses with the wielder; visible aura projection.
· Form V – Ascendant Form: Weapon acts autonomously; can manipulate nearby essence.
· Form VI – Eternal Form: Bound for life; can reshape at command, mythical status.
· Form VII – Divine Form."
"Note," Rual said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "Not everyone pursues a Weapon Form. It's not that it's inherently hard, but it's a long, dedicated path that many neglect. Some who want one may never achieve it, regardless of their essence level. But if you have it..." He grinned. "It drastically increases your combat potential. A prime example is the Vice Leader. No House Head would find it amusing to face him alone. So, even though it's a difficult path, you shouldn't forgo it. Recent data shows the highest form achieved in the last century is the 5th Form."
He scanned the crowd. "So, who would like to show us their soul weapon? Stacy! Why don't you show us?"
A tense silence fell over the arena.
"It's not a request," Rual's voice hardened. "It's an order. Stacy Virellen."
A girl with proud posture and sharp eyes stood up from the crowd and walked calmly onto the arena floor. She took a deep breath, and a sharp wind of essence began to whirl around her. In a flash of obsidian light, it appeared: a wing-shaped gauntlet forged from what looked like overlapping feathers of dark, gleaming steel. It was there for only a moment before it vanished.
"Okay," Rual said, a predatory smile on his face. "Why don't we make this interesting? You," he pointed a thick finger into the stands, "can have a round with her."
His finger was aimed directly at Malen.
"Good," the huge boy said, a fierce grin spreading across his face as he stood. "I've been itching for a fight." He strode confidently down to the stage.
"Wait, isn't this odd?" Chris whispered, leaning toward their group.
"How?" Oscar asked, his eyes glued to the scene.
"He doesn't use any elemental trait," Vex explained, his brow furrowed in concern. "He's going in with just raw essence and basic skills. And I'm almost certain he doesn't have a soul weapon."
Marik watched Malen walk away, a look of conviction in his eyes. "Well, everybody has a reason for doing certain things."