Although it was only eight in the evening, the floor dedicated to Class 001 was blanketed in a silence so heavy it felt predatory.
The corridors were drowned in shadows, pierced only by thin slivers of moonlight that crept through the high windows, painting the obsidian floors with pale, ghostly streaks.
In the boys' dormitory, the rhythmic breathing of sleepers signaled a forced escape from the day's humiliations.
Ash lay staring at the ceiling, his eyes wide and unblinking. He wondered if the girls' side was just as desolate.
Elsewhere in the tower, other classes were likely celebrating.
Laughter and the clinking of glasses would be echoing through their halls as they forged the bonds of camaraderie—the essential trust of soldiers who would soon face death together.
Class 001 should have been doing the same. They should have been sharing stories of their first Gates or debating tactics for the upcoming trials.
But they weren't. They were eleven shattered pieces of glass, reflecting nothing but their own isolation.
Ash replayed the whispers from the dining hall in his mind. He now understood that his classmates weren't just "elites"—they were survivors of fallen legacies, political pawns, or targets of deep-seated familial resentment.
Compared to them, he was a ghost from the mud of the Ash Area, a boy with no history and no name to uphold. Strangely, the thought didn't bother him.
It was the suffocating atmosphere of the room that felt unbearable.
With a weary sigh, Ash sat up. The air felt stagnant. He slid out of bed with the silent grace of a shadow and slipped out of the room.
The hallway was a dim tunnel of white and black.
As he wandered toward the rear of the spire, he stumbled upon a communal lounge—a surprisingly elegant space with a massive wooden table and eleven high-backed chairs.
Potted plants and exotic flowers lined the walls, and a towering bookshelf groaned under the weight of ancient-looking tomes. Beyond the lounge lay a wide balcony overlooking the world below.
Thud—Thud—Thud—
The sound of heavy, rhythmic impacts broke the silence. It sounded like bone hitting solid wood.
Curiosity, a rare spark in Ash's mind, drew him toward the source: a training hall to the left of the lounge.
He peered through the observation glass. Inside, the space was a clinical arena of reinforced steel. In the center of the floor, a girl was unleashing a barrage of strikes against a wooden training dummy.
Short silver hair. Heterochromatic eyes. A cold, metallic aura.
It was Riven.
She was dressed in a simple crop-top that highlighted her athletic, sculpted physique—the kind of body built through years of grueling physical conditioning.
Her fists were bare, yet each strike carried the weight of a sledgehammer.
Boom—
With a final, explosive punch, her fist tore clean through the dummy's chest. Her face remained a mask of marble, but her eyes—one steel-gray, one amber—burned with a ferocious, predatory light that made even Ash's pulse quicken.
The shattered dummy collapsed and dissolved into digital particles.
A notification flickered on her Chronograph: [Dummy #43 destroyed. Would you like to summon another?]
She tapped "No," her chest heaving with exertion.
Riven had discovered the 3D training hall earlier that afternoon, intended for simulation and reflex training.
She had planned to wait until morning to use it, but the whispers at dinner—the specific mention of a name she loathed—had ignited a wildfire in her veins.
The wooden dummies were the only thing keeping her from screaming.
As she turned to leave, she caught sight of the figure behind the glass. She froze.
It was Ash.
The boy who looked at the world as if it were a boring play.
Riven felt a strange dissonance looking at him.
Her own distance from others was a shield forged from trauma; his, however, felt innate.
His gray eyes were hollow, devoid of the emotional baggage that weighed everyone else down. She didn't know how long he had been standing there, watching her unravel.
She narrowed her eyes, her body coiling into a defensive posture. Ash, however, remained motionless.
Internally, he was having a very different thought: 'She's incredibly violent. Perhaps I should keep a safe distance.'
Riven pushed through the door, walking past him without a word. She didn't look back, leaving only the scent of sweat and cold steel in her wake.
Ash watched her silhouette disappear down the hall, realizing that she wasn't just training—she was purging the poison of the dining hall whispers.
...
Back in the girls' dormitory, Riven stepped into the dim room. A soft, melodic voice greeted her.
"You're back, Riven."
The girl name Seraphina Linyu was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her waist-length white hair flowing around her like a shroud.
Her ice-blue eyes were open, reflecting a deep, quiet sadness. She was meditating, her pale skin almost translucent in the moonlight.
The other girls were already asleep, but Seraphina seemed to be guarding the silence.
Riven gave a curt nod and headed for the showers, not noticing that one of the beds in the room remained empty.
...
Unable to return to the stifling quiet of the dorm, Ash stepped onto the lounge's balcony.
From the top of the tower, New Age City looked like a sprawling map of light, and the obsidian academy below resembled a dark, mythical god slumbering in the forest.
He sat at a small outdoor table, letting the cold night air clear his head.
"The night is beautiful, isn't it?"
A feminine voice drifted from behind him. Ash turned to see a girl who looked as though she had been woven from moonlight.
Her hair was a cascading river of white that reached her feet, tipped with delicate shades of pale violet.
Her eyes were deep, enchanting amethysts, and her skin was as white as fallen snow. She possessed a beauty that was both mystical and haunting.
She approached him with effortless grace.
"May I join you?"
Ash nodded. She settled into the chair beside him, her movements so refined that they screamed of high-born lineage.
They sat in silence for a moment, watching the stars.
'She's in my class,' Ash realized, panic rising slightly beneath his mask.
'But what was her name? Should I ask? No, that's too rude...'
"You're Ash, right?" she asked, saving him from his internal debate.
"I know we introduced ourselves this morning, but allow me to do so again. My name is Aurelia Veridian. I'm eighteen, just like you."
Ash felt a wave of relief wash over him.
"Ashfei. Ash is fine."
Aurelia leaned against the railing, her gaze distant.
"Tell me, Ash... what do you think life is? And do you believe it has a reason to exist?"
Ash blinked. Is she serious? A philosophical debate at midnight? If I don't answer, will she go away?
Before he could decide, Aurelia continued.
"To me, life is like a flame. it starts as a tiny spark and grows, but it requires fuel to survive. Eventually, the fuel runs out. The flame dies. No matter how much fuel you gather, the end is always the same: darkness."
She turned her amethyst eyes toward him, her gaze piercing.
"If its fate is to be extinguished, why does it appear at all? I believe it appears by accident. A cosmic mistake. But because we created it, we must take responsibility. We feed it, train it, care for it... and eventually, we might even die for it."
She leaned closer.
"I suspect you have a different answer."
Ash went quiet. He thought of the Ash Area—the hunger, the gray sky, the feeling of the Void in his chest. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice level.
"I don't have an answer for you yet."
Aurelia stared at him for a long beat, searching his hollow eyes for something she couldn't find.
She stood up, performing a graceful, aristocratic bow, her long hair sweeping the floor.
"I see. That's a pity. I was hoping to hear the perspective of someone like you. I won't trouble you any longer."
She turned and walked away, leaving Ash alone on the balcony.
'I didn't say I wouldn't answer, I said I couldn't,' Ash thought, watching her go. There's a difference.
He leaned back, looking up at the vast, indifferent sky.
'This class... it isn't just difficult. It's a collection of ghosts, mysteries, and philosophers.'
"What have I gotten myself into?"
His words were swallowed by the wind as he let out a long, weary sigh.