A week had passed since the Proving Grounds trial began.
Already, more than two dozen students had activated their survival bracelets, their signals erupting into bursts of emergency light that shimmered briefly in the thick, mist-laden forest before vanishing. Some had fallen prey to their own arrogance. Others had been overwhelmed by the relentless dangers lurking in the terrain.
Kael Ryuu and Riven remained among the few still standing.
Their days blurred into a cycle of cautious scouting, rune reinforcement, and hard-earned survival. Kael had been refining basic field wards—runic constructs woven into bark and stone to dampen their presence and shield their small camps from predatory beasts. Riven, meanwhile, displayed an uncanny skill with her bow, keeping their perimeter clean of minor threats.
Yet despite their preparations, Kael couldn't shake a creeping unease.
Something was off.
The wildlife had grown quiet. The trees no longer whispered with the usual life of the grounds. Even the air itself seemed heavier, pressing down on them like a silent hand.
---
Above the grounds, in the Academy's Viewing Hall, the staff gathered around a series of shimmering projection arrays.
Each globe displayed shifting sections of the Proving Grounds—student signatures glowing bright against the dim terrain. Yet more and more signals flickered sporadically. Some winked out entirely.
Captain Selai, her Spirit Crest active around her, scowled as she observed the readings. "These aren't simple failures," she said. "Some signals are being severed."
Murmured concern rippled through the assembled captains.
The atmosphere shifted when the hall doors opened with a muted boom.
Senn Valeris strode inside, armor lightly scuffed, dark eyes set in grim determination. His arrival sent a ripple of tension through the room.
"Report," Headmaster Virellian said without preamble.
Senn offered a curt nod. "Confirmed Wraithborn presence inside the Proving Grounds. Scattered units, but increasingly active. They're not hunting randomly—they're being drawn to something."
Several captains stiffened at the word: Wraithborn.
"Cancel the trial," Captain Ryven snapped immediately. "We can't afford unnecessary casualties."
"And rob them of the chance to adapt under real pressure?" Captain Lira countered coldly. "They knew the risks."
Arguments rose swiftly—cancel, continue, reinforce.
The Headmaster listened in silence before finally raising a hand.
"Proceed with caution," Virellian ordered. "Pull them only if the threat escalates beyond containment."
Senn folded his arms, gaze flicking back to the projections.
"I'll have extraction teams ready."
Because deep down, he already knew—this situation was spiraling out of control.
---
Kael crouched low atop a rocky outcropping, scanning the darkened ravine below. He and Riven had tracked signs of movement—scrapes along trees, broken underbrush—something larger than the usual predators.
He gestured for Riven to stay back.
A breath later, shapes slipped through the mist.
Humanoid in form but wrong in every other way—cracked grey skin stretched taut over spindly frames, jaws split too wide, talons clicking against the stones.
Wraithborn.
Kael's heart slammed against his ribs, but he forced himself to move. His right glove flared as his fingers etched rapid, burning lines in the air—layered runes activating with a dull thrum.
A hybrid blast of flame and compressed air ripped through the lead Wraithborn, sending it tumbling in smoldering ruins.
The others hesitated briefly.
Then they charged.
Kael surged forward, Kurozan flashing into existence in his hand—its black blade drinking in the sparse light. He ducked under a claw swipe, pivoted, and slashed upward in a smooth arc. The blade, enhanced by fleeting rune marks, bit deep into two more Wraithborn with a single sweep.
Riven loosed an arrow from behind, piercing another through the throat.
More poured from the mist.
Kael gritted his teeth and layered stone and lightning runes atop each other—rising a barrier that surged with crackling energy between them and the swarm. He fought to control the unstable forces—his soul strain mounting as the gloves sizzled against his skin.
He couldn't maintain this for long.
But he didn't need to.
By the time the last Wraithborn collapsed in a heap of ruined flesh and smoke, Kael's body trembled with exhaustion. His gloves smoked at the edges, the rune arrays skittering dangerously close to collapse.
Breathing hard, Kael staggered forward, eyes catching something glinting amid the wreckage.
It was a fang—long, cracked, and faintly glowing with thin, interwoven runes.
Not natural.
Not forged by anything human.
He knelt and lifted it carefully, feeling a pulse against his palm, as if the artifact were alive in some distant, malevolent way.
Behind him, Riven approached cautiously. "Kael... what is that?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Because as he stared into the fractured rune lines winding around the fang, he realized something terrible:
This wasn't random Wraithborn behavior.
They were searching for something.
And they were getting closer.