The moon hung low over the academy, casting a pale glow across the quiet dormitory halls. All was still—until Owen's eyes snapped open.

  Something felt wrong.

  An invisible pressure pressed against his chest—not physical, but instinctual. He slipped out of bed, tension coiling through his limbs, and walked to the window. Sliding it open, he breathed in the cool night air and let his eyes wander across the moonlit city below.

  Then—

  Fwip!

  A needle zipped past his cheek, drawing a thin red line. He jerked back, eyes wide.

  "Shit, I missed!" hissed a voice in the shadows.

  Two masked figures leapt through the window. The first lunged with twin daggers; Owen grabbed a chair and swung it instinctively. The impact splintered wood across the attacker's side, but the man recovered fast, slashing wildly.

  The second assassin charged and tackled Owen.

  Crash!

  They burst through the window, glass shattering around them as they plummeted toward the academy pond below.

  Splash!

  They hit the water with a heavy thud. Cold and disoriented, Owen thrashed as the assassin tried to force him under. Bubbles swirled violently. With a desperate elbow to the jaw, Owen broke free—just as the first attacker landed beside them, blade drawn.

  Now waist-deep in water, Owen ducked a strike and drove his fist into the man's gut. The assassin coughed pond water and reeled back.

  Shouts rang from the dormitory. Lights blazed on.

  The second masked figure hesitated, then bolted. The first paused only long enough to pull something from his sleeve.

  He bit down.

  Foam bubbled from his lips. His eyes rolled back as he collapsed into the pond.

  Moments later, guards surrounded the scene, weapons drawn and lightstones raised.

  "Assassins," one muttered.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  A tall female guard stepped forward. "You alright, kid?"

  Owen nodded, soaked and panting. "Yeah... I think so."

  "Get back to your room. We'll take it from here."

  He stumbled back toward the dorm, drenched and shaken.

  "Was this because of the tournament?" he muttered, before collapsing into bed without changing.

  Elsewhere – Unknown Location

  In a chamber cloaked in shadow, a kneeling man spoke reverently, "We found him."

  Another figure, veiled in darkness, smiled beneath her hood. "Good. We'll need the map pieces to release the Master."

  "But we must wait," she added with a quiet laugh, hand covering her lips. "The right time will come."

  Far Away – Inside a Mountain

  A cold, dim chamber was illuminated by faint blue fire. Twelve chairs surrounded a circular stone table. Each was occupied.

  At the head stood a man clad in a black cloak and bone-white mask, radiating fury.

  "I welcome all twelve apostles of Lord Eion," he began, his voice cold and precise. "You know why we've gathered."

  A shimmering hologram floated above the table—an image of the SCHERR demon facility, now in ruins.

  "It was destroyed by Edwin and his disciples."

  Murmurs spread. Some fists clenched. Some eyes burned.

  SCHERR, silent until now, finally spoke.

  "I'll kill them all," he hissed. "I'll restore what was lost."

  Two apostles laughed darkly. Others remained quiet.

  Then, a new figure entered—another cloaked assassin.

  "The assassination failed," he reported.

  Without hesitation, SCHERR raised a hand and blasted a beam through the man's skull.

  The corpse hit the floor, smoke rising.

  "You useless shit," SCHERR growled. "Can't even kill a kid and you call yourself an assassin?"

  The room fell into tense silence. The cloaked man beside him finally spoke.

  "We cannot afford more losses. Stay hidden until we restore the balance disturbed by you."

  A final voice spoke, deep and reverent.

  "The prophecy of Lord Eion must unfold. His descending is inevitable."

  "Stay alive. Until then, we wait," the voice concluded. "Waking a sleeping monster will cost lives."

  Quiet agreement followed.

  The council disbanded.

  The Next Morning – Academy Grounds

  Sunlight streamed through the academy windows, warming the halls and chasing away the cold memories of the night before.

  Owen stepped into class, still exhausted. His teammates greeted him with their usual energy.

  "Took a nice sleep, did you?" Leon smirked.

  Connor slapped his back. "Yesterday was wild, huh?"

  Owen chuckled faintly, not daring to tell them the truth.

  Lucy studied him for a moment, then gave a gentle smile.

  The door slammed open.

  A tall man marched in, his presence radiating authority. Broad-shouldered, with loose hair tied at the back and muscles straining under his combat gear, he stood like a wall of steel.

  "Morning, brats," he barked. "Name's Cale Ironstride. I teach combat."

  He grinned, cracking his knuckles. "And today, we're doing things the right way."

  "No magic. No tricks. Just raw, close-quarter training."

  He demonstrated takedowns, joint locks, and strikes that made some students wince just watching.

  "Pair up. Break your pride if you want to improve."

  Then, he added with a wicked smirk, "Before that—fifty laps around the yard. Let's see if your legs can keep up with your mouths."

  The students groaned and shared panicked glances.

  "GO! GO! MOVE!" Cale roared.

  And so began another exhausting day at the academy... while in the shadows, the true game was only just beginning.