For the next four days, nothing happened.
No blood-curdling screams in the middle of the night. No miasma rising. Not even a flicker of rift-energy detected miles away.
It lulled the students into a false sense of security. The raw fear that had once gripped them—choking, paralyzing, numbing—had begun to dwindle. Bit by bit, their hope returned. They clung to it like fools desperate, daring to believe they might actually survive this ordeal.
But not everyone shared in that fragile optimism.
One girl, in particular, hadn’t smiled once in the past four days. She sat with her group—Verena and Kaelira—huddled beside a large, uneven boulder under a crooked tree that barely offered shade. The bark was flaking, and the leaves were dying, but it was still better than nothing.
The three girls were munching on the few edible things they’d foraged earlier that morning: bitter, sour-tasting fruits. Red, round, and deceivingly similar to cherries—but far more sour in flavor. Every bite was like chewing through acid-coated chalk.
Kaelira, ever the loudmouth, winced dramatically as she gulped one down. "Ugh! Fuck! This is disgusting. Like licking spoiled vinegar off shit." She squinted at the half-eaten fruit, grimaced, and threw it into the bushes.
"When the hell are they gonna open the damn portal already? There’s no monsters, no danger, nothing! We’ve walked like 20 kilometers. No rifts, no signs, no shit. How longggg is this stupid bullshit gonna drag on..."
Verena clicked her tongue, shooting her a sharp glare. "Could you shut your damn mouth for once?" Her voice was calm but venomous. "You think we either? None of us know how to open a portal, so unless you’ve secretly a Rank ★★★★★★ and can tear space apart, shut the fuck up and eat your fruit."
Kaelira huffed, not at all chastised. "Tch. So now I can’t even complain? All hail the almighty dictator Verena, silencer of the suffering and slapper of whining redheads."
Verena rolled her eyes and ignored her, biting down on the fruit with a disgusted expression but not saying another word.
Kaelira followed suit, tossing another sour berry into her mouth like a soldier resigned to rations.
Mia Lancaster hadn’t said a word.
She sat between them, her knees drawn close to her chest, her hands cradling the fruit as if it were glass. She hadn’t even taken a proper bite—nibbling less than a rodent, her appetite clearly long gone.
Verena noticed. Of course she noticed.
Her sharp eyes softened ever so slightly. "Hey..." she said, voice dropping a tone. "Mia. Something eating at you?" She tilted her head, arms resting lazily on her knees. "You know you can talk to us, right? I mean... I don’t know about this red-haired clown, but I’ll listen."
Kaelira scoffed instantly. "Wow. What a best friend you are. Can’t even read her mood unless she spells it out for you?" She clicked her tongue and leaned her head back against the boulder. "Tsk. Pathetic."
Verena’s brow twitched. Slowly, she turned her head and glared. "As if you can? Hah? You wanna flex your nonexistent empathy skills now?" Her voice dropped to a warning growl. "You have no idea how to read people. So shut the hell up and let the adults talk."
Kaelira shrugged, unfazed. "Please, it’s obvious. She’s anxious about her brother. That madman’s been gone for what, five days? No message. No signal. Alive or dead, no one knows. Of course she’s gonna worry."
Mia flinched slightly but didn’t speak. Verena’s sharp gaze returned to her. "Is that true?" she asked softly. "It’s about your brother?"
Mia gave a tiny nod, her eyes still locked on the untouched fruit in her lap. "Yes... I know he’s strong. But I—I can’t help it. Every passing hour just makes me... scared. He’s not back. We haven’t heard anything. What if—"
She didn’t finish the sentence. Her voice trembled, lips tightening to stop the panic from leaking through.
Kaelira cast a smug smirk at Verena. "Told you so," she said under her breath, stretching her legs out and popping another berry in her mouth.
Verena winced at the smugness but didn’t retort. Instead, she leaned over and wrapped an arm around Mia’s shoulders, tugging her just slightly closer.
"Don’t worry," she murmured. "As much as I want that bastard dead for personal reasons, you like him. So, for your sake, I’ll pray he’s alive." She sighed, resting her chin on Mia’s shoulder for a moment. "Stupid bastard better come back. You’ve suffered enough."
Kaelira chuckled. "You hate him for no goddamn reason. Honestly, I don’t get it. If he really was a manipulative, psychotic creep, you think Mia—of all people—would still care about him? Doesn’t matter how good a liar someone is, you can’t fake everything."
Verena clicked her tongue. "Of course you’re on his side. He’s already manipulated you too."
Kaelira rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out. "You’re obsessed. Seek help."
Mia stayed silent, her gaze lingering toward the horizon.
Though the others bickered and bantered, her mind was somewhere else entirely.
’Cassius... please be safe.’
A low tremor coursed through the earth like a ripple of dread.
It was subtle at first, a mere vibration, but within seconds, the ground beneath them convulsed, shaking with a sharp jolt that yanked everyone awake from their stupor. Birds fled from the trees in flocks, screaming into the sky. Twigs snapped. Pebbles skittered.
The once-still forest turned into a living, breathing thing—trembling in fear.
Kaelira was the first to react. She leapt up like a cat, daggers already drawn. Her blue eyes flared with cautious light, darting across the horizon as her breath steadied.
Verena instinctively reached for the short sword she’d placed beside her earlier, but not before stepping in front of Mia, shielding her. Her jaw clenched, not from fear, but from the sheer instinct to protect.
She just sat there, trembling, staring blankly at the shaking soil beneath her. Her fists clenched around the fruit she had been holding moments ago, now crushed and dripping from her palms.
And then she whispered a single name.
The tremor wasn’t alone. From the far edge of the forest—they emerged.
From between the withered trees, the shadows rippled like water... and then tore open.
A lurching, grotesque, endless horde.
Dozens—no—hundreds of creatures poured out from the shadows. Their bodies were twisted masses of blackened flesh and pulsing purple veins, some walking on jagged limbs, some slithering without legs, others hovering mid-air as if the laws of physics didn’t apply to them at all.
Not all of them even had form.
Some were like liquid mist, with no defined shape—neither beast nor ghost. Others twitched, spasmed, laughing with no mouths and shrieked with no lungs. Their eyes—if they had any—glowed with deranged light, blinking in unnatural rhythms, fixated only on slaughter.
The earth shook from their collective weight. And behind them... only more shadows loomed.
Gasps turned into screams.
"This is suicide! There’s no way we’re surviving this!!"
"God—why are they doing this to us?! This is an execution!"
"I’m not a damn hero! I just wanted to pass the academy exam—not die for the world!!"
"Fuck!! Someone help us!! Please!! I don’t wanna die!!"
Panic was instantaneous, infectious.
Students tripped over each other, shoving past trees, leaping over rocks, desperate to escape the fate that had suddenly returned to claim them.
But not everyone was running.
Two figures stood still, calm amidst the chaos. Eyes narrowed, lips curled in amusement.
The two exchanged a look. The horde before them... was horrifying, yes. Visually. Physically. These things looked like abominations birthed from the Void.
But there was one thing—just one little detail—that made them significantly less terrifying.
Above each monster’s twisted form... floated a glowing rune of system data:
Art scoffed, brushing a hand through his wild silver hair. "Only Rank: ★★★? They looked uglier than that. Damn."
Zyon snorted. "All bark, no bite. Tch. I thought this was gonna be fun."
They smirked at one another.
And then, without saying a word, they bumped fists—a casual dap between two lunatics about to leap into a warzone.
They both lowered their stances, ready to charge in, when—
A voice cut across the panic. Unmistakable. Yet strangely... different.
She stood a few meters behind them, her voice cracking from emotion. Her posture wasn’t commanding anymore. Her eyes didn’t blaze with confidence or fury.
Still trying to lead, but with shaky legs and trembling fingers.
"Don’t do anything reckless," she urged, her voice barely holding together. "We don’t... we don’t know how many of them are out there... how strong they really are..."
The Freya from before—the girl who once stood before a hundred students and rallied their hope with her words—was gone. In her place stood a trembling girl in dirt-stained clothes, a child who carried too much, still burdened by the corpses of those she couldn’t save.
The words carried little weight.
Art looked back at her.
And for a moment, something flickered in his emerald eyes... understanding.
But then he turned toward the horde again, cracking his knuckles.
"Don’t worry, Commander." His voice was soft, but steady. "We’re not gonna do anything reckless. We’re just gonna clean up the trash."
Zyon grinned. "Let’s see how many I can take out before you catch up. I’m betting thirty."
"Forty." Art corrected, his smirk widening.
And then, without hesitation, the two sprinted forward, diving headfirst into the madness.
The trees exploded into movement. Mana clashed. Blades flashed.
And behind them... Freya stood frozen, watching their backs disappear into the void of black and purple.