Back at the academy, the room was locked in silence.
Every instructor stood frozen in front of the massive wall of light, the glow of the radar casting pale hues across their faces. The blips pulsed faintly, like scattered heartbeats on an endless grid. Then one of them winked out.
Just like that it was also gone..
Haldris leaned forward, his sharp eyes narrowing, jaw tightening as the glow reflected in his lenses. He spoke what everyone else was thinking, his voice a low demand that cracked through the hush.
"What is going on?"
No one answered. Their minds scrambled for logic, for reason, for protocol, but none of it fit what they were seeing.
The headmaster's gaze was carved from stone, but his hands betrayed him, clasping tighter behind his back. Another blip had just vanished, sudden and absolute, with no sign of struggle, no gradual weakening, no warning. One second it was there. The next, erased.
Ms. Zerra standing near the console whispered under her breath, too quiet to be confident but too loud to ignore:
"It's like… they're being deleted."
The word hung heavy, sinking into the room.
Ms. Seraphyne clenched her fists at her sides, her eyes never leaving the grid. Every flicker of light now felt like a life dangling by a thread. Her voice was clipped, edged with silent panic as she tried to hide.
"They're not dying the way we know. This is… something else."
Haldris' eyes flicked toward her, then back to the screen. Another pulse moved erratically, stumbling across the digital forest. His brows furrowed, voice sharper now.
"Then… who's doing this?"
No one had an answer.
But the silence in the control hall was beginning to sound a lot like fear.
---
"Now…" the voice unfurled, curling through the woods like smoke. A sigh followed, long and drawn-out, mocking and disappointed.
"…this game is starting to get boring."
The words slithered across the trees, bouncing from branch to branch, impossible to locate. They dug into the ears of every student, a whisper that felt far too close.
"Let's change a few rules, shall we?"
Leaves rustled, though no wind moved them. The hush deepened, heavy with expectation.
"Or better yet…" the voice lingered, savoring the dread, "…let's play a different game."
Then came a pause. And with finality: he added, "A guessing game."
The declaration rippled outward, not loud or shouted. Yet the impact was everywhere at once. The forest didn't just hear it, it felt it.
"So in this new game…" A chuckle rattled against the bark. "…I am Player 1."
The title dropped like a stone into a still pond; it wasn't sound, it was an effect, a weight.
'Player 1.' The name burned into them, a thorn lodged deep. He was the instigator, the watcher, and the one in control.
His tone sharpened suddenly, slicing through the silence like a blade against silk. "All of you… every last student cast into this world…" Then a pause, savoring the suspense. "…you are Player 3."
A long stretch of silence followed, deliberate and cruel, enough for the confusion to bloom.
Across the forest, students crouched in the undergrowth, pressed against roots, hidden in streams. Wide eyes flicked to one another. Confusion tangled with fear.
Player 3? What does that mean?
Brows furrowed, lips parted but no one dared to speak. Those who found themselves near others exchanged frantic looks, panic crawling through their eyes. The forest itself seemed to draw tighter around them, holding them captive to the rules of this unseen voice.
And then, with a slow, deliberate smile laced into every syllable, the voice continued:
"That leaves one question… doesn't it?"
Then he stretched a pause.
"Who… is Player 2?"
The world froze.
Not a branch swayed. Not a footstep dared break. Even the insects fell silent, as though nature itself had pressed pause. The question lingered in the air, heavier than a verdict, crueler than a blade.
And every student in those woods felt it, whoever Player 2 was… their survival depended on finding them first.
"You have one hour."
The words struck like a countdown beginning.
"That's sixty minutes to figure it out." His tone curled into something sharper and crueler. "Once you find Player 2… kill them."
The silence after was suffocating. Then he twisted the blade.
"Only then do you get to leave this world free."
Then came a pause long enough for hope to flicker, then snuffed out.
"If you fail?"
A soft laugh bled into the air, low and serpentine. "Then we start a new game. One that's much, much harder."
The words soaked in, sinking like poison.
Somewhere, deep in the trees, a boy stumbled through leaves, his feet tripping over roots as panic consumed his body.
Another student dropped their weapon, the steel clattering too loud in the silence, echoing like a gunshot.
Another pressed trembling hands together, whispering prayers through chattering teeth, clinging to the faintest hope of mercy.
The voice relished every reaction.
"So…" he purred. "…think fast."
The air thickened as though time itself had leaned closer to listen.
"One hour."
"One target."
"One kill."
The cadence was merciless, each word snapping like a judge's gavel.
"The rules are simple," he continued, his tone shifting, darker now. Orders, not invitations.
"When I say move, you move. Fail to move… you're out."
The forest held its breath.
"And when I say stop, you stop. Fail to do so… you're out."
The words were no longer playful, no longer a game. But commands etched into the very air. Breaking them meant one thing: elimination.
His voice sank low, almost a whisper carried on the wind, brushing against every ear like the chill of a blade at the throat.
"Let's see who wants freedom badly enough."
Then, satisfied with his own cruel performance, the voice exhaled into laughter; hollow, and warping, fading as it twisted through the trees. It vanished like vapor, leaving nothing but its echo.
And for the first time, the woods themselves seemed to understand.
This wasn't just danger, this was fear; pure, unrelenting and unescapable.
—--
Back at ten academy.
The headmaster turned sharply, his cloak flaring like the snap of a banner in storm winds. His boots struck hard against the marble floor as he faced the center console, the glow of the massive radar painting his stern face in cold light.
"Haldris." His voice cut through the chamber like steel through silence. "Find me any Shinkari available right now. Immediately."
The room froze.
Every instructor stiffened, the word Shinkari hanging in the air like a thunderclap. Even the hum of the monitors seemed to dim.
Haldris, already leaning toward the panel, stopped. His fingers hovered above the keys, trembling ever so slightly before retreating. He straightened slowly, shoulders squared, his hesitation betraying what he already knew.
"Sir…" His tone was slow, careful and reluctant. "At this moment… there are only two available."
The headmaster's expression didn't shift, but the room felt the weight in his voice sharpen colder, edged with something dangerously close to fury.
"Who?"
Haldris swallowed, the silence pressing down on his throat. Even speaking their names seemed to drag a burden across the floor, a shadow heavier than the air itself.
"…Thalor Ashenhive." He paused, then forced out the second. "And Toro, your grandson."
The words hit like stones cast into still water. A ripple of murmurs moved through the instructors, their voices hushed, urgent and uncertain.
The headmaster's jaw clenched, the muscles in his face tight as his eyes flicked toward the radar.
"Only one of the Seven…" he muttered, the words laced with a bitter edge, his gaze darkening. "…and the other?" His voice dropped low, venomous. "That unstable, thick-skulled cannon… waiting to explode?"
The tension snapped through the room. Instructors exchanged uneasy glances, some whispering under their breath, others standing rigid, unwilling to speak at all. The thought of summoning a Shinkari at all was enough to unnerve them but that one?
The air thickened, heavy with the knowledge that either choice carried as much danger as the voice in the woods.
And still, the headmaster's order stood.
Haldris gave a small nod, the glow of the radar reflected sharp across his features.
"The other five are still overseas," he reported, voice clipped "Trapped behind travel wards. They won't arrive in time."
The headmaster's eyes narrowed, shadows deepening under his brow, his tone dripping lower and colder, like stone grinding against stone.
"And you're telling me…" he leaned forward slightly, each word a blade, "…our only viable option is Toro?"
Haldris hesitated, but only for a breath. His answer had already been decided. "Yes, sir." His voice was steady, but careful, like a man walking a tightrope. "Since the higher-ups' rules forbid Mr. Ashenhive from stepping within reach of his son…"
The moment the words left his mouth, the chamber drowned in a long suffocating silence.
The mention of his son cracked against the air like a whip. No one asked for the name, they all knew. Every instructor in the room had already filled in the blank in their heads.
The headmaster's fingers curled into fists at his side, knuckles whitening, veins rising like cords beneath his skin. His eyes bore into the floor, heavy with a decision that felt as if it could split the world.
Two options: both dangerous and costly. And neither truly an answer.
Only two Shinkari remained. And calling either would change everything, tear open rules meant never to be broken, drag the academy into a storm that could not be undone.
His lips parted at last. The whisper escaped before he could stop it, not meant for anyone, yet the entire room heard.
"If only the rules of the barrier were different…"
A bitter exhale left him, heavy enough to fog the silence. "…we wouldn't need any of them."
The words hung in the chamber like a curse, the weight of centuries-old rules pressing down on every spine.
And still, on the radar, the blips kept vanishing.