The next morning felt... thinner. The walls, the air, even time. Like the world had lost a few pixels overnight.
Kane didn't say a word as we got ready. He kept glancing at my vitals on his sideband. I ignored him. There wasn't much to say that wouldn't make things worse. He didn't trust what he couldn't explain, and right now, I was exactly that.
In the commons, the display screens flashed the day's headline in pulsing red:
ZONECASTER LIVE: BRONZE TIER TRIALS TODAY @1800
Cadets clustered in packs, practically vibrating with adrenaline. Some had already geared up—visors snapped over their eyes, gloves glowing with low-tier energy modules. Trial day wasn't just another exam. It was a ranking opportunity. A chance to stop being a nobody.
I walked past the main terminal, head down. Just before I cleared it, the screen glitched. For a split second, my face appeared—blurry, distorted, and shadowed. My eyes were blacked out.
UNKNOWN ASSET
Then it reset like nothing happened.
"Hey."
I turned. Lenya Cho stood beside one of the support pillars, arms folded, silver band on full display.
"That was you," she said. Not a question.
"Just static," I muttered.
She narrowed her eyes. "You hide it well, Drayce. But are you really a zero?"
I opened my mouth, but she was already walking away. As usual, she said just enough to rattle me, then vanished.
Zone-prep simulations were held in the sublevels, far below the Academy's polished upper floors. Class Z's lab was a glitch graveyard—walls that flickered, floor panels that clicked when stepped on, and AI assistants that stuttered mid-sentence.
Overseer Solas was already there, waiting with the same expressionless stare. His coat looked like it had been ironed with a laser.
"Today," he said, "we measure instinct."
No greetings. No safety disclaimers. Just the test.
A glowing circle activated in the center of the floor. The simulator booted with a harsh hum. Students were called forward, one by one.
Kane went first. His opponent was a Rift Wolf hybrid—fast, sharp, aggressive. He dismantled it with brutal efficiency. The data stream above him logged clean strikes and perfect form.
Others followed. A few failed. One girl froze mid-combat and got hit with a feedback spike. Her knees gave out before the med-bots arrived. No one said her name.
Then it was me.
VAEL DRA—ERROR. LOADING INSTANCE
The hum shifted. Lights dimmed. I stepped into the circle.
My opponent formed out of static and pixels. When the fog cleared, it looked like me. Same face. Same stance. But something was... wrong. Its eyes were hollow. And it cast no shadow.
It moved first.
I reacted on pure instinct. No weapons. No system assists. Just the burning rush of survival.
It was like fighting a mirror—one that moved just a bit faster. It ducked when I swung, countered when I feinted. Every move I made, it copied, but with more aggression. Sharper. Meaner.
I backed up. Tried to catch my breath. It didn't pause.
"Come on," I whispered. "You're me, right? Then fall for this."
I stumbled on purpose, faked a loss of balance. It pounced. Just what I wanted.
I grabbed a glitched fragment lying on the sim floor—a data shard, unstable—and drove it into its chest.
The figure let out a soundless scream, exploded into flickering light, then vanished.
The room was dead silent.
A soft chime echoed overhead.
ECHO COUNT: 1
Solas stared at the stream of data with something close to surprise. His hand hovered above his control pad like he wanted to pause time.
The others whispered. I could feel their eyes on my back. Not fear. Not awe. Just confusion.
Kane avoided my gaze entirely.
Lenya didn't. She looked straight at me, her expression unreadable.
Afterward, I went to the locker alcove instead of the cafeteria. I wasn't hungry. I just needed space.
My hands were still trembling.
"What even was that thing?" I muttered.
"You," said the voice.
I flinched. The lights flickered.
"I saw myself," I said under my breath. "But twisted. Shadowless."
"Echoes don't cast shadows," the voice replied.
"What are you?" I asked.
"A mistake. A remnant. A function. Take your pick."
"Helpful."
"You're welcome."
The sarcasm made something twitch behind my eyes.
"You're version 4.7," it continued. "Someone built you to break rules. But they couldn't control the results. That's why everything about you glitches."
"Who built me?"
"Now that would ruin the surprise."
I sat on the bench, staring at the locker wall like it held answers.
"Why me?" I asked finally.
"Because you're still standing. And because you're the only one who doesn't run from the void."
That night, I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw fragments.
Birthday candles.
A song I didn't remember, sung off-key.
A cake with a name scratched off.
A hand reaching out—and then the memory snapped shut like a bear trap.
"They erased something," the voice whispered. "But not everything."
I clutched my sheets. My heart wouldn't slow down.
"I don't want this," I whispered.
"Too late," the voice said.
"You're not the first version. Just the one still standing."
Outside my window, the lights of the Academy dimmed for the night cycle. But in my room, the flicker on my HUD didn't stop.
The system didn't sleep. And now, neither did I.