The horn blared overhead, low and metallic.
A few students flinched. Others stood, quiet, already moving toward the transport lift.
"Live squad exercise," the intercom droned. "Zone Gamma. Loadout standard. Objective parameters inbound."
Dylan sat on the edge of the bench in Fort Carneras' lower hall, lacing up his boots. Erin paced a few meters away, practically vibrating with energy. Bran leaned against a support column, shield resting beside him like an obedient pet.
No one spoke.
They'd read the trial board already. Three squads. Forest ruin zone. Non-lethal engagement.
Erin finally broke the silence.
"We win, we get priority clearance for armory draws. And we're not losing to that water-mancer freak from Squad Eleven."
She didn't wait for a response.
Bran grunted once. Dylan just finished tying his boots and stood.
The elevator groaned open.
"Squad Nineteen," a voice called.
Dylan stepped in.
Zone Gamma smelled like dry moss and carbon. Cracked trees jutted out of the ground like fossil ribs. Broken stone paths cut through the ruin simulation — all shallow trenches and half-fallen archways. It looked like someone tried to rebuild a medieval village with post-apocalyptic landscaping.
Erin stretched her arms and lit a small flame between her fingers, almost lazily.
"Okay. Front to me. Bran shields mid. Dylan—"
She glanced sideways at him, hesitation barely visible.
"Stick to the side and don't screw it up."
"Sure," Dylan said. "I'll stay out of your fire radius."
"Cute."
He smirked.
"Tactically accurate."
They moved fast.
Dylan dropped behind a wall of crumbled masonry, crouched low, eyes scanning the brush.
He flicked a thought. The system obeyed.
[Shadow Extraction – Passive Sync: Active]
Ashwing stirred in the shade of a ruined tower, invisible above. Dylan didn't call it. Not yet. It would scout perimeter patterns and report — no need to waste attention yet.
Down the hill, Squad Fifteen made the first move — a flare of movement and dust. A spear user bolted forward, buffed by a wind-type mage. Dylan didn't bother warning Erin — she'd already seen it.
Fire bloomed from her outstretched hand, wide and hot. The air shimmered.
"Keep them off me," she barked.
Bran moved to intercept, shield humming with kinetic magic.
The speedster juked left.
Bad move.
Dylan thought it.
[Command: Hound – Trip, no maul.]
In the underbrush, Shadow Hound slithered like ink under pine needles. A second later, the wind-boosted spear user's legs tangled with nothing — then hit the ground with a yelp.
Erin's fire caught the edge of his jacket. He screamed. Not in agony. Surprise.
"One down!" she shouted.
Bran grunted approval.
No one saw Dylan's eyes narrow slightly.
They reached the beacon seven minutes in.
The structure was simple — a raised metal spire with a glowing base, powered by ambient mana. Erin approached first, brushing her hair back, breathing fast but controlled.
"This is it," she said. "Hold it for five minutes and we're golden."
Dylan approached slowly, scanning the terrain.
He knelt by the base of the tower and ran a finger along the left support strut.
"It rotates," he said. "Platform's mobile. Narrow pivot range, probably about twenty degrees."
Bran blinked.
"What?"
"Repositioning it means better cover. Elevation bonus. And it blocks direct line-of-sight from the treeline."
Erin stared.
"How the hell do you know that?"
Dylan just shrugged.
"It was in the orientation specs. Page 11, section B."
She scoffed. But didn't argue.
They pivoted the platform with a grinding groan. Bran dug in on defense. Erin circled.
Dylan retreated to the left ridge, placing himself behind a low lip of stone. He summoned Ashwing silently, keeping it behind cover. Its wings didn't beat. It simply glided over the rise, taking to the sky in a black arc no one could track.
From above, it pulsed a low [Disruption Flare] across the airspace — no damage, no attack, just pressure. Squad Eleven, trying a vertical assault from glider packs, faltered mid-air. One overshot and landed in the dirt. Another spun out.
"Ground them," Dylan muttered. "No mercy."
Ashwing didn't hesitate.
They held the beacon.
Barely.
The clock hit zero. Trial ended.
Erin raised both arms, grinning like she'd just scored the final kill. Bran sat down hard, panting. Dylan stayed silent.
They returned to the staging room without a word.
Up in the surveillance wing, Captain Vesh watched the replay on triple speed.
Reeva Talin didn't move from her seat beside him.
She tapped a slow finger against her datapad.
"Squad Nineteen."
"Tamer group."
"So we think."
She rewound one scene — the moment the speed-enhanced student tripped mid-dash.
Slowed it down. Replayed it.
Paused.
"No glyph. No aura. No casting signature."
"Terrain?"
"Unlikely."
Vesh raised an eyebrow.
"Tamer skill?"
"Possibly. But that doesn't explain the sky pressure wave later. Or the pivot rotation tactic."
She stood.
"Put him on passive watch. Don't restrict him yet."
"Why not?"
Reeva smiled.
"Because the ones pretending to be weakest are usually the ones already building armies."
Back in his room, Dylan sat on the edge of his bunk.
System open. Shadow List pulsing faint blue.
[SHADOW LIST] – Hound: Terrain Sync I – Ashwing: Intimidation Pulse I – Emberclaw Lynx: Camouflage adapting…
His Control stat had ticked up again.
He didn't know why. Maybe the system was watching too.
"All bark," he whispered, glancing at the room next door, where Erin was still pacing.
"But I brought fangs."
The light clicked off.
Shadows moved.
Quiet. Loyal. Growing.
The wind had a taste.
Metal. Dry heat. Burnt ozone.
Dylan stood at the far western edge of the Fort — beyond the boundary drills, past the worn observation pylons where no one else bothered to walk. Morning hadn't officially begun. The campus was mostly quiet. The only sounds were automated hums of power circuits and the occasional bird-shaped drone sweeping overhead.
He knelt and touched the soil.
Ash. Still warm, faintly. As if something had burned here hours ago, but the wind refused to let it rest. The spot looked like nothing special — a dead circle of gravel and baked roots — but Dylan could feel it. Like a hollow echo under his feet.
Something powerful had died here once.
He wasn't looking for ghosts. Just a good place to think.
He summoned the system in silence.
[SHADOW LIST]
– Ravager Hound
– Ashwing
– Emberclaw Lynx
[Emberclaw Lynx has completed passive evolution: Camouflage Adaptation]
No glow. No pop-up fanfare. Just quiet acknowledgement.
He felt it before he saw it. The Lynx moved along the nearby rocks, half-invisible. Where its paws touched the dirt, the shadows clung longer than they should.
"That's new," he whispered.
The creature paused, half-turning its head toward him. No actual intelligence — not yet. But growing. Sharpening.
Just like him.
The mess hall was louder than usual.
Forks scraped against steel trays. A group of elemental users bickered over fire types versus lightning velocity. Someone from Sector 9 had apparently vomited mana after overcharging a relic blade.
Dylan tuned them out.
He sat alone — always did — until a tray clacked down across from him.
"Mind if I sit?" the girl asked.
He looked up. Short hair. Gray jacket with one black stripe. Eyes like a scalpel.
"Free world," Dylan said.
"Karis Vell," she added. "Upper track, Talent Reserve Division."
"Dylan Hayes. No track. No clue."
She smirked faintly. "That's honest."
They both ate in silence for a minute. The food was as bland as the walls — some kind of protein paste layered under reconstituted roots.
"You're Tamer-track, right?" she asked casually. "That shadow-type you used in Trial 3 — it wasn't elemental. Looked more… tuned."
Dylan didn't flinch.
"I don't label things I don't understand."
"You bonded to three in three days. Fast."
"Luck. Or talent."
"You ever tried dual-channeling with more than one summon?"
He gave a dry smile.
"I don't ask what's under the hood. I just drive."
She snorted.
"Noted."
She finished her tray. Didn't say goodbye. Just stood and walked off. Dylan tracked her exit with peripheral vision.
Too casual.
Definitely scouting.
Elsewhere, behind an encrypted admin wall, Reeva Talin reviewed several field logs.
None flagged as threats. None worth reporting to Sector Command.
But…
"Subject Hayes — unexplained mana distortion during passive training module."
"Field sensor static registered in shadow radius."
"Trial 3 combat corpse classified as unextractable. No biological trace."
Reeva tapped a stylus against her clipboard.
"Flag for observational tracking," she murmured. "Watch List: Theta."
The hallway behind Sector 3's exhaust chambers was unlit. Abandoned. Half of it didn't even show up on the Fort's active grid. Which made it perfect.
Dylan crouched in the dark.
He summoned his shadows, one by one.
First the Ravager Hound — massive, low to the ground, body shaped like a cross between a wolf and something built for siege work.
Then Ashwing — the silent vulture-shape, wings wide, eyes ember-hot, perched on an overhead pipe like a gargoyle.
Last, the Emberclaw Lynx — thin and sleek, blending with the low light like smoke.
They made no sound. No gesture.
They just waited.
Dylan examined them. Not just visually. He felt their differences. The pull of his mana through each one. The rhythm of their instinct patterns.
He concentrated.
[Shadow Link Test – Initiated]
[Attempting Synergy Pattern...]
The system paused.
[Pattern: Incomplete. Requirements not met.]
He sat back, thoughtful.
Something missing. Not enough balance. Not yet.
He dismissed them all with a thought. They dissolved into black dust, vanishing into the cracks of the room.
At the Fort's northern gate, late that night, a convoy rolled in with no insignia.
Two black transports. No escort. No headlights.
One guard approached, puzzled.
"What's the manifest?"
No response.
Inside the rear vehicle, a sealed chamber hummed with arcane suppression runes. And inside that — a figure bound in thirteen mana bands, eyes glowing orange.
Not a student. Not a soldier.
A test subject.
The tag read:
"DMR Asset #981 — Codename: PYREHOST"
"Threat Rank: Tier B – Mana Unstable. Relic-linked."
"Destination: Fort Carneras – Sector 7 Holding"
Back in his room, Dylan sat on the cot, window cracked open.
He didn't sleep.
Didn't even try.
The wind blew through the slit — dry, heat-stained, carrying the smell of old smoke.
He looked down at his hand. A faint line of shadow coiled across his palm and then faded.
Not natural.
Not human.
But his.
"Not enough yet," he murmured.
He closed his eyes.
And somewhere, far below the ground, a new figure stirred.
Waiting.