Gray woke to the taste of dust and the sting of light cutting across his eyes. For a moment, his mind was blank. The floor beneath him was cold, the air still. Then it all came back—Seraphine's voice, the look in her eyes, the numbing strike at his neck. He jerked upright, breathing fast, his pulse hammering against his ribs.
He looked down at himself. His shirt, torn from the fight, was spotless. The cuts that had once run across his arms and side were gone, not even a scar left behind. He stared at his hands, turning them slowly, confusion thick in his chest.
"Was that her doing?" he muttered under his breath.
It had to be. Her presence lingered faintly in the air, like cold metal. He ran a hand through his damp hair and looked toward the door. Everything felt the same, but something inside him had changed. He couldn't name it. The silence of his room pressed against him like a weight.
He checked the wristband on his arm.
11:49.
"I have to move," he breathed. "History class."
His body still felt heavy, but he pushed himself to his feet, swaying for a moment before steadying. The memory of last night clawed at the back of his mind—the whispering book, the man's shadowed face, the symbol etched into his skin, and that single name echoing in his head.
The Fractured Dawn.
He exhaled sharply. A cult hunting him. A title he didn't understand. And an artifact they somehow knew he carried. His thoughts twisted in circles, offering no way out. He knew one thing for certain—he had stepped into something far larger than himself.
"Perfect," he muttered. "Just perfect."
He changed into a clean set of clothes from the table, tugging the collar to hide the faint bruise on his neck which hadn't recovered. The moment his reflection caught his eye in the small metal mirror, he paused. For a heartbeat, the reflection seemed…off. His eyes looked duller. Or maybe it was just the light.
He shook the thought away and strapped the wristband tighter around his arm. "I'll check the library later. There has to be something on that cult."
He left the room and stepped outside. The corridor outside was strangely quiet. The usual chatter of students was missing, replaced by a soft murmur that echoed faintly from the upper floors. Every step made him feel more isolated.
By the time he reached the lecture hall, the doors were already open. A few students had gathered near the front, their whispers low but tense. Gray slipped inside and made his way to the back, dropping into the seat beside Renn.
Renn looked at him immediately, eyebrows rising. "You look like death, again, you know that?"
Gray forced a faint smirk. "Feel like it too."
"Did you at least get your answers?"
Gray leaned back, staring at the empty podium where the professor would soon stand. "No. Not even close."
Renn frowned. "What happened?"
Gray hesitated. He didn't want to talk about the fight, not here. Not now. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I was close. Whatever was in that book… it nearly killed me. I think if I'd read any further, I wouldn't be sitting here right now."
Renn's expression shifted, worry flickering in his eyes. "Killed you? What're you talking about. Gray, maybe you should—"
Before he could finish, a cluster of voices caught their attention. A few students near the center row were whispering furiously, one of them leaning forward as if to make sure no one overheard.
"Did you hear? The library's sealed off. They said part of it collapsed or something."
"That's not what I heard," another said. "Someone said there was a fight. A massive one. Someone snuck in after hours."
Gray froze. His throat tightened as he kept his gaze on the table.
Renn turned slightly. "A fight? In the library?"
"Yeah," the voice continued. "They said a member of some secret organization broke in. Security found traces of Vyre and blood everywhere."
Gray's stomach twisted. He forced himself to stay still, though his hand had begun to tremble slightly beneath the desk.
Renn glanced sideways, catching the movement instantly. His tone dropped low. "You're a terrible liar, you know."
Gray looked at him, startled. "What?"
Renn leaned closer, voice barely a whisper. "You've got that look. The 'I did something incredibly stupid' look. Gray… that was you, wasn't it?"
Gray hesitated. His jaw tightened, and then he nodded once.
Renn blinked, disbelief written all over his face. "You're kidding me."
"I wish I was."
Before Renn could press further, the sound of a cane tapping against the floor drew everyone's attention. The professor entered.
"Settle down," he said. "We begin."
The lights dimmed slightly as the wall panels flared to life, displaying a sprawling mural of Nyxterra in its early days—mountains of glassy black rock, rivers of molten lava, and faint outlines of colossal beasts long extinct.
"Last time," the professor began, "we discussed the First Generation. The awakening of strains. The discovery of Vyre. The beginning of everything you now take for granted."
He paused, eyes sweeping the room. "Today, we move to the Second Generation—the Age of Dominion."
The mural shifted. Cities rose from the wastelands, shimmering beneath radiant skies. Armies of strained individuals marched across scarred terrain.
"It was during this time that humanity began to conquer Nyxterra," the professor continued. "The chaotic forces of corruption were pushed back, and structured civilization took root. Those who bore strong strains—especially the descendants of the First—rose to prominence. They became the founders of the royal families, the pillars of early governance."
Gray leaned forward slightly. The images on the wall reflected in his eyes—families of immense power, their sigils glowing above their heads.
"The royal families were not born from bloodlines alone," the professor said. "They were forged through power. Their strains were so strong that entire cities gathered around them for protection. Power became politics. Strength became law."
A student near the front raised a hand. "Professor, were the strains somewhat safe and stable by then? Or still… deadly?"
"A good question," the professor said, nodding. "They were always deadly, but wince the discovery that everyones strains were somewhat unique. They had better understanding. They were studied thoroughly. Even the more unpredictable ones. Some could warp their environment simply by existing. Others carried curses that could spread to those around them. It was also during this time that the concept of strain resonance began to be studied seriously."
Gray felt his heart quicken at the mention.
"But for all the progress," the professor continued, his tone darkening, "the Second Generation was not an age of peace. It was an age of division. Dozens of groups formed across the continent. Faiths, orders, secret organizations—all claiming to serve the light or to resist corruption. Some sought salvation. Others sought power."
He turned toward the class, the light from the projection catching his face. "Among them… one of the most notorious was an organization called the Fractured Dawn."
Gray froze.
The professor's voice was calm, steady, but the name struck through Gray like ice water. His mind flashed back to the man's hood, the mark etched into his skin, and Seraphine's words.
"The Fractured Dawn," the professor said, "believed in the rebirth of the world through destruction. They followed the teachings of an ancient text—one said to predate even the First Generation. Its core philosophy centered on something they called the Waning Sun, what it is exactly. Even I'm not sure."
The images on the screen shifted to crude drawings of hooded figures surrounding a symbol—a cracked star pierced through its center.
"Many considered them a cult," the professor continued. "Others called them scholars, philosophers even. But the truth is buried in mystery. Records claim they were eradicated before the end of the Second Generation. Yet some scholars insist remnants of their beliefs survived, resurfacing in later centuries under different names. They were either way very important to the history of the second generation as we will learn later."
Renn leaned closer to whisper. "That's them, isn't it?"
Gray's throat was too dry to answer. His pulse beat in his ears. Every word felt like it was directed at him.
The professor walked closer to the projection, his shadow stretching long across the floor. "Curiously," he said, "there was a recurring term found in their texts. Well all sorts of things actually, including an Apple or child of sorts.
The room went silent.
Even the hum of the projectors seemed to vanish.
Gray's mind went blank. His chest tightened, a cold ache forming deep inside him.
The professor turned back toward the class, eyes scanning the room. For a moment, they lingered on the back row—on him.
"History has a strange way of repeating itself," he said quietly. "Let us hope the Fractured Dawn remain what they are—fragments of the past."
The lights brightened, signaling the end of the segment. Students began to whisper again, the tension breaking. But Gray didn't move. His hands trembled slightly as he stared at the glowing symbol on the wall—the fractured star that refused to fade.
He barely heard Renn's voice beside him. "Gray? You good?"
Gray didn't answer. His eyes remained locked on that symbol. Because for the briefest second, before it flickered away, it had changed—its cracks pulsed faintly, glowing the same shade of blue as the book.
And then it was gone.