Age: 6 | Moment of First Contact
The corridor beyond the Gamma sector was dim and narrow, barely lit by flickering glass orbs set into the stone walls.
Elarion's steps echoed, soft but precise. His body was dusted with ash, his shoulder bruised, and his sleeve still torn where a claw had grazed him two days ago. He hadn't bothered changing yet. His thoughts were already moving past this trial. Toward what came next.
He didn't expect to see anyone. No one ever lingered near this part of the fortress—not unless they were summoned.
So when he turned the corner and halted, it was not from surprise.
Just calculation.
There was someone ahead.
Leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, was a boy—about his age, perhaps a bit taller, with tightly bound dark hair and eyes sharp enough to slice through steel.
He wasn't in uniform.
He wore black.
High-quality training blacks with gold trim, not standard issue.
A high-rank trainee.
> "You're Elarion, right?"
The boy's tone was direct. Calm. Like he already knew.
Elarion didn't respond. He just stared, eyes unreadable—one crimson, one frost-blue, catching the corridor's dim light like twin blades.
The boy tilted his head, not intimidated.
> "You don't remember me," he said, not as a question. "But I knew you. Before."
That earned a blink from Elarion.
Not a reaction. Just a shift.
The boy stepped closer.
> "Name's Herua. I saw you during the Zero-Year selection round. You didn't see me—I'd already passed. Been waiting to meet you properly."
Still no reply.
Herua studied the dried blood along Elarion's sleeve, the cracked scabbard at his hip, the bruises just beginning to bloom across his neck. And yet… not a single hint of tension in the way he stood.
Elarion's body spoke of exhaustion.
But his eyes spoke of control.
Of someone still watching.
Still deciding.
Herua didn't press. He just straightened and said:
> "If you ever need someone to watch your back, I'm offering. No strings. Not because of what you did in the pit—but because I know what comes next. The real trials, the real monsters… they're not beasts."
> "They look like us."
That made something flicker behind Elarion's expression. Almost imperceptibly.
A breath.
A pause.
Not acknowledgment.
Not yet.
But he didn't walk away.
And Herua didn't leave.
The silence settled like a pact unspoken. Two boys in a fortress carved of stone and blood, staring across a thread only fate remembered.
---
Above — Hidden Balcony
From a hidden walkway above the corridor, Instructor Holst watched in silence. The other instructors had gone. He remained.
And when he saw Herua step aside to walk beside Elarion rather than in front or behind him, he did not interfere.
He simply muttered beneath his breath:
> "Finally. He won't be alone this time."
--
Crimsonveil — Lower Grounds
Herua walked beside him now, silent. Neither spoke. They didn't need to.
The air was cool here, this far underground. Stone walls soaked in years of sweat and screams didn't echo anymore—they just remembered.
As they neared the central training ring—a pit open to the sky like a wound in the fortress—Herua finally said:
> "You'll get challenged here."
Elarion didn't look at him.
> "Because of what you did."
He stopped at the edge of the ring.
And sure enough—there they were.
Two boys already inside, moving like shadows.
Not sparring.
Circling.
Watching him.
> "Those are the twins," Herua said under his breath. "They don't like new stars."
Bour was barefoot, shirtless, scars faint on his shoulders—not from punishment, but training. His eyes were wild. His grin sharper than his dagger.
Bon stood calmly behind him, more clothed, more elegant. He didn't smile. His gaze was colder than Elarion's.
> "Is that the beast killer?" Bour called out, loud enough to echo.
> "Doesn't look like much."
> "Maybe the beast slipped on a rock and died," Bon added quietly, but his voice carried.
Elarion didn't answer. He stepped into the ring.
Herua's fingers twitched—half reaching, but stopping.
> "You sure?" he muttered.
> "Always."