The morning air carried a biting chill as the students gathered outside the academy, their breaths forming faint clouds in the dim light. The Dark Forest loomed in the distance, a black abyss stretching beyond the academy grounds, its presence thrumming with something ancient and alive. It was massive—larger than the academy itself—and even from this far, Nykara could feel it watching. The trees were twisted and gnarled, their dark green leaves nearly black, and between the trunks, shadows slithered unnaturally, moving in ways they shouldn't. Nykara pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, scowling at the ominous sight. Fucking hell, that's inviting. Beside her, Sybil nudged her with an elbow. "It looks like something out of a nightmare. But hey, at least it's a pretty nightmare." "Great. Can't wait to die in style," Nykara muttered.
A sharp wind howled through the training grounds as the students gathered, their expressions a mix of anticipation and dread. This was the preparation phase—if they couldn't handle this, they wouldn't survive the actual trial. Commander Rathorn, the academy's brutal combat instructor, stood before them, his arms crossed over his massive chest. His expression was its usual permanent scowl, as if he was just waiting for someone to fuck up. But it wasn't him that made Nykara's skin crawl. It was the other professor standing beside him. The Forest Professor. He was tall, draped in dark, intricate robes that seemed to shift like smoke. His face was sharp, unsettlingly symmetrical, with eyes that held an unnatural gleam. His presence didn't feel entirely real—as if he weren't entirely bound to this world.
Nykara's gut twisted. Something was wrong with him. He wasn't introduced by name—he never was. Every year, a new group of first-years met him, and every year, he was simply called the Forest Guardian. Yet, it was always the same man. Or at least... the same thing. His presence felt wrong, even in the open air of the training grounds. His eyes were too black, too still. The siren's warning echoed in Nykara's mind. "He isn't human. Or anything, really. The forest sends him. It calls him into being." So what the fuck was he? Nykara narrowed her eyes at him, but the Forest Professor remained eerily silent as Rathorn spoke. "You all know what's coming," Rahorn barked. "The Dark Forest is where you'll find your companions. It's where you will prove whether you belong here or whether you die screaming in the dirt." A few students paled at that, but Rathorn didn't seem to give a shit. "The creatures inside the forest will be watching you, judging you. You are not picking them. They are picking you."His gaze swept over the students, then landed on Nykara.
He held her stare for a moment longer than the others before continuing. "Just as quickly as they can choose you, they can kill you." Nykara smirked. Like hell she was going to be killed by some oversized beast. Professor Rathorn turned slightly to the Forest Guardian, motioning for him to speak. When he did, his voice was unnatural—deep and rustling, like leaves scraping together in a storm. "I am Professor Varian. You will not see me often, nor will you wish to. I do not teach inside the academy's walls. My lessons are taught here." He gestured to the looming trees behind him. "The forest will test you before it gives you anything." His black eyes didn't blink. "And it will take something in return."
A shiver ran through the group. But Nykara just scoffed under her breath. "Fucking ominous." Sybil nudged her, but she was grinning too. This whole thing was insane. Varian ignored them. "The creatures inside do not care for your name, your titles, or your bloodline. They care only for survival. And some of them... will see you as prey. Before the trials, you will train. And you will train until you either get stronger, or you break." He clapped his hands together, his voice sharp as a whip. "Now move your asses." A second-year scoffed from the back. "We're already learning to fight. What's the big—" In a blur, Commander Rathorn moved. Before the student could react, Rathorn grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the cold ground. A hiss of pain escaped the student as he gasped for air. Rathorn didn't even blink.
"You think you know how to fight?" Rathorn's voice was cold, dangerous. "You think a few spells and blades will mean shit when something is tearing your throat out in the dark?" He leaned down, his voice dropping to a near growl. "You are weak. Until you prove otherwise, you are all weak." Nykara exhaled through her nose. Brutal as hell, but he wasn't wrong. Rathorn let the student go, stepping back as the boy scrambled to his feet, humiliated but silent. Professor Varian spoke again, unbothered by the display. "He is correct. This is not just about strength. It is about being chosen. Your companions will find you in the forest—but just as quickly as you are chosen, you can be killed." A tense silence followed. Varian tilted his head, his eerie gaze unreadable. "The creatures inside do not simply belong to this forest. Some have existed here before the academy itself. Some... have existed before even humans walked these lands."
Nykara felt something cold brush against the back of her mind. An ancient whisper. A feeling of something waiting. "Rathorn will train you for what's ahead. You will need it." Without another word, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the misty tree line. Commander Rathorn exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. "Alright, you little shits," he said, his usual gravel in his tone. "Time to make sure you don't drop dead the second you step foot in that hellhole." Sybil muttered under her breath. "Well, that's comforting." Nykara smirked. "Relax. He said 'drop dead'—he didn't say 'horrifically mauled beyond recognition.' So, we're fine." Sybil shot her a look. "I hate that that actually made me feel better." Rathorn ignored them, already pacing. "You're going to be training harder than ever this week. If you can't handle that, don't bother showing up to the selection ceremony. Because I promise you, the creatures in that forest won't give a shit how tired you are."
Nykara crossed her arms. The creatures choose them? That meant it wasn't just about skill—it was about something deeper. Something primal. Her blood stirred at the thought. She didn't know why, but she had a feeling she wasn't just walking into that forest. She was meant to. The combat exercises were nothing short of brutal. Rathorn paired students against each other, making them spar, dodge, and counter until they were raw. The forest loomed behind them like a silent audience, its dark presence pressing against the training grounds. Nykara and Sybil fought together, their movements sharp and practiced. They weren't here to lose. But the energy around the area was shifting. The wind had picked up, thick and heavy. The shadows of the forest stretched further than they should have, creeping closer, like they were reaching for her. And that's when it happened. A student screamed. Nykara whirled, her muscles tensing. Across the field, one of the first-years—some poor bastard who had been sparring too close to the forest's edge—collapsed, clutching his arm.
But it wasn't from the fight. Something had grabbed him. Thick, vine-like tendrils slithered from the ground, wrapping around his leg and pulling. For a moment, no one moved. No one fucking breathed. Then—chaos. Students scrambled back as the tendrils dragged the screaming student toward the tree line. Rathorn barked an order, and three upper-years lunged in, slashing at the tendrils. But the Forest Guardian stepped forward, lifting a hand. The shadows snapped back. The vines released the boy instantly, retreating into the dirt as if they'd never been there. The student gasped, crawling away, his face ashen. His leg was cut up badly, but he was alive. Barely. Nykara's heart was pounding. It wasn't just the sight of the vines. It wasn't the attack. The moment the student hit the ground, something in the forest shifted. It was subtle at first. A low hum, almost like a distant whisper, threading through the air. Then, the shadows beneath the trees darkened—deepened—like ink bleeding into the ground.
Nykara stiffened. The forest was watching. Then, all at once, the trees moved. Not the leaves. Not the branches. The actual trunks. A sickening creak echoed through the clearing as the massive trees bent—bent toward her. Like predators scenting something new. Something dangerous. The students nearest to the tree line scrambled back, fear flashing in their eyes. Someone cursed. Even Rathorn hesitated for half a second before his sharp gaze snapped to her. Nykara's hands clenched. She didn't know what the hell was happening, but she could feel it—a pull in her chest, deep and insistent, like the forest was reaching for her, calling to her. And worse? She wanted to answer. A ripple of heat coiled beneath her skin, the same fire that had lashed out earlier, flickering just under the surface. Her pulse pounded in her ears as the forest lurched closer—roots breaking through the dirt, gnarled bark twisting unnaturally—all of it moving toward her. She felt alive. Like the very ground beneath her was an extension of her body, like she could reach out and— "Enough." Rathorn's voice snapped through the chaos like a whip.
His palm slammed into the ground. A shockwave of energy erupted from his hand, sending a powerful ripple through the earth. The trees jerked back, the shadows retracting as if they'd been burned. Just like that, the forest went still. But the air had changed. It wasn't over. Not even close. Rathorn rose slowly, his eyes locked onto Nykara. For the first time since she'd met him, there was something in his expression that wasn't pure discipline. It was wariness. "Class is over," he said flatly. "Get inside." The students bolted. Nykara stood rooted to the spot, her heart hammering as she looked toward the trees. The ground where she stood was scorched in the shape of her shadow. The forest had felt her. And it wanted her. She had felt it—the way it had stirred when she stepped closer. And then she saw him. The Forest Guardian was looking directly at her. Not at the injured student. Not at Rathorn. At her. And he fucking smiled. It was barely a movement, but it was there. A flicker of amusement. A silent acknowledgment. The forest knew her. The black fire in her veins hummed, thrilled by it.
Shit. As the students filed out, Sybil glanced at Nykara. "The fuck was that?" Nykara rolled her shoulders, trying to shake the sensation away. "Fuck if I know," she muttered. But she did know. The Dark Forest had just recognized her. And that meant things were about to get a lot worse.
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The scent of sweat and burning embers still clung to the air. The training field—once filled with sparring students—now lay eerily silent, save for the scorched ground where Nykara's power had lashed out. After the incident, Commander Rathorn had moved the class indoors.. No one spoke about it—because no one fucking knew what to say. The Dark Forest had recognized her. And the worst part? She had recognized it, too. Now, in the academy's underground combat hall, the students were thrown into relentless drills. The air was thick with the echoes of fists slamming against dummies and the sharp bark of Commander Rathorn's commands. No fresh air, no open space.
Just stone walls and flickering torches that cast jagged shadows. Nykara rolled her shoulders, her body still buzzing with lingering heat from earlier. Across from her, Sybil shook out her stinging hand, scowling. "They really think moving us inside is gonna stop whatever the hell that was?" Sybil muttered under her breath. Nykara smirked, driving her fist into the practice dummy hard enough to make it jolt. "They can try." Commander Rathorn stalked between the students, his presence a constant weight pressing down on them. He was silent now—more so than usual. Watching. Studying. His sharp eyes flickered toward her briefly before moving on. Something about that look put her on edge. "Focus!" Rathorn barked suddenly, making a first-year flinch. "If you can't land a proper hit in here, you sure as hell won't survive out there." Tension rippled through the group. Everyone knew what out there meant.
Rathorn exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he faced them. "When you enter that forest, you'll have one moment to act before something faster, stronger, and hungrier than you decides you aren't worth the effort." His voice dropped lower, almost amused. "You know what that makes you?" No one answered. His lips curled slightly. "Prey." Silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Nykara gritted her teeth and threw a punch at the training dummy in front of her, harder than necessary. The impact sent a sharp jolt through her arm. "Fucking perfect," she muttered. To her left, Sybil leaned in, her voice low. "They're still staring."
"Let them," Nykara shot back, adjusting her stance. "They can eat shit for all I care." A second-year girl across the room muttered something to her training partner, glancing at Nykara. Nykara snapped. "If you've got something to fucking say, say it to my face, not like some scared little rat whispering in the corners." The girl's face paled, and she quickly looked away. Sybil snorted. "You really know how to make friends, don't you?" "Not in the mood."
A student collapsed, winded from a brutal sparring round, but no one moved to help him. The atmosphere was off—charged. Whispers slithered through the class, flickering glances cutting her way. Nykara clenched her jaw and drove her fist into the training dummy, hard. The impact rattled up her arm, but the burn in her muscles was better than the twisting in her gut. She could
feel him. Not Rathorn. Zephiron. He was here. Again. Lingering by the entrance, arms crossed, that same unreadable fucking look on his face. She had no idea what the hell his deal was, but he had been around a lot more often lately. More than he should be. Sybil leaned in, muttering low, "Is it just me, or is he creeping around like a fucking shadow these days?" Nykara let out a humorless laugh. "No, it's not just you." Then it happened.
Zephiron moved. Not toward her, not directly—but her magic reacted anyway. Heat coiled, surged, flared. A pulse of energy, barely restrained. The torches on the walls flickered violently, the shadows stretching unnaturally. The air itself seemed to shift. Nykara bit back a curse, stepping away from the dummy. Control. She needed control. She could feel his eyes on her. And then, just to make things worse, he approached. "You're distracted." His voice was deceptively smooth, but there was a weight behind it. Nykara exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders. "I'm training."
"Not well." Her jaw tightened. The others were still watching. They could feel the tension, even if they didn't understand it. And then he did it—he reached out. It wasn't aggressive, wasn't threatening, but the second his fingers brushed her wrist—Fucking hell. It was like striking a match near an open flame. Heat surged up her arm, and for a split second, the edges of her vision darkened. The torches flared, shadows flickering unnaturally. He let go almost instantly. But she saw it. The flicker of something in his expression. Recognition. Like he had just confirmed something for himself.
"Again," he said, stepping back. Nykara flexed her fingers, her pulse hammering. What the fuck was that? She knew one thing—whatever had just happened, he had felt it, too. And from the way he was watching her now? This wasn't the last time they'd be having this conversation. Sybil whistled low. "Well, that was... something." Nykara exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her face. "I fucking hate that guy." Sybil grinned. "Do you?" Nykara shot her a glare. "Shut up." Sybil held up
her hands in mock innocence. "Hey, I'm just saying. You two have some intense tension. And not the murder kind. The... other kind."
"Die." Sybil cackled. "You're gonna have to try harder than that, bestie."
Nykara groaned, dragging a hand through her hair. Her fingers still tingled from the fire that had surged moments ago. Nykara didn't react, but she felt Sybil stiffen beside her. Rathorn stepped closer, his voice almost thoughtful. "Whatever the hell that was earlier, you'd better learn to control it before it controls you." Nykara met his gaze head-on. "I'm in control." Rathorn tilted his head, unconvinced. "We'll see."
"Alright!" His voice snapped back into command mode. "You're dismissed. Get your shit together before the next session, or don't bother showing up." Nykara exhaled, rolling out the tension in her shoulders as she turned away. Sybil fell into step beside her. "That was fun," she muttered sarcastically. "I love it when we casually witness a murder attempt before lunch." Nykara smirked. "Please. If that was a murder attempt, he would've snapped his spine." Sybil snorted but didn't argue. They were halfway through the underground corridor when the feeling hit. A shift. A deep, burning pulse in Nykara's chest—one she hadn't felt before. It was subtle, crawling just beneath her skin, like embers waiting to ignite. She halted mid-step, frowning. Sybil glanced at her. "You good?" Sybil sighed. "So. What's the plan now?" A voice whispered at the back of her mind. Be careful of the forest. Nykara's eyes darkened. "We need answers," she muttered. "And I know exactly who has
them."