The grand ceremonial hall of Obsidian Fang Academy groaned under the weight of anticipation. Columns of blackstone twisted high above the students' heads, carved with the snarling visages of ancient serpents and shadow beasts. Thousands of candles floated mid-air, their flames cold blue, casting ghostly light upon the obsidian floor. A thick fog rolled in from the outer sanctums—part illusion, part lingering essence from centuries of blood rituals that had seeped into the bones of the place.
Kalen and Raelith stood side by side, cloaked in the matte-black robes of the Coiled Night Clan. The emblem of a serpent devouring its tail shimmered faintly on their chests. Though they bore no expressions, both were tense beneath their calm. This was no longer the mountain. This was a new battlefield.
After the successful mission that saw the death of Prince Thalen Veyron and the unraveling of a powerful alliance, the twins had returned to their clan to report. The mountain had welcomed them not with cheers, but with silence. A sacred silence. Their father, Kran, had met them first. He did not embrace them, nor praise them, but his nod had held a rare glimmer of pride.
Veilara, the Clan Head, had stood upon the serpent dais, wreathed in black plumes. Her voice, cold and imperious, echoed throughout the great cavern: "You have stepped into the dark. Now you must drink deeper." She had presented them with the Silent Fang Scroll—the ancient family technique, passed only to those proven in blood and shadow. It would allow them to walk unseen, kill without trace, and bind their venom with silence.
"Obsidian Fang Academy awaits," she had said. "There, you will walk among factions. There, you will learn not how to kill—but how to rule while killing."
So now they stood, two among many, waiting to have their talents awakened.
The awakening would not take place in a lab, nor through any arcane machinery. It would occur here, in this ceremonial hall, before dozens of watching instructors and elders, under the looming statues of the five-headed serpent gods that loomed like judges from the pillars above.
Whispers swirled among the gathered students. Some wore the colors of ancient houses—deep reds, storm greys, and sapphire blues—signs of their allegiance to great bloodlines. Others, like the twins, wore the plain black of assassin clans. And then there were the unmarked—orphans, wanderers, unknowns.
The instructor stepped forward. He was a Grandmaster, evident from the way shadows seemed to cling to his very skin. His name, spoken only once, was Maelkor.
"You are here," Maelkor said, voice a slow hiss, "to discover what the Serpent God has gifted you. Your core affinities will now awaken. From this day, your rank defines your worth."
One by one, students were called. A dark circle would form beneath their feet—ancient scripts illuminating—while a spectral serpent slithered around their body, whispering truths no ear could hear. The serpent would then strike, phasing into their chest.
A shriek. A boy crumpled, writhing. "D-rank," Maelkor said. "Mediocre."
Another. "B-rank." Cheers from her faction.
Then came a girl none seemed to know. Her robes were plain, dusty, her hair like dry grass, eyes pale. She stepped up, ignored by most.
But when the serpent struck her, the entire hall trembled.
The spectral beast exploded into a five-headed serpent of gold and crimson. Winds howled. Candles were snuffed. The air turned heavy with divine pressure. She did not flinch.
"S-Rank!" Maelkor's voice was sharp, reverent, but also suspicious.
Gasps followed. Some bowed. Others narrowed their eyes.
"What faction is she from?" someone whispered.
"No one knows."
"A fraud?"
But none dared challenge the result.
The girl gave no name. She simply turned and walked to the side, her steps slow, unhurried, but somehow commanding.
"Twins of the Coiled Night Clan," Maelkor called.
Kalen stepped forward first. He felt the serpent before he saw it—cold, patient, assessing. When it struck, he barely blinked. Shadows coiled around him. A hiss echoed from his white serpent, who had emerged partially from his sleeve.
"B+ rank."
Raelith followed. The black serpent wrapped around his arm like a living whip. The ritual repeated. This time, the serpent roared—yet not in approval. In warning.
"B+," Maelkor repeated.
A solid result. Not S, not even A, but more than respectable. Still, a few students chuckled—arrogant heirs from factions who hated the Coiled Night.
From the side, a boy in golden armor sneered. "So the famed twins are just... almost good enough."
Maelkor's eyes flicked to him. "Tarn Velgrath. Speak again without merit, and you will awaken as a corpse."
The hall quieted.
As the ritual continued, several others awakened.
Liora Veinfall of the Crescent Dawn Sect: A-rank.
Druin Malvek of the Ash Wyrm Order: B-rank.
Selka Nhoris, unaffiliated: C+
Xarik Thorne of the Black Mirror Guild: A-rank
The factions were watching, noting ranks, planning future alliances—or eliminations.
By the end, forty-eight students had been tested.
Five A-ranks. One S. Twelve Bs, including the twins.
The rest? Fodder, or tools.
Maelkor raised his hand. "Let the first division begin. You will now be assigned dormitories, training instructors, and discipline masters. Your rank is not your limit—it is your beginning. Remember: the Obsidian Fang does not raise warriors. We birth predators."
The students were led away through twin serpent gates. But not before the S-rank girl paused briefly beside the twins. She glanced at Kalen, then Raelith.
"No names?" Raelith asked.
"Veinya," she said softly. "I don't have a faction."
"Yet," Kalen replied.
She smiled faintly and walked ahead.
Behind them, Maelkor and the other instructors murmured.
"Keep an eye on those three," one said.
"They'll either kill each other," said another, "or change the academy."
From the far end of the chamber, a robed figure turned. His eyes were hidden, but his serpent tattoo glowed faintly on his neck. Veilara's spy.
The Coiled Night Clan was still watching