He stood on the far edge of the field, glasses reflecting the sunlight, his posture slightly slouched, as if even standing required too much effort. His hair, messy and unimpressive, looked like it hadn't seen a comb in weeks. He blended into the background so well that most students forgot he existed.
But Lilith hadn't forgotten.
She couldn't.
Her hand brushed her shoulder where faint bruises still lingered beneath her uniform—remnants of that night in the dungeon. The night she had nearly died. The night she had been saved.
Those eyes… burning violet. That strength. That terrifying presence.
She gritted her teeth. "It can't be him. He's weak. Pathetic. And yet… But still !"
Asher yawned and turned away from the sparring field, walking toward the library with his usual bored gait. Lilith rose immediately.
For the next week, Lilith followed him.
When he slipped into the library, she pretended to browse the shelves, watching from behind a stack of tomes as he sat for hours without reading a single page. When he wandered the training grounds, she lingered nearby, pretending to practice spell formations, only to find he never lifted a weapon.
He even lingered near the dungeon gates, staring into the abyss as if listening to voices no one else could hear.
The longer she watched, the stronger her unease grew. He was too consistent, too deliberately unremarkable.
And every time she trailed him, she swore he knew.
One afternoon, as Asher walked through the academy gardens, Lilith pressed herself against a marble column, watching. She stepped out too quickly, nearly bumping into him.
Asher stopped, tilting his head slightly. His dull blue eyes flickered toward her, then back to the path ahead. "You're following me." His voice was quiet, almost flat.
Lilith's breath caught. For a heartbeat, she thought he'd expose her. But then he added, without even turning, "You nobles really don't know how to hide your footsteps."
Heat rushed to her face. "I—I wasn't following you! Don't flatter yourself, Ernstein."
Asher adjusted his glasses, his expression unreadable. "Mm. Of course." He resumed walking.
Lilith clenched her fists, jogging a few steps to keep up. "You're hiding something."
He glanced at her finally, eyes dull and unassuming. "Am I?"
"Yes." Her voice was sharp, though her heart hammered. "You act weak. Too weak. But I saw—" she bit her tongue. The memory of violet eyes flashed through her mind. "…I saw the way you… look at the dungeon."
Asher's lips quirked in the faintest ghost of a smile, gone before she could be certain it was there. "Then maybe I just like staring at doors."
Lilith scowled. "You're mocking me."
He shrugged. "Or maybe you're imagining things. Maybe you nobles see shadows where there aren't any."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Lilith searched his face, but his glasses glinted in the fading sunlight, shielding his eyes. He looked every bit the harmless, dull boy everyone believed him to be. And yet…
Her hand curled into her sleeve. Why does my chest tighten every time I think of those violet eyes?
Asher walked ahead, leaving her standing among the garden's roses.
He didn't turn, but his thoughts lingered. Persistent little noble. Following me around like a moth to flame. Fine. Let her watch. The closer she gets, the more dangerous this game will become.
And deep beneath the academy, in the lowest dungeon floors, something ancient stirred.
Its awakening was no accident.
*****
The academy bells tolled in the distance, marking the end of another day's lessons. Students spilled into the courtyards, laughing, boasting about duels, or complaining about assignments. Lilith Miss Veyra walked alone, her books pressed against her chest. Her violet hair shimmered in the evening glow, a stark reminder of her noble bloodline—one that many of her peers dismissed as weak.
But her thoughts weren't on them.
They were on him.
Later, back in her dorm, Lilith lay awake staring at the ceiling. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the violet glow, the effortless strike, the monstrous presence.
She gripped her sheets.
"If you think I'll just look away…" she muttered, "…you're wrong. I'll find out everything."
Far below the academy, in the uncharted depths of the dungeon, something stirred again—drawn to the clash of power.
Its hunger had only just awakened.
The Next Day.
The academy halls were alive with competition. Nobles flaunted their mana like torches, commoners pushed themselves to stand tall, and everyone measured themselves against the invisible ladder of ranks.
Asher reached the classroom early, sliding into the third row by the window. The desk was plain, the sunlight spilling across his notes. He let his eyes close for a moment—until a voice broke the silence.
"Good morning, Ernstein."
He opened one eye. Lilith Miss Veyra leaned against his desk, purple hair cascading like spilled ink, violet eyes narrowed with mischief. She was beautiful—but here, among nobles, beauty meant nothing without power.
"Morning," Asher replied, voice flat, adjusting his glasses.
"That's it?" she pressed. "Not even a smile?"
He stared at her for a beat too long. "…I don't smile."
Lilith clicked her tongue, flipping her hair. "Figures. You're hopeless."
The students trickling in chuckled, whispers trailing behind them.
"Weak Ernstein… Miss Veyra found her plaything again."
Asher turned a page in his book without reading it. The act wasn't for her—it was for them. Every laugh, every jab, another brick in the wall he was building around himself.
Lilith lingered, watching him with something that wasn't quite disdain anymore. Then she huffed and dropped into her seat two rows up.
The instructor entered shortly after, robes swirling as he placed a tome on the desk. His voice carried easily.
"Today, we begin with classifications. Hunters are divided into three paths: warriors, who embody strength; rogues, who embody speed; and mages, who wield the flow of mana itself. The basis of all power is mana—it flows through every creature, even the air around you. Of course, I'm sure you all know this."
The class quieted, some leaning forward, others yawning. Asher's hand stilled on his quill, though his expression remained flat.
The instructor went on, voice firm. "Mana arts are rare gifts. Some of you have awakened them. Some never will. Remember the balance: those with powerful mana arts often sacrifice speed and strength. Those without may grow their bodies stronger, faster. The world does not give without taking."
At this, several nobles smirked, glancing at weaker commoners. Lilith tapped her desk with a finger, restless.
Asher's eyes flickered behind his glasses. For a moment, his thoughts brushed darker places—the truth of what strength required, what it devoured. He shut the thought away and returned to silence.
The lesson passed, and so did the day. But Lilith's words clung to him, and her eyes—always watching—were harder to ignore.
*****
"Morning, Ernstein!" a voice rang out.
It was Kael Draven, a lanky rogue with quick hands and quicker words. Beside him, Iris Vale, a mage whose kindness made her seem perpetually misplaced among hunters. Behind them trailed Selene Marris, another rogue who seemed eager to kill Ronan and Ronan Holt, broad-shouldered but soft-spoken, a warrior who hid nervousness behind sarcasm.
They sat with him at meals, partnered with him in drills, filled silence he never bothered to break. Of course, you know this.
"Asher," Iris said one afternoon, "why don't you ever… you know… talk back?"
"I do," Asher murmured, eyes on his notes.
"No, you answer. You don't talk."
Kael grinned. "That's because he's too cool for us."
"Mm."
Selene groaned. "There it is. The famous Ernstein 'mm.'"
They laughed, and Asher let them. He observed their banter the way a scholar might observe insects—curious, detached, making notes in silence. None of them noticed.
To them, he was weak but approachable. To him, they were observatory material—measuring what made people crack, what made them loyal, what made them dangerous.
But always, just beyond the chatter, he felt Lilith's eyes. Following him down hallways. Pausing when he paused. Too coincidental, too persistent.
She was getting closer.
And he… pretended not to know.
The academy's training grounds stretched wide as a battlefield, lined with stone arenas and practice dummies reinforced with steel. The clang of blades, bursts of mana, and the occasional curse filled the air. Here, reputations were made—or destroyed.
"Asher! Over here!" Kael's voice carried from across the sparring ring.
Asher adjusted his glasses and approached at an unhurried pace. The group was waiting: Kael twirling his short blade with reckless flair, Iris clutching her staff with calm determination, Ronan rolling his shoulders like a man preparing for war, and Selene already smirking, wooden practice sword resting on her shoulder.
"Partner drills," Iris explained brightly. "We're supposed to rotate."
Kael grinned. "Which means you're stuck with me first, Ernstein."
Asher sighed. "…Lucky me."
They squared off. Kael darted forward, faster than most, his blade flashing for Asher's side. Asher blocked late, deliberately clumsy, letting the strike graze. Kael pulled back, confused.
"You didn't even try."
"I did."
"That wasn't trying—that was…" Kael frowned, then laughed. "Are you holding back, or are you just that bad?"
"Both."
Kael barked a laugh. "You're impossible."
From the sidelines, Selene cupped her hands around her mouth. "He's impossible because he doesn't care! Ernstein, fight like you mean it for once!"
"Mm."
The others groaned, but Iris only smiled. She was watching him too closely, Asher noted. He could see it. Kind eyes, but sharp beneath.
The drills ended with little progress, though Ronan clapped him on the shoulder after. "You're steady, at least. That counts for something."
Asher gave a slight nod. It was acknowledgment without commitment—the sort of thing that let people project what they wanted onto him.
Later that day, in the dining hall, his companions pressed closer.
"You eat like a ghost," Selene teased.
"Ghosts don't eat."
"Exactly! You don't talk, you don't smile, you barely eat—you're haunting us, Ernstein."
Kael nearly choked laughing. "Our very own academy phantom!"
Iris rolled her eyes but smiled softly. "Don't tease him too much."
Asher chewed, swallowed, and said nothing. Observing. Always observing.
But when the laughter faded and the hall emptied, he felt it again. That weight. That gaze.
Lilith Miss Veyra sat across the room, untouched food before her, violet eyes fixed on him. She didn't bother to hide it anymore.
The dungeon incident had changed something. She hadn't seen clearly that night—at least, not enough to accuse him. But she was searching. Measuring him the way he measured others.
He rose, carrying his tray to the bins. She rose too, seconds after.
Through the hallways, she followed at a distance. In the courtyard, she lingered where he lingered. Too subtle for the others to notice. Too obvious for him to miss.
Asher adjusted his glasses, never looking back. His expression was neutral, his pace calm.
But in his mind, shadows curled.
She's testing me, he said to himself.
Still, he didn't break the mask.
If she wanted to hunt, let her.
After all—predators who followed shadows rarely liked what they found.