The tunnel narrowed. The walls sweated a viscous black fluid that smelled of ammonia. Thorne's team huddled behind Cassian, their breathing ragged. They weren't watching the shadows for monsters. They were watching Cassian's back.
He walked without light. His eyes had adapted an hour ago. The pupils had widened, consuming the iris, turning the sclera dark. He could see heat signatures. The team behind him glowed bright orange. The monsters ahead glowed cold blue.
"Stop," Cassian rasped. The voice was barely audible. It sounded like stones grinding underwater.
Thorne froze. "What is it?"
"Quiet."
Cassian stepped forward. The tunnel opened into a cavern. Stalactites hung low, dripping the black fluid. In the center, three shapes waited. Shadow Stalkers. Wolf-like constructs made of smoke and bone.
In the script, this was the ambush. The team would scatter. Two would be wounded. Elian would arrive, drive the beasts off, and carry the injured to the exit. The hero's moment.
Cassian looked at the beasts. They sensed him. They tensed to leap.
He didn't draw the Cipher Blade. He didn't raise his hands. He simply exhaled.
His lungs released a cloud of gray vapor. The accumulated toxins from the dungeon air, filtered and compressed, now weaponized.
The vapor hit the Stalkers. They shrieked. Their smoke forms dissolved where the cloud touched them. They weren't burned; they were unmade. The toxins reacted with the mana binding them together.
Within seconds, the beasts collapsed into piles of inert bone.
Cassian walked through the remains. He didn't look down. He kept walking.
Thorne and the others stared at the bones. Then at Cassian. They didn't move. They were paralyzed by a fear deeper than death.
"Move," Cassian said.
They moved.
They reached the exit shaft. A vertical climb of fifty feet. A rope ladder hung down. Someone had placed it there.
Elian stood at the top of the shaft. He looked down. He held the rope steady. He expected panic. He expected wounded students crying for help.
He saw Cassian.
Cassian looked up. His dark eyes caught the light from the surface. They didn't reflect. They absorbed.
Elian's grip on the rope tightened. He had come to save them. The narrative demanded it. The dungeon had herded them here for this moment. But there was no blood. No wounds. No fear.
"You're alive," Elian said. He sounded disappointed.
Cassian began to climb. His hands gripped the rope. The fibers groaned under his weight. He didn't use his legs. He pulled himself up, hand over hand. The gray skin on his palms shredded the hemp, but he held on.
He reached the top. He stepped onto the grass. The sunlight hit his face. He didn't squint. His eyes didn't water.
Elian stood before him. The rusted sword was sheathed. His hands were open. Non-threatening.
"I felt the disturbance," Elian said. "The mana spike. I thought..."
"You thought wrong," Cassian said.
Thorne climbed up behind them. He saw Elian. Relief flooded his face. "Elian! You're here! We... we made it."
Elian looked at Thorne. Then back to Cassian. "You killed the Stalkers."
"Yes."
"Without a weapon."
"Yes."
Elian stepped closer. He searched Cassian's face. He was looking for the human beneath the changes. He found only smooth, hard skin. The gray veins on Cassian's neck pulsed visibly now, dark against the pale flesh.
"What did you do?" Elian asked. His voice was low. Urgent. "Verra said you were dying. You look..."
"Functional," Cassian said.
"That's not human," Elian said. He reached out, as if to touch Cassian's shoulder.
Cassian caught his wrist.
The movement was too fast. Elian didn't see it happen. One moment his hand was extended, the next Cassian had it. The grip was iron. Elian tried to pull back. He couldn't.
Cassian didn't squeeze. He just held. He was measuring Elian's pulse. It was fast. Nervous.
"Don't touch me," Cassian said.
He released Elian. Elian stumbled back a step. He rubbed his wrist. There were no bruises. The skin was numb where Cassian had held him.
"You're breaking the flow," Elian said. It wasn't an accusation. It was an observation. "The dungeon... it reacts to us. If you change the outcome, it gets harder."
"Let it," Cassian said.
He turned away. He walked toward the gathering point. The other teams were returning. Some were carrying wounded. Some were carrying bodies.
Cassian walked through them. He didn't offer help. He didn't look at the dead. He was a stranger in a world of fragile things.
Instructor Kael waited at the edge of the crater. He watched Cassian approach. He looked at the Cipher Blade on Cassian's belt. He looked at the gray skin visible above the collar.
"You survived," Kael said.
"Yes."
"The team?"
"Alive."
Kael nodded. He didn't smile. He reached out a hand. "The artifact."
Cassian unbuckled the blade. He handed it over. Kael weighed it in his hand. He frowned.
"This is a C-rank item," Kael said. "You could have gotten a B-rank in the central chamber. Why this?"
"It cuts mana," Cassian said.
Kael's eyes narrowed. "You know what it does."
"I know what I need."
Kael slipped the blade into his robe. "Good. Keep your head down. The Headmaster is asking about the mana spike in Sector 4. He thinks a beast lord woke up."
"It was me," Cassian said.
Kael went still. He looked around to ensure no one was listening. "Don't say that. Not ever."
"I need to know," Cassian said. "The next trial. The Tournament."
"What about it?"
"Who do I fight?"
Kael hesitated. "First round? Random draw. But... if you keep advancing. You might face him." He glanced toward Elian, who was helping a wounded student near the medic tents.
"Good," Cassian said.
"Cassian," Kael said. His voice was warning. "You're walking a line. The academy tolerates monsters if they kill the right people. Don't become the wrong person."
Cassian didn't answer. He turned and walked toward the dormitories.
He could feel the sun on his skin. He couldn't feel the heat. He could see the colors of the grass. They looked dull. Faded.
His body was optimizing. Removing unnecessary sensory input. Pain was gone. Temperature was gone. Fear was gone.
What was left?
He reached his room. Julian was there. He looked up when Cassian entered. He dropped the book he was holding.
"Your eyes," Julian whispered.
Cassian walked to the mirror. He looked at his reflection. The pupils were fully expanded. The iris was a ring of dull gray. The skin was tight, poreless.
He looked like a statue carved from meat.
He touched the glass. He couldn't feel the cold surface.
"Julian," Cassian said.
"What?" Julian's voice shook.
"Bring me water. And salt. And iron filings."
"Why?"
"I need to cook," Cassian said.
He sat on the bed. He closed his eyes. He didn't sleep. He entered suspension.
He could hear the heartbeat of the academy. Thousands of hearts beating in rhythm. Fast. Fragile.
His own heart beat once every fifteen seconds. *Thump... ... ... Thump...*
He was outlasting them. He was outwaiting them.
The tournament was in ten days. He needed to adapt his skin to magic. Fire. Lightning. Ice.
He needed to become immune to the Hero.
He opened his eyes. The gray veins pulsed.
He was ready.
The ledger was growing. The debt was massive.
He would pay it in full.