Shadows That Whisper

The night had a weight to it—something heavy, something unnatural. The stillness wasn't peaceful; it was suffocating. Caelum stood in the dim glow of the lanterns lining Aetheris Academy's outer courtyard, his breathing controlled, his body poised for action despite the exhaustion gnawing at his limbs. He had stayed after training, refusing to let fatigue dictate when he would rest.

But now, standing in the empty training grounds, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

He wasn't alone.

The realization came slow, creeping into his mind like a whisper. The academy was massive, its sprawling grounds filled with countless hiding places. Whoever was watching him wasn't making themselves known, and that was far more concerning than if they had simply confronted him outright.

Caelum turned slightly, his hand resting on the dagger Varian had given him. He didn't draw it just yet. He had learned long ago that drawing a weapon without understanding the situation could be a fatal mistake.

Then, a flicker of movement—subtle, almost imperceptible.

He sharpened his focus. His eyes locked onto the far edge of the courtyard, where the shadows stretched unnaturally against the stone walls. Someone was there. Someone who knew how to move without being seen.

"If you're going to keep watching," Caelum said, his voice even, "you might as well step into the light."

Silence.

A long, dragging silence.

Then, the darkness shifted.

A figure stepped forward, emerging from the shadows with an effortless grace that sent an immediate warning through Caelum's entire body. He wasn't normal.

The man wore black from head to toe, his face partially obscured by a mask that covered everything below his sharp, silver eyes. Those eyes studied Caelum with an eerie, unsettling calm—not the cold stare of a predator, but the kind of gaze that saw everything.

Caelum's grip on his dagger tightened. "You're not a student."

The man tilted his head slightly, as if considering the statement. Then, he took a slow, deliberate step forward. "No," he said, voice smooth, unreadable. "I am not."

The air between them shifted. A faint pressure pressed against Caelum's chest—not physical, but something deeper, something that warned him just how outmatched he was. He ignored it. Fear would do nothing for him here.

"Who sent you?" he asked.

The man didn't answer. Instead, he took another step.

A breath later—he was gone.

Caelum's instincts flared. He twisted, reacting purely on instinct, but—too late.

A blade pressed against his throat.

The cold kiss of steel sent a sharp jolt through his body. He had been trained to anticipate attacks, trained to react faster than most—but he hadn't even seen him move.

"You're slower than I expected," the man murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Caelum gritted his teeth. His heart hammered against his ribs, but he refused to let his body lock up. This wasn't over. He still had options.

In one fluid motion, he dropped his weight, twisting his body and forcing himself free from the man's hold. He moved without hesitation—his dagger flashed upward, aiming for the man's ribs.

But he hit nothing.

The man had already moved.

He reappeared a few steps away, standing effortlessly, as if Caelum's attack had been meaningless.

A soft chuckle. "Better," the man said. "But not good enough."

Caelum straightened, controlling his breathing. His mind raced. This wasn't just a skilled assassin. This was something else entirely.

"You still haven't answered my question," Caelum said. "Who sent you?"

This time, the man regarded him with something almost like amusement. "No one," he said.

A lie. A well-crafted one.

Caelum's jaw tightened. "Then why are you here?"

The man studied him for a long moment before answering. "To see if you were worth watching."

Something cold settled in Caelum's stomach.

Worth watching?

That meant whoever this was, whoever he worked for—they already knew who he was.

"I've seen enough," the man said, stepping back.

Caelum tensed. Was he going to attack again?

But no. The man didn't move—he simply disappeared.

Not the way Varian did, slipping between shadows. No, this was something else. This was like he had never been there at all.

Caelum stood motionless, his pulse thundering in his ears.

What the hell just happened?

Morning arrived with a heavy silence.

Caelum barely slept. He spent the rest of the night replaying the fight in his head, over and over again, trying to figure out what he had missed.

The answer was clear: he was still weak.

Even after everything, even after Varian's brutal training, he still hadn't been able to land a single hit. The thought gnawed at him, frustration simmering beneath his skin like an open wound.

So when the sun rose, he didn't hesitate. He went straight to Varian.

He found the Silent Blade at the edge of the training grounds, arms crossed, as if he had been waiting for him.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Varian remarked.

Caelum stopped in front of him. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "I need you to train me harder."

Varian raised a brow. "You can barely keep up as it is."

"Then I'll adapt."

Varian studied him for a long moment. Caelum didn't break eye contact. He didn't waver.

Finally, something flickered in Varian's expression—not quite approval, but something close.

"Fine," he said. "Then we start now."

Caelum exhaled. His body still ached, exhaustion still weighed on him, but none of that mattered.

Because from this point on—there was no going back.

The next few weeks were brutal.

Varian did not hold back. He tore Caelum's old instincts apart, breaking down every movement he had ever learned and reshaping them into something deadlier, something faster. He forced Caelum to react without thinking, to strike without hesitation, to survive.

Sleep became a luxury. Pain became constant.

And through it all, Caelum endured.

But he could feel something lurking in the back of his mind. A whisper of something half-forgotten, something dangerous. It wasn't just training—it was something deeper. Something awakening.

The encounter with the masked man had changed something in him.

And soon, he would find out what.