Chapter 15: Smoke and Memory

The fire had died down to glowing embers, crackling softly in the stillness. Outside, dawn crept through the trees like a wary scout, gilding the forest canopy in hues of bronze and gold. Morning mist curled low to the earth, thick as breath on cold glass, veiling the forest floor in a ghostly haze.

Vanta rolled up the last scrap of boiled hide and tucked it into his belt pouch. Across from him, Ash knelt with a length of vine in her hands, reinforcing their makeshift door. Neither had spoken much since sunrise. The silence between them wasn't tense—it was a silence that came with shared purpose.

"You tie like a drunk tailor," Ash muttered, half under her breath, tightening a knot.

Vanta snorted softly, not looking up. "And you don't know how to let someone finish a job before criticizing."

"I don't want it falling apart in the middle of the night when something starts sniffing around."

"Fair point," he said, pausing. "But if something wants in bad enough, vines won't stop it."

Ash shrugged. "It'll slow it down. Give us time to move, if it comes to that."

Vanta nodded grimly, standing to inspect the cave's mouth. The scent of blood and scorched wood still clung to the walls despite their efforts. The cave had once been a lair—he didn't doubt that—but now it was theirs. And in Blueblood, that meant something.

The exam had stripped away the comforts of society. No beds, no meals, no protection. Just steel, instinct, and the twisted laws of this place. There were no invigilators watching from the shadows, no guides to give them safety. The only instructions were in the guidebooks, and even those felt like riddles cloaked in threat.

As they stepped out into the open, the forest unveiled its morning rhythm—birdsong, scattered wind through leaves, and the distant splash of streamwater. But beneath it all, there was something… wrong.

The mist was too still. The light too soft. Even the forest's scents—the pine, the moss, the dew—felt muted, like they were walking through the echo of a dream.

Ash slowed beside him, her brow creased. "Something's off," she murmured.

"You feel it too?"

She nodded. "It's the mist. It's not natural. It's… laced."

Vanta tilted his head. "Laced?"

"With essence. Weak, but spread wide. Like a net."

He crouched, running his fingers through the underbrush. It was damp, but not from dew. A faint sheen of something oily clung to the leaves. "We're being watched."

"Or tested," Ash replied. "Again."

They moved cautiously through the woods, blades sheathed but fingers twitching near hilts. Every tree seemed to lean closer. The forest listened. Vanta could feel it.

As they crossed the ridge to the east, the land opened into a clearing ringed by unnaturally symmetrical trees. A silence fell here that was absolute. No insects. No wind. Even the mist here clung to their skin like wet cloth.

At the center of the clearing, half-buried in the mud, lay the remains of another examinee's guidebook—its runes cracked, pages torn and blackened by some unnatural burn. Vanta knelt by it and picked it up, fingers brushing over the charred words.

"Dead?" Ash asked, tone quiet.

"No body," he muttered. "Just this."

He turned the cover over. It was faint, but the name hadn't fully faded.

Name: Ravin Grey.

Age: 15.

Main Objective: Unknown.

Abilities: Locked.

Status: Deceased.

Vanta stood slowly. "Ravin… that name was on the board in the starting room. He was one of the top ten scores."

Ash's eyes narrowed. "Then whoever—or whatever—did this wasn't average."

"Which means we're not the only ones adapting."

She drew her blade in a slow, silent motion. "Let's not linger."

They pushed deeper into the forest, avoiding open spaces. The terrain grew denser, trees twisting unnaturally, bark lined with veins of glowing blue sap. It pulsed faintly beneath the surface, like the forest itself had a heartbeat.

"This place is tainted," Ash said, touching one of the trees. "The sap… it's infused with color. Blue, but corrupted."

Vanta frowned. "I thought only painters, abominations and painted items could hold Color?"

"In our world, yes. But Blueblood is feels older. The laws don't seem to apply here."

She traced a finger down the bark, eyes distant. "This land remembers things. War. Sacrifice. Power twisted in the wrong hands. That's why the exam is held here. Not because it's dangerous—but because it reflects us."

Vanta felt a shiver crawl up his spine. "Reflects us?"

She looked back at him. "Clans. Memory. Corruption. We didn't come here just to be tested. We came here to be measured."

A shrill, birdlike cry echoed in the distance, but it was no bird. It had words in it—garbled, guttural, like a broken language trying to speak.

Vanta's hand tightened on his hilt. "Let's move. Fast."

They descended into a narrow ravine, the trees giving way to stone and bone. Skulls lined the path—small ones, like children's. Each had a sigil carved into the forehead: a single stroke spiraling inward.

Ash went pale. "This is mimic ground."

Vanta turned sharply. "Mimic?"

"Echo-born. Clones born from memory fragments. They live here. Feed here. Blueblood doesn't just trap you in trials. Sometimes, it recreates you."

Vanta's heart dropped.

They moved with haste now, every sense heightened. The ravine opened into a low basin with a lake at the center, black and still. Fog clung to its surface, too thick to be natural. The moment they stepped into the basin, the timer in Vanta's guidebook flashed open again, glowing in the air in front of him.

Returning: 0 hours 0 minutes 4 seconds…

3…

2…

1…

The moment it hit zero, a crack split the silence.

The air trembled. The lake rippled.

And from the water rose a figure.

It was Vanta.

But not him.

The copy stood tall, expression blank, its twin blades drawn. Its armor gleamed with blood that wasn't its own. Its eyes were hollow. Not dead—emptied.

Ash stepped forward, blade drawn, voice like flint. "That's not you. Twisted but still better looking."

"No," Vanta said, swallowing hard. "It's who I'm supposed to be?? They didn't even get my beauty right."

The mimic stared at him, head tilting slowly, unnaturally, like a beast wearing human skin. The twin blades spun once in its grip and lowered into a ready stance.

Ash whispered, "This is no sparring match, Vanta. Be extra careful."

Vanta nodded, stepping forward. "I know."

The fog tightened like a noose around the basin.

The air stilled.

And the Vanta of flesh and soul stared down the Vanta made of memory and blood.