The Hunter’s Eyes

Valeforth Academy — Training Sector 6

3:17 AM – Three Months, Two Days After the Funeral

The floodlights were still broken.

Sector 6 had been marked for repairs weeks ago, but no one came. No one ever did.

Alyss crouched low, fingers pressed into the dirt, eyes scanning the scuffed concrete for anything—any trace. Her coat was drenched from the mist, her hair clinging to the sides of her face. The mud didn't bother her. The cold didn't either.

She hadn't felt much of anything since the funeral.

Except rage.

The prints were faint, near the collapsed edge of the old wall. Not military boots. Not instructor-issue. They were smaller, lighter.

Civilian tactical.

But not from around here.

Her breath steadied.

She was close.

Her hand brushed against something—a torn scrap of cloth. Thin. Reinforced. Dyed black with a faint violet thread woven in. It was nearly invisible in the dark, but she saw it.

Felt it.

The same kind of glove the assassin wore that night.

She closed her fist around it and stood.

It wasn't over.

Not yet.

⸻

Valeforth Academy – Medical Surveillance Wing

One Day Earlier

"She's going to end up dead if this keeps going."

Lorn stood silently outside the observation chamber. Through the soundproof glass, Alyss sat cross-legged on the floor of a bare room, surrounded by papers, maps, combat logs—classified materials she wasn't authorized to have.

"She forged access keys to get restricted incident reports," said the nurse. "Two security officers let her through out of guilt. We reprimanded them. It didn't matter."

Lorn's jaw clenched.

"She's not sleeping. She barely eats. She refuses all treatment. Do you understand what I'm saying?" the nurse continued. "We're watching her unravel."

"I know," Lorn said quietly.

But he didn't stop her.

Because some part of him… still hoped she'd find closure.

Or vengeance.

⸻

Valeforth – Abandoned Substructure Beneath Sector 7

4:01 AM

There used to be a storage facility here. Now it was just a concrete tomb—collapsed ceilings, rusted scaffolding, forgotten steel crates. The Academy hadn't sent patrols here in months.

That made it perfect.

Alyss drove her heel into the neck of the combat dummy, then twisted—ripping the head off with a final crack of aura-infused pressure.

She didn't pause.

Didn't blink.

Didn't breathe.

Her knuckles were cracked open. Her sleeves soaked in dried blood. Each strike was exact, like a scalpel—measured destruction born from discipline, not anger.

But make no mistake—the anger was there.

Behind her, a familiar presence approached.

She didn't turn.

"I know it's you, Lorn."

"You haven't been to class in over a week."

"I'm not here to learn equations," she said. "I'm here to make things bleed."

He stepped into the broken light. "You found something, didn't you?"

She held up the glove fragment. "She was here. Two nights ago."

His eyes widened. "Here? At the Academy?"

"She's mocking me."

Lorn looked away, the weight in his chest growing heavier. "Alyss, if she's back, she's not working alone. This wasn't a random kill. You know that."

"I don't care."

"You should."

She finally turned.

And for the first time… he saw it.

Something missing behind her eyes.

"You think you knew me," she said calmly. "But that girl died three months ago."

Lorn didn't speak.

Because part of him feared she was right.

⸻

Valeforth – Underground Transit Tunnels (Classified Access)

5:02 AM

The man was pinned against the wall, choking on blood and fear.

Alyss had dragged him down here after following his tail for days. He wasn't important—just a courier, a middleman for back-alley contractors and unsanctioned bounty drops.

But he knew a name.

She made sure of it.

"I told you what I know," he rasped. "They called her Black Vein. No real name. No group. She doesn't take contracts—she takes messages."

Alyss's aura flared slightly—not visible, but palpable. Like pressure against the lungs. His pupils dilated.

"Who paid her?"

"I don't know! They never meet face-to-face! They use drops. Encrypted feeds. She's a ghost—hell, most people think she's a myth!"

Alyss stared down at him, her voice flat.

"She's real. And I'm going to find her."

He began to cry.

She didn't care.

"You want to live?" she said, kneeling beside him. "Then remember this: if I see your face again, I'll erase it."

She let him crawl away into the dark, coughing, broken.

Then she stood.

Black Vein.

A name etched into her mind like a blade. It wasn't just revenge anymore. It was something else.

A path forward.

A reason to breathe.

⸻

Valeforth Academy – Observation Deck

6:00 AM

The sun hadn't risen.

Lorn sat alone at the edge of the glass platform, eyes watching the faint glow in the east. The cold bit through his jacket.

He hadn't seen Alyss in twelve hours.

But somehow, he knew she wasn't asleep.

He whispered into the wind, unsure if anyone could hear:

"I miss you. The real you."

⸻

Elsewhere — Unknown Location

She moved like smoke through the hallway.

A woman with black gloves. Violet-threaded. No footsteps. No breath.

She paused before a steel door, placing her palm on the sensor. It hissed open.

Inside, a man in a black suit waited, sipping tea.

"She's following the trail," she said softly. "Just as you predicted."

The man smiled. Calm. Terrifying.

"She's useful. Let her come closer."

The assassin said nothing.

"Let her see the truth," he continued. "Before we take everything else away."