The training hall was not empty, but it felt like it.
At night, the floodlights dimmed to a faint violet glow, shadows stretching long across the steel floor etched with suppressive runes. The wards hummed low, muffling sound and vibration, locking the world outside away. Beyond the walls, Insomnia still pulsed with neon towers and magitek trams, but here, silence reigned.
Cor Leonis stood at the far end, arms folded, his silhouette sharp against the violet haze. Beside him, Sirius shifted the short sword at his side. His shoulder still ached from the sabertusk's bite in Leide, but he forced his stance upright.
Another boy stood across the hall.
Sirius studied him carefully. The boy's frame was lean, wiry, built more for speed than strength. Close-cut dark hair shadowed sharp eyes that moved constantly, cataloging exits, beams, corners—mapping the hall like a predator memorizing its cage. He wore the same trainee's uniform, but where Sirius' posture was stiff and focused, the boy stood loose, shoulders slouched, every line of his body relaxed. Relaxed, but dangerous.
"This is Kael," Cor said. His voice carried easily through the chamber. "From tonight onward, you'll train together."
Kael inclined his head, lips curling into something between a smirk and a provocation.
Sirius said nothing, but his grip on the short sword tightened until the leather creaked.
---
Cor clapped once, the sound sharp in the muffled air. "Stealth drills. One hides. The other hunts. Switch until you've both had your turn."
Kael's smirk widened. "Easy enough."
He shifted—and was gone.
Sirius blinked. In the space of a heartbeat, Kael had melted into the shadows. No scrape of boots. No stir of breath. The space where he had stood was empty air.
Cor's eyes slid to Sirius. "Find him."
---
Sirius moved cautiously, short sword raised. The steel floor gave faint echoes through his boots, softened by the wards but not erased. Violet lamps cast broken pools of light, leaving heavy shadows where sight faltered.
He strained his ears. Nothing.
A flicker of motion—he spun, blade cutting through air.
Too slow.
A hand tapped his back, light as a ghost. Sirius twisted sharply, but Kael was already gone, vanishing into the dark.
"Again," Cor ordered.
---
The drill repeated. Again and again, Kael slipped unseen. Once brushing Sirius' shoulder, once crouched silently atop a beam, once sliding past his flank so close Sirius felt the air move. Each time, Sirius struck too late, his blade biting only emptiness.
Frustration coiled in his chest. He had endured Zangan's brutal conditioning, Cor's merciless blows, the bloodied hunt in Leide. Yet here, in this hall of shadows, he felt clumsy and exposed, like a child with a stick chasing whispers.
A breath brushed his ear: "You're heavy. Loud. A soldier, not a shadow."
Sirius slashed instinctively, blade hissing through air. Nothing. Kael was gone again, his chuckle echoing faintly.
Cor's voice cut through, flat as steel. "You chase ghosts. Stop. Silence listens. Anticipate. Don't follow."
---
Sirius forced his breathing slow. Closed his eyes.
The world shrank to sensation: the pressure of air against his skin, the hum of runes beneath his boots, the subtle shift of sound where silence should have been whole.
There.
The lightest brush of fabric. A tremor on steel overhead.
His body moved before his mind. The sword snapped outward—
Clash.
Wood struck wood. Sparks leapt where practice blades met.
Kael's eyes widened, grin breaking sharp and hungry. For the first time, Sirius had intercepted him.
But Kael only twisted away, slipping into shadow once more.
Sirius exhaled, chest heaving. He hadn't thought. His body had simply known.
---
Kael didn't relent. He came harder, faster, testing. Sirius parried, too slow, and Kael's blade grazed his sleeve. Another strike cut in silence, Sirius blocked high, his feet sliding into stance as if his body had rehearsed it a thousand times. His blade corrected angles mid-motion, precision carving itself from error.
Adaptive Resonance burned in his muscles. Mistakes rewoven into mastery.
Kael blurred, phantom-fast. Sirius' flow answered, faster with every clash.
For a breath, it was no longer drill. It was combat.
Their blades locked, wood grinding. Their eyes met—Kael's sharp and gleaming with challenge, Sirius' burning with stubborn fire. Neither yielded.
Cor's voice cracked like a whip. "Enough."
The command cut clean through the tension. Both boys lowered their blades instantly, sweat slick on their brows, breaths ragged.
---
They stood across from each other, silence stretching long.
Kael's smirk returned, but his gaze was no longer dismissive. He studied Sirius like one might study a puzzle. "You're strange," he said at last. "You stumble, you miss, and then… you don't. It's like your body's ahead of your head."
Sirius said nothing, jaw tightening. His red eyes held quiet defiance.
Cor stepped forward, gaze sharp. "Good. Rivalry breeds strength. You'll drive each other further than I can." He paused, letting the words hang. His tone sank low, edged like drawn steel. "Remember this: shadows are not meant to be seen. One mistake, one sound, one breath too loud—that's all it takes. Learn silence, or die loud."
The words sank into the hall like stone into deep water.
---
Dismissal came with no further instruction. The hall emptied, shadows reclaiming silence. Sirius lingered, wiping sweat from his brow.
Kael leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him with a lazy ease that belied the sharpness in his gaze.
"You're not like the others," he said. "Most kids panic. You don't. You fall, but you stand sharper every time. It's unnatural."
Sirius' throat tightened. He turned away, unwilling to answer. The hum of the system pulsed faintly in his chest, numbers flickering only for him.
Kael chuckled softly. "Doesn't matter. I like it. Makes things interesting."
He slipped into the dark, vanishing without sound, leaving only stillness behind.
---
Sirius stood alone. The silence pressed heavier than before, wrapping him in thought. Kael had seen too much. Not the katana, not the system—but enough. He had seen how Sirius' body corrected itself, how he grew sharper with each failure.
A rival had appeared. Not an enemy, not yet. But someone who could drag him higher… or pull him down.
Sirius' grip tightened on his sword until his knuckles ached. He slid the blade into its sheath, eyes catching the violet glow of the lamps.
If he's a phantom, then I will become the shadow that hunts phantoms.