Seyfe slipped through the arching doorway of Lecture Hall C, the sterile scent of tech and polished floors instantly greeting him. The space was large—tiered rows curving in a semicircle around a central podium, screens embedded along the walls flickering with faint system boot prompts.
Without a second thought, he moved toward the far corner near the back—high enough to get a clean look at everyone without being in anyone's way. Just how he liked it.
He slumped into the seat, arms crossed, one leg bouncing slightly as his eyes scanned the room. Already, cadets were trickling in. Some walked like they'd just risen from the grave, dragging their feet with a shared post-training trauma. Others still looked suspiciously fresh—probably the ones who didn't break themselves yesterday.
And then, of course, the trio entered.
They didn't sit together this time. The tall silver-haired guy quietly took a seat in the front row. The tattooed girl sat halfway up, lazily spinning her Cellik in her hand like she couldn't care less. And the short silver-haired girl? She somehow ended up right behind Seyfe.
He flinched slightly when she sat down, but didn't look back. Just muttered under his breath, "You have a thing for corners too, huh?"
She giggled softly in response. Of course she heard that.
Seyfe leaned back in his seat, observing as instructors began filtering in—dressed in sleek black and blue uniforms with Veiler insignias etched into the fabric. One of them activated the front screen, and the system blinked to life.
As the front screen activated, the door to the lecture hall opened, and a Veiler entered. Seyfe's heart sank as he immediately recognized her—the same female Veiler who had interrogated him at the government facility, before they subjected him to the torture in the damned Stasis chamber.
She was dressed in the same black suit, but now there was a white-golden cape draped over her shoulders, flowing behind her like some sort of regal symbol. A sword was sheathed at her left thigh, its hilt gleaming in the harsh fluorescent light of the hall. Her presence filled the room with an unsettling authority as she scanned the class, her sharp eyes sweeping over each cadet.
Seyfe prayed that she wouldn't recognize him, that somehow, in the sea of new faces, he wouldn't be singled out. He could feel the anxiety creeping up his spine, his pulse quickening. If she knew who he was, if she remembered the interrogation and the pain he endured, there would be no escaping whatever hellish fate she had planned for him next.
Her gaze flicked across the room, lingering on each student briefly before moving on to the next, until finally, her eyes landed on him. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Seyfe tensed, holding his breath, trying to mask any recognition in his face.
But she said nothing. She simply nodded as if acknowledging something in passing, then turned toward the front of the room, her gaze settling on the instructor.
Seyfe exhaled sharply, the tension in his body slowly releasing as she moved away from him. He couldn't be sure if she had recognized him or not, but he wasn't about to take any chances. Keeping his head down, he focused on the front of the room, trying to block out the uneasy feeling gnawing at him.
This was going to be a long day.
The Veiler stepped up to the front of the hall, the weight of her presence silencing the scattered whispers among the cadets. Her cape shifted slightly as she turned to face them, her expression unreadable, sharp and composed.
"I am Naki," she said, her voice cutting through the room like a blade—calm, firm, and cold. "General Commander of the C Unit Veiler Squadron."
A few cadets straightened in their seats, murmurs breaking out again in hushed tones. Seyfe sat still, his jaw clenched. Of course she was. Of all the people to lead their squadron, it had to be the same woman who nearly broke him in that interrogation room.
Naki scanned the room once more, her golden eyes fierce beneath the low brim of her standard Veiler cap. "Some of you may believe you've been thrown into this program because you were chosen. Others might think you were forced. Regardless of what brought you here—none of it matters. You are here now. And survival begins with understanding why."
She tapped the side of the screen behind her, and a holographic display flared to life showing a fractured map of what used to be the known world, torn and cracked like glass.
"We'll begin with the truth of the Shattering."
Naki gestured toward the flickering holographic projection now displaying a cracked globe overlaid with swirling magical currents and shifting layers of light and shadow.
"This... is the aftermath of the Shattering."
The room fell silent.
"Years ago, reality itself ruptured. Not a war. Not a weapon. A collapse. We call it the Shattering. What it left behind were rifts—tears in the world that broke the natural order. The result? Two dominant layers now drift between one another like fractured glass."
The screen shifted to show a glowing outline labeled Stable Layer, overlaid with remnants of civilization, cities barely holding together.
"This," Naki continued, "is the Stable Layer. What you would call the 'normal' world, though calling anything normal now is wishful thinking."
Another overlay pulsed underneath—chaotic, storm-ridden, blackened earth etched with glowing scars. Broken Layer.
"This is the Broken Layer. A mirror of destruction—part real, part unreal. Apocalyptic. Hostile. And unstable. These two layers... they shift. Sometimes subtly. Sometimes violently. If you're caught in a shift, pray the Veil doesn't tear."
She tapped again. The image zoomed into a massive swirling storm over what looked like a city lost to distortion. Words flashed over the scene: Spellstorm Detected.
"Then there are Spellstorms. Magical weather birthed by the Shattering. You've seen them—maybe survived a few. Time fogs that trap you in endless loops. Memory lightning that burns away who you are. Anti-gravity rain that lifts the earth—and everything on it—until it falls like hail."
A new image appeared, jagged and glowing: a Veil Wound.
"And perhaps the worst: Veil Wounds. These are not places. These are fractures. They lead... anywhere. Other realms. Other timelines. Some don't even have rules. You fall into one, you might never crawl back out."
Seyfe swallowed hard. He remembered the feeling of instability—of gravity hiccupping, of air shimmering wrong. Now it all made sense.
"These anomalies are why you exist," Naki said, facing the class with her arms behind her back. "You are being trained not just to survive them... but to step into them."
Her gaze swept the room, and for a split second, landed on Seyfe. He tensed.
"Some of you will adapt. Most of you won't. Welcome to the end of the world."
Naki stepped away from the pulsing image of a Veil Wound, tapping her fingers against the side of her blade's hilt as the screen shifted once again—this time to a rotating map of the world, or what remained of it.
"Geography, as you knew it, is dead," she said. "This is what the Shattering left behind."
She pointed toward shimmering dots spread across the map, glowing in blues and golds.
"Veil-Cities. The last semblance of 'normal.' Advanced tech. Stabilizing wards. You'd think you were in the old world, but make no mistake—those places are illusions built on layers of control. Most people in Veil-Cities have no idea how close they live to annihilation. That ignorance is engineered."
Seyfe stared at the dots. He'd never seen one up close. Never been allowed near. A place like that would've chewed him up and spat him out.
The image shifted to earthy tones surrounding glowing stones at the center of smaller settlements.
"Anchor Towns," Naki continued. "Built around Anchor-Stones—artifacts from a time before even the first Rift tore open. These relics bend reality around them, holding the Shift at bay. You'll find a mix of old magic and salvaged tech. They serve as the trade arteries between factions—Veilers, Rogues, Cultists, you name it. You'll pass through these often... if you're lucky."
The map darkened. Burnt red and ash-black scars laced over large sections of the world.
"Then you've got Fractured Zones. Permanently stuck in the Broken Layer. Constant anomalies. Spellstorm ground zero. The Veil here doesn't just bend—it screams. These are the hunting grounds of outlaws, voidwalkers, and worse. If you go here, you better have a reason. Or a death wish."
Seyfe saw one of the cadets at the front swallow hard.
Another tap. The map flickered again, showing ghostly cities—half-there, flickering like dying memories.
"Dead Cities. Urban sprawls lost during the first Great Shift. You step in, you might see skyscrapers hovering midair, then blink and it's rubble. Or worse, you walk through a memory and realize the building was never really there. Phantom zones. Stay too long... and you become one."
Naki paused. The last region appeared on the map like a watercolor painting come alive. Constantly shifting. Surreal.
"Echolands. They don't reflect reality—they reflect emotion. Grief, love, anger—these reshape the terrain. It's not just the land that remembers. The Veil does too. And it feels."
She turned off the display.
"These aren't just places you'll go," she said. "These are places that will try to change you. Knowing where you are is half the battle. Surviving is the other half."
Seyfe leaned back in his chair, a hollow breath escaping him. So much for a 'rest day.'