A hand shot up from the middle row—a bold move, considering how most cadets seemed to want to become part of the furniture. The student, a wiry guy with glasses slightly too big for his face, cleared his throat.
"If… if the world's been shattered, then where exactly are we living now? What's this land called?"
Naki didn't blink. She looked at him like the question was obvious but worth answering anyway.
"Ironically," she said, "we call it Pangea."
The class went silent, save for the low hum of the projector winding down.
"Not the prehistoric supercontinent," she clarified, a flicker of a smirk playing at her lips. "This Pangea is the stitched-together leftovers—what didn't get swallowed by the rifts, shifted into the Broken Layer, or phased out of existence. It's not stable, not entirely. But it's where we built the Veil-Cities. Where Anchor Towns cling like barnacles to floating wreckage. It's the center of a world that no longer has a center."
Seyfe leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. Pangea. Of course they'd call it that. The government probably thought it was poetic. Or cruelly clever.
Naki walked slowly along the front of the lecture hall, the edge of her cape brushing the floor.
"Remember this," she said. "Even here, under your feet, the ground is never guaranteed. The only reason you're not floating through a memory storm or swallowed by a Veil Wound is because we're holding the seams of reality shut. Barely."
She tapped her Cellik once and the display shut off completely, leaving only the buzz of tension in the room.
"Class dismissed," she said. "For now."
And with that, she turned on her heel and strode out—no dramatic exit needed.
Seyfe let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The room felt heavier now, not from weight—but from truth.
So we're standing on a stitched corpse of a world, he thought. Figures.
As the cadets poured out of the lecture hall, the air shifted. No longer trapped within four walls, the openness of the academy's upper courtyard greeted them—real wind brushing past skin, real sun cutting through the scattered cloud lines. For a moment, it almost felt like the world wasn't broken.
Seyfe trailed behind, eyes flicking toward the sky. Unfiltered. No dome, no screens. Just the vastness above… and somewhere beyond it, the Shattered Layers lurking.
That's when a voice cut through the idle chatter.
"You guys ever stop and think the Shattering wasn't just an accident?"
It came from a cadet perched on the low stone railing, legs dangling, voice rising like someone about to stir up something dangerous. Hair tousled like he'd run through static, eyes full of too many thoughts and too little filter.
"I mean, think about it. Why are the Veil-Cities the only ones that survived clean? Why did they have the tech? The means to 'stabilize'? Feels too perfect."
Seyfe slowed his steps, half-curious, half-annoyed.
"They didn't save the world. They redesigned it. Collapse was just stage one of their plan. Burn everything, control the rebuild. Classic power play."
Another cadet nearby scoffed. "You sound like one of those unlicensed podcasters."
"Yeah? And maybe they sound like me."
A few cadets chuckled, but others listened—quietly, thoughtfully.
"They even named it Pangea," the guy went on. "Like some twisted throwback. You don't name the world that unless you think you're starting over. Unless you want to remind everyone you built the new normal."
Seyfe's eyes met the cadet's for a split second. There was fire behind the paranoia.
He looked away and exhaled slowly. "Great. Another one losing his screws."
But deep down, something about the rant didn't sound entirely wrong.
The group started to scatter across the courtyard, small clusters forming, some joking, some just waiting for the next notification from their Celliks. The atmosphere was lighter than training, but heavier in truth.
Seyfe leaned on a cool stone pillar, glancing up at the real sky again.
No dome. Just cracks.
"Maybe I should go to the restroom," Seyfe muttered, more to himself than anyone.
Following the glowing arrow from his Cellik—because of course even bathroom breaks needed guidance now—he weaved through the long stone corridors of the academy. The building's design was sleek but eerie, its walls pulsing faintly with stabilized Veil energy like a breathing machine trying to keep reality from cracking open again.
Irony, he thought. Surviving spellstorms and fractured ground just to be grateful for working plumbing.
He finally reached the restroom. Clean, too clean—almost like it was sterilized more for containment than hygiene. The kind of place that made you question what they were preparing for.
As he stepped into one of the stalls, he exhaled slowly. "Finally."
The silence was odd. Not peaceful—just expectant. A stillness that made even the hum of the electric lights feel too loud.
Relieving himself after that overwhelming lecture felt like the first human thing he'd done since arriving.
Screw magical warfare. I just want to pee in peace.
As he exited the stall, still adjusting his shirt and half-lost in thought, Seyfe froze.
Aki was leaning against the doorway like she had all the time in the world, arms crossed, one foot lazily propped against the wall. That familiar sly smirk played on her lips—the kind that never quite reached her eyes.
"You took your sweet time," she said.
Seyfe nearly jumped out of his skin. "Are you seriously waiting outside a bathroom stall for me?"
She shrugged. "Consider it a check-in. You're still alive, after all. That counts for something."
He rubbed his temples. "You scared the hell out of me."
"That makes two of us. I thought you drowned in the pool yesterday," she replied, her tone casual, but her gaze sharper than a blade.
Seyfe wanted to fire back with some sarcastic retort, but his mind lagged behind the situation. Why was she here?
"What do you want, Aki?" he asked bluntly.
"I just needed to remind you," she said, pushing off the frame and stepping closer, "you're not invisible here. The people watching over you aren't exactly fond of wild cards. So maybe try not to end up in a stasis chamber again… or in pieces."
Her words were calm—almost friendly—but there was no mistaking the weight behind them.
Then she tapped her Cellik, gave him a mock salute, and walked out without another word.
Seyfe stood there for a moment, the door swinging slowly behind her.
"Goddamn shadow ghost ninja…" he muttered. "I really hate this place."
As soon as Aki vanished around the corner, Seyfe's Cellik buzzed to life on his wrist, pulsing with a notification.
"Class Schedule Update: Lecture Hall B-4 — Report in 15 minutes."
Seyfe stared at the screen, dead-eyed. "Of course. No break, no peace, just more torture with a whiteboard."
He sighed, turned on his heel, and started following the glowing arrow on his Cellik's screen. The thing pulsed like a guiding star, leading him deeper into the Academy's labyrinth.
The hallways felt colder this time—not physically, just... sterile. Like something was watching. Or maybe that was just Aki still lingering in his brain like a phantom warning.
"Lecture Hall B-4," he mumbled. "What's next? Advanced Suffering 101?"
He shook off the chill crawling up his spine and walked faster.
Seyfe entered Lecture Hall B-4, the lighting dimmed low with a slow blue hue washing over the room. Unlike the earlier history lesson, this hall had actual seats fitted with holoprojectors, and a curved wall at the front was already humming with Veiler insignia. It felt less like a class and more like a military briefing.
Cadets slowly trickled in, most still wearing exhausted expressions from either the previous day's torture training or the existential crisis the history lecture triggered. A few sat up straighter when they noticed the new figure standing at the center platform—a tall man with a mechanical arm and a half-burned Veiler insignia stitched across his jacket.
He spoke without preamble. His voice was like gravel grinding steel.
"If you're sitting here, you're not a soldier. You're a Veiler-in-training. There's a difference."
The tall instructor's cybernetic hand shifted, and the screen behind him changed again—this time displaying five distinct human silhouettes, each outlined in different colors. At the top, "Adapted Human Classifications" pulsed in bold lettering.
"You've heard the term 'Veiler,' maybe even wear it with pride. But understand this: you're just one of several breeds humanity carved out to survive the Shattering."
The silhouettes glowed one by one as he pointed with his artificial hand.
"Veilers—"Blue outline."You. Or at least what you're trying to be. Bred, trained, and forged to stabilize the Veil. You use runic threads like an extra limb. Most of you don't realize this yet, but you're not born equal. Some of you were genetically selected for it. Others... well, got lucky—or cursed."He gave Seyfe's corner a glance."Don't get cocky. The price for wielding runes is steep."
"Riftwalkers—"Red outline, shifting like a heatwave."Scattered across Pangea. These bastards can walk between realms like they're just stepping over puddles. No gear, no stasis drug, just raw resistance. Most were experiments gone right. Or wrong. If a Riftwalker ever tells you they're fine, they're lying. They're never fine."
"Fusioners—"Green outline with glowing tech nodes."Tech-heads. Runes powered by machines instead of the body. They don't rely on threads the same way Veilers do. Think of them as engineers who can weaponize a pulse grenade and reverse a time-tear at the same time. Dangerous as hell, especially when pissed off."
"Hybrids—"Purple outline with a rune-tech fusion core in the chest."Walking contradictions. Part weaving, part tech. Not many survive long like this—something always breaks. But the ones who do? Survivors in the truest sense. They say hybrids adapt faster than anyone else. They just don't always stay human."
"Voidwalkers—"Black silhouette with white glowing veins.The instructor paused."We don't train them. We don't make them. They just… are."The room quieted as the image shimmered."Humans who lived too long in Fractured Zones. Mutated, changed, but still human enough to remember who they were. Some joined us. Most keep to the shadows. If one helps you in the field—say thank you. If one smiles at you—run."
The screen dimmed. A long silence followed before the instructor added one last line:
"Remember, you're not special just because you're a Veiler. You're one cog in a dying world's machine. And that machine? It's breaking."
Seyfe sat still, his Cellik buzzing faintly on his wrist, but for once—he didn't check it.