Dawn broke over Umbravale in blood-red light.
One by one, the initiates returned from the simulation field. Some limped. Some were silent. One didn't come back at all.
His name was Dalen. He had barely spoken since arrival. Just another name on the board—now gone.
No one said it out loud, but Kieran felt it settle into the room like dust:
This is real.
Calla was the first to speak. "He didn't deserve that."
"No one deserves it," said Talon quietly.
Rei didn't speak, but his jaw clenched.
Selene watched the horizon, unmoving.
---
The rest of the day passed in drills. Blades. Focus. Survival training. Kieran moved on instinct, pushing through pain and fatigue. He didn't speak unless spoken to.
At one point, Nova caught his arm mid-strike and smirked. "You're learning. Good."
"I learn fast."
"Good," she repeated. "Because you won't get a second warning next time."
---
That night, Corvan summoned them to the central hall.
The fire pit blazed high. Shadows danced on the stone walls. The instructors stood in a semi-circle behind Corvan, silent and severe.
"You've begun to understand," Corvan said. "That awakening is not enough. Power doesn't keep you alive. Practice does. Grit does. Unity does."
He paused.
"But unity does not mean safety."
A new face stepped forward.
A tall woman in battle-worn armor, hair braided down her back, with scars crossing both arms like maps of old wars.
"This is Warden Hessa," Corvan said. "She leads our first field expedition of the year. You're going into the real Forgotten World."
The silence was instant. And deep.
"This isn't a test," Corvan said. "This is a mission."
---
Later that night, in the grove, Kieran stood with his shadow.
It had grown.
Taller than him now. Its limbs longer. Edges sharper.
He reached out.
It didn't flinch.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
No answer came.
But the shadow tilted its head—like it was trying to remember.