Shadows Unveiled, page 3
They hovered—silent, deliberate—above the corpse like they belonged there. Like this was their domain, and I was the intruder. Time stretched thin, every second an eternity as I remained motionless beneath the overhang, watching, dreading.
Then—finally—the first fingers of light breached the edge of the world, brushing the rocks in a faint gold.
And just like that, the shadows were gone.
No warning. No sound. No retreat.
One blink and they vanished, as if they’d never been there at all.
I waited a heartbeat longer. Then two. Slowly, stiffly, I crawled from my shelter. My muscles protested, my legs numb from cold and tension, but I needed to know they were truly gone.
I approached the body.
He was young.
Too young.
His face was slack, skin pale, lips tinged blue from the cold. No blood. No broken bones that I could see. Just a stillness that felt… unnatural.
I crouched beside him and reached out, hesitating only a second before brushing two fingers against his neck.
No pulse.
I pulled back quickly, wiping my hand against my pants, heart twisting.
Whatever those shadows were, they weren’t of this world.
And I had seen them.
I stood, my body swaying slightly with exhaustion, and turned away from the body. There was no food. No warmth. Nothing here but death.
I needed to move.
Climbing higher was no longer an option. Every inch of my body was battered, and my ankle throbbed with each step. The main path was unreachable.
If I wanted to survive, I had to descend.
Into the unknown.
I didn’t know where this lower trail led—or if it led anywhere—but I knew what waited behind me. So I started my descent, each step deliberate and agonizing. The rocks were slick with moss and runoff, and my balance was precarious at best.
For hours, I navigated the craggy terrain. My throat was bone-dry, my lips cracked, my mind flickering in and out of focus. But I kept going, driven by a stubborn, defiant will to live.
The sun rose behind the mountains, its warmth pressing against my back. I shed my jacket, tying it around my waist. Sweat soaked through my shirt. My vision blurred.
Still, I moved.
One foot. Then the next.
Not because I believed I would find help.
But because stopping meant the mountain won.
And after everything—the betrayal, the shadows, the fall—I wasn’t going to let that happen.
Not today.
Hunger clawed at my insides with ragged fingers, hollowing me out from the core. Every step was heavier than the last, like I was sinking into the mountain itself.
Then—I saw it.
A berry bush.
Heavy with fruit, droplets of rain still clinging to their glossy skins.
I lurched toward it, stomach twisting in anticipation. But halfway there, I stopped. My hand hovered just inches from the nearest cluster. The colors were too bright. The shape was almost right, but not quite. Something about them itched at the back of my skull—something from a survival lesson drilled into us during basic training.
Not all that grows here is meant for the living.
I crouched, fingers brushing the earth as I stared at the berries. Saliva pooled in my mouth, and my vision wavered. The scent of earth and greenery was thick in my nose, and I could almost taste the juice bursting on my tongue.
But I didn’t eat.
I didn’t trust them.
And when I tried to rise, my body didn’t follow.
My knees buckled, the strength leaking out of me like water through cracked stone. My Dojo was gone—burnt out. No reserve left to heal. No warmth left to draw on. Just cold. Bone-deep, marrow-rotting cold.
Just close your eyes, a part of me whispered. Just for a second. Rest. The world can wait.
“No,” I croaked.
But even the defiance was weak.
In the back of my mind, a voice flared.
Is this really how you go out, kid?
Jeremy’s voice.
Sharp. Judgmental. Maddeningly Jeremy.
I could almost see him there, arms crossed, scowling like I’d failed a basic drill.
“It’s too hard,” I whispered, my breath hitching. “I can’t move.”
Too hard? That’s your excuse now? Since when has ‘too hard’ ever stopped you? You’re not soft. You’re not a runner. You’re Piper fucking MacKenzie.
Tears stung my eyes.
“I almost died,” I hissed back, as if he were really there. “He tried to kill me. I fell off a cliff. I—I can’t—”
People almost die every day. Get over yourself. Cry later. Move now. One foot. Then the other. Don’t let this goddamn mountain bury you. You’re not done yet.
My jaw clenched.
“Fuck,” I muttered, a hoarse sound, barely more than a breath.
But I wasn’t done.
Not yet.
I grit my teeth and forced my hands to press into the ground. Mud squelched between my fingers, but I used it, leveraged it. My legs trembled as I hauled myself upright, swaying like a broken tree in the wind. I couldn’t feel my toes. My ribs throbbed with every shallow breath.
But I was standing.
I was still here.
Jeremy’s phantom faded, but the echo of his words didn’t.
I took one step.
Then another.
One foot in front of the other.
And I didn’t stop.
It wasn’t just survival anymore.
It was about defiance.
It wasn’t just about surviving anymore.
It was about proving—to Jeremy, to the academy, and most of all to myself—that I wasn’t going to break. Not here. Not on this cursed mountain.
I forced one foot forward, then the other. My limbs screamed in protest, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. The hunger gnawed at my stomach like a living thing, but I shoved it aside and kept scanning the endless stretch of wilderness for something—anything—that might resemble a trail.
Nothing.
Just miles of unforgiving terrain. Gnarled roots. Jagged rocks. Shadows that moved too easily at the corners of my vision.
Still, I pressed on.
Eventually, I stumbled across a stream—thin and winding, but real. The second I saw it, my knees gave out. I dropped beside it and plunged my hands into the cold water, trembling as I cupped it to my lips.
It was bliss. Sharp and clean and painfully cold, but it cut through the haze clouding my thoughts. Every gulp felt like reclaiming a piece of myself.
For a brief moment, I just sat there, letting the sound of the stream lull me back to center. It wasn’t comfort, not really. But it was pause.
The sun broke through the clouds for a breath, dappling the water in gold.
Life. Still moving, still breathing. So am I.
But the peace didn’t last.
I pushed to my feet, my back aching, skin raw beneath my damp clothes. Time was a predator I couldn’t afford to ignore.
And that was when I saw it.
Another body.
I froze.
It wasn’t fresh—but it wasn’t old either. Not the natural kind of old. The skin had turned this sickly, sun-dried gray, cracked and shriveled like leather left out too long. The face was stuck mid-scream, mouth wide, eyes hollow. Not torn up by animals. Not decomposing from exposure.
It looked…drained.
Wrong.
Like the life had been pulled out of it, not beaten or broken from it.
My eyes dropped to the shirt, soaked and torn—and there it was. The crest. The Veiled Blade.
My stomach twisted.
This wasn’t some random dropout. This was someone who made it—at least partway. Someone who’d trained, who bled, who fought to be here. Someone who could’ve passed me yesterday, maybe even made eye contact.
And now they looked like they’d been dead for weeks.
I backed away, heart pounding in my throat. The image of those shadows from the night before surged into my mind—how they’d circled that other body, how they moved like living smoke.
Could they have done this?
The answer hit me like ice: yes.
Whatever was up here wasn’t just testing us. It was hunting. Choosing. Feeding.
I swallowed back bile and shoved down the panic clawing at my throat.
I have to move. Now.
I picked up my pace, feet pounding the wet ground, eyes scanning the tree line like the shadows might leap out at any second.
The mountain wasn’t just a trial anymore.
It was a killing field.
And I was still on it.
The academy was my only shot at surviving this.
If I could make it.
Four
I kept moving, one foot dragging in front of the other, until I spotted it—a narrow path snaking up the mountain’s side, carved so tight against the cliff it barely looked like it could hold a single person. The recent rain had slicked the rock, making it gleam like polished glass. My heart thudded at the sight. It was dangerous. But it might also be my way back.
My way to the academy.
I crept toward the base of the trail, studying the climb ahead. It rose like a coiled serpent, steep and winding, every step a gamble. I took a breath, planting my foot on the first slippery stone, and began to climb.
It was brutal.
Each movement burned. My muscles screamed with effort, and my boots slipped on the wet stone more times than I could count. There were no handrails. No mercy. Just gravity and grit. One misstep, and I’d tumble to my death.
But I didn’t stop.
I clawed for purchase, gripping at cracks and crevices with raw fingers. The ledge narrowed in places so tightly I had to press myself against the wall just to keep from slipping off. But I kept going—because I had to. Because turning back wasn’t an option.
And then—finally—I reached the top.
I collapsed, chest heaving, every limb shaking with exhaustion. The sky above was a pale, cloud-streaked blue, and I stared up at it like it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I’d made it. Somehow, I’d survived the climb. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself feel something close to pride.
I didn’t cry.
But I thought about it.
After a few deep breaths and a prayer that my legs would hold, I stood. I wasn’t at the academy yet. Not even close. But I was one step closer—and that was enough to keep going.
The terrain shifted as I moved forward. Trees towered around me now, and jagged cliffs painted the horizon. It should’ve been beautiful. Majestic. But all I saw were obstacles. Twists. Traps. I scanned every inch for a sign of a trail, anything that might point me toward safety.
Then the wind changed.
Dark clouds rolled in fast, blotting out the sun in seconds. I barely had time to brace myself before the rain started again—this time harder, colder. It felt like the mountain wanted to drown me.
I yanked my soaked jacket tighter around myself, but it was pointless. The fabric clung to me like a second skin, heavy with water. I hadn’t even dried off from the first storm.
And then came the hunger.
Worse than before. A deep, gnawing ache in my belly that made it hard to think, hard to walk. It twisted inside me, sharp and insistent, turning every step into a fight.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek, forcing my legs to keep moving.
Focus. Move. Survive.
But the mountain wasn’t done with me yet.
The rain and hunger combined into a brutal cocktail that made every step feel like a punishment. My boots were soaked, my muscles screamed, and my stomach twisted with a hollow ache that refused to be ignored. Each breath felt like dragging air through wet cloth. I stopped more often than I wanted to, slumping against tree trunks or collapsing onto slick rocks just to catch my breath. The mountain stretched on forever, an endless snarl of mud and mist, daring me to give up.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
The academy was out there—somewhere beyond the cold and the pain and the hunger clawing at my insides. I just had to keep moving. One step. Then another. That was all that mattered.
Eventually, stopping became more dangerous than pressing on. Every time I paused, it got harder to start again. My legs locked up, my lungs fought me, and my thoughts turned foggy and slow. So I stopped stopping. I kept walking, even when my body begged me to lie down and let the storm take me.
I thought about Jeremy.
About how he’d trained me, how he’d never let me quit even when I cried, even when I screamed at him. He was the only one who’d ever looked me in the eye and said, “You’ve got more in you than you know, girlie. Don’t you dare waste it.”
I wasn’t going to waste it.
I repeated his words like a mantra, matching them to the rhythm of my footsteps. The body can take more than the mind believes. Convince the mind, and the body will follow. That’s what he always said.
And he was right.
Because somehow—somehow—I kept going.
But the shadows lingered in the back of my mind like a second storm, waiting to catch up. I couldn’t unsee them, the way they’d slithered over that body and erased it from the world like it had never existed. I didn’t know what they were, but I knew this: they weren’t just another mountain test. This wasn’t academy theater or some twisted illusion. Those things were real. And they were wrong.
What if the others ran into them? What if the instructors didn’t know?
That thought lit a fire under my skin, pushing me harder than anything else. I had to get back. I had to warn them. This wasn’t just about surviving anymore—it was about protecting people. Jeremy would’ve done the same. He would’ve expected it of me.
So I ran.
Or at least—I tried. My body couldn’t quite manage it, but my pace quickened, fueled by a deeper fear. Not just of failing. Not just of dying. But of being too late.
The wind howled like a thing alive. The rain battered my face. But I didn’t stop.
I imagined the academy gates. I imagined pushing through them, soaked and shivering, demanding to speak to someone who could do something.
I was going to make it.
I had to.
Because the mountain wasn’t just a test anymore.
It was a battlefield.
And something in the dark was already winning.
After what felt like a never-ending trek—hours of winding trails that mocked every step I took—the academy finally came into view.
I froze.
For a moment, I honestly thought I was hallucinating. But there it was: the towering gates, the stone walls, the Veiled Blade crest carved above the entrance. Real. Solid. Familiar. It hit me like a punch to the gut.
I staggered forward, heart hammering—not from fear or fatigue, but from the sheer, overwhelming relief of finally being here. The rain had thinned to a mist, and light broke through the clouds in scattered beams, catching on the wet stone like it was all staged. Like the mountain itself was saying, Fine. You win.
I didn’t win. I barely survived.
My legs gave out the second I reached the gates.
One moment I was moving, the next I was on my knees in the mud, forehead pressed to the freezing ground. I couldn’t feel my fingers. My ribs ached with every breath. But I didn’t care.
Because I’d made it.
I was here.
I cracked my eyes open and stared up at the crest above the gate—blurred by rain and tears and exhaustion. That symbol had kept me going. It was more than an emblem. It was a promise.
I was safe now.
Or… safer, at least.
I let out a breath that trembled in my chest and allowed myself a bitter little smile. I had survived the storm, the mountain, the shadows that should not exist. I had dragged myself through pain and cold and darkness—and I hadn’t broken. I was still here.
A distant clang rang out—metal against metal. Voices. Footsteps approaching.
They’d find me any second now.
Good.
I might’ve collapsed at the gates, but I hadn’t been defeated. Far from it.
I’d come back—bloodied, bruised, and barely breathing.
But I came back.
And that was more than some people ever could.
I jolted awake to the sensation of hot water hitting my skin like rainfall—steady, deliberate, too warm to be real. For a moment, I panicked. My body tensed, instinct kicking in before memory caught up. Then the sound registered—running water, not wind or footsteps or thunder. Light shimmered through steam.
A bathroom.
Not just any bathroom—the bathroom. Marble tile, gold fixtures, the kind of over-the-top luxury I hadn’t even dared dream about back on the mountain. It was like waking up in someone else’s life.
Fingers were in my hair.
Strong, steady. Working through the matted tangles with practiced ease. The touch was firm but careful—almost gentle. I turned my head, still groggy, and froze when I saw who it was.
Takashi Okami.
My breath caught.
He didn’t speak at first. Just stared at me with those slate eyes of his, sharp and cold and furious enough to strip the heat from the room. I shrank beneath that gaze, despite the water still pouring over me. Despite the fact I’d just survived hell.
“You smell like shit,” he said flatly.
The words hit harder than they should’ve. I wanted to fire back with something snarky, something to deflect the sting. But he wasn’t wrong. I did smell like shit. I was caked in mud, blood, and days-old sweat. I looked like something that had crawled out of a grave.
I tried to speak—explain, apologize, something—but the words stuck in my throat.
This wasn’t how I’d imagined coming back. Not even close. I never thought I’d see him again like this—me, half-conscious and helpless. Him, furious and silent and… still here.
The warmth of the water clashed with the ice in his tone. He kept washing my hair, scrubbing through the grime with methodical movements. I should’ve felt humiliated. Instead, all I could feel was overwhelmed.
