Shadows Unveiled, page 5
I swallowed, my throat dry again despite the water. I didn’t argue. He was right, and we both knew it.
Then he added, voice flat but deadly, “I wouldn’t want to have to slaughter this year’s new initiates.”
And I knew he wasn’t joking.
A breath shuddered out of me, not quite a laugh, not quite fear. “Noted,” I said, managing a dry smirk.
He let go of my wrist.
With one last nod, I turned and stepped out, the echo of his warning burning in my mind like a brand.
Stay strong. Stay alert. Stay alive.
And whatever happened—I couldn’t afford to forget who I was anymore.
Six
I slid out of Okami’s room, easing the door shut behind me with a quiet click. For a second, I just stood there, hoping no one had seen me emerge. The hallway was dim, lit by flickering sconces that cast dancing shadows over the ancient tapestries lining the walls—each one a frozen scene of blood-soaked glory, heroes locked in battle, legends immortalized in thread and flame.
The stone floor was cold beneath my bare feet. The air smelled faintly of incense and old parchment—like history had seeped into the very bones of this place.
I moved carefully, my steps quiet. The past few days were starting to crash down on me like a wave—my body ached, my mind buzzed, and I felt like a ghost drifting through someone else’s world. Doors lined the hallway in eerie symmetry, each one identical to the last, like a trick of the maze designed to keep people like me lost.
I passed a few students on the way. No one spared me more than a glance, and I kept my head down, grateful for the anonymity.
I turned a corner, thinking it would lead me toward the dormitories—but it didn’t. Another identical hallway, another round of disappointment. The academy was a labyrinth of stone and secrets, and I wished I hadn’t been unconscious when Okami brought me in so I might gave some clue as to where to go.
Every corridor looked the same. Every door mocked me with its sameness. My footsteps echoed, hollow and lonely. For a second, I almost missed the mountain—its brutal honesty, the way it never pretended to be safe.
I rounded another corner, frustration gnawing at the edge of my control—and slammed into someone.
A solid wall of muscle. Familiar.
“Greyson?” I blinked up at him, disoriented—then relief hit me like a sucker punch. Before I could stop myself, I wrapped my arms around him.
He laughed low in his chest and hugged me back, warm and strong. “Glad you’re alive, Petal. Rumor had it…” He didn’t finish. His easy tone faltered, just for a second. “Okami got to him before I did. Kid’s still in a coma.”
I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. There was a shadow there—flickering under his usual smirk. He covered it quickly.
“I mean, as much as I enjoy getting ambushed by you,” he said, voice light again, “I can’t be playing favorites. Not here. I’m a Left-tenant now. That comes with rules. And technically, I’m not supposed to hug you in public.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about rules?”
He grinned, popping his toothpick between his teeth again. “Only when it suits me, Petal. Only when it suits me.”
But I saw it—the worry behind his teasing. The way he scanned me like he was checking for injuries. And yeah, maybe the academy was brutal. Maybe everyone here had their knives half-drawn. But seeing Greyson reminded me I wasn’t completely alone.
I still had people. And sometimes, that was enough to keep going.
“Do you know where I’m supposed to go?” I asked, my voice low, trying to hide the uncertainty gnawing at me.
Greyson pulled out his tablet, tapped a few times, and then gave me a sideways smile. “House Vireo,” he said, nodding. “Come on, Petal. I’ll walk you there.”
We started down another corridor, his stride easy, mine a little slower, still getting used to moving without feeling like my legs were going to buckle. As we walked, he filled me in.
“You’ll be up at dawn for physical training,” he began, slipping back into his instructor tone. “After that, breakfast in the Great Hall. Then classes—combat, strategy, history, Dojo theory. Lunch at noon. More classes. Dinner at six. Then night training until lights out at ten.”
I blinked. “That’s… a lot.”
He gave a dry chuckle. “Welcome to hell. You’re expected to stick to the schedule—no skipping, no excuses. They’ll be watching. Slacking gets you kicked out. Or worse.”
I nodded, absorbing each word. Compared to the mountain, it was rigid, strict. But I was ready. Or at least, I wanted to be.
“Also,” he added, his voice dropping, “remember—killing is permitted until the Selection. That’s four months from now. You’ve got no squad, no captain, and no protection. You’re fair game. So stay sharp. Trust no one.”
A shiver climbed up my spine. “Great.”
The dorm buildings came into view—interconnected stone wings with towering arches and individual crests above each entrance. House Vireo’s crest was a sleek black bird with a sharp beak and its wings spread mid-flight. The place looked more like a gothic palace than a dormitory.
Inside, the ceilings soared overhead and oil paintings lined the walls—portraits of former Blades, long dead but somehow still watching. It was overwhelming, stepping into a legacy this old, this bloodstained.
Greyson paused outside my room. His face softened for a moment. “I’m glad you’re alive,” he said, voice quiet. “But…”
He trailed off, and for the first time, he looked… unsettled.
“I’ve never seen Okami like that,” he murmured. “Not even during the war. I heard stories. Arcane Reaper this, Third War that—but I never saw it. Not until they said you were dead.” He glanced at me, something unreadable in his eyes. “What’s going on between you two?”
My heart kicked. How could I even explain something I barely understood myself?
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I always thought he hated me.”
Greyson huffed out a laugh, but it wasn’t amused. “Well, maybe he wants to be the one to take you out.” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Because the kid who hurt you? I would’ve killed him. Okami? I think the only reason that guy’s still breathing is because Okami wants him to suffer.”
I looked away, guilt churning low in my stomach. “That’s not exactly going to help my reputation, is it?”
“No,” he said bluntly. “It’s not.”
I turned to him. “You’re saying that because of what people think about him?”
“I’m saying,” he said carefully, “there are girls here who would slit throats just to catch his attention. And if they start thinking he’s giving that attention to you…”
I swallowed hard, my pulse picking up. “That could get me killed.”
Greyson nodded. “Faster than any combat exercise. So keep your head down, Petal. Eyes open. And maybe… don’t kiss the Arcane Reaper again, yeah?”
I flushed. “You saw?”
He winked. “Let’s just say… you’ve already got people talking.”
“It’s not my fault people think Okami’s giving me his attention,” I said, sharper than I meant to.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Greyson replied, his tone even. “Just… be on your guard.”
We came to a stop in front of a thick oak door. He knocked twice, and it opened almost immediately. The girl standing there had sleek black hair that fell like a sheet down her back. Her almond-shaped eyes took me in with a single, sharp glance—calculated, assessing. She had the kind of poise that made it instantly clear: she was not to be underestimated.
“This is Piper,” Greyson said, tilting his head toward me.
“The Sunflower Widow,” a redhead muttered from inside.
“Her name is Piper, cadet,” Greyson snapped, the edge in his voice silencing any further commentary.
He gestured to each of them as he introduced them. The redhead—Willow—had fiery hair and freckles scattered across her nose. There was a wicked gleam in her eyes that made me wary. The third girl, tall and athletic, gave me a firm nod. Her skin was the warm color of honey, and her braids were neat and tightly pulled back. “Kira,” she said simply, extending a hand. Her grip was firm. Confident.
“Mei,” the black-haired girl said, still watching me like she hadn’t decided whether to welcome or interrogate me. “We’ve been expecting you.”
Greyson stepped back toward the door. “One more thing before I go,” he said, his toothpick now tucked behind his ear. That alone told me he was being serious. “You’ll be assigned a unit after dinner. Those in the same unit can’t kill each other.”
I glanced at the girls again. “So… trust them?”
“Hell no,” Greyson said, fixing me with a rare look of authority. “Trust no one, Petal. Don’t forget it.”
And with that, he left me standing alone at the threshold of my new life.
There was a brief silence after the door clicked shut behind him. I hovered awkwardly, unsure if I should step in or wait to be invited.
Mei finally broke the tension. “Welcome, Piper.” Her voice had a clipped accent, refined and smooth. “We heard you were coming. Must’ve been quite the ordeal out there.”
There was a note of respect in her voice—not warmth, but recognition. I nodded, unsure how much to say.
Willow leaned back on one elbow, grinning. “We were taking bets on whether you’d show up at all. I just won five credits.” She winked. “Everyone thought you were dead.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint,” I muttered, cracking the faintest smile.
Kira gave me a small nod. “Glad you’re okay. The academy’s brutal, but in here, we look out for each other.”
I didn’t respond right away. My eyes wandered to the room itself—four beds arranged in a loose square, each one personalized with blankets, trinkets, or posters from home. It felt… lived-in. Safe, almost.
But Greyson’s words echoed like a bell in the back of my mind: Trust no one.
I’d survived the mountain. I’d faced shadows and betrayal, nearly died at the edge of a cliff. And now I was here, in a dorm with three strangers and a target on my back.
I couldn’t afford to get comfortable. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
The game had started. And I was done playing nice.
Mei tilted her head at me, a curious glint in her eyes. “So… what’s your relationship with Greyson? He’s cute.”
I let out a soft laugh and shrugged. “He’s cute, and he knows it.”
It was easier to keep things light, to pretend we were just four girls talking about boys instead of dancing on the edge of death every day.
Willow, who’d been unusually quiet until now, let out a wistful sigh. “I heard Okami was your sensei at the GenAck. How was he?”
I rolled my eyes. “The same way he is now. An ass.”
Kira chuckled, leaning back on her elbows with a wicked grin. “Yeah, but what an ass.” She shrugged unapologetically. “What? Like you guys weren’t thinking the same thing.”
I couldn’t help but smile, but the mood shifted fast when Mei leaned forward, her voice low and serious. “We heard Russell killed you. How did you survive?”
I hesitated, the weight of the memory pressing against my chest. “Russell thought I was dead and left,” I said quietly. “I wasn’t. I survived.”
Willow’s expression turned grim. “Yeah, well… Okami made sure to let him have it.” She sat up straighter. “He never challenges anyone in the WarRing. But the second your name hit the Death Scroll, he challenged Russell. No hesitation. Russell didn’t stand a chance.”
My stomach twisted. I hadn’t known that part.
“It wasn’t just Russell, though… was it?” Kira asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
I shook my head, the lump in my throat hard to swallow. “Two guys and a girl. I didn’t see their faces. But I heard them.”
Mei’s jaw clenched, and she exchanged a glance with the others. “Luca, Cody, and Liv,” she said. The names landed like a stone in the room, and no one spoke for a moment.
Then Mei pushed off the wall, brushing the moment aside like dust. “Whatever. You’re here. That’s what counts. And since you missed orientation, you’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
She crossed the room with purpose. “First, there are four Houses. You’re in House Vireo—our house. We’re the strategists. The planners. We win before the battle starts.”
Willow chimed in, flopping back on her bed with a dreamy smile. “Then there’s House Seraph. They’re the flyers—graceful, fast, lethal in the air. They’re the favorites when it comes to showy victories.”
Kira cracked her knuckles and smirked. “House Titan’s the muscle. Brute force, no finesse. But they win most of the time just by overpowering everyone. Guess where Russell, Cody, Luca, and Liv landed?”
I didn’t need to guess.
“And last,” Mei added, her voice dipping, “there’s House Shadow. Stealth. Espionage. Disappear before you even realize you’re dead. That’s where Okami was when he was an initiate.”
I glanced toward the window, the chill of that memory brushing against me like a ghost. I could picture him there—just as ruthless, just as unreadable.
“The Houses compete like their lives depend on it,” Willow added. “Because sometimes they do. Everyone wants to have the most cadets by the time The Selection happens.”
“What’s The Selection?” I asked, already dreading the answer.
“It’s four months from now,” Kira said. “They divide us into squads. Once you’re in one, your own squad can’t kill you anymore.”
“But until then?” Mei said, arching a brow.
“Everyone’s fair game,” Willow finished, voice flat.
The silence that followed said more than words ever could. I wasn’t just catching up—I was already behind. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t win.
Kira nodded, her expression serious. “It’s not just about numbers. It’s about showing which House is the strongest, the smartest. Every duel, every challenge—it all adds up before The Selection.”
“The Selection?” I asked, heart thudding a little harder. The way they spoke about it made it sound like judgment day.
Mei leaned in, folding her arms on her knees. “The Selection is when captains choose their squads for the year. It determines everything—your training track, your mission assignments, and your future after the academy. If you’re not picked… you’re forgotten.”
“If the captains are smart,” Willow jumped in, twirling a strand of her red hair, “they try to build a balanced squad—one person from each House. It covers all the skill sets.”
“But some captains go for loyalty over balance,” Kira said. “They’ll stack their squads with their Housemates—more cohesion, less chance of someone turning on you mid-mission.”
That thought settled uncomfortably in my chest. “What happens if you’re not… Selected?”
The room went still.
Mei exhaled slowly. “You get put in the reserve pool. You still train, still attend classes, but you don’t go on real missions. You don’t have a squad. You’re basically marked as second-rate—someone who wasn’t good enough to be chosen.”
Her words landed like lead. Second-rate. Invisible. Disposable.
The idea of being sidelined after everything I’d survived made my skin crawl.
Willow shot me a grin, trying to lift the weight of the conversation. “So basically? Kick ass and don’t die. Easy, right?”
Mei rolled her eyes, but I caught the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.
Kira stood, brushing her hands off on her pants. “Come on. I’ll show you around. The last thing you want is to be lost and alone out there. Like we said—killing’s allowed until the Selection. Don’t make it easy for them.”
I nodded and stood, following her toward the door. As terrifying as it was, I couldn’t let fear win. Not now. Not here.
Seven
Kira led me out of the dormitory with the kind of confident, no-nonsense stride that came from knowing exactly where you belonged. I trailed just behind her, trying to absorb everything—the way the academy pulsed with life, how the sounds of clashing swords and shouted commands filled the air like music in a warzone.
Our first stop was the training fields.
They were massive.
The space stretched so far it felt like the earth just opened up and dedicated itself to breaking cadets in every way possible. Obstacle courses, sparring rings, agility pits, target ranges—it was all here. Organized chaos. Cadets darted across wooden beams, scaled ropes, leapt over fire pits, and slammed into each other in hand-to-hand combat that looked less like training and more like survival.
“This is where you’ll spend most of your mornings,” Kira said, nodding toward a sparring ring where two students were locked in a vicious duel. “It doesn’t matter what House you’re in—everyone bleeds here.”
I watched as one of the cadets landed a spinning kick that knocked the other flat on their back. No one rushed to help them up.
“Strength, endurance, reflexes,” Kira continued. “They’ll push you until you break, then rebuild you stronger. If you’re lucky.”
She guided me past a group of cadets practicing archery—every arrow flying with deadly precision. Nearby, another group scaled a vertical wall slicked with rainwater, fingers slipping, muscles straining. Everything here was meant to break you down and test what you had left afterward.
I could already feel my body aching in anticipation.
From there, we headed toward the academic building. It was impossible to miss—tall, elegant, almost out-of-place amid the brutality of the training grounds. Stone columns framed the entrance, carved with scenes of long-dead heroes frozen mid-battle. The kind of building that made you feel like your test scores mattered as much as your kill count.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted instantly. It was cooler, quieter—like the air itself knew to keep its voice down.
