The next morning brought a cool fog that cloaked the academy, but Skylar was already awake, prepared for whatever trial awaited her. Her body protested every movement from the previous day's training, but she had no time for self-pity. She knew Damian wouldn't go any easier on her just because she was in pain.
Her mentor was already waiting at the training grounds, sitting on a wooden bench, arms crossed, wearing his usual expression of indifference.
"You didn't die yesterday," Damian noted as he stood. "Maybe there's something in you after all."
Skylar took a deep breath and caught sight of the other students watching them from the corner of her eye. She didn't want to look weak—especially not in front of Damian.
"What's on the schedule today?" she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
"Endurance," he replied. "I saw you struggle yesterday. But battle isn't just about punches and swings. If you lack stamina, you're worthless in a real fight. And you…" He glanced at her briefly. "You still look pretty weak."
Skylar pressed her lips together but didn't respond. Damian always spoke to her like she was a mistake, and every time it made her burn inside. But losing her temper now would only prove him right.
"Ten laps around the academy. Then weapons training. If you collapse halfway, bringing you here was a waste of everyone's time," he added, turning without waiting for a reply.
Skylar stood still for a second, forcing down the wave of frustration. Then she took a deep breath—and ran.
She wouldn't let Damian break her.
Even if each step felt heavier than the last.
—
The morning fog settled thick around the academy, as if nature itself was trying to hide Skylar's suffering. Her legs felt like lead, her chest burned with exhaustion, but she couldn't stop. The ten laps Damian had demanded now seemed like the hardest thing in the world. The gravel dug into her soles, and with every meter, her muscles screamed for rest.
Damian, as expected, stood like a stone at the edge of the training field, unmoving, watching her every step. He didn't speak, didn't encourage—but the moment she slowed, his cold voice cut through the mist:
"If that's your best pace, Dawin, you might as well quit. No one will mourn you."
Skylar clenched her jaw but said nothing. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her anger. Instead, she drew in another breath and kept running, teeth clenched.
The last lap was a blur. Every step felt like dragging a boulder uphill. When she finally finished, she collapsed to her knees, bracing herself with trembling hands, chest heaving and heart pounding like a war drum.
Damian walked over and looked down at her.
"Now the real training begins."
Skylar looked up, and in her eyes there was only pure, stubborn determination. She knew Damian wouldn't go easy on her. Everything about his presence told her he didn't see a student in front of him—just a burden that had yet to prove she belonged.
"Take your sword," Damian said, tossing a wooden practice blade at her feet. "Let's see if your body can fight while breaking down."
Skylar rose slowly. Her legs trembled, her hands were numb, but she didn't care. She bent down, picked up the sword, and tightened her grip.
"Take your stance," Damian ordered, raising his own weapon.
Skylar assumed a defensive posture and tried to focus, but the moment Damian moved toward her, her instincts screamed that this wouldn't be a simple spar. He didn't hold back. His first strike was powerful and fast—Skylar barely blocked it in time. The force of the impact made her arms tremble, and she lost her balance.
"Too weak," Damian said, sweeping to the side and knocking her off balance again. She barely remained standing before the next blow came.
This was no ordinary training. Damian was pushing her to her limits—and beyond.
Skylar tried to think. Every move Damian made showed his strength, his speed—but also his experience. If she tried to fight him head-on, she wouldn't stand a chance.
She needed a new approach.
Instead of blocking, she began dodging. She studied his movements, tried to understand his rhythm. She didn't need to defeat him—just last long enough to show she wouldn't break.
Another strike came, and this time, Skylar stepped back just in time. The blade whooshed past her. Damian's brow lifted slightly.
"Finally," he muttered. "You're learning."
Skylar didn't reply. She poured everything she had into surviving. Blow after blow came. Some landed—but she didn't fall. With each movement, she was learning, adapting, getting faster.
But eventually, her body gave out. One misstep was all it took—Damian swept her leg, and she hit the ground hard. Her sword flew from her grip and clattered in the sand.
She lay on her back, gasping, completely spent. The world tilted around her.
Damian stood over her, lowering his weapon. He stared at her for a long moment, then sighed and stepped back.
"You didn't die. That's something."
Skylar turned onto her side and slowly pushed herself up. She didn't have the strength to answer—but her eyes made one thing clear:
This was only the beginning.
Damian slung his sword over his shoulder and stepped away. "We start again tomorrow. Rest while you still can."
Skylar gave a slow nod. She knew tomorrow would be harder. But if there was one thing she was sure of—
She wouldn't back down.
No matter how hard it got—she was going to see this through.
—
The pale light of the moon cast eerie shadows on the academy's stone walls as the wind howled louder through the mountains. Skylar sat alone in her room, still feeling the aches of the day. Training was getting harder with each passing day, and though she never showed it, the exhaustion was catching up to her.
A sharp knock shattered her thoughts. The door burst open, and a boy rushed in, breathless. It was Lucas—the earth mage she'd barely spoken to until now.
"Skylar!" he panted. "Come quick! Something's happened!"
Skylar jumped to her feet and followed Lucas to the academy's inner courtyard. Students were gathering, confused murmurs filling the air. Damian stood in the middle, his face dark and tense. At his feet lay an unconscious girl, strange, dark energies swirling around her body.
"What happened?" Skylar asked as she stepped closer.
"An attack," Damian said grimly. "But not from outside. This came from within."
The students stared at each other in shock. The academy was heavily protected—breaking in from the outside was nearly impossible. If the threat was internal… it meant there was a traitor among them.
Skylar knelt beside the girl and gently touched her wrist. It was cold—too cold. A powerful, unfamiliar magic coursed through her body.
"Who did this?" she whispered.
Damian's gaze sharpened as he scanned the crowd. "That's what we need to find out. Someone within the academy is using dark forces."
The air seemed to freeze. Skylar felt it in her bones—this wasn't a simple incident. It was the beginning of something far bigger. Something far more dangerous.
—
Tension wrapped around the academy like a tightening rope. News of the attack spread quickly, and students whispered about the incident in hushed, urgent tones. What had once seemed like a safe place now felt shadowed by an unseen threat. Skylar stood in a dim corner of the hall, quietly observing. Everyone was tense. Eyes darted from face to face. Some students looked calm—too calm. Others fidgeted nervously.
Damian stood in the center of the hall like a stone statue. The light and shadows carved his features into something almost inhuman—sharp, cold, and commanding. No one dared approach him. They all knew that when he finally spoke, his words would carry enough weight to shake the entire academy.
"We will interrogate every student," he announced, his voice like stone cracking ice. "No one leaves the academy grounds. Anyone who resists will be considered a suspect."
A wave of murmurs swept through the crowd. Some students stepped back, others exchanged uneasy glances. Skylar studied their faces—some were steady, others twitching. The smallest movements told more than words ever could. Suspicion cast a shadow over everyone, and no one knew when or where the danger would strike again.
"And what about you, Silverman?" came a deep, challenging voice from the crowd. It was Nathaniel—one of the academy's top students, known for his cool composure and unmatched sword skills. But now, something else burned in his eyes—distrust.
"Will you be questioned too?" he asked. "Or do you think you're above all this?"
Damian's expression tightened for a split second, then that icy calm returned to his features.
"If necessary, yes—I'll be questioned," he replied coolly. "But now is not the time for useless doubt. The only thing that matters is finding out who's behind this."
As Skylar watched, a realization settled over her—this wasn't just a random attack. It had been planned. Executed with precision. And someone on the inside had helped.
Who had something to gain from unleashing chaos in the academy? And why?
The students slowly began to disperse, but the tension remained. Trust had cracked, and suspicion hung in the air like a storm about to break. Skylar knew the darkness hadn't just touched the victim—it had begun to seep into everyone's minds. The traitor was among them.
And if they didn't find them soon… the next victim might not be so lucky.