Morning.

The Academy courtyard basked in golden light, the air crisp with the aftermath of rain. Birds darted between branches, their songs bright and careless. Students moved through drills—fists clashing, Essentia flaring—as if last night’s horrors had never happened.

But everything wasn’t fine.

A hush rippled through the field as one student hesitated mid-strike, their gaze dragged unwillingly toward the shadows at the edge of the training grounds.

Towan sat there.

Not meditating. Not resting.

Just watching.

His posture was too still, his eyes too dark, his presence too heavy for the dawn’s fragile peace. The sunlight didn’t touch him quite right—bending around his edges, as if repelled by whatever lurked beneath his skin.

No one spoke to him.

No one even looked at him for too long.

They all felt it—the wrongness, the quiet threat of something wearing their classmate’s face.

So they trained.

They laughed.

They pretended.

And Towan watched.

Waiting.

Haeren shuffled forward, his chainsscraping against the cobblestoneslike a dying man’s breath.

The Kingdom Knightsflanked him, their armorunyielding, their gazespitiless.

He wasunrecognizable.

His once-proud framehad collapsed in on itself, muscleswithered, shouldershunchedas if crushed by invisible weight. His skinclung too tightly to his bones, pale asmoon-bleached parchment, veinsstanding out like old ink.

They hadn’t just arrested him.

They’dhollowed him.

A husk.

Awarning.

Professorslined the courtyard, their expressionsa mosaic of disgust and grim satisfaction.

Kaerin’s lipsthinned."I can’t believe the Circle got a hold of one of our students,"she muttered, voicelaced with venom.

Beside her, Khalvardidn’t blink.His gazetracked Haeren’s stumbling steps, the way his wriststwitched against the manacles, as if stillcraving the Corruption’s kiss.

"A pity,"Khalvar said, tonedry as tomb dust."Especially since we were working on implementing weapons."

A beat.

The unspoken truthhung between them, rancid and ripe:

This is why we never should have tried.

Haeren’s headlolled, his chinbumping against his chest.

The Knightsyanked him forward.

And just like that—

He was gone.

"Yeah—when Ryn and I caught that dark figure, it melted into the ground,"Sylra reported, her voicerazor-sharp with frustration.Her fingerstwitchedat her sides, as if still feeling the phantomslick, oily residueof the thing’s disintegration.

"It was using Earth Essentia,"she continued, jaw tightening."But it was corrupted. Not like the wolves—more like... something wearing Essentia as a disguise."

Professor Kaelinsteepled his fingers, his expressionunreadablebeneath the shadow of his brow. Beside him, Professor Kaenscribbled notes, the scratch of his penunnaturally loudin the heavy silence.

"That doesn’t sound like your typical corrupted,"Kaelin murmured, more to herself than to them.

Kaendidn’t look upfrom his parchment."Must be the one that pushed Haeren into it,"he mused, tonedeceptively light."After all, hedidgain a ton of power overnight."

A beat.

The airthickenedwith what wentunsaid.

The professorsknew.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to NovelBin for the genuine story.

They’d known about the dorm takeover. They’dlet it happen, monitoring from afar, ready to step inonly if it escalated beyond control.

They’d even beenprepared to listen—to negotiate, to placate, to offerjust enough concessionto quell the unrest.

But they hadn’tacted.

Hadn’tintervened.

And in thatcalculated hesitation, in theircold, clinical distance—

They’d handed Haeren to the Corruption on a silver platter.

Three days.

That’s how long the Academyshuttered its halls—ostensibly to"assess damages", to"repair broken walls", to"ensure student safety."

A farce.

Everyone knew the real reason.

They needed time toscrub the bloodstains from the cobblestones.Topurge the lingering stench of Corruptionfrom the air. Todecide how to punish the guiltywithout admitting their own complicity.

And punish they did.

The students who’d joined Haeren’s uprisingweren’t expelled.No, that would’ve beentoo merciful.

Instead, their midterm scoreswere slashed—a40% reduction, no exceptions. A100became a60. Abare passbecame afailing grade.

"Unfair?"Professor Kaen had said, his voicedripping with false sympathyduring the announcement."Perhaps. But fairness is a privilege earned through obedience."

The punisheddidn’t complain.

Not aloud, at least.

But in the shadows of the repaired dorms, in thehushed conversations over stolen meals, in thewhite-knuckled grips on practice weapons—

Resentment festered.

And the Academy,so proud of its control, failed to notice the most dangerous lesson it had taught:

Oppression breeds sharper revolutionaries.

Sylra shouldered open the infirmary door, the scent ofantiseptic and dried bloodhitting her like a wall. Beside her, Elliotlingered in the threshold, his usual lightning-crack energydulled to an exhausted hum.

The room wastoo bright, the white sheetstoo sterileagainst themottled bruises and angry red woundsof its occupants.

Len, Rellie, and Aliralay sprawled across the beds, their bodiesswathed in enough bandages to mimic mummies.Only their facespeeked out—pale, drawn, butalive.

"How are you guys feeling?"Sylra asked, her voicerougher than she intended.

A beat.

Then—

Alirathrust a bandaged thumb skyward, the motionjerky but deliberate.A grinsplit her cracked lips, all defiance anddoped-up bravado.

"Great as ever,"she croaked, the wordssandpaper-roughbutdripping with her usual swagger.

Lensnorted, then immediatelywincedas the movement tugged at her stitches. Rellie justrolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouthtwitched upward.

It was a lie, of course.

They werebroken, battered, barely stitched together.

But in that moment, with Sylra’s wind-tousled haircasting a familiar shadowacross the floor and Elliot’ssilent, steady presenceat the door—

It almostfelt true.

Two beds over, Calo and Veik lay unconscious.

Their bandageswere fewer but no less stark, their injuriescleaner, more precise—the kind inflicted by claws and Corruption.

Victims of crossfire.

The phrasetasted bitterin Sylra’s mouth.

Around them, the infirmarybuzzed with muted activity—studentspropped up on elbowsto sip tonics, othersmuttering in hushed tonesas healers wove sutures through torn flesh. Some had fought the wolves. Others had beencaught in the takeover’s chaos.

But nonebore wounds as deepas the ones wrapped around Len’s ribs, or thejagged burnspeeking from beneath Alira’s gauze.

None haddanced so close to the abyss.

A healerbrushed past, her handsglowing faintly greenas she checked Calo’s pulse.

He didn’t stir.

Veik’s fingerstwitched, as if chasing something in a dream.

For a moment, Sylralet herself imagineit was all just a nightmare—that they’d wake uplaughing, that the bandages wouldunravel to reveal unbroken skin.

Then Elliotshifted beside her, his shoulderbumping hers lightly—

—and the fantasyshattered.

This was real.

And the cost?

Still being tallied.

"Tomorrow we resume classes."

Elliot’s voice wasflat, stripped of its usual sharp edges. He didn’t glance at the others—Len’slabored breathing, Alira’sdoped-up grin, theunconscious weightof Calo and Veik.

They all knew what he meant:

You and I are the only ones left standing.

Sylra’s fingerstwitched toward her dagger, a habit now morecomfortthan caution."Yeah… wait."She hesitated, the wordscoiling tight in her throatbefore escaping."What do we do with…that?"

A pause.

That.

NotTowan.

Nothim.

Just—

That.

The thing thatwore their friend’s face, thatmoved with his reflexes, thatspoke in his voicebut carriednone of his fire.

Elliot’s jawclenched, a muscle feathering along his temple. For a heartbeat, Sylra thought he mightsnap—might unleash the lightningbuzzing beneath his skinjust to fill the silence.

But when he finally spoke, it wasquieter than she’d ever heard him:

"We don’t do anything."

A beat.

"Not until we understandwhatit is."

And there, in thespace between words, hung the truth neither dared voice:

Or if we can even get him back.

Rellie’s gaze lingered on the training grounds through the infirmary window, her fingerscurling weakly into the sheets.

Out there,still as a statue, stoodTowan—if that name even fit anymore.

The boy who’d onceradiated warmth like a bonfire, whose presence had been anopen invitation—come laugh, come spar, come be part of this—now carried an aura sohollowit made her ribs ache.

Shecouldn’t recognize him.

Not in theemptinessof his posture.

Not in thevoid-dark stillnessof his eyes.

His intent—oncebright, welcoming, unmistakable—was now just...

Nothing.

Like a house with its lights snuffed out.

Like agravestone with no epitaph.

Rellie’s empathyrecoiled, not from pain, but fromabsence.Where there should have beensomething—anger, grief, even madness—there was onlya yawning chasm.

What happened to you?

The questionwithered unspokenin her throat.

Because the truth was worse:

Whatever had hollowed him out...

It hadn’t left enough behind to even mourn.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by lotustale.com