Senko hadn't slept—not since the beast, not since the whispers started, and definitely not since the encounter at the pond. His mind had been pulled into a dark place that still clung to him, whispering fragments of a voice he didn't recognize, a power he didn't understand. He rubbed at his purple eye as he approached the academy gates, his fingers trembling.
His sword clanged softly against his back with each step. He didn't remember strapping it on that morning. Maybe he hadn't taken it off at all.
The halls were filled with morning chatter, students moving between classes, laughing, sparring, sharing breakfast. Senko didn't say a word to anyone. He met Leon briefly by the stairs, but when Leon asked how he was holding up, Senko just nodded and gave a vague "fine." He couldn't bring himself to talk about what happened at the pond. Not yet.
He made his way through the corridors, eventually arriving at Headmaster Zeph's office. The old man was leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled in thought.
"You're hearing whispers now?" Zeph asked after Senko explained some of it—just enough.
"Yeah," Senko replied. "Ever since the fight… and especially last night."
Zeph looked at him carefully. "Keep your head steady. The academy walls are old. Things cling to people sometimes. Focus on your training."
It didn't feel like something that just clung. It felt like something trying to wake up.
When Senko stepped into the White Fang training arena, he found Hornstein already standing at the center, his massive blue-robed frame as commanding as ever. His purple eyes locked on Senko the moment he entered, but he said nothing yet.
Students stood in organized rows. Today's session was serious—more than a few students whispered excitedly about it being the Hora initiation lesson. The C-ranks stood separate, already glowing with their orange auras.
"Today," Hornstein began, pacing slowly before them, "you will learn the first breath of power. Hora is not magic. It is not luck. It is will, shaped and honed into strength. Stabilized Hora begins with control of your breath, your posture, and your purpose."
He raised a hand, motioning to the three C-rank students.
"Observe."
The first student stepped forward. He exhaled slowly and a faint orange light began to flicker around his chest. He sank into a low stance—left foot forward, right foot back—and extended his palms. With each controlled movement, the aura shimmered like fire. He lunged forward with a snap of his wrist, sending a wave of energy through the air.
The second student took her place, her breathing sharp and rhythmic. As the orange aura bloomed around her, she moved with sweeping arcs, twisting her body and slashing through the air in a slow but deadly dance. Her legs pivoted, her arms slicing in tandem with her steps. Each motion felt like it could be part of a blade form.
The third was more direct. He tightened his fists, his aura flickering violently before stabilizing. He stepped forward and struck a training dummy with a single punch, splitting the wood clean in two.
"Hora reflects the warrior," Hornstein said. "But if you don't master it, it reflects nothing but chaos."
Senko stood near the back, trying to focus. His eye throbbed again. The itch behind it hadn't gone away since the pond. He couldn't even look at the dummies without thinking of what he saw there—of that place, and that voice.
Luong passed by, arms crossed.
"You look worse than usual," he muttered. "Did the whispers tell you to stay in bed today?"
Senko didn't respond. He didn't have the energy to argue.
Hornstein clapped once, loudly.
"Now, all of you. Assume stance. Draw breath from the pit of your stomach. Visualize the aura wrapping around your limbs, flowing out from your core."
The students moved into formation. Senko mimicked the others, trying to breathe through the rising storm in his head. He lowered into a stance: knees bent, back straight, fists loosely raised. He could feel something trying to rise—but it wasn't orange. It was deeper. Wilder.
He started to breathe slowly, but then—
"Trying not to faint back there?" a voice said lightly.
Senko turned. It was Korra Jafar, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. Her silver-threaded uniform marked her as one of the Dark Crimsons. Her eyes flicked across him, sizing him up.
"You're the boy who refused to kneel, right?" she said. "Or should I say 'purple-eye dude'?"
Senko tried not to freeze. She was even more striking up close. He cleared his throat.
"Senko," he muttered. "My name's Senko."
Korra raised an eyebrow. "Hmm. That sounds like a real name. Shame, I was getting used to the mystery."
He couldn't help the heat rising to his face. For a moment, he forgot about the demon, the whispers, the pain. But the second he looked away, the pressure returned.
Hornstein called out again. "Begin! Execute the first sequence!"
The class moved as one.
They stepped forward—right foot extended, left arm slashing across the body, palms open. The aura flickered faintly for some, bright for others. They rotated their hips, followed with a punch, then a downward slice. Defensive postures followed—blocking motions with raised elbows and angled steps.
Senko followed suit, but halfway through the movement, something flared in his eye. Not pain—power. He froze.
A burst of energy radiated from his hand. For a brief second, it wasn't orange—it was purple, jagged, unstable.
He jerked his hand back and clenched it behind his back, looking around quickly. No one seemed to notice—yet.
Hornstein approached him slowly. "You're trembling. Control yourself. Hora listens to the body."
Senko nodded quickly, forcing the energy down. "Yes, sir."
Hornstein studied him for a second longer than necessary, then walked off. Senko let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
The rest of the class continued. The students stepped through defensive formations—rotating on their heels, arms raised in crossing guards. Aura rippled with each movement, the dance of beginning warriors slowly taking shape.
Senko's limbs felt heavy, his thoughts louder than ever.
"You are slipping," the whisper came again.
"You're not like them."
"You're more."
He gritted his teeth. This wasn't like the training with Master Keen. This was… different. Raw. And something inside him was straining to burst through.
After the session, Korra approached him again, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"Hey," she said casually. "Your form's not bad. A little shaky, but it has potential."
"Thanks," he said, not sure what else to say.
"You looked like you were holding something back," she added, peering at him curiously. "Like there's more to you."
Senko glanced at her, then looked away. "I don't know what you mean."
She smirked. "Sure you don't."
Luong passed by again, shooting a glare at Senko. "Don't let the royal types distract you, freak."
Senko didn't even react. His thoughts were elsewhere. That energy—it wanted out. He turned to grab his bag and nearly doubled over as a sharp pulse surged through his skull.
And then—his vision split.
For a fraction of a second, he wasn't in the training hall anymore.
He was back in that void.
Dark water. Cracked skies. And standing across from him again… was Itami.
"You're slipping again," Itami said, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Soon, they'll all see what you really are."
Senko stumbled back in both mind and body, gasping. The classroom blurred as his knees nearly buckled.
Hornstein's voice rang out, distant now. "Senko. You're dismissed. Go get some rest."
But Senko couldn't move.
Because behind his vision, in that cursed place…
Itami smiled.
To be continued…