--
The morning began with the scent of burning wood and a sky tinged with gold.
Keith stood in formation with dozens of trainees, facing the southern practice field. Their instructor, a burly man named Garreth, barked commands with the sharpness of a blade.
"Footwork drills—twenty repetitions. Go!"
Boots thudded into the ground in rhythmic motion as students moved in unison, stepping, pivoting, sweeping. Keith followed without complaint. He was used to being the quiet one at the edge. But today, something was different.
He noticed that Ethan, usually relaxed and joking, had gone silent. His movements were sharper, tighter.
After the drill, Keith approached him. "You okay?"
Ethan nodded but didn't meet his gaze. "Yeah… just didn't sleep much."
Keith didn't press. Everyone here had their ghosts. Dreams weren't always dreams in the training center.
---
Later, in the lecture hall...
Today's class was taught by Mistress Sera herself. She rarely took over theory sessions, so the room buzzed with hushed excitement.
She stood before the chalkboard in her dark crimson coat, arms folded, eyes scanning the room.
"Today," she began, "we speak of the Creed. The foundation of every Demon Hunter."
Silence fell immediately.
"You are not soldiers. You are guardians. You are not gods. You are protectors. You don't fight because you hate demons. You fight because the world needs someone who can."
She began writing on the board, listing the nine ranks of warriors and matching them with the demon equivalents. She didn't go into detail—especially not about the higher levels—but just seeing them laid out made some students lean forward in awe, others in fear.
Keith stared at the words.
Novice. Adept. Elite. Master. Grandmaster. Archon. Abyss. Primordial.
He memorized them.
"These ranks are not trophies," Mistress Sera continued. "They are burdens. Each step up means fewer you can rely on. And more who rely on you."
She turned to face them fully. "Your journey begins at Novice. But how far you go… that depends on more than power."
She let that hang in the air before nodding once. "Class dismissed."
---
After class…
Outside the hall, Mira caught up with Selene, holding a small leather-bound book to her chest.
"You're going to want to read this," she said quietly.
Selene raised a brow. "What is it?"
"A bestiary. It talks about demons. Real accounts—unfiltered. Not the official stuff."
Selene hesitated, then took the book and tucked it into her coat. "Thanks."
She didn't say it aloud, but her heart beat a little faster. She wanted to know. She needed to understand what was out there—what they were really training for.
---
Meanwhile, at the forge…
Down in the northern wing, a group of trainees watched a weaponsmith demonstrate the differences between blade types. On the wall behind him hung several examples: rusty, chipped swords labeled Mundane, lightly glowing blades tagged Enchanted, and a locked case holding something darker—etched with crimson runes.
"This," the smith said, tapping the case, "is a Cursed Relic. You don't use this unless you have a death wish. But it will cut through nearly anything… for a price."
One boy raised a hand. "Sir, have you ever seen one used in real combat?"
The smith chuckled darkly. "I used one once. Lost two fingers and half my soul. But hey—kept the rest of me alive."
Laughter echoed among the group. But Keith, standing near the back, didn't laugh. He was staring at the weapon.
It was beautiful.
And terrifying.
He wondered what kind of person wielded something like that. What kind of life they had to live.
---
Nightfall…
Another day ended. Keith stood by the edge of the training grounds, watching the lanterns flicker in the distance. The forest beyond the walls was quiet—but not dead. Just waiting.
Selene appeared beside him, silent for a while before speaking. "Do you ever wonder what it's going to take?"
He glanced at her. "To awaken?"
She nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "All the time."
They stood together under the stars. No answers. Just thoughts.
Far in the distance, thunder rumbled.
---