The rain began just after dawn, a light but steady drizzle that turned the dirt paths of the training center into slick, muddy trails. Thin mist clung low to the ground, curling around stone walls and tall trees like silent watchers. The Training Center never closed—not for weather, not for exhaustion. For the demon hunters of tomorrow, there was no such thing as rest.
Keith stood in the middle of the southern field, adjusting the drawstrings on his soaked hood as he waited for the day's exercises to begin. Around him, dozens of other trainees stretched, sparred, or stood still with arms folded to preserve heat. Some grumbled about the cold, but only in whispers. Mistress Sera's silhouette loomed above them all from the raised platform overlooking the grounds, her cloak whipping faintly in the wind.
Ethan sidled up beside Keith, his boots squelching in the wet grass. "Remind me again why we don't get to train inside like civilized people?"
Keith cracked a faint smile. "Because civilized people don't get hunted by demons."
"Fair point," Ethan muttered, then added, "Still sucks."
The morning drills were grueling. They ran laps in the mud, climbed rain-slick walls, and practiced stances with dull training weapons that slipped too easily from cold fingers. Keith, despite the aching in his arms and legs, was starting to feel more confident. He still hadn't awakened, still hadn't unlocked the energy—Soulfire—that powered most warriors, but his body was growing stronger.
He'd learned how to fall without injury, how to block an incoming strike, how to move without wasting motion. All things a Novice-ranked fighter needed to survive—though he wasn't even that yet. He was still in the Awakening Stage, unranked, powerless.
And yet, each day he trained as though his life depended on it.
Because someday, it would.
---
Later that day, inside the Records Hall…
Rain pattered against the windows of the oldest building in the training center. The Records Hall smelled of dust and parchment, with its tall shelves filled with scrolls, tomes, and aging manuscripts bound in fading leather. Most trainees came here only when assigned research tasks, but Mira had other reasons.
She moved with quiet purpose, her eyes scanning the aisles until she reached the rear section—the one near the sealed reading alcove. She pushed aside the faded curtain and found Aryn waiting at a small wooden table with a dimly lit oil lamp flickering beside him.
"You said you found something," Mira said, slipping into the seat across from him.
Aryn nodded and carefully unrolled an old parchment. The edges were torn, and the ink had faded to a rusty brown, but the writing was still legible.
"This came from the restricted archives," he said. "I wasn't supposed to take it, but… you'll want to see this."
Mira leaned forward.
"It talks about a place called the Veil Lands. Says it's beyond the mapped territories—somewhere even the Demon Hunter Association doesn't patrol regularly. The demons there don't follow the hierarchy. They're... different. Wrong."
She frowned. "Wrong how?"
"They weren't born like most demons. The scroll says they were made. By humans. Hunters, even."
Mira's blood chilled. "That's not possible."
"Is it?" Aryn looked her in the eyes. "What if the stronger a demon gets, the closer it comes to understanding human fear, pain, and cruelty? What if something—someone—twisted that into creation?"
Mira said nothing, but she didn't dismiss it either.
---
In the girls' hostel…
Selene sat on the edge of her bunk, rhythmically sharpening her dagger. The metallic sound cut through the silence of the room. The rain made the windows foggy, and the faint light from a single lantern cast long shadows.
A few beds away, Lin was sprawled across her mattress, staring up at the ceiling.
"You ever wonder if they're lying to us?" she asked.
Selene didn't pause in her work. "Who?"
"The instructors. The higher-ups. The whole Association."
Selene glanced at her, then went back to sharpening. "All the time."
Lin sat up. "So why stay?"
"Because demons are real. And someone has to kill them."
---
That night…
Keith tossed in bed, restless. The storm had passed, but the mist hadn't lifted. He sat up, listening. No voices, no footsteps—just silence and the occasional groan of old wood.
Something about the night felt off.
He slipped on his boots and cloak, stepping out of the boys' hostel and into the damp, fog-covered courtyard. The lanterns burned low, casting more shadow than light. He walked quietly toward the west end of the compound, where the forest crept close to the walls.
There, by the edge, he saw her.
A girl. Pale cloak. Standing still.
He hesitated. "Hello?" he called softly.
She didn't move.
He stepped forward. "Are you okay?"
But as he approached, the figure simply vanished. No movement. No sound. One moment there, the next—gone. The mist coiled around the empty space like a curtain falling after a show.
Keith's breath caught in his throat.
Was it a trick of the light? A dream? Or something else entirely?
He stood there a long while, waiting for a sound, a whisper, a clue. But the night gave him none.
---
The next morning…
The mist still hadn't lifted.
Trainees whispered over breakfast. Some claimed they heard bells ringing at midnight—bells that hadn't rung since the last demon attack. Others spoke of shadows moving behind trees or voices in the rain.
Mistress Sera gathered the trainees after drills, her voice sharp and cold.
"There is nothing to fear," she said. "These are old grounds, and the forest plays tricks on tired minds. Do not let paranoia control you."
But doubt had already crept in.
The whispers grew louder.
And something in the fog was listening.
---