The classroom door closes behind me with a soft thud, but I can still feel the lingering connection, the shadow bridge now established between the three of us. Something fundamental has shifted today—not just in my understanding of the bonds I’m forming, but in how those bonds might function together rather than in opposition.
As I walk through Greyson’s darkening corridors, my footsteps echoing off stone walls, my shadows seem more settled than before. They flow around my feet with purpose, as if satisfied with the communication they facilitated. Whatever roles Bael and Constantine ultimately play in the prophecy and in my life, my shadows have established their own connections to both—connections that transcend words and perhaps even my conscious will.
The crimson ascendant, the prophecy claims, will bridge divided realms. Perhaps this shadow triangle is the first step toward understanding what that really means. And maybe, just maybe, it’s the beginning of something that could change everything.
Chapter Seventeen
The great hallof Greyson Academy has been transformed overnight into something that looks like a military tribunal. Black and silver banners bearing the Hunter Organization’s emblem—a stylized sword piercing a crescent moon—hang between the usual academy standards like conquering flags. The silk rustles ominously in the drafts that perpetually flow through the ancient building. The ancient wooden tables have been rearranged to create a central aisle leading to a raised platform where the staff usually sits, and the familiar warmth of the hall has been replaced by something cold and institutional. Crystal orbs floating near the vaulted ceiling cast an unnaturally bright light over everything, eliminating the comfortable shadows that normally fill the corners. The harsh illumination makes my eyes water and leaves no place to hide.
I hover near the back of the assembled student body, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible while my stomach churns with anxiety. The air smells like tension and fear, mixed with the ozone scent of too much magical lighting. My shadows, however, have other ideas about staying hidden. They’ve been agitated since dawn, curling and uncurling around my ankles like nervous catswho sense an approaching storm. The stress of the upcoming announcement has them reacting to my anxiety despite my best efforts at control.
“Stop fidgeting,” Iris whispers beside me, her voice barely audible over the murmur of hundreds of students. “You look guilty of something.”
“I’m not fidgeting,” I mutter back, trying to keep my shadows from spreading beyond the small circle around my feet. “Just... uncomfortable with all this Hunter pageantry.”
She raises an eyebrow, copper curls bouncing as she turns to look at me. “Most students are excited about the Trials. It’s the highlight of the academic year.”
Easy for her to say. As a Gifted human, Iris has nothing to fear from Hunters—she’s valuable, useful, someone they want to recruit rather than eliminate. For me, their arrival represents an existential threat. Especially after the disastrous power demonstration where my shadows displayed decidedly un-dark-Nephilim-like behavior.
A hush falls over the hall as Headmaster Blackwood takes the central position on the platform, his usually warm expression replaced with a formal solemnity that makes him look like a stranger. The silence is so complete I can hear my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
“Students of Greyson,” his voice echoes through the hall without magical amplification, carrying the weight of centuries of tradition, “it is my honor to announce the commencement of Trial season. As tradition dictates, Hunter representatives have arrived to oversee preparations for this ancient test of skill and courage.”
My shadows pulse anxiously at the word “Hunter,” momentarily stretching beyond where they should like dark fingers seeking escape. I quickly rein them in, glancing around to see if anyone noticed. Across the hall, Constantine stands with theother instructors, his amber eyes fixed on me with unmistakable concern that makes my chest tighten.
“The Trials begin in exactly one week,” Blackwood continues, each word falling like a hammer blow. “During this preparation period, our esteemed guests will observe training sessions, review student records, and select the challenges each class will face.”
Translation: Hunters will scrutinize everyone for signs of abnormality while deciding which monsters to throw us against for their entertainment.
“Please welcome High Examiner Malcolm and his distinguished team.”
The main doors swing open on cue with a sound like breaking bones, and five figures march down the central aisle with military precision that makes the very air vibrate with authority. Four wear the standard Hunter field uniform—charcoal gray tactical gear with silver insignia that gleams like weapons—but the leader sports an ornate silver coat that almost glows in the enhanced light. Their synchronized footsteps echo off the stone floors like a death march.
My breath catches as they pass closer, and I can smell them now—leather, steel, and something sharp that reminds me of blood. High Examiner Malcolm looks nothing like I expected. Rather than a battle-hardened warrior, he’s slim and elegant with silver-streaked dark hair and sharp features that suggest he might be part fae. His movements are too fluid, too graceful for someone entirely human. His eyes, however, are pure Hunter—calculating, assessing, missing nothing as they scan the assembled students like a predator selecting prey.
Those eyes pause briefly on the Light Nephilim section, acknowledging Elara and Seraphina Lightbringer with the slightest nod that speaks of familiarity. When his gaze reaches the Dark Nephilim students, something cold enters his expression,the corner of his mouth tightening almost imperceptibly with what looks like disgust.
My shadows react instinctively to the threat in that look, pressing flat against the floor as if trying to disappear completely into the ancient stone. The suppression technique Bael taught me activates without conscious thought, my shadows becoming nearly invisible beneath the harsh light.
Malcom’s gaze sweeps over me without pausing, pale eyes moving past like I’m just another unremarkable student.Small fucking victory.
After introductions and formal welcomes that feel more like veiled threats, Headmaster Blackwood dismisses us to our regular classes with the announcement that new schedules will be distributed to accommodate Trial preparations. As students file out of the great hall in nervous clusters, I try to blend with the crowd, keeping my shadows carefully neutral despite their desire to seek the darker corners of the corridors.
“Dawn.” Constantine’s voice comes from just behind me, making me jump hard enough that several students glance my way. “A word, please.”
I turn to find him in full professional mode, a Hunter-trained instructor rather than my secret training partner. His expression is carefully neutral, but there’s tension in the line of his shoulders. “Yes, Professor?”
“Your shadow control demonstration for my advanced class has been moved up. The Hunters have specifically requested to observe.” His voice is neutral, but his eyes convey a warning sharp as a blade.
Ice forms in my stomach, cold and heavy. “When?”
“Tomorrow morning. Eight a.m. sharp in the main training arena.” He holds my gaze meaningfully, and I can see the worry he’s trying to hide. “Standard demonstration only. Nothing... experimental.”
Code for: don’t let your shadows dance with my fire again, or we’re both dead.
“Understood,” I manage, trying to keep my voice steady while my world tilts sideways.
As Constantine moves away, blending back into the crowd of faculty, I notice Elara Lightbringer watching our exchange from across the corridor. Her perfect features are arranged in a smile that doesn’t reach her ice-blue eyes, and her light aura pulses with satisfaction. Before I can slip away into the mass of students, she glides over, her light pressing uncomfortably against my subdued shadows like heat from a forge.
