The dorm was silent when the overhead speaker crackled to life. A faint static buzz came first before a calm voice echoed through the halls.
"All recruits, return to the open grounds tomorrow morning for finalization and briefing. Attendance is mandatory."
The announcement faded just as quickly as it arrived, leaving only the quiet hum of the ceiling fan and the lingering heaviness in my chest.
Tomorrow morning. back to the open grounds. Back to the place close where I made my first kill.
I sat on the edge of the futon, fingers curling into the sheets without meaning to. My hands were clean now, washed over and over until my skin stung, yet the memory of the weight, the warmth, and the resistance still clung to my bones.
I tried to steady my breathing, but my chest felt tight, as if something inside me had not settled properly after today. Maybe it never would.
Training. Briefing. Finalization.
I knew these were steps I had to take. Necessary parts of becoming a riftborn. Necessary for survival.
But readiness… readiness was another matter entirely.
I lowered my gaze, letting the dim light of the dorm room blur at the edges.
I could not really tell if I was ready to go back out there. I was not even sure if I was ready to face myself.
The moment sleep finally dragged me down, the world around me dissolved into a thick, suffocating darkness. The futon, the soft bedding, even the hum of the ceiling fan all vanished as if snatched away.
I felt cold first, an icy draft crawling up my spine. Not a breeze, but something breathing against my neck.
And then he appeared.
The bound man knelt only a few steps in front of me, suspended in a spotlight of pale, colorless light. The chains around his limbs emitted a faint hiss, like hot metal cooling. That sound slithered across the silence and wrapped itself around my nerves.
The metal bar in his mouth clinked against his teeth with every trembling breath he forced out. Little droplets of saliva slid down the steel, hitting the invisible floor with soft, echoing taps that made my stomach twist.
His eyes lifted.
Not slowly. Not gently. They snapped up, like a puppet pulled by violent strings.
Those eyes, glassy, red-rimmed, swollen, darted wildly before locking onto me. A tiny whimper escaped him, muffled, desperate and raw.
"Hhhnn… hhnnn."
The air grew thick and humid, a warm fog pressing against my skin. My lungs fought for space, every breath shallow and shaky. The scent hit next, a mix of metal, cold sweat, and something like burned dust. It clung to the back of my throat.
I tried to step away, but the floor felt like tar. My ankles sank. My knees stiffened. My heartbeat pounded against the inside of my skull, echoing like a drum.
The sword formed in my hand again, its hilt chilling my palm. My fingers locked in place, the texture of the leather grip rubbing sharply against my skin. It felt alive, throbbing with a pulse that did not belong to me.
The man jerked, the light flickering with each movement. His chains scraped the ground, sending sparks dancing like fireflies before sputtering out. His muffled cries grew frantic, louder and louder, vibrating in my chest until it felt like my ribs might crack from the pressure.
Then, suddenly, his body lunged forward.
Not fully, just his upper half, snapping toward me with an unnatural stiffness. The metal bar rattled violently. His breath hit my face, hot and sharp, carrying the smell of fear and exhaustion.
And then his voice broke free.
Clear. Impossible. As if the binds had never existed.
"You… killed me."
The shadows behind him surged, swallowing the light. The ground trembled. My grip tightened painfully without my control. His form flickered, kneeling one second and inches from me the next.
His tears glistened, suspended mid-fall before sliding down his cheeks in slow motion. I could feel the weight of each drop. Hear them hit the ground.
"You killed me."
His voice echoed and split, multiplying until dozens of voices layered over one another, accusing, pleading, screaming. They reverberated inside my skull, bouncing between my thoughts until I could not tell where his voice ended and mine began.
The darkness tore open beneath me.
The floor dropped. The air rushed past my ears in a deafening roar. His scream followed me down, stretching and twisting into a single, piercing cry.
I jerked awake instantly, gasping, drenched in sweat. My entire body trembled. My mouth was dry, my throat burning. The room spun slightly, and for a second I swore I still felt his breath against my face.
The nightmare clung to me, refusing to fade.
I took deep breaths, slow and shaky, trying to force my heartbeat to settle. My hands fumbled for the light switch, and when the dorm lights flicked on, the sudden brightness stabbed at my eyes.
Ha… ha… ha…
I pressed my palm to my chest. It still felt tight. My breathing sounded too loud in the quiet room, echoing off the wooden walls and polished floor.
I turned toward the small digital clock on the table.
5:00 am.
Only one hour before the announcement earlier told us to gather. One hour, and I had already woken feeling as if I had lived through a lifetime's worth of fear.
I looked down at myself.
My top was drenched, clinging cold and wet against my skin. The sweat had soaked through the fabric completely. I could feel it sticking unpleasantly to my back, my chest, even the crook of my elbows.
I grimaced.
"I should take a shower…" I whispered to myself.
My voice sounded weak, almost hoarse. Maybe from the nightmare. Maybe from all the screaming I had heard inside my own head.
I pushed myself off the futon. My legs felt heavier than usual, almost shaky. The floor was cool under my feet, grounding me just enough to move.
I grabbed a towel from the dresser, the fabric soft against my fingers, and headed toward the washroom. The hallway was silent at this hour, only the faint vibration of other dorm units humming behind their walls.
As I opened the bathroom door, the warm mist from last night's bath still seemed to cling faintly in the air, mixing with the scent of soap and clean stone.
I let the water run, steam filling the small space as I waited for it to warm. The sound alone calmed me a little.
Anything to wash away the cold sweat. Anything to drown the lingering echoes of that dream.
The water pooled around my feet before spiraling into the drain, its steady rush echoing faintly against the tiled walls. I stood under the showerhead, letting the warmth soak into my skin. It rolled down my arms in slow, uneven streams, tracing the places where my muscles still twitched from exhaustion.
I lifted my gaze toward the mirror across the small bathroom. Its surface was fogged, with only a thin, trembling outline of my reflection visible. As I wiped a hand across it, the glass felt cool against my still-warm fingertips. My own face stared back, pale and strained, and those red eyes… they gleamed like fresh cuts in the hazy reflection.
A faint metallic scent clung to me, stubborn even under the soap. My chest tightened as memories flickered, sharp as broken glass. The warmth of the water could not wash those away.
The air smelled faintly of damp towels and the citrus shampoo left on the sink. Steam curled around my shoulders, clinging to my skin like a thin blanket. For a brief second, the heat loosened something inside me, easing the ache threaded through my limbs.
I rested my forehead against the wall. The tiles were cold enough to make me shiver, a small reminder that the world outside the shower was still waiting, indifferent to whatever storm churned in my head.
I inhaled slowly. The steam filled my lungs, warm and heavy.
I needed to move. I needed to breathe. But for a fleeting moment, standing there between the cold tile and the warm water, I allowed myself to just exist, still, suspended, and barely holding together.
I wore the guild's suit and stepped out of the dorm, the fabric still stiff against my skin. The hallway lights buzzed faintly overhead as I walked, and the floor was cold under my boots. A few recruits were making their way toward the exit with luggage in hand, their faces hollow and drained. They moved without speaking, as if words might shatter whatever thin resolve they had left.
Were they allowed to leave? No one said anything about dismissals, but after what happened yesterday, it felt as if half of us had reached the limit of what the mind could endure. Maybe the instructors understood that some would break. Maybe the guild expected it.
I pushed open the door at the end of the corridor. The morning air rushed in immediately, hitting my face with a sharp cold that made my breath hitch. A thin veil of fog hung over the grounds, curling around the buildings and drifting low across the stone paths. I pulled in a breath and felt the sting settle deep in my lungs.
As I crossed the open grounds, the emptiness became painfully clear. Yesterday the field was crowded with recruits, packed shoulder to shoulder. Today the space felt wider, thinner, like the guild had swallowed the missing bodies overnight and left only silence in their place.
The remaining recruits stood scattered, some rubbing their hands together, others staring blankly at the ground. Their eyes told the same story. No one slept well. No one came here unchanged.
Garrenya stood on the podium at the front, her posture rigid and controlled. Her expression gave nothing away, but her gaze swept across the recruits with sharp precision, as if counting who survived the night. She waited for everyone to gather, expecting silence and discipline long before she spoke.
I took my place among the others, the cold wind brushing the edge of my collar. The morning felt too still, too heavy, as if the grounds themselves were holding their breath for whatever came next.