People fear many things. The dark. Insects. Animals. The depths of the ocean. Death, hunger, sickness. But in this age, the thing people feared most could be summed up in a single word: Creatures.
Azel was staring at the table.
Whether he was looking at the maps or something else entirely was impossible to tell. Maybe neither — maybe he was simply staring at the table. His hands were folded in front of him. Nothing moved in his face.
Four people had sat down across from him. Nobody had spoken.
Raphael could hold out for another ten seconds. Maybe fifteen.
Azel raised his head.
"Do you have any idea why you were assigned to this team?"
His voice was low. He had asked the question calmly, but the question had no right answer — and if it did, neither Eren nor the others knew what it was.
Nobody answered.
Azel fixed his eyes on Orin and waited.
Orin thought for a few seconds. "The crystal chose. I'm here on the crystal's decision, sir."
"The crystal chose you. Yes — then let me rephrase the question." Azel repeated it, correcting himself. "Why did it choose you? Do you have any idea?"
Orin didn't answer. He had no answer. He shook his head.
Azel moved to Raphael. Raphael's relaxed posture had caught his attention.
Raphael shrugged. "The dark suits me, I suppose. I can't think of another reason."
Azel looked into Raphael's eyes for one second. He turned to Kayra.
It was Kayra's turn.
"As far as I understand, the crystal believed my abilities suited this team, sir."
Azel tilted his head slightly. Maybe he was approving, maybe he was simply listening.
He looked at Eren.
Eren said nothing. Azel's eyes were on him, waiting, unhurried.
"I don't have an answer, sir. I have no idea at all."
Azel rose from the table.
"An honest answer." He walked toward the window, turned his back. The city was visible below — lamps, streets, the barrier in the distance. "I think you don't realize how difficult it is to have made it this far. Two thirds of this year's exam candidates died, and from what I've heard, you fought vampire baron Agnes — impressive. There are two reasons a candidate gets selected for Shadows. The first is having a screw or two loose. The second is being exceptionally talented. Shadows is the Academy's second most prestigious team, after Lanterns — but that comes with a downside. The crystal finds very few candidates worthy of our team, so the most we've ever taken in a single year is ten. Two years ago that generation was strange and troublesome, but they were extraordinary — they're in their third year now, but you won't find them around here because they earned a few months' punishment. After that, last year was the year with the most selections — seven candidates. The second-years are up in the tower now; only they're here."
He turned.
"By the way — surviving in this team is the hardest thing in the Academy. Let me be the first one to tell you that."
Raphael opened his mouth.
"Why?" Azel seemed to have been expecting the question. "Because other divisions operate according to overlord paths. A defined power, a defined system. We're not that different — in fact our rituals grant the person they're applied to far more power than the rituals of other teams. But they carry far more risk. Except for the first ritual, of course — that one has very little risk."
He turned back to the table and picked up the deck of cards — nobody had noticed it there, sitting in the corner. He began shuffling with one hand, mechanical, out of habit. A card was visible in his grip: the Ace of Spades.
"Come. We're going."
The Silver Tower was the second-highest point in the Academy.
The highest was the apex of the central block's dome. Azrael Solarius and Thorian Flint resided there — no one went up. The Silver Tower was in the left block, directly beneath it, and Shadows lived here. The stairs were just as long going down — fifty-three steps up, fifty-three steps down.
Raphael counted on the way down. "Fifty-three."
Nobody answered.
The tower's lower floor opened onto a wide corridor. Rooms lined both sides — bedrooms, a common area, a small kitchen. The walls were stone but things had been hung on them: weapons, maps, scraps of paper in places. Someone had written something on the wall; the ink had faded, it was no longer readable.
Seven of them were waiting in the common area.
The first thing that drew the eye was Arlo.
He was sprawled in an armchair — leaning back, legs stretched out, head tilted to one side, long white hair scattered around him. His eyes were half-closed. Was he asleep? He wasn't, but he gave the impression of sleep; as if he could fall asleep at any moment and that would be entirely acceptable.
Milo was sitting beside him. Upright, hands on his knees, eyes on the door. He was curious how many people would arrive; when only four walked through, he looked faintly disappointed.
"New ones?" Arlo asked without opening his eyes.
"Looks like it." Milo kept his voice low.
Arlo raised his head. Looked. Put it back down. "How many."
"Four."
"Good." He closed his eyes. "Welcome."
Milo stood up and extended his hand. "Milo." He looked at Eren, at Kayra, at Raphael, at Orin — he measured each of them separately. "Don't hesitate to ask if you have questions; from now on we'll be living here together until graduation, so let's get along, shall we."
"Yes, if you have questions, feel free to ask Milo. Don't ask me." Arlo burrowed deeper into the armchair. "Answering things gets so tiring."
A sound was coming from the kitchen.
Clattering pots, something being stirred, a faint humming. Eren looked that way.
Someone short, stout, and broad-shouldered came out the door. He was carrying a tray bearing small, round things. Fresh-baked — the smell had already spread into the corridor.
"Perfect timing — I'd just finished making cinnamon rolls. Help yourselves, take one each." The man grinned. His face was open and warm, an unexpected warmth in this place. He looked at Captain Azel and smiled. "Captain, I'd heard new students were coming today, so I made some cinnamon rolls. You brought them right on time." He set the tray on the common room table. "Hello — my name's Gus. My father has a bakery in the city; I learned to cook from him." He paused. "What are your names, friends?"
Eren answered Gus's question. "My name's Eren. The one with black hair who carries a sword is Kayra. The one who's already had his eye on those cinnamon rolls is Raphael. And this is Orin."
Raphael spotted the tray, his eyes lighting up.
"Here." Gus held one out to him. "I made them for all of us anyway — go on."
Shirou was in the corner.
Eren hadn't noticed him at first — he was leaning against the wall, arms folded. He wore a thin coat, worn but clean. He was holding a pipe in his hand, unlit, just holding it. Whether out of habit or some other reason was unclear.
When he noticed Eren he raised his head. Looked.
"Name's Shirou." Short, informational. He had an unfamiliar accent — he was from somewhere else, didn't belong here, but had grown accustomed to here. "I won't ask where you're from. Don't ask me either."
Milo glanced at Raphael and shook his head.
There were a few more people in the room.
He was standing at the window — a red scarf wrapped around his neck, unnecessary indoors, but he hadn't taken it off. His complexion was pale, his expression blank, his eyes outside. He was looking at the city, maybe the barrier, maybe nothing. "My name is Nicholas. I'm a second-year here, same as everyone else except you."
Eren said nothing as he passed him.
Nicholas said nothing either.
No sound had been heard — no footsteps, no door. He had simply come in and was there. A neck tattoo was visible above his collar, a single word: Cain. A thin coat, worn clothes. There was something in his eyes — like fire, but not fire, something deeper, older.
He looked at the newcomers.
He said nothing to anyone.
He went to a corner, sat, drew his knees to his chest. He closed his eyes.
Gus took a cinnamon roll from the tray and held it out to Cain, quietly. Cain said nothing and simply reached out and took it.
Footsteps had been coming from the corridor — first the steps, fast but measured. The door opened all at once.
Eren was listening to something Gus was telling him at that moment — the bakery, the morning queue, his father's recipe. His face wasn't turned toward the door.
But when he heard the voice he turned to the door.
A girl came in. She wore the Academy uniform but wore it differently — not noble, practical. Her hair was pulled back, as if she'd been in a hurry. She looked around, spotted the newcomers, counted them.
Her eyes landed on Eren.
Gus looked at her and smiled. "Welcome back, Leila."
Leila caught the smell of the cinnamon rolls. "Gus." She walked to the table, looked at the tray. "When did you make these?"
"Fifteen minutes ago."
"Still warm?"
"Yes, still warm."
She took one, bit into it, said nothing. She sat on the floor beside Arlo's armchair, stretched her legs out, leaned against the wall.
Eren looked away. He turned back to Gus.
Gus kept talking.
Azel stopped in the common area. He set down his card-shuffling and put the deck in his pocket.
"Shadows is currently thirteen people including me and Dusk." His voice was level. "Normally there are more, but the third-years got into a fight with the Lanterns because their brains weren't working and earned themselves a punishment. The fourth-years left on a mission." He paused. "Dusk is the only surviving fourth-year."
Nobody said anything.
"This is the Academy's second-highest point." He looked at the ceiling. "The first is the dome. Going up there is forbidden. I'm telling you this because several students who climbed to the dome were killed — torn apart by the golems guarding it. I'm only giving you this warning once."
Raphael looked toward the dome.
"Once." Azel repeated, without looking at Raphael.
Raphael looked somewhere else.
Azel turned and walked toward the door. "The four of you have your rooms ready. Pick up your things, get settled." He stopped, speaking without turning. "Your time is your own unless there's a night mission. You're free outside of daytime training — but if you still have the energy to go out and enjoy yourselves after training, the training is too light. Anyway — you can go down to the city now, or stay in the Academy. Be here at five in the morning."
"What for?" asked Raphael.
Azel waited one second.
"You'll find out in the morning. Better that you don't know yet."
He left.
The evening passed.
Gus told Raphael stories about the bakery. Raphael listened — actually listened — which was unexpected from him, but that's what happened. Milo asked Eren a few questions, short and direct, listening to the answers as if making notes of them. Arlo didn't leave his armchair all evening, but it was clear he was following the conversations; his eyes opened and closed occasionally.
Shirou didn't speak to anyone. He didn't put the pipe down.
Nicholas was still at the window.
Cain slept, or appeared to sleep — the difference between the two was hard to tell.
Leila got up at some point, went to the kitchen, came back. She said nothing as she passed Eren. Eren said nothing either.
But Kayra noticed.
Raphael noticed too.
The two looked at each other. They said nothing.
Near midnight, Dusk arrived.
He opened the door, came in, stopped. His shadow sat strangely on the floor, independent of the angle, as always. The shadows under his eyes were dark, as always.
He looked at the common area. Eleven people — seven old, four new.
"Rest well." His voice was level. "We have things to do with you starting tomorrow morning."
He turned. He left.
Silence.
Arlo opened one eye. "He says that every year."
"He's right every year." Milo stood up. "Go to bed."
He left.
Gus gathered the tray and took it to the kitchen. Shirou got up, walked to his room, closed the door. Cain was already gone — when he'd left was unclear. Nicholas moved away from the window, quietly.
Leila stood up. She stopped in the doorway on her way to her room, speaking without turning.
"New arrivals." Her voice was level. "Don't be late at five. Dusk doesn't like people who are late — don't let him take a dislike to you on the first day."
She left.
Raphael looked at Eren. He was smiling.
Eren looked back. "What?"
"Nothing."
"Raphael."
"I said nothing." Raphael stood up and stretched. "Going to sleep. At five we're going to the captain and his deputy — there must be something important after going through all this trouble. Being here actually feels good after everything. I just wish Luna and Sahra could have seen it."
He left.
Kayra stood up too. He looked at Eren.
He said nothing. But there was something in his gaze — that calculating, noting look. He saw. He assessed.
He turned. He left.
Eren was alone in the room.
Five in the morning.
He lay down. He closed his eyes.