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: Shadows Watching
The flames roared around him, devouring everything in sight. The air was thick with smoke, choking the breath from his lungs. Shadows danced in the inferno, twisting and writhing like living things.
Kyle stumbled forward, his legs heavy, as if weighed down by unseen hands. The world blurred, reality slipping in and out of focus.
And then—he saw it.
A figure loomed beyond the fire, its form shifting, flickering between something human and something not.
Tall. Gaunt. Hollow eyes that burned like embers. Its elongated fingers stretched toward him, curling like skeletal talons.
The Boneclaw.
A voice slithered into his mind, cold as death itself.
"You are not ready."
The words sent a chill down his spine, deeper than fear—something primal, ancient. The ground beneath him cracked, darkness spilling through like an open wound. He tried to move, to run, but the shadows grabbed him, pulled him under—
Kyle woke with a sharp gasp.
His breath came ragged, his chest heaving as he bolted upright in his bed. Sweat dampened his skin, clinging to him like a second layer. He swallowed hard, willing his pulse to settle.
It was a dream. Just a dream.
But it didn't feel like one.
The room was silent except for the steady breathing of the other recruits. Jace lay sprawled in his bunk, dead to the world. Across the room, Darius snored softly, an arm draped over his face. No one had stirred. No one had felt what he had.
Kyle ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling. The dream—**vision, warning, whatever it was—**still clung to him, thick and suffocating. He needed air.
Quietly, he swung his legs over the edge of his bunk and pulled on his boots. The barracks floor was cool underfoot as he padded toward the door, slipping outside into the night.
---
The training grounds stretched before him, empty beneath the pale glow of the moon. The air was crisp, carrying the distant scent of damp earth and steel.
Kyle stood in the open space, hands in his pockets, exhaling a slow breath.
He had felt something in that dream. Something vast and waiting, watching from the abyss. Boneclaw's words echoed in his skull, cold and absolute.
"You are not ready."
Kyle's hands tightened into fists. He didn't know what it meant, but he couldn't ignore it.
His gaze lifted toward the sky. The stars shone bright, undisturbed by the chaos of the military city beyond the academy walls. For a brief moment, standing alone under the vastness of the night, he almost felt at peace.
Then—he felt it.
A shift in the air.
Not sound, not movement—presence.
A weight settled on his shoulders, like the pressure before a storm. His skin prickled as if brushed by an unseen force. Not killing intent, not hostility—but power.
Refined. Controlled. Unshakable.
The presence of a man who had stood on battlefields, faced death, and never faltered.
Kyle didn't turn immediately. Instead, he let his senses stretch, feeling the sheer density of the strength flowing from the unseen figure behind him. Whoever it was—they weren't trying to suppress their presence.
A warning.
Slowly, deliberately, Kyle turned his head.
Near the edge of the training grounds, half-hidden in the shadows of the old observation tower, a figure stood watching him.
Still. Silent. Unmoving.
Kyle's pulse quickened. Instinct screamed at him—danger.
Then the figure stepped forward into the moonlight.
Steel-gray eyes. A rigid posture. The cold, analytical scrutiny of a man who had seen through too many lies.
Instructor Vaughn.
Kyle exhaled, but he didn't relax.
Vaughn studied him for a long moment before speaking.
"Couldn't sleep?"
Kyle hesitated. There was no accusation in his voice, just a simple question.
"Something like that," Kyle said carefully.
Vaughn hummed, his expression unreadable. He reached into his coat, and Kyle instinctively stiffened, bracing for the unknown.
But Vaughn didn't draw a weapon.
Instead, he pulled out a small, black device and flicked it on.
A low static hum filled the air.
Kyle's stomach clenched. A jammer.
That meant whatever Vaughn was about to say—he didn't want it recorded.
"You summoned something unusual during your fight with Jared," Vaughn said, his tone even.
Kyle kept his expression neutral. "I don't know what you mean."
Vaughn's gaze sharpened. "Don't play dumb."
Kyle's jaw tightened. He had known this conversation was coming—but not this soon.
"We reviewed the footage," Vaughn continued. "The recordings were… inconclusive. All we saw were shadows. A drop in temperature. No clear image." A pause. "But I was there. I felt what you called."
Kyle remained silent.
Vaughn took a slow step forward. "The official report will say it was a summoning error. A misidentified beast. That's the academy's stance." Another pause. "Do you believe that?"
Kyle's fingers curled at his sides. "If that's what the records say, then I guess that's what happened."
The silence stretched.
Then, to Kyle's surprise, Vaughn exhaled—not in frustration, but something else.
A sigh.
"I won't ask again," he said finally. "Not tonight."
He flicked off the jammer. The static hum vanished.
But as Vaughn turned to leave, he hesitated. Just for a second.
"I'll be watching, Corvayn."
Then he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Kyle alone in the cold.
---
Kyle stood there for a long time, his breath misting in the air.
This was bad.
Vaughn suspected something. Maybe he didn't know the truth—not yet—but he knew enough to watch closely.
Kyle exhaled, staring at the empty space where Vaughn had stood.
This changed things.
He wasn't just being watched by Boneclaw anymore.
Now, the academy was watching too.