The blade trembled in the dim candlelight, suspended inches from Arashi's throat—a gossamer-thin line between life and death.
The assassin did not move.
A heartbeat suspended. Breath held captive.
Neither he nor the assassin so much as twitched.
A silent battle of will. Raw. Primal. Absolute.
Then, in a single breath—the assassin vanished.
Soundless. Impossible.
The only evidence of the attack was the dagger, buried deep in the wall like a violent punctuation mark.
Arashi pulled it free. Smooth. Deliberate.
Crimson etched across the blade—intricate and deliberate. More than mere blood.
A symbol. A challenge. A warning carved with surgical precision.
'So it begins.'
He twirled the dagger once, a fluid motion that spoke of practiced danger, before concealing it beneath his cloak—a predator hiding its fangs.
If they wanted him dead, they should have tried harder.
The next morning, Selene appeared at his table like a phantom materializing from thin air.
She leaned in—closer than comfort, closer than safety.
Her breath a whisper against his ear. "You were attacked last night."
Not a question. A statement.
Arashi didn't react. A stone could not be more immovable. "Were you watching?"
"I was curious." Her smile held edges sharper than knives. "You handled it well."
'She knows too much.'
Kaito, perpetually bewildered, raised an eyebrow. "Wait, what? Attacked? When?"
Arashi ignored him. A deliberate dismissal.
"And if I hadn't handled it well?"
Selene's smirk danced with dangerous possibility. "Then you wouldn't be very interesting."
Kaito looked between them, a man watching a conversation in a language he couldn't comprehend.
Selene winked at Arashi—a promise and a threat intertwined. "See you around."
And then—she was gone. As if she had never existed.
Kaito sighed, the weight of confusion heavy on his shoulders. "You attract the worst kinds of people."
Arashi took a measured sip of tea.
'That's the problem.'
Later Taro Velmire stood at the center of the training grounds, a living embodiment of rage and humiliation.
" You," he said
Yesterday's defeat burned in his eyes—a hatred so pure it could scorch stone.
"Fight me, coward."
The words ripped from his throat like broken glass.
Arashi stood motionless. A study in calculated indifference. "Didn't I already say no?"
Taro's response was a guttural sound—part growl, part scream.
Desperation clawed at the edges of his composure. He knew he was outmatched. And that knowledge only fed his rage.
The small black token fell to the ground. A challenge. A death sentence.
The crowd around them went silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Kaito's voice cut through the tension. "That's… a formal challenge."
A beat of absolute stillness.
Arashi sighed. The sound of a man resigned to an inevitable, tiresome task.
'Of course he'd take the dumbest route possible.'
He picked up the token. Metal cold against his skin. A weight of tradition. Of expectation.
"Fine."
The moment hung suspended—and then shattered.
Taro erupted into motion.
His sword was more than mere metal. It was an extension of his bloodline's fury—a weapon crafted from pure, concentrated rage.
The blade sang through the air, a razor-sharp note of violence.
Most would have been cut down before they could even comprehend the attack.
But Arashi was not most.
He moved—or didn't move. Existed and didn't exist. A paradox of motion that defied comprehension.
The sword passed through empty air.
Taro stumbled, his perfect strike dissolving into confusion.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. Panic clawed at the edges of his composure.
"Where—?!"
A whisper. Impossibly close. Impossibly calm.
"Behind you."
Taro whirled. Desperate. Wild. A cornered animal lashing out.
His blade cut nothing but air.
Arashi stepped past him. Untouched. Unruffled. As if walking through a light summer breeze.
The fight was over.
But Taro refused to accept defeat.
Something broke inside him.
A primal roar erupted from his throat—a sound that was more beast than human.
His bloodline ability exploded from within, a manifestation of pure, uncontrolled power.
Flames burst forth.
Not just flames. An inferno. A living, breathing weapon of destruction that turned the training ground into a hellscape.
The air itself seemed to burn, particles in the air igniting, reality warping around the intensity of his rage.
Kaito's voice, distant and terrified. "He's using his bloodline ability? That's against the rules!"
The referee froze. Caught between protocol and pure, unbridled terror.
Taro was no longer human. He was fire. Rage. Pure destructive potential given form.
And for the first time—Arashi moved.
One step forward.
Just one.
His hand raised.
Not a defensive gesture. Not an attack.
Simply... raised.
And the flames died.
Instant. Complete. Total extinction of power.
Silence crashed down like a physical weight.
The crowd was frozen. Breath held. Hearts suspended.
Arashi looked down at Taro. His gaze was beyond temperature.
Beyond emotion. A look that could reduce mountains to dust.
"I told you."
The black token flicked back. A dismissal more brutal than any physical blow.
"You weren't worth my time."
Taro collapsed. Not from physical injury. But from something far deeper. A complete destruction of spirit.
The match was over before it truly began.
And in that moment, everyone watching understood something fundamental:
Arashi Velkaris was something else entirely.
The Academy Reacts
By nightfall, the rumors had transformed.
Whispers no longer spoke of a mere student.
No longer of just another mysterious newcomer.
Something else entirely.
Something that defied explanation.
In the darkness—hidden eyes watched.
Calculating.
Measuring.
Waiting.
The academy was never truly silent.
Even at night, murmurs slithered through ancient halls like spectral phantoms—weaving narratives, spinning tales that danced between truth and legend.
Tonight, the whispers were a tempest.
And they were all about him.
A Message Unfolds
Arashi stood in his sparse dormitory room, turning the assassin's dagger between his fingers.
Moonlight caught the crimson symbol etched into the blade—pulsing, almost alive.
A code more complex than mere language. A warning more profound than words could capture.
A message meant only for him.
'Someone wants me to know they're watching.'
Good.
Let them watch.
The Golden Crow's Attention
Morning arrived like a predawn challenge.
As Arashi walked towards the training grounds, a presence descended—not a literal shadow, but something far more intangible.
A weight of expectation. Of potential.
"Arashi Velkaris."
The voice cut through the morning mist.
A boy stood before him, clothed in gold-trimmed robes that seemed to capture and reflect sunlight itself.
His hair burned like molten gold, eyes holding the kind of arrogance reserved for those who had never known defeat.
The Golden Crow.
Rendell Solis. Heir to the most prestigious bloodline in the academy.
The current rank one. A living legend among students.
"I saw your duel yesterday," Rendell said, his smirk a carefully crafted weapon. Equal parts challenge and dismissal. "You held back."
It wasn't a question. Not quite an accusation.
Arashi met his gaze. Unflinching. " That's what you think"
Rendell's smirk widened—a predator recognizing another predator.
"Interesting."
He turned to leave, movement fluid as liquid gold. But paused. Just long enough.
"Try not to disappoint me."
And then in the very moment he was gone.
Kaito, who had been standing nearby, exhaled. The sound was was half terror, half admiration.
"You just attracted the strongest person in the academy."
Arashi sighed. A sound that carried the weight of inevitability.
'At this rate, I'll have the whole school lined up.'
The Midnight Summons
That night, as shadows stretched and darkness claimed the academy, a small piece of parchment slid beneath his door.
No knock.
No warning.
Just arrival.
Three words. Precise. Demanding.
Come alone. Midnight.
No sender.
No signature.
Just a location.
Deep within the academy's most restricted zone.
Kaito's frown carved deep lines of concern when he saw the note. "You're not actually going, right?"
Arashi rolled the parchment between his fingers. A habit. A tell. A moment of contemplation that revealed nothing.
'Obviously, I'm going.'
"Of course not," he lied. Smooth as silk. Sharp as a blade.
A Meeting in the Dark
Midnight arrived like a predator.
Precisely.
Silently.
Inevitably.
Arashi reached the meeting point—a forgotten courtyard hidden beneath layers of twisting vines and broken statues. Memories of the academy's past lurked in every crumbling stone, every moss-covered surface.
A hooded figure waited.
Motionless.
Watching.
Waiting.
"Velkaris." The voice was deliberately distorted. Neither male nor female. Neither young nor old. Pure intent made sound.
"You shouldn't have picked up that dagger."
Arashi tilted his head. A subtle movement. Calculation masked as curiosity.
"Why not?"
A low chuckle. More threat than humor.
"Because now, you're part of something you don't understand."
A silver insignia dropped at his feet.
The same crimson mark as the assassin' dagger.
Intricate.
Precise.
Meaningful.
Beneath it—three words carved into ancient stone.
The Unknown Masks.
Arashi's fingers tightened. Imperceptibly. But the hooded figure noticed.
Always watching.
Always measuring.
"We've been watching you for a long time."
A pause. Filled with potential.
Then—a whisper that seemed to emerge from the very shadows themselves.
"Come find us, if you dare."
The figure vanished.
Not walked away.
Not ran.
Simply... ceased to exist.
Leaving Arashi alone.
Holding the weight of a mystery far greater than he had ever imagined.
The game had changed.
And it had only just begun.