Chapter — Shadows Before the Summit
The sky above the academy had begun to bruise violet, the dying light of day bleeding into the horizon like a wound slowly sealing. Amber streaks smeared across the heavens, caught in the filaments of thin, scattered clouds. Below, the wind stirred gently, whispering across the ancient stonework of the campus walkways. It rustled through the towering marble columns and played with the ends of long-forgotten vines that clung like secrets to the older buildings. The academy banners—silken and worn at the edges—swayed in rhythm, bearing the crest of their dominion: a half-unfurled dragon coiled against a downward-pointing blade.
Lanterns began to flicker on one by one, as if stirred awake by the dying sun. They lit with quiet sighs of energy, elemental glowstones cradled within each. Green, like forest flame. Amber, like captured sunlight. Silver, pulsing faintly like starlight. Their light bathed the paths in soft magic, casting long shadows behind the figures walking beneath them.
Ethan moved at the front, slightly ahead of the others, though his posture betrayed no confidence. His shoulders were hunched forward, one hand clutched tightly against his side where the bruises still bloomed beneath layers of half-torn fabric. His breathing was shallow, controlled, but the occasional wince broke through. Each footstep echoed softly against the polished stone, a dull reminder of how far they had come—and how little strength they had left.
Behind him, Nick walked with uneven strides. The usual lightness to his step was gone, replaced with grim determination. His cloak, once sleek and swept by wind, now dragged behind him, torn and stiff with dried blood. He kept adjusting the strap that clung desperately to his shoulder, fingertips brushing at the crusted wound near his collarbone. His eyes were low, watching the ground more than the path ahead.
And Asher—loud, ridiculous, blue-haired Asher—was utterly silent.
No jokes. No exaggerated groans or sarcastic jabs about how they really needed a week-long nap. Just silence.
His gaze stayed fixed skyward, eyes scanning the drifting clouds like they might contain answers to questions he didn't dare voice. He walked a little slower than usual, his right hand twitching occasionally, perhaps still recalling the weight and fire of Emberfang as it tore through wave after wave of goblins. Or perhaps he was still seeing something none of them wanted to say aloud.
Their dormitory tower finally came into view. Nestled between the east wing and the enchanted gardens, it was a modest spire—by Academy standards—but it always stood like a promise of safety. Its windows glowed with warm golden rectangles of light, the silhouette of curtains drawn slightly ajar revealing signs of life within. A place to rest. Wash away the blood. Sleep. Forget.
Just a few more steps...
Then—
"Ethan. Nick. Asher."
The voice cut across the path like a blade across silk. Crisp. Controlled. Devoid of warmth.
The three stopped instantly, instincts honed by days of combat snapping them to attention.
A student stood near the bend in the path—barely older than them, but holding himself with an almost military precision. His uniform was spotless, the seams pressed into sharp lines. A white armband curled around his left bicep, emblazoned with the Academy's official seal—a dragon claw clutching an hourglass.
A runner.
One of the Academy Board's official messengers. They didn't deliver homework.
He was panting slightly from a sprint, but even so, his spine remained straight. He stepped forward, extending a sealed parchment. The wax glowed faintly, still warm from its pressing. The sigil was not the usual red of high command, nor the silver of routine summons. It was deep crimson, veined through with threads of obsidian dust that shimmered like powdered night.
Urgency. Secrecy. Power.
Ethan took the parchment without a word, his fingers brushing the still-hot seal. The wax crackled faintly under his touch. The energy it gave off sent a shiver down his arm—not magical in nature, but weighted with the sheer gravity of what it represented.
Nick leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing. "Now? We haven't even had time to—"
The messenger didn't blink. "Effective immediately. The Board is assembled. They are waiting. You are to report to the Obsidian Chamber."
The name dropped like a stone in still water.
The Obsidian Chamber. Not just any meeting hall—it was where the Academy summoned individuals for matters considered beyond standard protocol. Interrogations. Warnings. Sometimes... even trials.
Asher let out a low breath, then offered a half-laugh that lacked any real mirth. "They couldn't wait till after we scrub the goblin stench off? That's just rude."
Ethan said nothing. His fingers tightened slightly around the parchment. His thoughts churned beneath the silence. The Shaman. The crystal. The eggs.
They hadn't reported everything. Not yet. And if the Board already knew, or suspected...
Nick adjusted his torn cloak once more and shared a glance with Ethan. Asher fell in beside them without being asked. Three shadows, standing in the lantern light—broken, bloodied, and still standing.
"Lead the way," Ethan said quietly.
The runner turned on his heel and set off, not bothering to check if they followed. He knew they would.
As the trio turned from the dormitory path, the golden lights behind them seemed to fade slightly, like the warmth they were leaving behind recognized their choice. The wind shifted again, colder now, brushing at the wounds beneath their clothes.
No words passed between them as they walked, but something old and heavy stirred in the quiet. A whisper beneath the stones. A gaze they couldn't see.
The Academy wasn't just an institution. It lived. It watched. And tonight, it was stirring.
They passed beneath a series of arches leading toward the central tower, where black spires pierced the sky and channeled lightning during storms. The Obsidian Chamber lay at the tower's root—buried beneath the stone, deep within the oldest foundation of the school. Few had been summoned there. Fewer returned unchanged.
Ethan's mind flickered to the eggs again—pale shells with branching veins, pulsing faintly like unborn stars. They weren't dragon eggs. But whatever they were, the Shaman had died protecting them.
And now, they had them.
The runner finally stopped before a massive gate—twenty feet tall and etched with swirling runes that shimmered faintly as they approached. Two guards in enchanted blacksteel armor stepped aside in silence, their eyes unseen beneath their helmets. The gate responded to the seal Ethan still held, the veins of obsidian in the wax pulsing in sync with the door's arcane matrix.
A rumble echoed deep beneath their feet.
Then the doors opened.
Beyond was only darkness. Not a hallway. Not a chamber.
A descent.
The Obsidian Chamber waited below.
And as the three stepped forward, the light behind them dimmed further, as though the Academy itself was holding its breath.
What had begun as a simple mission had awakened something. A hidden thread in the grand tapestry. A knot no one yet understood—but one that the Board, and the world beyond, could no longer ignore.
And as the doors sealed shut behind them with a sound like a stone tomb locking tight, only one truth remained:
They were no longer just students.
They were the first to touch the shadows before the summit.