The summons came at dawn.
[Shadow Class Directive: Anomaly Faction - The Lost Ones.]
[Report immediately.]
[Failure: Expulsion and permanent termination.]
The crimson System text floated coldly in the stale morning air. No map. No instructor. Only a faint pulse of an obsidian rune hovering near the chamber's cracked wall.
Eryndor stood, brushing dust from his ruined cloak. The others watched him, waiting.
"Move."
The rune flickered forward as if obeying him. They followed into the unknown.
The Academy corridors changed the further they walked. Gone were the shining spell arrays and elegant white-stone architecture of Vaelith's upper levels. Here the walls shifted unnaturally, rippling at the edges of perception as if the Academy itself resisted their presence.
The Flickering Aura Boy whispered tightly under his breath. "This place wasn't on any map." Eryndor said nothing.
The hallway narrowed. Shadows bled unnaturally from cracks between the stones. Strange glyphs—half-buried, forgotten symbols from pre-System times—flickered faintly under their feet.
The Unborn ducked low under a jagged archway, heavy chains dragging softly behind him. The Mana-Cursed Girl walked in silence, face pale but steady, unstable mana flaring softly at her fingertips as if sensing unseen danger.
The rune led them deeper.
Down twisting servant paths.
Past sealed vault doors marked with ancient warnings.
Through corridors where no footstep echoed properly, as if sound itself feared this place.
Finally, the passage ended.
They stood before an enormous pair of black iron doors. Smooth. Cold. Devoid of any crest or welcome. Only one phrase had been carved deep into the metal in the old dead tongue:
Those who walk here must walk alone.
The moment the last of them arrived, the rune winked out. The doors opened soundlessly into darkness.
They stepped inside.
The temperature plummeted instantly. Breath misted in front of their mouths. The oppressive weight of eldritch wards pressed against their skin like invisible chains.
Shadow Hall.
Vast and silent. Circular in shape, the walls formed of cracked obsidian stone. Floating torches drifted lazily midair, casting faint violet-blue flames that gave off no heat. The floor itself was inscribed with runes older than Vaelith itself.
Tiered platforms surrounded a central arena pit. At the very top sat a single figure.
Instructor Silas.
The Ghost of Vaelith.
They could barely see him. His black cloak merged into the darkness like living smoke. His face was partially hidden by a jagged bone mask. Pale silver eyes regarded them like dissected specimens.
He did not move. He did not speak.
The air around The Lost Ones tightened.
The System voice whispered in eerie monotone.
[Shadow Class Session Initiated.]
Eryndor stared coldly into the dark.
"Finally."
The System voice echoed coldly.
[Shadow Class Session Initiated.]
[Instructor: Silas.]
[Trial: The First Gate - Trial of Will.]
The floating torches flared violently, casting wild shadows that twisted unnaturally along the cracked stone walls.
The figure at the top tier finally moved.
Instructor Silas rose slowly from his seat, steps soundless against the obsidian floor. His black cloak rippled like smoke, edges fraying into nothingness with every motion. The jagged bone mask turned toward The Lost Ones.
"You are not supposed to exist."
The words were soft, yet carried like a blade through the silent hall.
"You are failed weapons. Rejected bloodlines. Anomalies. Mistakes."
Silas lifted one hand.
"You will prove you can stand, or you will be erased."
The ground beneath The Lost Ones fractured.
They fell.
Eryndor reacted instantly, twisting mid-air as darkness swallowed them whole. No light. No sound. No sensation.
Until the pain began.
[Trial of Will - Initiated.]
[Subject: Eryndor Vaelith.]
Eryndor staggered as invisible pressure crashed down on him like a mountain. His knees buckled. Breath tore from his lungs. Every nerve screamed.
The voice followed.
"You broke correction. You defied survival algorithms. Let me show you why none survive alone."
Images assaulted his mind. The cold corpse of the Unborn chained to the Academy gates. The Mana-Cursed Girl burning alive, begging for mercy that would never come. The Flickering Aura Boy crushed under a collapsing spire. The Sleeper's vast, inhuman shadow engulfing the Academy in one final pulse.
Lies. Projections.
Eryndor clenched his fists hard enough that blood ran between his fingers.
The ground tilted violently. The pressure doubled. His vision blurred.
For the first time since entering this world, Eryndor stumbled.
"Give in," the voice whispered. "End it."
Eryndor forced himself upright slowly, joints grinding under the strain.
"No."
The darkness rippled.
"No."
The images shattered like glass around him.
The cold voice whispered one last time.
"Very well."
The floor reformed suddenly under his boots. The crushing weight vanished.
He stood once more in Shadow Hall, chest heaving. The other Lost Ones lay scattered across the arena floor, breathing heavily, dazed but alive.
Only The Unborn remained standing, silent as always.
Instructor Silas descended the steps slowly, cloak trailing behind like living shadow.
"You endured."
His masked gaze locked on Eryndor.
"Somehow, I am not surprised."
The System text flickered violently in the air.
[Faction Anomaly Detected.]
[Hidden Faction Path Unlocked: The Lost Ones.]
[Rewards Pending.]
Eryndor's expression hardened as he stared into the darkness where the next trial awaited.
This was only the beginning.