The heat of Bali still lingered in their memories—the sound of waves, the laughter, the warmth of love and friendship. But as the transport descended into Umbra’s hidden landing bay, the mood shifted. The laughter grew quieter, replaced by the familiar pressure of secrecy and duty.
They stepped off the aircraft one by one, no longer couples basking in romance, but operatives slipping back into the shadows. The massive blackstone gates of Umbra towered before them, lined with runes and scanner-pylons. The carved insignia of the Circle of Umbra gleamed in the dim light: a serpent swallowing its own tail.
A pair of familiar figures were waiting. Isolde and Damien—no longer Ravenfall, but Glooms. Their uniforms were sharper, darker, their aura heavier. Isolde’s usual warmth was tempered by discipline, and Damien’s sly grin was hidden behind a stoic mask.
“Welcome back, Shades,” Isolde said, voice steady, though her eyes lingered on Luce and Sayaka with quiet softness. “Vacation’s over. You’re in Umbra now. Back to who you are meant to be.”
Damien folded his arms. “And we are Glooms now. Don’t look for us in training or missions. We’ll watch from a distance when required, but that’s it.”
For a heartbeat, silence hung heavy. They all knew the rules. Once you stepped into your role in Umbra, your name was buried.
Luce’s jaw tightened. He felt Sayaka’s hand brush against his, a silent anchor. Then, with the practiced calm of a Shade, he spoke.
“Hydra reporting.”
Sayaka’s tone followed seamlessly: “Cerberus.”
“Valkyrie.” Avni straightened her shoulders.
“Leviathan.” Lev’s voice rumbled.
One by one, the others followed—Phoenix, Griffin, Wyvern, Kraken, Nymph, Sphinx—until all ten Shades stood in line, their names discarded like old skins. Basilisk and Pegasus joined them without fanfare, their expressions unreadable, but the faintest smile ghosted on Sol’s lips. They had been waiting, but would never admit it.
Amber—Isolde now hidden beneath the name—nodded. “Good. Remember, real names don’t exist here. Outside, you are Ravenfall and comrades. Inside Umbra, you are only what this Circle made of you. Never forget that.”
Azure—Damien’s voice was sharp as steel. “Your routine resumes tonight. Missions will resume tomorrow. Discipline, precision, secrecy. Nothing less.”
The message was clear. They were not family here. Not friends. Only weapons in the dark.
The Shades returned to their quarters—stone corridors, biometric locks, the hum of ARGUS deep within the infrastructure. The AI’s voice greeted them the moment the gates sealed shut.
“Welcome back, Shades.” The tone was mechanical, yet oddly familiar, like a guardian that never slept. “Umbra has logged your return. Health data recorded. Combat readiness at 82%. Emotional volatility at 37%. Adjustment protocols recommended.”
“Shut up, ARGUS,” Phoenix muttered, already tossing his pack onto his bunk. Ishaan stretched, cracking his neck. “I swear this thing is like an overprotective nanny.”
Cerberus smirked faintly. “Better than being dead.”
Leviathan leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Or better than being tortured by Valken.” His eyes flicked toward Hydra for a moment, then away. Some wounds still lingered.
“Forget Valken,” Griffin growled, gripping the wheels of his chair. “That monster’s gone. It’s Seraph Falk Draganov and that damned Sleeping Gate we need to watch.”
The name hung in the air like poison. The fun of Bali seemed to dissolve completely.
Training began at once. The Shades fell into rhythm:
Hydra and Cerberus sparring with fluid precision, their movements perfectly in sync, blades clashing and locking until sweat gleamed across their brows.
Valkyrie and Leviathan sparring back-to-back, their chemistry turning every drill into a dance of trust.
Wyvern and Kraken testing heavier weaponry, Raiden correcting Erik’s grip with quiet whispers.
Nymph and Sphinx refining comms integration, adapting ARGUS’s algorithm to their strategy maps.
Phoenix and Griffin under Azure’s brutal training regimen—pain, mockery, and chaos wrapped into one—but somehow still laughing through it.
Basilisk and Pegasus shadowed the drills. Not as leaders, not as Glooms, but as peers. Watching, listening, sometimes correcting, sometimes joining.
Hours bled into night. Muscles screamed, lungs burned, but no one slowed. Umbra did not tolerate weakness.
Later, they gathered at their hidden spot—the hollow tree that overlooked Umbra’s dark valley. No matter how many times life shifted, that tree was their anchor. Couples sat close, hands brushing in secret, while others teased and bantered.
Phoenix leaned back, smirking. “I swear, Cerberus, you and Hydra are training like you’re about to fight for the title of Umbra’s favorite lovebirds.”
Cerberus flushed, ready to snap, but Hydra only gave a small smirk. “Better than you, burning out after ten laps.”
“Ten?” Phoenix gasped theatrically. “It was twenty! I’m basically a god among mortals.”
Griffin snorted. “Yeah, a god who trips over his own shoelaces.”
Everyone laughed, even ARGUS’s voice buzzed faintly, as though amused. “Error: Phoenix is not classified as divine.”
For a moment, it felt almost normal. Almost.
But the night never let them forget. Above them, stars flickered faintly against the Umbra barrier. Somewhere beyond, Seraph Falk Draganov moved unseen. Somewhere, Sleeping Gate stirred in its container, whispering hunger.
Hydra looked at his team, his family bound by shadows. The laughter, the teasing, the comfort—they were their only weapons against the nightmares to come.
Tomorrow, the missions would begin again. And with them, the truth buried in blood and deception.
ns216.73.216.33da2
and then Add to home screen.