The second year began not with fanfare but with the slow rhythm of drills, the same calloused familiarity of discipline that Umbra thrived upon. Yet the Shades could feel the difference. The air itself seemed heavier, the halls noisier.
They weren’t the youngest anymore.
Five new recruits stood in a nervous line in the courtyard, cloaks still stiff, boots too clean, eyes darting toward the shadows of the veterans who watched from above.
Phoenix was the first to break the silence. He leaned against the railing dramatically, pointing down at the rookies. “Welcome to Umbra, my unfortunate little siblings. Here’s lesson one: abandon all hope, for you have officially signed your soul away.”
The rookies stiffened. One of them even swallowed audibly.
Phoenix smirked. “Lesson two: when I say run, you run. When I say die, you die. When I say jump off the wall—”
A sharp smack cracked through the air. Cerberus’s palm connected with the back of his head so hard the sound echoed.
“Lesson three,” she said flatly, “ignore everything this idiot says.”
The Shades burst into laughter. Even ARGUS chimed in with a faint mechanical chuckle, replaying the sound of the slap for emphasis.
“Why would you do that?” Phoenix clutched his head, groaning. “I was establishing dominance!”
“You were establishing stupidity,” Cerberus retorted, eyes narrowing.
Griffin wheeled up beside them, smirking. “You know what’s funny? I think this exact thing happened last year.”
Valkyrie nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It did. Only difference was—it was Azure who tried threatening us.”
Leviathan added, “And it wasn’t Cerberus who smacked him.”
Wyvern crossed his arms. “It was Valken.”
The name hit the air like a shadow falling over the courtyard. For a moment, laughter ebbed, memories surfacing of blood and betrayal, of Valken’s monstrous truth.
The rookies glanced around, confused by the sudden weight.
Kraken broke the silence first, his voice low. “Funny how some things repeat.”
Griffin straightened, his tone harsher than usual. “No. Valken was evil. Don’t compare the two.”
Phoenix blinked at him, but before he could argue, Griffin’s lips twisted into a sly grin. “ Cerberus, though? She’s the supreme evil.”
Everyone froze. Then Hydra actually snorted, covering his mouth too late. Valkyrie burst into laughter, Leviathan’s rumble followed, and soon the entire Shade squad was doubled over.
Cerberus glared, though her ears burned red. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me,” Griffin said smugly. “Supreme. Evil. At least Valken had the excuse of being a monster. You? You smack me for free.”
Phoenix leaned against him dramatically. “My brother in arms, finally someone speaks the truth.”
The courtyard echoed with laughter once more, the tension dissolving. The juniors, bewildered, chuckled nervously as if trying to catch the joke.
“Alright,” Hydra finally said, regaining his breath, “enough playing around. Second year isn’t going to be easier. We’ve got inter-league competitions coming. Our job isn’t just to survive them—we need to win.”
“And not just win,” Valkyrie added, her eyes flicking to the rookies. “We train them to win too. If they fail, we fail.”
The juniors straightened at her words, the weight of responsibility settling in.
Phoenix groaned theatrically. “Train them to win? Do you know how hard it is to make someone faster than me? Impossible.”
Cerberus raised her hand threateningly again.
“Alright, alright!” Phoenix ducked, laughing nervously.
That night, laughter lingered through the dorms, but not all of it was free. Hydra found himself awake long after the others had fallen into rest. He leaned against the window, gazing into the cold Umbra night.
Last year’s competition came back to him—the chaos, the blood, the loss they carried. They had won, yes, but at a price that scarred all of them. The name Valken was still a wound.
But this year would be different. Umbra had fortified its arenas, doubled its security, and placed ARGUS into constant monitoring. The games would not become a slaughterhouse again. That was the promise.
Yet Hydra knew promises were fragile things.
Far away, in the hidden depths of another world, laughter rang too—but not the kind born from friendship.
Seraph Falk Draganov stood before the container, its glass walls glowing faintly with energy that pulsed like a sleeping heart. Inside, the Sleeping Gate stirred, its tendrils of shadow curling and twisting like it dreamt of freedom.
SFD’s eyes gleamed with fanatic fire as he placed his hand against the glass. “Almost complete,” he whispered, his voice rich with hunger.
The Gate pulsed back, as if answering.
And Seraph laughed—a sound that echoed in darkness, cruel and triumphant.
“Awaken soon. The world is not ready for you. And that is exactly why it will fall.”
ns216.73.216.33da2
and then Add to home screen.