The training fields of Umbra rang with clashing steel and the barking of instructors, but louder still was the ridiculous commentary of the second-year Shades.
“Rookie number three!” Wyvern’s voice thundered as he strode past the line of sweating first-years. “You’re swinging your sword like you’re swatting flies. Unless the enemy is a mosquito, you’re dead.”
The rookie flushed red, trying to correct his stance.
“Wrong again,” Wyvern sighed dramatically, “now you’re killing yourself and the mosquito.”
That earned a burst of laughter from Phoenix, who perched lazily on a training dummy. “Don’t worry, rook. He’s just jealous. Nobody swings a sword like me.”
“Like a drunk chicken?” Cerberus smacked him across the back of the head without breaking stride. “Stop distracting them.”
“Ow! Abuse!” Phoenix cried. “This academy is cruel.”
“You’re cruel to common sense,” Leviathan muttered, sipping tea under the shade of a tree. Nobody knew how he always managed to have tea ready, even in the middle of drills.
Griffin’s Drill
“Form up!” Griffin barked, slamming his crutch into the ground. He was walking almost normally again, but he refused to give up the crutch. “You will face me in sparring, one by one!”
The rookies looked nervous.
Phoenix whispered dramatically to them, “Word of advice: don’t make him mad. The last guy who did, Griffin stared at him until the poor soul fainted.”
“That never happened,” Griffin deadpanned.
The first rookie stepped up, trembling slightly. He lasted a grand total of ten seconds before Griffin swept his legs out from under him.
“Pathetic!” Griffin roared. “Do you call that defense?”
The next rookie stepped up, teeth gritted. This one survived twenty seconds before ending up flat on the dirt.
By the time all five had gone, they were bruised and gasping.
“Good effort,” Griffin declared proudly. “You only died five times.”
“Five times in one day’s not bad,” Nymph said cheerfully, helping one of the rookies up. “Don’t listen to him. You’re learning.”
“Exactly,” added Sphinx with a grin. “Just wait until Phoenix trains you. Then you’ll wish Griffin killed you quickly.”
Phoenix’s Special Training
Later that afternoon, Phoenix gathered the rookies for his “secret advanced training.”
“Rule one,” he began, pacing like a professor, “always keep snacks on hand. Hunger kills faster than swords.”
The rookies looked at him in disbelief.
“Rule two,” Phoenix continued, holding up a piece of chalk he’d stolen from class, “never trust a chalkboard. They eat your soul.”
Cerberus appeared out of nowhere, smacking him again. “Stop filling their heads with garbage!”
“Garbage?!” Phoenix clutched his chest like she’d shot him. “My wisdom is priceless!”
“Priceless because it’s worth nothing,” Kraken said dryly, walking past.
The rookies laughed nervously, finally realizing this was normal behavior for Shades.
Evening Sparring
When the sun dipped low, Hydra finally stepped in. His calm but sharp tone silenced everyone instantly.
“Line up,” he ordered. “You’ve played enough. Now you’ll spar for real.”
The rookies snapped to attention. Even Phoenix stopped joking—Hydra had that effect.
The sparring was brutal but fair. Hydra moved like a shadow, disarming them one after another, but each time he paused to correct their form, pointing out tiny details they hadn’t noticed.
“Good. Again.” His voice was even, but it carried weight.
The rookies, exhausted, pushed themselves harder under his gaze. By the end, they were limping but proud—they’d actually improved.
“Not bad,” Hydra said finally, and the rare praise felt like gold.
The Chaos After Training
Dinner was loud. The rookies sat together, sore but smiling, while the second-years continued their nonsense.
“You all survived day one,” Valkyrie said warmly. “That’s something.”
“Barely,” Wyvern muttered.
“Don’t listen to him,” Nymph reassured them. “We were all like you once.”
“Not me,” Phoenix declared. “I was born perfect.”
Leviathan looked at him over his teacup. “You were born loud.”
The entire table erupted in laughter.
Later that Night
As the rookies finally collapsed into bed, Phoenix snuck into their dorm again, whispering ominously, “Beware… of the Umbra Ghost. He only steals shoes that smell bad. So if you want to keep your shoes, wash your feet.”
A pillow hit him square in the face—Cerberus had followed him. “Go to bed, idiot.”
The rookies, though tired, couldn’t stop laughing.
By the time the first week of training wrapped, the rookies were bruised, battered, and half-convinced their seniors were insane—but they were also tougher, faster, and already feeling like part of Umbra’s chaotic heartbeat.
High above, the banners of the Glooms still hung proud after their trophy win. Below, the Shades laughed and bickered, unaware that in hidden chambers, Seraph Falk Draganov was watching the progress of the Sleeping Gate, the final process ticking closer to completion.
For now, Umbra was filled with laughter. But the shadows were stirring.
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and then Add to home screen.