And ahead… the door to the final chamber stood open.

Or… not a chamber.

A simple stone corridor.

Except it wasn't.

As Aston stepped inside, the entire length of the trial behind him—trap bridge, rune tiles, illusion hall—shimmered and faded. The stone reshaped itself in real time. Walls folded seamlessly inward. Glyphs dimmed. Mechanisms retracted.

And then… the passage was ordinary.

A polished, curved hallway, lined with lanterns and carved wood trim. As if the path had always been mundane.

A voice rang out, calm and curious.

"Interesting. Most take five attempts."

Aston turned.

At the far end stood a tall figure in a deep blue coat. Her hair was pulled back into a tight braid, her hawklike eyes scanning Aston from top to bottom. She leaned against the wall casually, arms folded. Beside her coiled a sleek panther-like beast, its fur rippling like water.

She offered a small smile. "You made it through."

Aston didn't answer at first. His eyes flicked to the hallway behind him—now completely changed.

"Where are the trials?"

"Gone," she said. "They were never meant to be permanent. Just filters."

She walked forward, boots silent.

"The passage is always here. But only those we want see the real path. The rest… pass by an old stone ruin. Or just get lost in the fog."

The woman's voice was quiet, but it filled the hall easily. "Every year, a few make it through. But you…" Her eyes narrowed slightly, not with suspicion, but with quiet appraisal. "You didn't hesitate. Even the illusion corridor barely touched you."

Aston stepped forward cautiously, Gray at his side and Mirage gliding above. His posture was relaxed, but he was far from at ease. "Because it wasn't real."

"That doesn't matter to most people," she said, stopping a few paces away. "Pain and fear don't need to be real to leave a mark. You saw through it—and you walked through it. That's rare."

Aston tilted his head. "You were watching?"

"Part of the job." She gave a small shrug. "The trials aren't automated. The moment you took the first step through that hidden arch, your progress was monitored."

Nova chimed faintly in Aston's vision, registering subtle surveillance nodes embedded within the walls now that the illusion had fallen. They had always been there—watching, recording, silently judging.

He looked at her more closely. The eyes scream familiarity. The deliberate stillness of someone trained to move unseen.

"…So you're part of Shadow Operations," he said, voice low. Then after a moment's pause, added dryly, "Instructor Ilyen."

She smiled again, a little wider this time, though there was something unreadable in her gaze.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

That's right. The woman in front of Aston is his professor for SAD-101 - Spirit Beast Integration for Recon: Instructor Ilyen Vey.

His tone was light, but his mind was racing. "But you've never said a word about this."

"I wouldn't be very good at my job if I did," the instructor replied, folding her arms again. "Shadow Ops isn't advertised. The trials are invitation-only. And only to those who survive the first filter. Even those who failed the trials have sworn a harsh spiritual oath to keep the organization secret." Then she paused.

The beast beside her—panther-like, with rippling translucent fur—moved slightly, eyes glowing with pale amethyst light.

"We scout for more than strength," Instructor Ilyen said at last. "We look for judgment. Adaptability. The ability to read the terrain, both literal and political. You've already drawn some attention. Your core potential? Does not matter. Though I admit, I have doubts about that 'red core' of yours."

Aston said nothing, his eyes flicking once toward the curved hallway that now looked utterly mundane.

"You'll be assigned a codename next. You know the nature of our organization," Instructor Ilyen continued. "There are protocols for integration—tests, tasks, internal clearance. But this"—she gestured behind her—"aside from your exam, was the first real step."

"Just a test?" Aston asked, a flicker of wariness in his voice.

Her gaze met his directly. "Everything at this academy is a test, Rhyner. But this? This was one you chose."

A quiet hum pulsed from the walls, and a faint outline of a gate shimmered at the far end of the corridor—sleek, obsidian-edged, and engraved with sigils that matched none of the known divisions at Dawn Crest.

The symbol of Shadow Operations.

Instructor Ilyen turned, her coat swaying. "Come. Let's show you the headquarters."

lyen moved ahead, her stride smooth and silent. The shadow-beast at her side padded forward, seamlessly blending into the shifting light as though it had never been there at all.

Aston followed.

As they passed through the obsidian gate, the atmosphere changed again—not the biting secrecy of the trials, but something older. More controlled. The hallway curved slightly downward, and then opened into a vast, domed chamber.

Aston blinked.

It was not what he expected.

The heart of Shadow Operations was quiet—but not cold. Smooth stonework curved across the walls like overlapping scales. The space wasn't brightly lit, but neither was it dark; bioluminescent lines traced the veins of the stone, flowing in slow, pulsing patterns like heartbeat rhythms. Spirit-light chandeliers floated above, suspended by anchored glyphs, casting pools of blue and violet illumination across the polished floor.

Tiers of walkways circled the chamber's edges, connecting narrow hallways that vanished into the shadows. On the far side, a waterfall—silent, slow, and impossibly thin—cascaded down from an unseen crevice, disappearing into a narrow basin laced with runic silver. It wasn't decoration. Aston could feel it: a cleansing veil of some kind. A spirit seal.

Above it all, on the ceiling, was a mural. Subtle. Old. A swirling spiral of figures—half-shadow, half-light—woven into a tangled dance. No names. Only symbols.

He stepped further inside.

"This is the Outer Ring," Ilyen said calmly, gesturing around them. "You'll only have access here until further notice. The deeper levels are for cleared personnel."

Aston nodded slowly, taking it in.

"And the others?" he asked.

Ilyen gestured to a balcony above, where faint silhouettes moved—silent, quick. Some passed through walls he hadn't seen moments before. Others disappeared altogether.

"No one goes by their real name here," she continued. "It's for operational clarity. And protection."

She turned to face him, her expression composed.

"From now on, you'll be known by your codename. It's chosen, not given. You'll log it into the system before you leave this ring."

Aston raised an eyebrow. "So what do I call you here, then?"

She smiled faintly, something more secretive behind it now. "Instructor Ilyen Vey exists above.

"Here…" She stepped closer. "You'll refer to me as Ichor—the blood of gods."

The name echoed softly in the chamber.

Not a title. A mask.

Aston's gaze swept over the surroundings again—the hidden doors, the quiet watchers, the absence of identity. Not anonymity. Purpose.

He looked back to her, and nodded once.

"I'll think of one," he said.

"Good," Ilyen—no, Ichor replied. "Because your next steps depend on it."

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