The tunnels of the Shadow Operations pulsed faintly with essence, veiled by silence. Aston moved carefully, Gray padding at his side in kitten form, Mirage folded small against his arm.

When he arrived at the chamber of briefings, Lamia was already waiting. Draped in her black mantle, she sat poised against the faint shimmer of runes etched into the walls, her gaze sharp enough to pierce through the veil she wore.

"You're back," she said, voice smooth and low, carrying no surprise.

Aston bowed slightly, keeping his tone level. "Mission complete. I and the others reached top one in the Integration Tactics Showcase event. That should meet the criteria."

Lamia's lips curved faintly, though it was hard to tell if it was approval or amusement. "It does. The objective required one placement in the top three among the festival events. We did not say which events. You have already won first place in the showcase. The Shadow Ops recognize this as a success."

Relief stirred faintly in Aston's chest, but Lamia's next words cut through it.

"Yet…" Her voice softened, sharper in intent. "Do not stop here. Do not content yourself with a single mark of achievement." She rose, the mantle whispering as she moved closer, her shadow stretching tall across the floor. "There are two more events. Two more opportunities. If you press forward, the rewards will compound."

Her tone shifted then, the cadence less Lamia, more Elder Erin, the mask of codename peeling back just enough to let truth gleam through. "And if you go further—if you seize not only a place, but the very top—then I will see to it personally that your efforts are recognized beyond any doubt. The Shadow Ops have treasures kept locked from the rest of the academy. Win them, and they may become yours."

Aston's fingers curled slightly at his side, his breath tightening. He bowed his head. "I understand."

"Good," Lamia murmured. She stepped back into the veil of shadow, her features swallowed again by the mantle. "Tomorrow begins the crucible. Go with clarity, Kynee."

He left the tunnels behind and returned to his dormitory.

—

The chamber lay in near-darkness, lit only by the faint glow of etched runes carved into the stone. They pulsed like a slow heartbeat, throwing shifting silver light across the vaulted ceiling. Lamia stood in the center, her veil draped loosely over her features, the shimmer of the runes catching her eyes and making them glint like tempered steel. Her posture was still, almost statuesque, yet the air around her vibrated faintly—as if she were listening to whispers only she could hear.

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"You've grown soft."

The words rolled out of the shadows, low and measured, carrying the weight of authority. They weren't spoken loudly, yet they filled the entire chamber as though the walls themselves bowed to the sound.

The atmosphere shifted in response. Space bent, warped, the edges of reality itself folding like cloth. From the far archway, another figure emerged. He was cloaked in the same shadow-draped attire of their order, but his garb was heavier, more austere, as though every thread was woven with command. His presence did not simply enter the chamber—it claimed it, suffocating, inevitable.

The runes dimmed as if acknowledging the stronger will. Even Lamia's veil fluttered against the sudden pull.

She did not turn her head. Her voice was calm, laced with quiet reproach. "You're late, Hades."

The man did not respond immediately. His hood tilted slightly, his gaze fixed upon the corridor Aston had departed through moments ago. His eyes—cold, calculating—cut through stone and shadow alike.

"So that is the boy," Hades murmured at last. The words were not a question. They were an assessment, heavy with layers of meaning.

Lamia tilted her head, her tone sharpening with the faintest thread of amusement. "Hadn't you already seen him earlier today? He was in your arena."

The silence that followed was palpable. The runes flared, brighter for a breath, then pulsed slower—as though echoing the tension. Her words carried more than observation. They were an unveiled implication, brushing dangerously close to the truth: the Vice Principal of Dawn Crest Academy stood here now, cloaked not in his title, but in the shadows of another name.

"Indeed he was…"

Hades's expression remained unchanged, but the chamber seemed to thicken under his presence. It was the kind of weight that pressed against the ribs and lungs, subtle yet unbearable, reminding Lamia that the man before her was not simply a superior in the chain of command—he was a being who commanded space itself.

The silence stretched. No words of denial passed his lips, and that absence was its own confirmation.

Lamia's lips curved faintly beneath her veil. "Then you see it as well."

Hades did not answer. His gaze lingered on the corridor, cold and unreadable, before he finally turned. His cloak stirred like smoke in a wind that did not exist, shadows rising to swallow him whole. The air twisted as if a seam had been cut open in the world, space itself bending to his will. He stepped into it, and the chamber sighed as it sealed behind him.

The silence that followed was heavy, echoing with the weight of secrets too dangerous to be spoken aloud.

Lamia lingered. The silver of the runes flickered across her veil, veiling her expression even from herself. A long breath left her lips, measured, deliberate. Whatever she thought remained veiled, hidden in folds of shadow.

Then, like a candle's flame snuffed in the dark, she too was gone, melting into the silence as if she had never been there at all.

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