The stone walls of the trial chamber rumbled as the last teams limped back to the arena.
It was over. The instructors were beginning to dismiss the remaining candidates. Heal spells were cast, teams were checked, and new Corps members were already discussing placements.
Akira stood near the far gate, watching the others file out. His legs were still shaky. Shikoku had gone quiet again, the dead weight against his back, only responded when he was about to die, it made him feel uneasy.
Across the courtyard, someone called his name.
"Akira!"
He turned. Yuna, the elemental girl he met earlier in the exam. waved him over with a bright smile. "You didn't die. I'm impressed."
Akira smirked. "Didn't plan to."
Yuna walked beside him as they exited the arena. "What team were you with?"
"Team Four. I didn't pass. But... I think I got invited to Squad 6.
"Her eyes widened. "Wait—you what?"
Before he could answer—A pulse of mana ripped across the arena.
Everything froze.
Then the sky tore open.
A black, spiraling crack opened midair, swallowing light itself. The temperature dropped instantly. Instructors shouted, students screamed.
Out of the rift stepped a figure wrapped in swirling shadows.
Tall. Hooded. Eyes glowing red.
Zabi.
Tenth of the Fallen Dawn.
The energy around him twisted unnaturally. Each step he took shattered the ground beneath. His mana was wrong cold and jagged, like glass breaking inside your chest.
"Intruder! Get the students out—NOW!" someone bellowed.
But Zabi wasn't here to fight everyone. His eyes scanned the crowd with slow precision.
"Where is it…" he murmured, voice thick with mana distortion "Where is the blade?"
Akira's heart stopped.
He didn't speak. But Zabi's head snapped in his direction.
"You…"
Before Akira could move, Zabi extended one hand. A wave of telekinetic force hurled him backward into the arena wall. Dust exploded into the air.
Yuna jumped forward, slamming her hands together. A bolt of crackling elemental energy shot toward Zabi, but he swatted it away mid-air with a single glance.
"You don't matter," he said coldly. "I want him."
Akira forced himself to stand. His ribs ached. The sword was still on his back silent.
"Please," he thought. "Now. Please!"
Nothing.
Zabi raised his hand again.
Akira dodged just in time to avoid being impaled by flying debris. Yuna circled around him, conjuring a whip of plasma in her grip.
"I don't know who you are," she said to Zabi, "but if you want him, you're going through me."
Zabi barely looked at her. "As you wish."
With a flick of his wrist, the ground beneath Yuna warped rising like fingers to grab her legs.
Akira rushed forward, swinging Shikoku but the sword felt dull. Like a normal blade. No mana. No reaction.
Zabi caught the strike mid-air with telekinesis and hurled Akira across the arena again. His chest hit the stone, hard.
Everything blurred.
He rolled over just in time to see Zabi striding toward him, eyes glowing brighter.
"You were chosen," he said. "But not by the blade. By something worse."
A black spear of psychic force formed in Zabi's hand.
Akira didn't have the strength to move.
The students screamed.
Some tried to run. Others froze.
"This is it!" Akira thought.
The spear plunged down. But it never hit.
A cyclone ripped through the arena, scattering stone and shadow alike.
Wind howled like a storm from the heavens.
A blur of silver and blue appeared between them.
Fan-shaped weapons shimmered in both hands. Robes of deep navy fluttered, long sleeves dancing like wings. Her eyes were unreadable, cold as the air around her.
Captain Reina Kurotsuki.
Squad 7.
She didn't speak.
She struck.
One graceful swing of her left fan released a compressed wind slash so sharp it cleaved the arena wall clean in half.
Zabi stumbled back not wounded, but off balance.
He hissed, shadows flickering around his legs.
"This isn't over," he snarled.
Then—fwoosh—he was gone, vanishing back into the black rift from which he came.
Silence fell like snow.
The portal sealed behind him.
High above, in the viewing stands, a man in a long white coat leaned forward slightly.
Captain Kaito Shinomura of Squad 4.
His eyes had caught something.
On the back of Zabi's neck, just before the shadow closed—he'd seen it.
A black sun tattoo. Simple. Ancient. But Wrong.
Kaito's lips curled into a smile.
"Well, well," he whispered. "So... the Black Sun moves again."
He said nothing else.
Just watched.
Back in the cratered arena, Akira lay on the ground, chest heaving, blade beside him.
Shikoku didn't glow. Didn't speak.
But Akira could feel it.
The sword was afraid.