The moon hung high, pale and cold, when I slipped into the greenhouse again.
My hands were raw from sparring. My legs ached. The bruises from yesterday hadn't even finished forming. New ones bloomed beneath my sleeves like secrets no one was supposed to see.
But I couldn't sleep. Not with my mind racing like this.
That movement.
That strike.
That feeling.
It wasn't Dragon Style.
It wasn't anything Calden had drilled into my skull.
It was something else. Something older. Wilder. Like my body had cracked open and something else came crawling out—grinning.
And now, I had a name for it.
Beast Style.
The paper I'd copied from the old book crinkled between my fingers as I lit the candle with shaking hands. I set it down on the half-cleared stone bench and stood, breath fogging in the chilled greenhouse air.
The earth beneath me was cool. Damp. It clung to my bare feet like it didn't want to let go.
The shadows around me shifted gently. Watching.
Waiting.
Judging.
I swallowed hard.
"All right," I whispered. "Let's see if that was a fluke…"
My voice caught.
"…or something real."
I dropped into a stance—if you could even call it that. Nothing clean. Nothing noble. Just a crouch. Knees bent, weight forward, blade low and loose in my hand. Like prey ready to pounce.
Or maybe the predator.
I wasn't sure anymore.
My fingers trembled on the grip. Not from fear of the dark.
From fear of what might come out of me when I moved.
I exhaled.
And lunged.
Step. Slash. Twist. Duck. Lunge.
No pattern. No rhythm. No polished footwork.
Just survival. Motion. Instinct.
It felt… wrong.
It felt like losing control.
And yet—
It felt real.
The first few passes were chaos. I tripped. Slid. Nearly broke my nose on a rock. The pain grounded me—reminded me this wasn't some power fantasy.
This was me. Trying to unearth something that was never mine to begin with.
Or maybe something I'd buried.
Trying to unlock something that remembered how to fight before I ever did.
But slowly…
It started to come back.
The wildness.
The momentum.
The way the blade moved with me—not against me.
It didn't feel like training. It felt like shedding skin.
Like remembering.
Remembering what it felt like to fight to survive.
"Your body remembers what the mind forgets," the note had said.
And mine remembered something ugly.
Something terrified.
I wasn't a noble boy with a training blade anymore.
I was back in that hallway.
Back in the locker room.
Tobashi's voice echoing in my skull.
Hands in my collar.
Fists in my ribs.
Blood in my mouth.
Slash. Twist. Pivot. Strike.
I didn't count the movements. I didn't care. There was no audience. No applause.
Just me.
And the thing I was becoming.
My lungs burned. My arms shook. But I kept going.
Because stopping meant remembering.
And remembering meant breaking.
Until—
Veilstep.
The thought hit me like a spark in dry leaves.
The shadow spell. The one that felt like sliding through the seams of the world.
Would it work… while fighting?
Insane idea.
But maybe I was insane too.
I whispered the incantation through clenched teeth.
"Dreval'en sur naxthiil."
The world snapped.
The shadows rippled beneath me.
And I moved.
Not through strength.
Not through skill.
Through void.
My blade swung as I passed through it.
Like the strike pulled me, not the other way around.
Thud. Slash. Twist. Impact.
I landed ten feet away, heart pounding, body rattling.
My lungs dragged in air like I'd just crawled out of a grave.
I looked behind me.
No footprints.
Just a trail of broken soil where the blade had carved the air.
I'd done it.
I used Veilstep while fighting.
And in that moment—
I felt unstoppable.
I laughed. It broke out of me like a sob wrapped in teeth. Sharp. Ragged. Joy and fear twisted together.
"This changes everything."
I had bent shadow and steel together. Not with study. Not with ceremony.
But with instinct.
With trauma.
With something broken and stitched back wrong.
And the worst part?
It felt good.
Too good.
And then… silence.
The weight of it crushed me like a hand on my throat.
I sank to the ground.
Sword in one hand. Candle flickering low beside me.
The scent of dirt and sweat and something darker clinging to my skin.
Because no matter how powerful I felt—
No matter how wild or sharp or fast—
The truth still haunted me like a ghost with my face:
"I'm not supposed to have mana."
Not as a Ghostborn.
Not as a noble.
Not as me.
And whatever this Beast Style was…
However my body remembered it…
It left a hollow ache in my chest.
Not pride.
Not triumph.
Just dread.
Like I'd cracked open something inside me.
And I wasn't sure if I'd ever close it again.
I don't know how long I stayed like that.
Curled on the greenhouse floor, knees pulled to my chest, eyes fixed on the dirt like it held answers I'd missed. The candle had long since gone out. The warmth of magic faded. Only silence remained.
Not peace—just the silence that settles in after something breaks.
I felt hollow. Like the shadows I'd moved through had carved something out of me on their way through.
Not even fear anymore. Just numbness. And the quiet terror that maybe I was getting used to it.
Then—
"Master Kaelen?"
My breath hitched.
No. No no no.
I turned slowly, eyes wide.
Nareva stood in the doorway. Morning light spilled in behind her, outlining her silhouette in gold. The rusted hinges hadn't even creaked.
Of course it was her.
Her silver hair was braided tight over one shoulder, her pale uniform spotless despite the damp grass outside. And her expression—
Still. Calm. As unreadable as always.
But her eyes were on me.
On the scorched circle of dirt.
On the cracked pot behind me.
On the sword still clutched tight in my hand.
On the dark stains where my boots hadn't left footprints.
Shit.
"N-Nareva—" My voice cracked, throat dry. "Please—"
I stumbled to my feet, legs trembling. My pulse roared in my ears like thunder. I dropped the blade, hands raised like I was facing down an executioner.
"I—I wasn't doing anything wrong, I swear. I—I was just practicing. Just training."
She didn't speak. Just stood there, watching me unravel.
"I didn't mean to— I didn't know it would work. I didn't even mean to cast it during the swing, I just— I was trying to get better."
I took a step forward. She didn't move.
"Please."
My voice broke.
"Please don't tell them."
Still nothing.
"I'm not… I'm not supposed to have magic," I whispered. "I know that. I know. But I didn't ask for this. It just… started."
I felt my knees wobble again. I dropped back down to the bench, clutching my hands like they were the only solid thing in the world.
"If they find out… they'll take it away. They'll take everything away. I know they will. Or they'll hate me. Like before. Like—"
Like Tobashi.
I couldn't say it. Couldn't breathe it into the air with her standing there. But she saw it in my eyes. I knew she did.
"Please. Don't tell them. Don't tell my father. Don't tell Calden. Please…"
The silence stretched. Every heartbeat felt like it might be the one that broke me.
Then—
A slow inhale.
"I won't."
I blinked.
Her voice was soft. Unshaken. Like it didn't cost her anything to say it—but somehow, I knew it did.
"But," she added, stepping closer, her boots barely crunching the old soil, "you will come to me the next time something changes. You will not train alone like this again."
"I—I can't stop—"
"I didn't say stop."
I looked up, eyes wide.
"I said don't be alone."
Her gaze held mine a moment longer.
And for the first time, I saw something in her eyes.
Not just calm.
Something older. Heavier.
Something that understood exactly what I was afraid of.
She turned without another word and stepped back into the sunlight.
I sat there for a long time, barely breathing.
Not safe.
But not alone anymore.