The underworld burned with new names:


    Ghost. The one who walked out of death. Vaal. The shadow funder who poured gold into mercenaries like water.


    They didn’t know they were the same man. But both names echoed through the dens and backrooms.


    Inside his mercenary group, Caelan kept quiet. But those who fought beside him started to notice:


    He never hesitated.


    He killed like it was a language.


    He split gold evenly, never spoke of his real name.


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    Only a few in his squad began to earn his trust.


    Juno, the ex-noble sniper who never missed. Crass, a brawler who once fought a bear in a cage. And Mirk, the silent scout who saw everything.


    They didn’t know who Ghost really was. They didn’t care.


    But when word spread that Ghost would enter the Trials under another name...


    Whispers spread through the city:


    "Vaal is entering the Trials."


    Which made no sense.


    Vaal was a funder. A backroom myth. Not a killer.


    And yet, the rumor refused to die.


    Back at the Academy, Caelan prepared.


    Lucan pushed him to the edge. Every day was blood and sweat. No rest. No mercy.


    One night, Lucan finally said it:


    “This isn’t just about power. The Trials? They’re hunting grounds. The nobles want to see who deserves to rise. Who might threaten the old bloodlines. And they’ll do anything to break you.”


    Caelan stared back.


    “Then I’ll break them first.”


    Lucan grinned.


    Two worlds. One name.


    The Academy feared Caelan. The underworld worshipped Ghost.


    And in the coming Trials, both would bleed.