Morning crept into Arkwatch Academy like a ghost with nowhere left to haunt. The clouds above sagged with weight, and a soft, cold drizzle traced the glass panes of House Duskfield’s high-arched windows. It wasn’t the kind of rain that begged attention—just the kind that lingered, seeping into the bones of the world, unnoticed but undeniable.


    Malrik rose without a word.


    His uniform clung faintly to the scent of old blood. Dry now. Dull. But there. He slipped it on anyway, fingers steady, shoulders squared.


    No one saw the new light in his eyes.


    No one saw the scars the Soul Chamber had left behind—silent, spectral, woven into the marrow of who he was.


    He and Rowan walked into the Hall of Theory as though it were any other day. Books under one arm. A practiced mask on his face.


    No vision.


    No summoning.


    No echo of the Dread King.


    Just another student, quiet and focused. The mask fit well—almost too well.


    But Nyra knew better.


    “Still pretending?” she purred inside his mind, voice cool and curved with amusement. “You bleed from the eyes one night and take notes on echo theory the next.”


    He said nothing, eyes locked on the chalkboard as Master Relan outlined the stages of class manifestation. Behind the old man’s blind eyes, wisdom etched every syllable like scripture. The rest of the class scribbled in silence, but Malrik didn’t need notes. Not for this.


    He was the lesson.


    “What is your plan, Malrik?” Nyra asked again. “You now bear a name that once commanded kingdoms of the dead. You summoned your first. You carry a vault older than the walls around you. So what next?”


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    Malrik’s eyes shifted, drifting to the rain-slicked glass.


    “I learn,” he whispered in thought. “Quietly. Patiently. And when I move again, I won’t be guessing. I’ll be ready.”


    Tactical Studies was never quiet—not with Instructor Verek prowling the front like a caged beast, scars twisting down his neck, voice gravel wrapped in steel.


    “Dungeons,” he barked, slamming a callused hand against the board, “are not just danger. They are living echoes—zones where reality thins and the System roots deep.”


    He marked the map with thick strokes of red. A circle. A name.


    ---


    Hollowdeep Grotto.


    ---


    “Low-tier,” he continued. “Old mining tunnels twisted by residual echo energy. Home to goblin tribes. Perfect for you lot to cut your teeth.”


    Whispers spread. Students leaned forward. Lyra Dawnflare’s hand shot up like lightning.


    “Are we going?”


    Verek gave a rare grin. “Once enough of you awaken, yes. Field deployment. Full formation drills. A chance to see if you’re hunters… or bait.”


    Malrik raised his hand. Calm. Controlled.


    “Where exactly is it?”


    Verek tapped again. “Half-day northeast. Forest trail. Deep wood. You’ll be armed. You’ll be protected.”


    But Malrik wasn’t listening anymore.


    His mind was already walking those tunnels.


    Dusk crawled across the academy grounds in hues of ash and rust. As the others filled the dining halls and recited the day’s lectures, Malrik took to the outer path—hood drawn, eyes low. Rain misted around him, soft as breath.


    “You’re thinking about going there,” Nyra said. Not a question. A knowing.


    Malrik didn’t deny it. “Before they do.”


    “Dangerous. Bold. Perhaps foolish.”


    “I need to see it. Feel it. Before they contaminate it with rules and teachers and fear.”


    “To what end?”


    He paused beneath an old sycamore, raindrops falling through its branches like whispered secrets.


    “To train. To build. If I can claim part of that dungeon—bind the fallen, test Veyna, push the limits—then I grow. Quietly. Faster than the rest.”


    There was a long silence.


    Then:


    “You could go at night. The old ridge path still exists—overgrown, but unguarded. The patrols won’t find you there.”


    His heart beat faster. “You’ve been watching it?”


    “Always. It breathes… like a wound in the world. The goblins stir, but they are only the surface. The deeper places still sleep.”


    “And I’ll be the one to wake them.”


    “You’ll need caution. A blade. And Veyna.”


    He smiled faintly, a flicker of fire in his otherwise cold expression.


    “Then I’ll bring her.”


    His gaze drifted back to the glowing towers of Arkwatch.


    Students laughed. Teachers prepared. They looked toward the next exam, the next sanctioned test.


    But Malrik Valtor?


    He was already planning tonight.


    Because dungeons were more than danger.


    They were opportunity.


    And the shadows beneath Hollowdeep Grotto would not wait forever.


    He would go first.


    He would raise what others feared.


    He would carve power from the dead before dawn ever noticed he was gone.


    And when the others arrived…


    They would not recognize the boy who had already begun building a kingdom beneath their feet.