11.

The academy's dark silhouette loomed ahead, its tall spires casting jagged shadows over the courtyard. The cool air carried the faint scent of damp earth and stone, mingling with the lingering tension that clung to the group. They stood in silence for a moment, all of them still reeling from the trial beneath the surface. The oppressive weight of the cavern was gone, but something darker lingered—something unspoken.

Viole glanced at his hand again, the black mark faint but present. It felt cold against his skin, a reminder of the power he had tapped into, the power he had barely controlled. He could still hear Aamon's voice echoing in the back of his mind, calm and calculated.

"That mark is a gift," Aamon said quietly. "Embrace it. You've only scratched the surface of what you're capable of."

Viole ignored him, clenching his fist. He wasn't ready to embrace anything yet. The personalities would always try to take control, push him toward their own goals, but he had to stay in control. He had to be the one making the decisions.

Seris broke the silence, her voice cutting through the tension. "We need to report back. The trial's over, and if we don't check in soon, they'll come looking for us." Her eyes flicked toward Viole, lingering on the black mark that marred his palm, but she didn't comment on it.

Toren grunted, flexing his fingers. "I'm ready to get out of here. This place gives me the creeps."

Viole didn't argue. The courtyard felt wrong, the silence unnerving. There should have been others—students, instructors, someone—but there was only the emptiness. The academy had always felt like a prison, with its towering walls and dark corridors, but now it felt like something more. Something watching, waiting for them to make a wrong move.

The silent boy, who had remained on the periphery throughout the trial, finally stirred. He hadn't spoken a word since they'd entered the cavern, and his eyes remained fixed on the ground, his thoughts hidden behind an expressionless mask. Viole wasn't sure what to make of him—his presence had been unnerving from the start.

Seris nodded toward the academy. "Let's go. We need answers."

They began the slow walk back toward the main building, the stone path beneath their feet uneven and cracked. The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie silver glow over the academy's gothic architecture. As they approached the entrance, Viole's chest tightened, the weight of the trial still pressing on him.

Something isn't right, he thought, his senses on edge. He could feel it—the subtle shift in the atmosphere, the way the shadows seemed to move just out of sight. It was as if the academy itself was watching them, aware of their presence.

They passed through the entrance, the heavy wooden doors creaking open with an unsettling groan. The corridor ahead was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting strange, elongated shadows across the walls. The sound of their footsteps echoed off the stone, the silence around them oppressive.

Toren muttered something under his breath, his eyes darting to the dark corners of the hallway. Seris remained calm, her expression unreadable, but Viole could see the tension in the way she moved—calculated, careful, ready for anything.

It wasn't until they reached the central hall that they realized something was wrong.

The hall was empty.

There were no students, no instructors, no sign of life. The torches on the walls flickered weakly, their flames casting faint light over the rows of empty benches that lined the room. It was as if the academy had been abandoned, left to decay in silence.

Seris frowned, her eyes narrowing. "Where is everyone?"

Toren growled, his hands flexing into fists. "This doesn't feel right."

Viole remained silent, his gaze sweeping over the empty hall. The oppressive feeling that had followed them from the cavern was stronger now, like a weight pressing down on his chest. His instincts screamed at him to turn back, to leave the academy and never return, but something deeper—something darker—kept him rooted in place.

The personalities stirred again, their presence stronger now.

Clark was the first to speak, his voice a venomous hiss. "This is a trap. They're watching us, waiting for us to make a mistake."

Viole grit his teeth, forcing Clark's voice back down. He couldn't afford to lose control now, not when the situation was so precarious. He needed to think, to stay focused.

Seris moved toward the center of the hall, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of movement. "We need to find someone. Anyone."

Viole nodded, though he wasn't sure what they would find. The academy had always been dangerous, but this felt different—like something had shifted, something had changed. The power that had surged through the shard, the creature they had faced in the depths of the cavern… it had all been tied to something ancient, something that had been disturbed.

As they moved through the hall, Viole's senses were on high alert. Every shadow seemed to move, every flicker of light felt like a threat. He could feel the personalities pressing against the edges of his mind, pushing him toward action.

And then, without warning, the air around them grew cold.

Viole froze, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. The torches flickered, their flames sputtering out one by one, plunging the hall into darkness. The oppressive weight returned, heavier now, suffocating.

Toren snarled, his body tensing as his claws extended. "What the hell is happening?"

Seris cursed under her breath, her hand going to her dagger. "It's here. Whatever it is… it's here."

Viole's heart pounded in his chest as the darkness closed in around them, thick and suffocating. He could feel it—something ancient, something powerful, lurking just beyond the edge of his vision. It was the same presence he had felt in the cavern, the same force that had spoken to him in the void.

And now, it was coming for them.

The shadows shifted, and Viole's breath caught in his throat. A figure emerged from the darkness, its form tall and cloaked in shadow. Its glowing red eyes locked onto him, burning with an intensity that made his blood run cold.

The figure spoke, its voice low and thunderous, echoing through the empty hall. "You should not have come back."