The calm of Ebonvale Academy shattered like glass as the sharp crack of gunfire echoed across the campus grounds. Students screamed, their voices weaving into the chaos as the distant clatter of rushed footsteps filled the air. The stench of gunpowder lingered, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.
The scene at the courtyard was brutal. The academy’s once-pristine cobblestones were stained red, the bodies of several security guards sprawled in grotesque angles near the gates. Before them stood a group of heavily armed Lizardkin thugs, their weapons glinting under the sun. Their leader, a towering Lizardkin draped in a garish yet intimidating coat of blood-red scales and embroidered with golden patterns, stood at the center. His wide-brimmed hat, adorned with black feathers, added an air of exaggerated theatricality, his icy-blue eyes betraying a predator’s calculating demeanor.
The Lizardkin boss lowered his ornate pistol, still smoking from the recent gunfire, and surveyed his surroundings. His henchmen—rough and scaly brutes wielding crude, rune-etched firearms—fired more shots into the air, ensuring their dominance over the trembling crowd of students. Every gunshot struck terror like a hammer, forcing many to retreat in desperation.
From the high terraces surrounding the courtyard, some of the wealthier students reacted with a rehearsed calm, quickly erecting protective barriers using their magecraft or clutching talismans handed down through elite bloodlines. Meanwhile, others panicked, scattering like prey, dragging friends or fellow students to safety where they could. This stark contrast exposed the stark divide between Ebonvale’s societal factions—those born into power and privilege, and those who learned to fend for themselves with grit and luck.
---
Inside one of the academy’s halls, the muffled sounds of gunfire reached the ears of Rynn, Aria, Teris, Aelor, and Eva as they hurried down the corridor.
“What in the blazes is going on out there?” Teris asked, his voice tense as he adjusted his glasses and clutched a set of council protocols to his chest.
“Sounds like trouble,” Rynn said, his smirk betraying his eagerness rather than concern. “Should be fun.”
“This isn’t a game, Rynn,” Aelor said sternly, his antlers gleaming as he picked up the pace. “If those shots mean what I think they do, we’re in real danger.”
Aria, her crimson eyes narrowing, remained silent. Her steady breathing and clenched fists betrayed an anger rising beneath her calm exterior.
Eva, still fatigued and slightly bruised from her earlier duel, trailed slightly behind. She winced with each step but kept up, her cerulean eyes flickering with concern. “Guns on campus? Doesn’t exactly scream ‘school spirit,’ does it?” Her tone was light, but the tightness in her voice betrayed her unease.
“Eva, you’re injured,” Teris said, glancing over his shoulder. “You should—”
“Don’t even think about saying ‘sit this one out,’” Eva interrupted sharply. “I’ll help with the evacuation. You’re not leaving me out of this.”
Aelor’s gaze softened slightly as they reached the courtyard’s outer hall. “She’s right. Teris, Eva, and I should focus on getting the students to safety. Rynn and Aria can handle the rest.”
“Dividing roles now, are we?” Rynn said, quirking an eyebrow. “Fine by me. Just don’t get yourselves killed.”
Eva rolled her eyes. “You’re such a sweetheart, Rynn.”
“Let’s move!” Aria barked, her voice cutting through the banter like a blade. Her crimson eyes flicked toward the courtyard entrance, her instincts urging her to charge forward.
---
The group emerged to see the full scope of the chaos. The Lizardkin thugs were laughing amongst themselves, enjoying the fear they had sown. The boss stood motionless, radiating calm authority, his pistol holstered but his clawed fingers hovering near it like a coiled spring.
Students were scrambling to take cover, some shielded by hastily conjured barriers while others helped the wounded to safety.
“Eva, Aelor, with me!” Teris commanded, pointing toward a group of panicked first-years pinned near a wall. “We’ll handle the evacuation. Rynn, Aria—take care of the situation.”
“On it,” Rynn said, his smirk widening. He cracked his knuckles as he turned to Aria. “Ready to play hero?”
“I’m not doing this for you,” Aria replied curtly, stepping ahead of him.
Meanwhile, Eva glanced back at Rynn, her voice tinged with uncharacteristic seriousness. “Don’t get yourself shot, President.”
“Touched by your concern,” Rynn replied, flashing her a grin before following Aria toward the commotion.
---
By the time Rynn and Aria reached the epicenter of the chaos, Dean Alaric Tamsin was already there, his wiry Ratkin frame deceptively calm as he addressed the Lizardkin boss.
“We’ll hear your demands,” Alaric said, his sharp eyes fixed on the towering figure. “There’s no need for more violence.”
The Lizardkin boss sneered, baring his jagged teeth. “Demands, eh? Thought you fancy folk would grovel a bit more before asking that.” His voice was gravelly, his words dripping with mockery.
Before the Dean could respond, one of the Lizardkin goons pointed toward Rynn, who had just stepped into view. “Boss, that’s him!” the thug exclaimed. “That’s—”
The boss turned sharply, his icy-blue eyes narrowing as he studied Rynn. For a moment, silence fell over the courtyard.
Then, with an almost casual motion, the Lizardkin boss drew his pistol and shot the goon in the head. The sound of the gunshot echoed like a thunderclap, and the thug’s lifeless body slumped to the ground.
The students who had stayed to watch screamed, and even some of the more composed bystanders recoiled. Aria staggered back slightly, her breath catching as her chest began to heave.
The boss holstered his weapon, his expression cold as he turned to his remaining crew. “We’re leaving.” Without another word, the Lizardkin began to retreat, his goons following close behind.
---
As the courtyard emptied of its attackers, Aria collapsed to her knees, her breathing rapid and uneven. Rynn barely spared the dead goon a glance as he approached her, his smirk absent for once.
“Get it together, Velshade,” he said, his tone lacking its usual mockery.
Aria’s hand trembled, but she clenched it into a fist and nodded, forcing herself to stand.
Dean Alaric approached, his expression grim. “I’ve already had the staff contact the Inquisitor Guild to investigate this incident. In the meantime, I need you, Rynn, to gather the students in the auditorium. There needs to be an official statement addressing what’s happened.”
Rynn raised an eyebrow. “You’re trusting me to play the responsible leader now?”
The Dean’s sharp gaze bore into him. “You’re the student council president, Rynn. Start acting like it.”
Rynn smirked faintly, gesturing toward Aria. “Come on, Velshade. Let’s rally the troops.”
As the staff began cleaning up the bodies of the fallen guards, Rynn and Aria moved to carry out the Dean’s orders. But the memory of the gunshot and the chilling ruthlessness of the Lizardkin boss lingered in the air—a stark reminder that even the hallowed halls of Ebonvale were not immune to the chaos beyond their gates.
---
The auditorium of Ebonvale Academy was packed, the air charged with tension and unease. The soft murmur of hushed voices filled the vast hall, students from every Beastkin faction whispering speculations and fears in the wake of the bloodshed that had marred their campus. The massive crystal chandelier above cast a muted glow, refracting light across the walls in scattered patterns—a stark contrast to the heavy mood below.
At the center of it all stood Rynn Yogini, perched at the podium, his sapphire eyes surveying the crowd like a predator analyzing its prey. His posture was casual, almost dismissive, but his presence commanded attention. He adjusted his collar with deliberate flair, his smirk faint but sharp, as if daring the room to fall silent.
“Ladies. Gentlemen. Kin of all persuasions,” he began, his voice dripping with charisma. “What a spectacularly dreadful day, wouldn’t you agree?”
The murmurs died instantly, all eyes fixed on him. There was something in the way he spoke—a blend of mocking wit and undeniable allure that made it impossible to look away.
“I imagine some of you are shaken,” he continued, pacing slowly across the stage. “Gunfire. Blood. Corpses staining the pristine grounds of our beloved academy. Not exactly the type of excitement you signed up for, is it?” His smirk widened, the edge of nihilism creeping into his tone. “But let me enlighten you. This world doesn’t care about your expectations or your pedigrees. Violence doesn’t knock politely before kicking down the door.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room. “What happened today wasn’t random. It wasn’t senseless. It was a message. The S-Kill-ED gang, for those of you unfamiliar, are not the kind of people who send polite texts. No, their ‘negotiations’ tend to involve bullets and bloodshed. Their presence here was no accident. Someone—a member of their gang—died last night, and they decided to make an example out of us.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd, though a few students straightened their posture in quiet defiance. Others fidgeted nervously, their fear on full display. Rynn’s smirk deepened at the range of reactions.
“And so here we are,” he said, gesturing grandly. “An academy built on reputation and privilege, humbled in an instant. I could give you platitudes—tell you that this is an anomaly, that it won’t happen again—but that would be a lie. The truth is, if you don’t learn to fight, to protect yourselves, this won’t be the last time you’re caught off-guard.”
His tone shifted, becoming darker, more empathic in its intensity. “It’s easy to sit behind enchanted barriers and wait for someone else to save you. But out there?” He pointed toward the exit, his voice hardening. “Out there, there are people who will rip those barriers apart just to see you crumble. You can rely on the high society, your connections, your gilded safety nets—but only so long as they’re strong enough to hold.”
He turned to face the crowd directly, his smirk fading into something colder, more resolute. “Here’s the reality: the world doesn’t care who your parents are, how expensive your amulet is, or what crest you wear on your uniform. Out there, the only thing that matters is power. And if you don’t have it, someone else will use theirs against you.”
---
The silence in the room was deafening, every word hanging in the air like a challenge. Then, with a slow breath, Rynn’s smirk returned, though this time it carried a faint trace of something softer—almost imperceptible, but there.
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“But,” he said, his voice lifting, “for all the darkness that came knocking on our doors today, there was bravery here as well. You—yes, you—showed courage. You raised barriers to protect one another. You guided your classmates to safety. You proved that, when tested, even the shadows cannot snuff out the light entirely.”
He gestured toward the student council seats, where Teris, Aelor, and a still-bruised Eva sat. “And let’s not forget the council. Teris, your precision in organizing the evacuation was flawless—you saved lives. Aelor, your steadiness under pressure gave people the focus they needed to act. And Eva—what can I say? Even injured, you didn’t hesitate to jump into the chaos and do what needed to be done. You’re all impressive—if occasionally infuriating.”
The audience chuckled nervously at the last line, the tension breaking slightly.
“And, of course,” Rynn continued, his voice softening further, “Dean Tamsin. Without your swift and professional actions, who knows how much worse this could have been? You handled this with the expertise and authority befitting this institution. For that, I think we all owe you a debt of gratitude.”
The students erupted into applause, the sound echoing through the auditorium like a wave.
---
Rynn stepped back from the podium, letting the applause die down before delivering his final words. “Now, I won’t stand here and pretend this solves everything. It doesn’t. But it’s a start. Belief—whether in yourself, in your peers, or in those who hold the reins of power—is a foundation. Build on it. Strengthen it. And the next time the world comes knocking, you won’t just survive. You’ll endure.”
He gave a slight bow, flamboyant and calculated, before striding off the stage, his smirk firmly in place as he disappeared behind the curtains.
---
Dean Alaric Tamsin stepped up to the podium, his wiry frame somehow exuding both exhaustion and authority. The room, still buzzing from Rynn’s speech, fell quiet once more.
“Thank you, Rynn, for your... inspiring words,” Alaric began, his voice steady despite the weight of the day. “What occurred today was a tragedy. Lives were lost—lives of those who dedicated themselves to keeping this academy safe. We must honor them, not just with words, but with action.”
He paused, his sharp eyes sweeping the room. “I would like to take this moment to name those who acted with distinction: Professor Althera, for coordinating the wounded with precision; Professor Kylor, for erecting the barriers that kept the west hall secure; and Professor Mirren, whose bravery in the face of danger ensured no further lives were lost.”
Another round of applause followed, though it was quieter, more solemn.
---
Rynn leaned against one of the academy’s south courtyard pillars, the sharp chill of the evening breeze brushing against his face. The calm after the earlier chaos felt suffocating in its own way, as though the world were pretending nothing had happened. His thoughts flickered, but his expression betrayed no emotion. He stood there, silent, until the abrupt buzz of his cellphone broke the quiet.
Pulling it from his pocket, he glanced at the screen with a faint smirk—Swayg Yogini. Of course. She always had a way of inserting herself into things, especially when there was trouble.
He swiped to answer the call, bringing the phone to his ear.
“Rynn,” came his mother’s voice, sharp and direct, laced with the faintest undertone of concern. “Would you care to explain why I had to hear about today’s disaster from the Messenger Guild’s news feed instead of you?”
Rynn’s smirk didn’t falter. “I didn’t think it was worth interrupting your busy schedule, Mother. You know how dramatic these messengers can be.”
“Don’t be coy with me,” Swayg snapped, her irritation thinly veiled. “Students injured, security guards dead, gangsters firing guns on campus—do you even understand the implications of this? How does this reflect on us, Rynn? You’re part of this academy’s elite. Your actions—your presence—draw attention.”
“It reflects on the academy,” Rynn said flatly, his smirk sharpening with disdain. “Not me. I wasn’t the one firing bullets in the courtyard.”
Swayg exhaled audibly through the line, and when she spoke again, her tone was colder, more calculated. “I’ve just gotten off the phone with your father.”
Rynn’s amusement dropped slightly, his jaw tightening. “And?”
“The Twilight Conclave has accepted S-Kill-ED’s homage and reimbursement for the ‘misunderstanding,’” Swayg explained. Her words dripped with the formal detachment she used when discussing his father’s dealings. “Baelor assures me the gang’s actions were not intended to escalate into an attack on you. They’ve promised there will be no further incidents.”
Rynn gave a dry laugh, shifting his weight against the pillar. “Of course, Father thinks he can clean up this mess with a handshake and some blood money. How utterly predictable.”
“You should be grateful,” Swayg said sharply. “Your father is leveraging his position to ensure your safety. The gang has been pacified—for now.”
“For now,” Rynn echoed, his tone mocking. “And what happens next time they feel slighted, or another ‘misunderstanding’ arises? More ‘pacification’ from the Conclave?”
“Rynn,” Swayg began, but he didn’t let her finish.
“Save it,” he said, his voice cutting her off. “I don’t need Father’s protection, and I don’t need his excuses.” Without another word, he ended the call, slipping the phone back into his pocket with a faint scowl.
---
Rynn pushed away from the pillar, walking across the courtyard with his hands in his pockets. Beyond the academy gates, the Inquisitor Guild was finishing their investigation. Clad in their imposing robes, marked with intricate glyphs of authority and detection, the inquisitors moved with quiet purpose, packing their alchemical tools and magical resonance devices into sleek cases. Their presence carried an air of grim efficiency, like wolves scenting the aftermath of a hunt.
Gathered just outside the gates were reporters from the Messenger Guild, their enchanted microphones and floating recording devices capturing the scene as they peppered the inquisitors with questions. The lead inquisitor, a tall Tigerkin with striking silver stripes running down his arms, stood stoically amidst the barrage of inquiries.
“The attack was deliberate,” the Tigerkin said, his voice calm and controlled. “All evidence points to retaliation for the death of one of the S-Kill-ED gang’s members during an altercation the night prior. It appears the gang sought to make an example of the academy.”
A bright-eyed Rabbitkin reporter stepped forward, her notepad glowing as she wrote. “Was there any negligence on the academy’s part in preventing the attack?”
The Tigerkin’s steely gaze shifted to her, unyielding. “Our findings indicate that the academy’s security acted swiftly under the circumstances. While there were unavoidable casualties, their response mitigated further loss of life.”
“What about the King?” another reporter asked, their tone probing. “Has there been any acknowledgment of their possible involvement in mediating the gang’s retreat?”
“That’s beyond the scope of our investigation,” the Tigerkin replied curtly. “The guild is not authorized to comment on private agreements between external organizations.”
The reporters scribbled furiously, their enchanted pens scratching against glowing parchment as the inquisitors packed the last of their equipment. Within moments, the robed figures mounted their rune-inscribed vehicles, leaving the academy grounds in ominous silence.
---
The streets felt colder as Rynn made his way through the dimly lit alleys leading to the Crimson Stride's hideout. The faint hum of neon signs flickered overhead, but even their garish glow couldn’t pierce the growing dread in his chest. Something felt off—a gnawing sensation he couldn’t shake. As the wind shifted, the sharp, unmistakable scent of blood hit him like a freight train.
His instincts sharpened instantly. He stopped in his tracks, listening. The sound of muffled gunshots crackled faintly from somewhere ahead, punctuated by guttural shouts and panicked yells. His smirk, ever-present like a shield of indifference, faltered for the first time that day.
Steeling himself, Rynn slipped into the shadows, his steps silent and precise. The alleys seemed to stretch endlessly until he found himself at the hideout’s entrance—a run-down industrial building, once a manufacturing plant now claimed by his gang. The scent of blood was overpowering now, mixed with the acrid sting of gunpowder. His sharp sapphire eyes scanned the doorway, his muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike.
---
Rynn slipped inside, his breathing steady despite the chaos that lay ahead. The dim interior was a chaotic wreck. Crates and furniture were overturned, riddled with bullet holes, and the walls bore fresh scorch marks from stray rounds. He moved carefully, the muffled sound of voices drawing him deeper into the building.
Peering around the corner, he saw the source of the carnage: a masked Foxkin, his white fur streaked with spatters of blood, towering over James, a young Dogkin-Squirrelkin hybrid who was bleeding heavily from a gash on his side. The Foxkin’s voice was cold, mechanical through the mask, as he interrogated James with deliberate cruelty.
“Who leaked it?” the Foxkin demanded, aiming a pistol at James’s head. “Your gang had info you shouldn’t have. Who told you?”
James trembled, his breathing ragged, unable to speak through the pain.
Rynn’s eyes flicked across the room. His heart sank as he spotted Kade, the Deerkin enforcer, slumped lifelessly against the far wall, his wide antlers snapped and his chest soaked in crimson. Beside him were Sammy and Ricky, two more of the Crimson Stride, their bodies crumpled and still. Rage swirled in Rynn’s chest, a cold, sharp fury that pushed all other thoughts aside.
The Foxkin pressed the barrel of the gun harder against James’s head. “Last chance,” he said.
---
Rynn wasted no time. In one fluid motion, he surged forward, letting his psionics flare to their absolute limit. His body radiated with raw, unrestrained energy, and the room seemed to tremble under the sheer force of it. The Foxkin barely had time to react before Rynn was upon him.
With a single strike, Rynn’s energy-infused fist connected with the Foxkin’s chest, shattering bone and flesh alike. The masked assailant didn’t even have time to scream—his body practically disintegrated under the impact, reduced to a grotesque smear of blood and viscera that sprayed across the hideout walls. The sheer force of the attack tore through the room, collapsing part of the ceiling and sending a shockwave that rattled the building’s foundations.
The silence that followed was deafening. James, his fur matted with blood, stared in wide-eyed horror at the spectacle before him. His body convulsed with fear before he slumped unconscious, his mind unable to process the sheer magnitude of what he had just witnessed.
Rynn exhaled heavily, his psionics dimming as he surveyed the wreckage. The remains of the Foxkin were unrecognizable—his recklessness had turned the interrogator into nothing but a gruesome stain on the floor. It dawned on Rynn then, too late, that he had destroyed any chance of uncovering the truth behind the attack.
---
Rynn took a shaky step back, his gaze falling on the bodies of his fallen comrades. Kade, the unwavering Deerkin who had been a rock for the gang, lay motionless, his antlers broken like a crown stripped of its glory. Sammy and Ricky, once sources of endless jokes and camaraderie, were now lifeless reminders of his failure.
He clenched his fists tightly, his sharp nails biting into his palms. The Crimson Stride had been gutted—reduced to only Milo, James, and Zara, the latter two shaken beyond recognition. His smirk, the armor he always wore, was nowhere to be found. Instead, an unsettling hollowness began to creep into the edges of his mind.
He stepped over the rubble, his boots crunching against the debris as he approached the unconscious James. With a quick glance, he ensured the hybrid’s breathing was steady before letting his eyes wander to the destruction he had wrought. Part of him wished—hated himself for wishing—that he’d had the presence of mind to question the Foxkin before obliterating him.
---
The eerie silence of the Crimson Stride’s ruined hideout hung heavily in the air, broken only by the faint creak of the collapsed building settling into itself. Rynn stood amidst the destruction, his gaze lingering on James’s unconscious form and the mess of blood and rubble that painted a grim portrait of his failure. His fists clenched and unclenched, his mind running through every possible path forward but finding only dead ends.
Then he felt it—a familiar presence brushing against his heightened instincts. Subtle, light-footed, unmistakably Ratkin. Milo.
Rynn’s body tensed, his sharp sapphire eyes snapping to his side just as Milo materialized out of the shadows with a startling smoothness, his lithe frame almost blending with the gloom of the wreckage. For a brief moment, Rynn’s expression softened, his lips parting as if to speak—but then he saw it.
The dagger.
Time seemed to slow as Milo drove the blade into Rynn’s side. The sharp, unnatural cold of the ritual weapon cut through Rynn’s enhanced resilience like it was nothing. He staggered, his body jerking at the unexpected betrayal.
“Milo—” he choked out, his voice laced with both shock and fury.
Milo’s expression was unreadable, his usually nervous demeanor replaced by eerie calm. The Ratkin didn’t hold the weapon for long; he released the dagger’s handle as quickly as he had struck and darted back, narrowly avoiding Rynn’s immediate counterattack—a powerful, psionically-charged punch that pulverized the air where Milo had just stood.
Rynn dropped to one knee, the world tilting as a sickly, heavy sensation crept from the wound. He grit his teeth against the pain, his fingers closing around the dagger’s hilt. It pulsed in his hand, an ominous, dark energy radiating from the weapon’s intricate runes. A litany of curses filled his mind as he yanked the blade free, ignoring the fiery agony that followed.
---
Milo capitalized on Rynn’s distraction. With a swift, practiced motion, he hurled three vials to the floor at Rynn’s feet. The glass shattered, releasing an alchemical miasma that spread like wildfire, thick and choking. The air filled with a cloying, metallic stench as the purple-green fog engulfed Rynn and James, who remained unconscious on the ground.
Rynn tried to rise, but his limbs felt sluggish, weighted. The effects of the dagger were combining with the miasma’s toxic fumes, their compounded effects dragging him into a haze of disorientation.
“Milo!” Rynn roared, his voice strained but furious. His vision swam as he tried to push past the suffocating fog, his enhanced physique fighting valiantly against the combined attacks. “What are you doing?”
But Milo didn’t answer. The Ratkin stood just beyond the edges of the spreading cloud, his silhouette barely visible through the miasma. For a moment, it seemed he hesitated, his frame wavering slightly as if in conflict, but then he vanished again, retreating into the shadows with the same eerie precision he had entered with.
---
As the alchemical fog filled his lungs, Rynn’s body gave way to the overwhelming effects. His psionics flickered and dimmed, his sapphire eyes growing unfocused. The world tilted dangerously, shapes blending and shifting into surreal forms. He fell forward, catching himself with trembling hands, but even that proved futile as his muscles refused to obey.
Reality fragmented. Whether it was hallucination or grim truth, Rynn could no longer tell. Through the haze, he thought he saw Aria—her crimson eyes glinting with the faintest trace of a smirk. She stood over Milo, who was sprawled on the ground, his small frame riddled with blood.
Milo’s expression was hauntingly raw, a mix of anguish and betrayal that struck Rynn with unexpected weight. His lips moved, as if trying to speak, but no sound emerged.
Aria, still smirking, turned her gaze toward Rynn, and in that moment, he felt something he couldn’t quite name—a combination of fear, fury, and something far darker.
Then everything went black.
