Zian didn't sleep.
The assassins were gone—devoured by Kaen's shadows—but their presence still clung to the air. She had questions. Too many.
So she did what any soldier would do.
She went back to the battlefield.
Professor Drayven's office was quiet at midnight. Too quiet. The wards, usually humming with enchantments, were still.
She stepped through the door.
"Looking for something?" came Drayven's voice from the dark.
Zian didn't flinch. "Answers."
He sat calmly at his desk, as if expecting her.
"I know you've been watching me," she said. "Guiding me toward these memories. Why?"
Drayven's scar twitched. "Because you are unfinished."
"You said Kaen was something that shouldn't exist. But you never warned anyone else. You let him stay close to me. You knew who he was."
She narrowed her eyes. "What are you?"
He paused… and smiled.
Then his body shifted.
His face melted like wax. His form bubbled and warped, revealing a viscous, shifting creature—a slime, dark and pulsing with ancient energy.
Zian stepped back, hand on her blade.
"Relax," came a voice—not Drayven's, but Kaen's.
He stepped from the shadows behind her, completely calm. "It's rude to stab your tutor."
Zian turned sharply. "You created him?"
Kaen shrugged. "A shell. A slime given thought, flesh, and memory. He was never real. Just a tool to keep your path… focused."
Zian's jaw clenched. "You lied to me. You manipulated me—"
"I helped you remember," Kaen cut in, his voice colder. "That's what you wanted, isn't it? Vengeance. Strength. The truth."
Her sword drew halfway out of its sheath. "That wasn't your choice to make."
Kaen's crimson eyes flickered, no smile now. "Then make your choice now."
Zian hesitated.
Then she turned her blade—not toward Kaen, but toward the dripping remains of Drayven. With one clean motion, she severed it. The slime creature gave a warped screech—but it didn't die.
Instead, it collapsed into a puddle of black liquid… and crawled toward Kaen, like a loyal pet returning home. It slid across the floor and was absorbed into his shadow like ink into paper.
Zian stared, horrified. "You're keeping it alive?"
Kaen's tone was casual. "He's useful. You'll see him again."
"But he's a lie."
"All good teachers are," Kaen replied with a smirk.
The next morning, Professor Drayven stood before Class A-2 as if nothing had happened. His scar still marked his face. His voice was still dry, controlled, commanding.
Zian sat quietly in her seat, golden eyes flicking toward Kaen beside her.
He didn't look at her.
But when Drayven passed by her row, he winked—just once.
Zian's hand clenched into a fist.
The classroom moved on like normal.
But she knew now: everything here was being orchestrated.
And no one else could see it but her.