A man sits upon a throne in a dark chamber. The only light filters through a tall, narrow window behind him pale lunar glow spilling in, just enough to edge the silhouette of his form. But he remains cloaked in shadow. Only his green eyes gleam sharp, tired, unblinking.
His voice cuts the silence. Deep, gruff, and sickly with rot.
"I need you to take care of the Duke of Molip's family. Word is he's mobilizing an army, targeting border villages. Plenty are willing to pay for his death. So I leave it to you...724."
Standing before him is a boy, no older than fifteen. Black, unkempt hair hangs around his neck, violet eyes glowing faintly beneath the strands. His face is expressionless. A red brand scorches the side of his neck, the skin around it blistered and raw. He wears a tattered cloak, dark clothes beneath the uniform of someone shaped by violence.
The boy nods. Silent. Then steps back into the dark... and vanishes.
The kingdom of Dratch sprawls below.Its center: a towering castle veiled in moonlight. Concentric walls radiate outward, the second and third rings crowded with army bases, barracks, and smoke-belching forges. Farther still lie the slums and markets, where commoners cling to survival.
Beyond Dratch are the sub-kingdoms, fractured fiefdoms ruled by bloated nobles who cling to power like drowning men.
One such territory, Molip's Hold, sits quiet beneath the stars.
"Dratch barely clawed its way out of war… yet nobles still think of conquest, "724 mutters from the treetops, eyes fixed on the sub-kingdom's castle, nestled within its walls like a parasite.
He leaps.
The forest swallows him. Moments later, he appears atop the outer roof. Guards patrol below, distracted, disorganized.
724 drops down silently, landing near a high window. He draws a hidden blade, carefully slices the hinges, sets the pane aside, and slips inside.
From his cloak, he pulls a plain black mask. Wears it.
Footsteps echo down the hall.
He melts into the shadows.
As the guard rounds the corner, a flash. The head rolls before the body even knows it's dead.
He moves.
Down the corridor. Around the bend. He peers into the courtyard and patrols everywhere.
"That door… that's the one."
He vanishes into shadow again.
One by one, the guards fall. Silent. Swift. Confusion erupts too late.
"INTRUDER!" someone screams.
724 doesn't care. He moves faster. Cleaner. No wasted blood.
He reaches for the doorIt bursts open.
Instinct takes over. He slashes
But it's not a guard.
A girl barely thirteen slumps against the doorframe. Her dress is soaked in blood. She drops, lifeless.
724 stares. A flicker of guilt crosses his face.
Then… gone. He steps over her.
The inner chamber.
Two doors on either side. One massive one at the far end. Two giants guard it, plated in steel, wielding greatswords as long as men.
One charge.
724 slides under the first swing, slashing across the chest. The blow staggers him, but not enough. The second guard kicks 724 into the wall with a thunderous crack.
The sword comes down.
724 rolls sideways, dodging by inches. He plants a foot on the wall and launches.
He kicks the door in mid-air.
Inside, the Duke of Molip stands at his desk, startled.
Too late.
By the time the guards crash through the door, it's done.
Only a headless corpse remains, slumped in the chair. The window behind him shattered. Blood drips from the edge of the desk to the floor.
And 724 is gone.
Bells toll in the distance, muffled by the thickness of the forest.
724 moves like a phantom, swift, silent, barely stirring the underbrush. The treeline breaks, revealing a forgotten, rotting cabin sagging under time and neglect.
He slips inside.
Two beds. One on each side. Nothing else but silence.
"Guess he's not back yet."
He lies down, cloak still wrapped tight, and closes his eyes.
No sun greets him.
Though dawn rises across the world, light never touches this place.
He stands again in that black chamber before the man on the throne, the moonlight behind him like a god's hollow halo. The green eyes cut through the dark.
"Master," Kilisu says flatly."The mission is complete."
The man steeples his fingers, voice a dry scrape.
"So I've heard. The Duke is dead. But there is… noise. They whisper now of an assassin 724. Why didn't you eliminate the witness?"
Kilisu lowers his gaze.
"I feared reinforcements. A larger force might've closed in if I had delayed."
The man pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing.
"That complicates things."
A pause.
Kilisu speaks, voice softer than before.
"Plans?"
The man's lips curl into something like amusement.
"Ah… right. I've yet to inform you."
He leans forward.
"Grandmaster Gustus has retired from the battlefield. War and age have dulled his blade, so now he teaches Dratch Academy, no less. A man like him… still dangerous. Not for his strength, but his ideas. He builds futures. Inspires kings. And we can't have that.
There are ten Grandmasters in the world, 724. Most stay out of politics. Gustus refuses. So I'm sending you there.
You're to infiltrate the Academy. Blend in. Get close. And when the time is right… Take his head."
Kilisu's pulse quickens. But he doesn't flinch.
The man continues:
"You'll attend as a student. With your partner. And I expect results before the end of the school year."
"What if I fail?" Kilisu asks.
The throne room turns colder.
"Then your partner dies. And you… Well, you'll beg to follow him."
Kilisu nods, slowly.
"Understood."
The man leans back, voice nearly a whisper now.
"Your name is not 724. It never was. You've clung to it in secret, but I permit it now. You are Kilisu."
A flicker of light catches in Kilisu's eyes.
"I see."
"You leave tomorrow for the entrance exams. Don't disappoint me… Kilisu."
Kilisu steps out into the morning air. For once, the sun barely touches his face.
Behind him, the master's voice cuts through the silence one last time:
"And, Kilisu…Hide the brand. You've made it famous now."
Kilisu doesn't look back. He reaches up, adjusts his cloak, letting the fabric drape over the scorched skin of his neck. The red brand 724 disappears beneath the folds.
Kilisu steps out into the early morning light. For once, it reaches his face.
Across the clearing stands another boy, his age. Dark blue hair. Cyan eyes that shimmer with life. His presence is like a tear in the fog light, pure and unbent.
Kilisu squints.
"Zenko."
The name carries more warmth than he intended. Just enough.
The morning air is cool. Birds begin to stir. Kilisu adjusts his cloak, the 724 brand hidden once more beneath the fabric. Across the field, Zenko stands waiting with the same burn on his neck, only branded 755.
"Hey, Kilisu! Did you get the news? Do you see the opportunities?" Zenko grins, practically bouncing."I mean, a whole year in a real academy! We can learn about soul energy, we can make friends, we ca.."
"That's not why we're there, Zenko."Kilisu's voice cuts sharply. His face darkens.
Zenko's smile falters. Just a bit.
"I… I know. It's just…It's still a chance, you know? I wanted to take it."
Kilisu doesn't answer at first.
His thoughts are quiet, heavy.
The stakes of failure are too high. Not for him, he doesn't see it that way. I begged the master to lessen his punishment if he fails… but...He doesn't know what would really happen. And I don't want him to end up like me.
Kilisu exhales. Then he smiles small, tired, but real.
"It is a whole year. I guess… we can afford a little fooling around."
Zenko lights up, practically glowing.
He leaps over, throws an arm around Kilisu's shoulder.
"I knew you'd come around!"
Together, they walk down the dirt path toward the unknown.
Kilisu and Zenko return to the run-down cabin one last time.
Dust dances in the light slicing through the warped wooden walls. The two boys kneel beside their beds, pulling out weathered sacks from underneath, gathering what little they own.
"Another plus," Zenko says, stuffing clothes and tools into his bag with too much energy for this early hour."We won't have to sleep in this crummy place anymore. Dratch Academy has living quarters for everything. Beds, food, baths, all of it."
His smile is wide. Earnest.
Kilisu nods, more thoughtful.
"That does sound nice.Warm beds. Real meals.Better than waking up with a spider in your boot."
Zenko laughs.They finish packing, then step out into the morning light, the cabin creaking behind them, like a dying memory.
"We should leave now," Kilisu says, tightening the straps on his pack."The academy's not far, but the entrance exam starts at dawn. We'll need time."
Zenko nods, and together, they head out, leaving behind the only place they've called home.
Scene: The March to Dratch
Time slips by.
The sun begins its descent, casting long shadows across golden fields.
In the distance, four towering spires pierce the skyline, each one ablaze at the peak with burning light. They glow like beacons. Or warnings.
Kilisu slows, staring up.
"Those are…?"
"The towers of Dratch," Zenko whispers in awe."They say they never go dark."
The boys walk on, the sky above fading from gold to indigo. By nightfall, they find a shallow cave nestled along a rock outcrop, just enough shelter to rest beneath the stars.
Scene: The Final Morning
The moon rises. Then falls.
Light begins to spill into the mouth of the cave.It creeps over Kilisu's face.
His brow twitches. Then his eyes flick open.
"Morning already, huh…"
His voice is dry, sleep-worn. He turns and shakes Zenko gently.
"Come on. It's time."
Zenko stirs, groaning something unintelligible, but eventually rolls up his bedroll and throws on his pack.
They step out into a world quiet with expectation.
Ahead lies a river, and across it a stone bridge, arched and worn by time. Beyond that, the towering gates of Dratch Academy.
But what truly stops them is the crowd.
Thousands stand before the bridge.Boys. Girls. Warriors. Scholars. Rogues. Nobles.All waiting.
Kilisu stares.
"There must be… twenty thousand."
Zenko whistles low.
"And only a few hundred make it in."
Kilisu's hand brushes the edge of his cloak, fingers instinctively grazing the spot where the brand lies hidden beneath.
"Then we'd better not be average."
The crowd is massive thousands deep, stretching across the field and onto the bridge. Some wear noble insignias. Others wear nothing but rags and scars. But all of them stand before the gates of Dratch Academy, hungry for power, legacy, or survival.
Kilisu and Zenko slow their pace as they near the edge.
The four towers burn above them, light pouring down like judgment.
"We're here," Zenko says softly.
Kilisu scans the crowd, the tension, the whispers, the silent prayers. A few candidates already eye each other like enemies.
He exhales. Slow. Controlled.
"Remember," Kilisu murmurs."We're not here to make friends. We're here to win."
Zenko doesn't reply at first.
Then he nods, quiet but resolute.
The gates begin to creak open, ancient wood and blackened steel groaning under their own weight.
"It's starting," Kilisu says.
And together, they step forward.