Coming back from the mushroom noodle shop felt like returning from another world. The night fog of Clockthon seemed colder after the warmth of the broth, and the gaslights looked dimmer, more melancholic. My stomach was full, and that nostalgic anchor had been planted. But something changed as we approached the academy gates, something familiar to me from a life already left behind.
Silence.
Not peaceful silence, this was tense, unnatural quiet. At this hour, there should still be the sound of cadets returning from their outings, or faint laughter from the dorms. Tonight, there was nothing. As if the entire academy had been taken hostage, or worse, had fallen into chain-linked silence.
"Something's wrong," I whispered, mostly to myself.
"Wrong how?" asked Finnian, his eyes darting around nervously.
"...It all looks normal to me."
Of course it did to him. He wasn't trained to feel dissonance in the atmosphere, to read patterns in the absence of sound.
Irene, walking a few steps behind us, also stopped. Her green eyes narrowed, scanning the shadows between the buildings. "The air feels thinner," she said quietly. "The Essence pressure around us has dropped unnaturally."
She felt it too, though differently. Irene was better described as a sensor, while I was an analyst. We reached the same conclusion through different paths.
"We'll take the long way through the gardens," I told them, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Don't return to the dorm yet."
"But why?" Finnian protested.
"Because I said so," I cut him off. I didn't have time to explain an intuition I couldn't prove. I pushed both of them toward a darker path leading into the academy's botanical gardens.
That decision saved them, and damned me.
As we stepped into the garden's boundary, where ancient trees cast long shadows, I felt the presence. It wasn't like the Dust Aberrations I had encountered before. This was a total void, a blind spot in my Essence perception. Something, or someone, was nearby, but they left no trace of energy. Could it be a high-level Evolver? If so, why were they near the academy? That was forbidden unless in an emergency.
"Who's there?" Irene's voice was tense, her hand instinctively reaching toward a small brooch at her collar, which I knew to be a defensive artifact.
No answer. Only the wind brushing through the leaves.
I shoved Finnian behind a large shrub. "Stay here and stay silent." Then I turned to Irene. "Go. Call the guards. Scream if you have to."
"I won't leave you," she said, eyes sharp in the dark.
"This isn't a request," I said coldly. "I've made a tactical calculation. You and Finnian are liabilities. You'll slow me down. Go."
She hesitated, the internal conflict clear on her face. Finally, with a reluctant nod, she turned and ran, disappearing into the shadows.
Now it was just me. I stood still in the middle of the path, deliberately exposing myself. I expanded my awareness, trying to sense the source of the void.
Then a voice spoke, right behind me.
"An interesting tactical calculation," it said. What froze my blood was that it was my own voice, perfectly replicated, down to my characteristic monotone. "Sacrificing the weaker pieces to protect the king. Very rational."
I turned slowly. The figure stood about ten meters away, leaning casually against a tree. He wore simple traveler's clothes, his face hidden by the night's shadow. I couldn't make out his features, but I could feel his gaze. Amused, like someone watching an entertaining play. He emitted no Essence, no heat trace, not even dust shifted beneath his feet.
"Who are you?" I asked, my mind working rapidly, analyzing every possibility. A Fravikveidimadr agent? A hired assassin from one of my rivals? Or something else entirely?
"Me?" The figure chuckled, and even the laugh was mine. "I am a question. The same question in your head right now: 'How can an anomaly exist within a supposedly closed system?'"
He knew. Somehow, he knew my true nature.
"You're a fugitive," I said, a quick deduction from his behavior, relaxed, but alert. "Someone operating outside the existing power structure."
"Good deduction," he said, his voice now mimicking the analytical tone of Elias, my researcher in the Raven's Nest. "With limited data, you've reached the statistically most probable conclusion. Very impressive."
His ability… he was mimicking voices and speech styles. But it was more than just mimicry. He could even replicate their thought patterns.
"You're Forre," I said, the name surfacing from my mental archive, plucked from a confidential Fravikveidimadr report I had briefly accessed. "Rebel of Cledestine. Archetype 6 'Demon Servant.' Assassin of Count Vishken."
The figure clapped slowly. "Bingo. Looks like your intel access is better than I thought. Yes, I'm Forre. And you, Welt Rothes, or whatever your real name is, are the most fascinating puzzle I've seen in quite a while."
He stepped out of the shadows. His face was plain, forgettable, but his eyes were horrifying. It felt like he could see through ten of my plans at once. He was the opposite of me. I saw the world as a chessboard, Forre saw it as a script to be torn apart.
"I've been watching you," he said. "The way you move, the way you think. So structured. So logical. So fragile. Of course, you're still unstable. No matter how much you try to create your 'schemes,' you won't advance any further, Welt."
I readied myself, shifting my center of gravity. I knew physical combat would be foolish as a last resort, but I had to be prepared.
"Logic is the foundation for movement," I replied, stalling for time, trying to understand the mechanics of his power. Channel: The Rebel. Imitates abilities in use. That meant I couldn't use my Essence directly.
"Wrong," Forre replied, grinning wider. "Logic is the cage we build to feel safe from chaos. True reality doesn't care about your rules."
Suddenly, he attacked. His movements were fast, not superhuman, but efficient like a street fighter. I dodged, trying to maintain distance.
I activated my nadir circuits but didn't unleash my Void Essence. I only used it internally, to sharpen my perception, quicken my reflexes. I analyzed every motion, searching for patterns, for weaknesses.
"See?" he said, launching a flurry of blows that I barely blocked. "You're still thinking. Still analyzing my angles, speed, momentum. Trying to predict my next move from previous data."
He paused, standing just outside my reach. "But what if I have no pattern?"
Then he moved again. This time, it was true chaos. No technique, no rhythm. One moment he punched like a boxer, the next he kicked like a capoeira dancer, then he rolled like a pangolin. It was impossible to predict, because there was nothing to predict.
I started to fall behind. My defense, based on pattern analysis, became useless. Some of his strikes landed, not enough to knock me out, but enough to break my balance.
I made a mistake. I relied too much on rational frameworks. I assumed every opponent, no matter how strange, would eventually obey cause and effect. Forre was a total rejection of that law. It made perfect sense why he used Channel "The Rebel." It suited him too well.
In a split second of desperation, I released a sliver of Void Essence, not as an attack, but as a minor psychic shockwave, hoping to disrupt his concentration.
Fatal mistake.
As soon as my Essence touched him, his eyes gleamed. "Ah, there it is," he whispered. Then I felt it—the Void. A small black hole opened in the air in front of him, swallowing the shockwave completely. He replicated it perfectly.
He had been waiting for me to use my power.
"Thanks for the demonstration," he said, and the small black hole shot toward me.
I couldn't dodge. I crossed my arms over my chest, reinforcing my body with nadir circuits as best I could.
The impact didn't feel physical. It felt like something inside me had been erased. A cold sensation crept through my arm, followed by a wave of dizziness. A piece of memory, of the taste of mushroom noodles, of fog on my face, blurred and distorted.
I staggered back, one knee hitting the ground. My arm felt numb and cold.
Forre stood over me, not triumphant, but disappointed.
"As I expected. You rely too much on raw power, just like you rely too much on logic. You haven't truly grasped what the Void is."
He didn't finish me off. He simply looked at me once more, then his body flickered, turned translucent, and vanished. No sound, no trace. As if he had never been there.
I remained kneeling on the wet ground, trying to process what had just happened. I hadn't lost because I was weaker, I lost because my premise was wrong. I tried to apply logic to something inherently anti-logical. I was defeated tactically because I trusted too much in the framework that had carried me this far.
Slowly, I rose. My arm was still cold, and there was a small hole in my memory that itched disturbingly. I had been wounded conceptually. This was my first true tactical failure since arriving in this world, or perhaps, my first brutal and necessary lesson.
I walked out of the garden, back to the main road. No sign of Irene or the guards. Perhaps Forre had created an illusion to isolate us.
As I looked toward the distant academy lights, a cold thought crept into my mind, something I couldn't control.
Maybe this world wasn't meant to be understood. Maybe it was built to curse anyone who tried to impose order on its chaos. And maybe, the only way to win… is to become more chaotic than the world itself.
And with that, I collapsed. In that unconscious state, I saw it again, that creature in a green cloak covering its entire body, its shiny eyes, the black star above its head flipping through a book in silence. Then a voice echoed.
"You should be grateful for that power, you foolish child. That power cannot and will never, be imitated by your world. Now, rise, or die here." The voice was heavy yet light at the same time.
Welt, now confused, felt an overwhelming surge of Void Essence. As a price, his hair had turned completely white, and his eyes were now red.
"Is this… me? Then why?"
"You're the one who chose that path. And we've been waiting for the descendant of Him who already walks this world. Thus, you must █████████████████."
The voice became corrupted, and Welt's head ached intensely. He then woke up in the real world, his hair indeed white, his eyes red. He saw it in the mirror conveniently placed beside him. He tried to stand, but everything hurt.
Welt tried to understand who He was, but the moment he thought about it, his head filled with disturbing whispers. He could think of nothing else.
He was truly lost.