The Academy Cemetery: Sunset

  Amari was hungry.

  This wasn’t the hunger of a missed meal. It was a hollow scrape in the marrow of his bones.

  His Stage 2 body burned hot.

  He had eaten through the Deep-Stalker meat faster than he thought possible. The Void Engine wasn’t digesting food anymore; it was devouring it. And now, there was nothing left.

  The Tribunal had frozen his stipend. His cafeteria access was revoked. His student ID was flagged [SUSPENDED] at every vending kiosk.

  He had spent the last twenty-four hours drinking tap water from the bathroom sink in the boiler room.

  Siege warfare.

  He stood in the shadows of a massive oak tree, looking down at a fresh grave.

  CADET JACE

  CLASS: TANK

  "HE HELD THE LINE."

  The stone was expensive. Platinum inlay.

  Amari looked at the dirt. It was still loose.

  "You were a good soldier," Amari whispered to the dirt. "But you trusted the wrong people."

  He turned to leave. He needed to find food. Maybe the dumpster behind the Faculty Lounge. It was humiliating, but pride didn't fuel the engine.

  He stopped.

  Footsteps crunched on the gravel path.

  Amari stepped back into the shadow of the oak. His F-Class uniform, stripped of its rank patches, blended with the twilight.

  Prince Caelum walked into the clearing.

  He wasn't alone. He was flanked by two Royal Guards, but he waved them back to the perimeter.

  "Give me a moment," Caelum ordered. "I need to speak to him alone."

  The guards bowed and retreated.

  Caelum walked to the grave. He was wearing pristine mourning blacks, a silver lily in his hand. He looked the part of the grieving hero perfectly.

  He placed the flower on the stone. He stood there, head bowed, posing for an audience that wasn't there.

  Or maybe he was posing for himself.

  Caelum stood there for a long time. Then, his shoulders started to shake.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "Damn you," Caelum whispered.

  He kicked the dirt.

  "Damn you, Jace."

  The grief mask slipped. Caelum’s face twisted into something raw and terrified.

  "Why didn't you move?" Caelum hissed. "You should have moved."

  Caelum was pacing now, his hands clawing at his hair.

  "It was the eyes," Caelum muttered, his voice pitching up. "Too many eyes. If I cast the spell, she would have looked at me. She would have seen me."

  Caelum grabbed the headstone, his knuckles white.

  "It's not my fault! You made me do it! You and that... that Glitch!"

  "I didn't make you do anything."

  Caelum spun around, a scream dying in his throat. He stumbled back, tripping over the flower he had just placed.shadows

  Amari stepped out of the .

  He looked gaunt. His cheekbones were sharper, his eyes dark and sunken from hunger. But he didn't look weak.

  "You..." Caelum gasped, scrambling to his feet. "You're suspended! You aren't allowed on hallowed ground!"

  "I'm a ghost, Caelum," Amari said, his voice raspy. "Ghosts haunt graveyards."

  Caelum straightened his jacket. He tried to summon the arrogance, the sneer, but his hands were trembling.

  "You should be gone," Caelum spat. "I froze your accounts. I flagged your ID. You should be begging in the gutter."

  "I'm still here," Amari said.

  He walked closer. Caelum flinched.

  "Stay back!" Caelum warned, reaching for his staff. But he wasn't carrying it. He was unarmed.

  "Relax," Amari said softly. "I'm not going to hurt you. I don't need to."

  Amari looked at the grave, then at Caelum.

  "You see her when you close your eyes," Amari said.

  Caelum’s face went pale. "Shut up."

  "It doesn't go away," Amari continued, merciless. "The Tribunal bought your lie. The Dean accepted your report. But the dead don't care about paperwork."

  "I am the Prince!" Caelum shrieked. It was a sudden, jagged sound that cracked the quiet of the cemetery. "I am the Hero Class! I did what was necessary to save the mission!"

  "You let him die because you were scared," Amari said. "And now, every time you look in a mirror, you see a coward in expensive armor."

  "I AM NOT A COWARD!"

  Caelum lunged. He didn't use magic. He swung a wild, desperate punch at Amari’s face.

  Amari didn't dodge. He caught Caelum’s fist in his open palm.

  SMACK.

  It wasn't a fight. It was a parent stopping a tantrum.

  Amari held the Prince’s fist. He squeezed slightly—just enough to let Caelum feel the Iron Skin. The density. The immovable object.

  Caelum gasped, trying to pull his hand back. He couldn't.

  "You can starve me," Amari whispered, leaning in close. "You can erase my name. You can turn the school against me. But you and I both know the truth."

  Amari released the fist. Caelum stumbled back, clutching his hand.

  "I own you, Caelum."

  Caelum stood there, panting, tears of rage and humiliation streaming down his face. He looked at Amari with pure, unadulterated hate.

  But behind the hate, there was fear. Absolute terror.

  "Guards!" Caelum screamed, turning toward the perimeter. "GUARDS!"

  Amari didn't run. He just stepped back into the shadows of the tree line.

  "Go ahead," Amari said. "Tell them the ghost attacked you. See if it stops the nightmares."

  By the time the Royal Guards came running, weapons drawn, the clearing was empty.

  Only Caelum remained, sobbing over the grave of the boy he killed.

  The Treeline

  Fifty meters away, hidden in the dense foliage of the cemetery border, a massive figure watched.

  He hadn't moved. Leaves had settled on his shoulders.

  Bronson.

  He was a mountain of a boy. 6'4". Shoulders like a blast door. He wore the heavy, grey training sweats of the Warrior Class.

  He had been Jace’s roommate. Jace’s sparring partner.

  Bronson watched the Prince weeping on the ground. He watched the guards arrive, confused and panicked.

  And he looked at the spot where the F-Class student had vanished.

  Bronson had good hearing. He had heard the scream.

  "I am not a coward!"

  And he had heard the silence that followed.

  Bronson looked at his own hands. They were calloused from gripping a tower shield. He thought about the official report. Structural collapse. Magical backlash.

  He looked at Caelum, a mess of guilt and fear.

  "Structural collapse," Bronson whispered to himself.

  The words tasted like a lie.