Chp 20
1269 Words
The academy sleeps like a beast pretending not to breathe. Lights dim. Corridors empty. Even the walls seem to listen. I slipped out of the female dormitory five minutes before midnight, hood pulled low, heart hammering so violently I’m sure it can be heard down the hall. Every step echoes too loudly. Every shadow feels deliberate.
The message burned itself into my mind.
THE GAME BEGINS AT MIDNIGHT.
No threats.
No instructions. Just certainty.
I move fast, keeping to the edges, avoiding the main halls. I know this academy well enough now to understand one thing, if someone wanted to stop me, they would have already.
That knowledge terrifies me more than being chased. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I stop breathing.
Slowly, I pull it out.
TURN LEFT.
The words appear on the screen like a command, not a suggestion.
I look up. The corridor ahead forks into two paths, one lit dimly by flickering torches, the other swallowed entirely by darkness.
My pulse stutters. Someone is watching.
Not from far away. Not from a distance.
Close enough to know exactly where I am.
I turn left.
The air changes instantly, cooler, heavier, laced with something metallic. The stones beneath my feet are older here, the walls rougher, etched with symbols I don’t recognize.
This part of the academy isn’t meant for students.
It’s meant for secrets.
Another vibration.
DO NOT RUN.
I swallow hard and force my pace to remain steady, even as every instinct screams at me to bolt. Wolves are not meant to walk blindly into traps but I am not just a wolf.
I reach a narrow archway at the end of the corridor. Beyond it, stairs descend into darkness.
No lights. No sounds. No signs of life.
Except… Movement.
A figure steps into view at the bottom of the stairs, cloaked head to toe in black.
Then another and another, they wear masks.
Not the cheap kind, these are carved, detailed, animalistic. Wolves. Ravens. Serpents. Each painted a different color, each pair of eyes glinting from behind polished enamel.
Red. White. Gold. Obsidian.
My stomach drops, this isn’t a game for students. This is something else entirely.
One of them lifts a hand, the rest step aside, forming a path.
An invitation.
My legs feel numb as I descend the stairs, the stone cold beneath my boots. The deeper I go, the more oppressive the air becomes, pressing against my skin like a warning.
The chamber opens suddenly.
Wide. Circular. Ancient torches line the walls, flames flickering violently as if reacting to my presence. The ceiling rises high above, lost in shadow, while the floor is carved with sigils, interlocking symbols that pulse faintly, almost imperceptibly.
There are people everywhere.
Masked figures stand along the perimeter, silent, watching.
Judging.
At the center of the chamber stands a raised platform.
And on it.. A table.
Black stone. Polished smooth. Something dark stains its surface. Blood, maybe. Or something older.
My phone vibrates again.
WELCOME, SILVER WOLF.
The words make my chest constrict.
I didn’t give them my name. I didn’t give them my lineage, they already knew.
A voice echoes through the chamber, distorted, layered, impossible to pinpoint.
“Step forward.”
I do.
Every eye follows me.
I feel stripped bare beneath their gazes, like prey being measured before the kill. I tell myself not to shrink, not to show fear.
Fear is currency here.
The voice speaks again.
“You were chosen because you do not belong.”
A murmur ripples through the room.
“Cursed blood,” the voice continues. “Forgotten blood. Blood that survived when it should not have.”
My nails dig into my palms.
“What is this?” I ask, forcing the words out. “You said this was a game.”
A low chuckle rolls through the chamber.
“It is.”
One of the masked figures steps forward, tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a crimson wolf mask streaked with black.
My breath catches. There’s something about him.
The way he stands. The way the air shifts around him.
Power radiates off his body in waves.
The crimson wolf tilts his head slightly, studying me.
I can’t see his eyes but I feel them.
Burning.
Familiar.
My heart pounds harder.
No. That’s impossible.
The voice resumes.
“These games are simple, Zyra of the Silver Line.”
Hearing my full lineage spoken aloud sends a chill through me.
“You will face trials designed to break instinct, loyalty, and fear.”
A pause.
“Survive, and you earn answers.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Fail, and you will be erased.”
My throat tightens. “Erased how?”
The crimson wolf’s head turns sharply toward the voice—just for a second.
That movement doesn’t go unnoticed.
Interesting.
“Rules,” the voice says smoothly. “There are always rules.”
Torches flare brighter.
“Rule one: No names.”
“Rule two: No alliances.”
“Rule three: No interference.”
My gaze snaps back to the crimson wolf.
He goes very still.
“Each participant plays alone,” the voice continues. “Even the organizers.”
Organizers?
My blood runs cold, that means—
This isn’t just spectators, some of these masked wolves are controlling the game.
Powerful ones.
Alpha-level. The crimson wolf’s fists clench at his sides.
I don’t know why I notice.
But I do.
A figure in a white mask steps forward, voice sharp and mocking. “And what makes the silver one worth all this trouble?”
The crimson wolf moves before the voice can answer.
One step.
The floor cracks beneath his boot.
A silent warning.
The white mask recoils slightly. The chamber goes still.
The distorted voice cuts in quickly.
“Enough. The game begins now.”
The platform shifts, stone grinds against stone as part of the floor slides open, revealing a narrow passage descending into darkness. Cold air rushes up from below, carrying the scent of damp earth and something foul.
The voice speaks directly to me now.
“Enter.”
My pulse roars in my ears.
“What’s down there?” I ask.
The answer is immediate.
“Truth,” the voice says. “And teeth.”
I glance once more at the masked wolves.
At the white mask watching me with open hunger.
At the gold mask whispering something to the obsidian one and at the crimson wolf.
Who hasn’t taken his eyes off me since I walked in.
There is tension in his stance. Violence barely restrained. As if he’s fighting something inside himself. Protect. Destroy. Protect. Destroy.
The same war I’ve seen in Dael Morozov’s eyes.
My breath stutters.
No.
That’s insane. I step toward the opening.
The crimson wolf shifts sharply.
The voice snaps, “Rule three.”
Silence.
The crimson wolf freezes..then slowly, deliberately, takes a step back.
But his head dips just enough that only I can see it. A warning, Or a promise.
I don’t know which terrifies me more. I descend into the darkness.
The passage seals shut behind me with a thunderous slam.
Blackness swallows everything.
My phone lights up in my hand one final time.
LEVEL ONE: INSTINCT.
RUN.
Something growls in the dark.
Not one thing.
Many.
And just before the light dies completely, I realize…
This game was never about answers.
It was about whether I’d survive long enough to deserve them and somewhere above me, behind a crimson wolf mask, a monster who should want me dead is fighting the urge to burn the world down to keep me alive.
- Writer
