I woke the next morning and headed straight to my first class. Environmental.
I paused outside the classroom and glanced at the empty hallway.
"Um… am I early?"
The professor looked up from the board.
"No," he said quietly. Then, after a beat, "No one takes this class."
There was something almost… sad in his voice.
"They think it's useless," he continued. "Less important than learning abilities. Less important than combat. Less important than swinging a weapon."
He turned fully toward me, eyes lighting up.
"My name is Professor Scare. And I'm very glad I finally have a student this year."
He said it so enthusiastically that there was no way to miss it.
"Yeah," I said hesitantly. "I'm focusing on this and combat. Time's limited."
His grin widened.
"That's wonderful, kid. Then I'll teach you everything—from environments, to survival, to understanding the language of the world itself."
He shifted slightly in his chair, rising just enough before settling back down, as if his body had moved ahead of his thoughts. His fingers tapped once against the desk, then went still. The air in the room felt heavier, tighter.
"For now," he said, clearing his throat, "we'll start with the language. First day. No sense overwhelming you."
I nodded, though my head was already buzzing.
"When the Voice speaks to you," Professor Scare continued, "it doesn't speak in truth. Not really." His eyes lifted to mine. "It speaks in a form your mind can tolerate."
I frowned. "So… the explanations are wrong?"
"Not wrong," he corrected quietly. "Filtered." He reached for a slate and turned it toward me. "Meaning is compressed. Translated. Stripped down until it fits inside your understanding."
My stomach tightened.
"That's why two people can receive the same marking and walk away with different meanings," he said. "The Voice adapts. Always."
He drew a set of jagged symbols—angular, broken, nothing like any alphabet I recognized.
"To most people," he said, "this reads as Land of Swords."
Then, beneath it, he wrote the same phrase again—but differently. Sharper. More deliberate.
"But in the true language," he continued, tapping the second set, "it means Swords of Battle."
My shadow paused, then looked up at me.
It pointed toward the new language etched into my notes—and began nodding, sharp and insistent.
Is he right? I asked silently.
The shadow turned back to me and gave a firm thumbs-up.
I rolled my eyes, but the feeling didn't fade.
It wasn't approval it was giving me.
It was recognition-quiet,certain.
I leaned forward without realizing it, fists clenched.
"This place exists in the Hollow," he said. "People live there now. Trade. Sleep. Raise children." His finger lingered on the words. "But the name tells you what it was. What it remembers."
My head throbbed. Not from confusion—but from the weight of it.
"If you learn the language," Professor Scare finished, "you don't just hear the Voice. You understand what it's been hiding."
Silence settled between us. I wasn't sure which part unsettled me more—that the Voice lied… or that the world itself remembered things no one else bothered to read.
As I walked toward my next class, I rubbed the back of my neck, my ash-gray hair brushing my fingers. My head still throbbed—but now I wanted more.
I glanced down. My shadow followed me along the floor. It waved excitedly. I rolled my eyes. "Of course you're enjoying this."
No one else noticed it. To them, it looked ordinary. At least you're stealthy, I thought.
The shadow puffed up slightly, its edges sharpening for just a moment before settling back into place.
I slowed my steps. Filtered meaning. Translated truth. Professor Scare's words echoed in my head. The Voice adapts. Always.
If that was true… then what was my attribute really saying? Those Who Follow. A phrase shaped for me to understand—but not the whole of it.
My gaze lingered on the shadow stretching ahead of me, keeping pace no matter how I moved.
Was this what the Voice meant by follow?
Not obedience. Not protection. Interpretation.
The shadow tilted its head, as if sensing my thoughts, then straightened and continued forward—silent, patient. Waiting.
I swallowed and kept walking. If the world spoke in a deeper language… then maybe my attribute already understood it. And maybe it had been listening far longer than I had.