The training yard didn't empty so much as it *scattered.*
Students peeled away in clusters—some limping, others whispering, all of them throwing backward glances at the frost patterns Kail had left scarred across the stone. Even now, hours later, the ice refused to melt, clinging to the courtyard like a grudge.
Raze stayed where he was, shoulder pressed against the outer wall, watching the last stragglers filter toward the dining hall.
Seraphina hadn't moved either.
She stood in the exact center of the yard, arms crossed, crimson hair lifting slightly in the wind. Her gaze tracked Kail's retreating form until he vanished through the archway—then snapped to Raze.
"You," she said. Not loud. Didn't need to be.
Raze pushed off the wall. Walked over. Stopped three paces away.
Close enough to hear.
Far enough to run if things went sideways.
Seraphina studied him the way someone might examine a blade with a crack running through the spine—useful, maybe, but liable to shatter under pressure.
"That was deliberate," she said.
Raze tilted his head. "What was?"
"Don't insult me, Kyler." Her eyes narrowed. "You baited Drayen. Pushed him until he snapped. And you did it in front of witnesses so when he comes for you later—and he *will*—everyone remembers he started it."
Silence.
Raze didn't deny it.
Didn't confirm it either.
Seraphina exhaled slowly, like she was deciding whether to be impressed or concerned.
"Most extras don't last a week," she said. "They either break under the pressure or get themselves killed doing something stupid."
She stepped closer.
"You're not most extras, are you?"
Raze met her gaze. Steady. Unflinching.
"I'm just trying to survive."
"By making enemies?"
"By making sure people underestimate me."
A pause.
Then—unexpected—Seraphina smiled.
Not warmth. Not approval.
Recognition.
"Smart," she admitted. "Cruel. But smart."
She turned, cape snapping behind her like punctuation.
"One piece of advice, Kyler. Free of charge."
Raze waited.
"Whatever you're planning," Seraphina said without looking back, "make sure it's worth the price. Because once you start playing these games, you don't get to stop. You just get better at losing."
Her footsteps echoed across stone.
Then she was gone.
Raze stood alone in the empty yard.
The necklace against his chest pulsed once.
Twice.
Hungry.
---
Dinner was a performance Raze had no interest in watching.
He grabbed bread, cheese, something that might've been dried meat—hard to tell in the torchlight—and left before the usual social theater could start. Leon's voice already carried from the main table, confident and rallying, probably spinning the morning's chaos into a leadership moment.
Let him.
Raze climbed the spiral stairs to his floor, boots scraping stone, the sound swallowed by shadows that seemed thicker than they should be.
His room was exactly as he'd left it.
Bare. Cold. Functional.
He locked the door. Set the food on the desk. Sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out the necklace, letting it dangle between his fingers.
It pulsed steadily now—not frantic, not urgent.
Just... aware.
"What are you?" he whispered.
The metal warmed against his palm.
Raze closed his eyes.
Tried to remember his mother's face clearly—not the blurred outline memory gave him, but the *details*. The exact shade of her eyes. The scar on her left wrist she never explained. The way she looked at him sometimes like he was a problem she hadn't solved yet.
*Survive.*
That was all she'd said.
No explanation. No comfort. Just the necklace and that single word, delivered like a knife between ribs.
He opened his eyes.
The room felt wrong.
Not obviously. Not dramatically.
Just... off.
The air pressure had shifted. The shadows in the corner weren't falling the way they should. And beneath it all, so faint he almost missed it—
A presence.
Raze stood slowly.
Slipped the necklace back under his shirt.
Scanned the room.
Nothing.
But the wrongness intensified, crawling up his spine like cold fingers.
Then—
The shadows moved.
Not metaphorically.
*Literally.*
They peeled away from the corner, coalescing into something vaguely humanoid—tall, skeletal, wrapped in darkness that didn't reflect light so much as devour it.
Red eyes opened.
Twin embers burning in a face that had too many angles.
Raze's hand went to his belt.
No weapon.
Stupid.
The figure didn't smile. Didn't threaten.
It just... existed. Patient. Inevitable.
"Raze Kyler." The voice was quiet—almost gentle. Like someone breaking bad news to a child. "You've carried that burden long enough."
Raze didn't move. Didn't speak.
Just watched.
Calculated.
*Demonic energy. Dense. Old. This thing's stronger than anything.
"The necklace," the demon said. Not demanding. Stating fact.
Raze's fingers brushed his chest instinctively.
The demon's head tilted slightly—curious, not threatening.
"Give it to me," it continued, "and I can offer something precious in this world."
A pause.
"A way home."
The words hung in the air like bait on a hook.
Raze's mind raced.
*Home. Back to Earth. Away from this—*
No.
He crushed the thought immediately.
"Why?" Raze asked, voice level.
The demon's form rippled slightly, as if the question amused it.
"Because I want what hangs around your neck. And because offering you something you desire makes this transaction cleaner."
Its tone carried no malice. Just practicality.
"Then why not just take it?"
"I could." The demon's shadows thickened slightly. "But killing you triggers... complications. Wards woven into the necklace itself. Messy. Time-consuming. Easier if you simply hand it over."
Raze's breath caught.
*Wards. Protections.*
"Who made those wards?"
The demon paused.
Its red eyes studied him—not with hostility, but something closer to curiosity.
"Does it matter?" it asked. "The necklace is bound to protections I'd rather not unravel. You are alive because of them. Give me what I want, and you walk away breathing. Refuse..."
It let the threat hang unfinished.
Raze's pulse hammered.
His mind worked frantically.
*This thing knows something. About the necklace. About the wards. Maybe about—*
"Do you know my mother?" The question came out sharper than intended.
The demon went still.
For a heartbeat, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.
Then—slowly—the demon's head tilted again.
"An interesting question."
"Is that a yes?"
"It's an acknowledgment that you ask better questions than most."
Raze's jaw tightened. "Answer it."
The demon's shadows rippled—something almost like amusement.
"Your mother," it said carefully, "is not a topic I'm inclined to discuss. What I will say is this—the necklace you wear was crafted with purpose. Precision. Power."
Its eyes burned brighter.
"Whoever made it understood things most mortals never glimpse. And they wanted *you* protected."
"Protected from what?"
"From yourself."
The words landed like a physical blow.
Raze's hand moved to the necklace instinctively.
"What does that mean?"
The demon didn't answer directly.
Instead, it extended a skeletal hand—wrapped in shifting darkness, fingers too long, joints bending at wrong angles.
"The necklace, Raze Kyler. Last chance. Trade it for passage home, or keep it and face what comes next without my offer."
Raze looked at the hand.
At the demon.
At the frost beginning to creep across his floor.
He felt the energy radiating from this thing—vast, ancient, suffocating. Felt how outmatched he was. Felt how easily it could end him.
But beneath it all—
A strange certainty.
This demon wanted the necklace badly enough to *negotiate.*
That meant something.
"If I give this to you," Raze said quietly, "what happens to me?"
The demon's form rippled.
"You survive tonight. What happens after..." It paused. "That depends entirely on what you are without it."
Not comfort.
Not cruelty.
Just truth.
Raze's hand trembled as he reached for the chain.
Part of him screamed to refuse. To fight. To—
*Survive.*
His mother's last word echoed in his mind.
Slowly, Raze lifted the necklace over his head.
The moment his fingers released it, something shifted.
Not in the room.
Inside him.
Like a lock turning. A seal breaking. A cage door swinging open.
The demon caught the necklace, examining it with something almost like reverence.
"Well-crafted," it murmured. "Every thread of essence precisely woven."
It looked up, meeting Raze's eyes.
"You should know—this did more than protect you from external threats. It suppressed something. Kept you... contained."
Raze's blood went cold.
"What was it suppressing?"
The demon's form began dissolving, shadows unraveling back into darkness.
"That," it said as it faded, "is no longer my concern."
Its voice lingered even as its shape vanished.
"But I suspect you'll find out soon enough."
Then silence.
Raze stood alone in his room, chest bare where the necklace had hung for twelve years.
His hands shook.
Not from loss.
From *feeling*.
Something inside him was waking up—slow, methodical, ravenous.
He crossed to the window. Pressed his forehead against the cold glass.
His reflection stared back—same face, same eyes.
But different somehow.
Sharper.
Hungrier.