Mist escaped my breath in rhythmic puffs as I ran, each step pounding against the frost-hardened dirt. The grass, which was once vibrant green when we arrived, now crunched beneath my boots, dry and brittle as bones. The trees that skirted the academy grounds were skeletal now, their branches clawing upward as if pleading against the encroaching winter. The cold air was brutal, and I was exhausted from lack of sleep. My body ached, and bruised ribs, still not addressed medically, pinched at my sides.

  But I ran.

  At the head of the pack, neck and neck with Mel and Waelid, I pushed forward despite the weighted vest pulling me down. It had been too long since I’d felt this—this raw, human exhaustion. After I told Mel about my abilities, she demanded I wear a hundred-pound weighted vest to push my synergy to its limits. Honestly, I should have been doing this from the beginning. My legs screamed for a reprieve, my lungs begged for air, and I welcomed it all like an old friend. The time being a twin soul made me too reliant on the unearned enhanced endurance.

  Mel groaned beside me, her face red with effort, strands of damp red hair sticking to her forehead. “How,” she panted, “are you—still running? Does the synergy—really make you this good?” She also had a hundred-pound vest on. She refused to let me outwork her.

  I didn’t answer; instead, I gave her a smile and sped up, to which she complained.

  Waelid, just ahead of us, barely seemed to notice the strain. His movements were smooth, his breathing steady. If the weighted vest bothered him, it didn’t show. He was an absolute monster, and at times, I wondered if he was a twin soul himself. The others trailed behind, their labored breaths and stomping footsteps creating a stable hum. Silas and Sora both once again came up in the rear, while Tevin and Luna fell somewhere in the middle. When I looked back, Luna almost looked asleep while running.

  Aside from our heavy breathing, the world was silent.

  ‘You’re going too hard. Don’t overwork my body to the point you destroy it,’ Fern’s voice said firmly.

  You’ve been quiet all morning, I thought back. Is everything all right?

  ‘Why ask now?’ he replied, his voice sharp with a bitterness I’d grown too familiar with. ‘You rarely care about my words.’

  My steps faltered, just for a moment, before I steadied myself again and ran back in step with Mel and Waelid.

  I clenched my fists against the cold. He wasn’t wrong. I’d silenced him so many times before, shut him out when I couldn’t handle his protests, his pleas, and his thoughts during fights. But he was wrong each time. And he was wrong now. If only he knew that.

  I’m trying, okay? I thought, pushing the words toward him. I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t know if it even mattered.

  Fern didn’t respond. His silence settled in the pit of my stomach like a stone.

  The run stretched on, and when House Anu finally came into view, a collective sigh of relief rippled through the group. The recruits slowed, their exhaustion catching up to them, but I kept pace until the very end. My legs burned, and my shoulders ached, but I couldn’t stop. Not until it was over. Not until I was stronger.

  When we finally came to a halt, the air was thick with the sound of ragged breathing and muttered complaints. Mel collapsed onto the frozen ground, clutching at her vest and sliding it off, cursing the whole time. Waelid barely seemed winded.

  “Good run, team!” he said.

  I glared at him but held my anger. I had to keep it hidden. Getting angry and demanding justice wouldn’t solve anything.

  Waelid turned to me as the others drifted toward the dorms. “We’re meeting Hopsander later,” he said, his tone low and clipped.

  “Fine,” I replied, tugging at the straps of my vest.

  “And I pulled Galina in too,” he added, his gaze steady.

  “What?” My voice sharpened, drawing a glance from Silas, who walked away quickly. I lowered my voice, stepping closer. “Why would you do that? We don’t even know if we can trust—”

  “It’s done,” Waelid said, cutting me off with a dismissive wave. “You’ll see the value soon enough.”

  Before I could argue further, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the cold with my frustration simmering beneath the surface.

  The warmth of the dorm mess hall was much needed after the biting cold outside. After we showered and changed into our uniforms, we filed into the dorm lunchroom. The scent of Ol’ Mumms’ spiced porridge, sausage, and freshly baked bread drifted up my nostrils. The hum of chatter from other housemates, most of them engulfed in studies, put me in a relaxed state that almost made me forget about the spy situation. I walked up to the table that my friends had found.

  Silas had his mechanical arm detached, the joint resting on the table while he tinkered with a small can of oil. His brow furrowed and his tongue poked out as he carefully dripped oil along different parts of his arm. Meanwhile, Mel sat cross-legged on her chair and was still flipping through the slim red booklet labeled Blood Infusions at the Academy: Year of Alexandrite 801. She glanced up as I approached, a grin spreading across her face.

  “Well, look who’s still alive,” Mel drawled, tossing the booklet onto the table. “Thought that run would’ve killed you, mosshead. Or at least humbled you a bit, ya show-off.”

  I dropped into the chair across from them, letting out a sigh. “I should be saying the same thing to you, Mel. How are you still so full of energy?”

  Mel snorted and flicked her hair. “Spend a few years in the fight clubs of Khalo and you learn how to recover quickly.”

  Silas tilted his head at me. “Let me guess. You stayed up all night with those documents.”

  I shot him a glare. “Yep, went through all the shipping records from the last two years.”

  “So, did you find anything suspicious?”

  “Yeah, there have been illegal shipments caught in the past of someone sending crates full of pillardust to the capital. I have about five names for us to go through,” I said, taking a bite of bread. “Maybe six.”

  Silas chuckled under his breath, sliding a tiny wrench into one of the arm’s compartments. “You don’t think the spy’s from the town of Ash, do you?”

  “No,” I said immediately, shaking my head. “The attacks have been too precise, too frequent. Whoever it is has to be here, inside the academy. They’d need access to the grounds, the students, the archives . . .” I trailed off, the weight of the thought settling over me.

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  Mel uncrossed her legs and sat up. “So, what—one of the staff? A professor?”

  “Most likely,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “I started with the runic department because of Pestil. Something about him doesn’t sit right.”

  Mel raised an eyebrow. “You mean the charming professor who performed a whole spiritual autopsy on you? What could be suspicious about him?”

  I let out a chuckle. “He’s hiding something. I am confident about that. Whether he’s the spy for the monarchy, though—that’s an entirely separate question,” I said,“The problem is, he seems to be a cornerstone in the whole Cinder operation. Pestil has a massive team that is way bigger than any other department. Researchers, experienced Cinders working abroad, people gathering information from every corner of the world related to any of the hundreds of projects he is the head of. He has been around too long to be a spy. So then, I wondered if it was anyone on his team, like—”

  Silas glanced up from his work, his expression sharp. “Like Rennal?”

  “Yup, but that just led me down to several dead ends. Something with him is off too,” I said.

  Silas’s mechanical arm clicked into place, and he flexed the metal fingers experimentally. “So, did any of the names lead you to anything useful?”

  I shook my head and ran a hand through my hair. “Nope. Only names. Hometowns. Family histories. Most of it was surface level—basic records. The only thing that stood out was how many staff members and students have ties to notable mageblood families, even minor ones. Fathers who are mayors, mothers who are officers in the royal army . . . Even Professor Twinges, your favorite guy, Silas, has an uncle who is one of the princes. There’s a lot of potential suspects, but I haven’t figured it out yet. You two may need to help me too.”

  The two looked confused and shook their heads. Mel picked up the blood infusion book and leaned back in her chair. “Hopefully, that archive raid wasn’t all for nothing. I’ll help go through the books with you after we finish classes.”

  “Yeah, same. I have to help Professor Twinges first, then I’ll be back. I’ll see if he is doing anything suspicious while I’m there,” Silas said.

  “Ah, about that,” I said, remembering Waelid’s comment. “We have our own spy meeting. And I’ll be bringing you both.”

  Our first-period classroom buzzed with everyone talking about the assault in the restricted archive. Word had gotten around of our . . . misadventure last night. Thankfully, no one had any leads on who the culprits were. Silas, Mel, and I played the part of the ignorant fool. Chairs scraped against the floor, boots thudded as everyone shuffled to their seats, and someone tapped impatiently on their desk.

  I sat between Silas and Mel, my hands folded, resting on the desk. Hopsander stood near the front, arms crossed. He hadn’t said a word since we arrived, and his silence only added to the unease settling over us.

  The door creaked open, and the headmaster strode in.

  Oh, come on, Hopsander, you didn’t betray me, did you? I tightened my grip on my hands.

  The room fell silent instantly.

  The headmaster’s black uniform was immaculate, the gold trim gleaming in the faint light. He stopped in the center of the room and swept his eyes over us like a hawk surveying prey.

  “You’re all wondering why I’ve made a personal appearance, yes?” he began.

  I looked around the room and saw my classmates looked uncomfortable in their seats.

  “Reports have reached me,” he continued, “that there has been an infiltration. Someone, or something, has breached our defenses. A threat that could very well have ties to the monarchy and one that could destroy this academy itself. We do not take threats like these lightly.”

  I glanced at Silas and Mel. Mel’s jaw tightened, and Silas’s mechanical arm twitched faintly as if echoing the tension in the room. Both of them turned their heads slightly toward me, their eyes asking the same silent question: Did you say anything?

  I shook my head no.

  Hopsander’s gaze flicked toward me, his expression unreadable. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. It was a small reassurance, but it did little to quell the storm brewing inside me.

  “We cannot take chances and will protect you all, the academy, and the Cinders at any cost.” The headmaster walked to the other side of the classroom and continued. “Every member of the staff will be thoroughly interviewed. Some classes may be disrupted, but I assure you, this is necessary for the safety of the academy.”

  He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “In the meantime, your curriculum will shift. Effective immediately, your training will focus on counter-mageblood tactics. You will be prepared to face enemies who use their power to dominate and destroy.”

  The class erupted into a mix of muttered conversations and excited glances.

  “Quiet!” the headmaster barked, slamming his palm against a desk. The sharp crack echoed through the room, silencing us again. He straightened, brushing invisible dust from his uniform. “Professor Gallon will begin your first session with Hopsander. She will provide a foundational understanding of what you’re up against. Pay attention.”

  At that, the door burst open, and in swept Professor Gallon.

  Her entrance was as chaotic as her hair was. The blue curls seemed to defy gravity. She wore a long, shimmering blue cloak with hundreds of small silver stars stitched into the long train. She carried an armful of books and scrolls, which she dumped unceremoniously onto the nearest desk before spinning to face us, her eyes wide with manic energy.

  “Ah, my darling little recruits!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “So much to cover! So little time! And, oh, the tragedy of it all! So many tragedies! First, Mr. Hopsander over here refused to let me bring my crystal projection machine here.”

  Hopsander groaned. “I hate the smell of your crystals, Gallon. I don’t want it in here.”

  Gallon glared at him before turning back toward us.

  “Second, do you know what they have done?” Gallon demanded, jabbing a finger toward the ceiling as if accusing the gods themselves. “That villain! The spy entered our sacred restricted archives and tore apart the place! Ripped pages from precious history books! My history books!”

  I sank lower in my seat. I knew I shouldn’t feel guilty . . . but a part of me did.

  “And for what?” Gallon continued, throwing her arms wide and screeching. “To spread their insidious chaos, of course! To undermine the very foundation of knowledge! Barbaric, I tell you. Barbaric!”

  Hopsander let out a quiet sigh, waddled over to a chair behind a second desk in the front corner, and sat down.

  The headmaster quickly left with what I could have sworn was a small smile.

  “Now!” Gallon declared, grabbing a piece of chalk and spinning toward the board. “Let us discuss the seven laws, the seven continents, and the seven magics! Why? Because context is key, my dear voidbloods. Context!”

  She scrawled the number seven across the board in jagged strokes, circling it repeatedly until the chalk squealed.

  “Each major continent on our planet, Mourne,” she began, “is bound by its own law. It’s a magical principle, if you will. And the people born on their land are attuned to that land’s magic. It shapes their very essence! You are following, yes? Seven continents, seven kinds of magic! But!” She whirled around, her eyes blazing. “When they leave their land, what happens?”

  “They lose their magic,” someone said in the back.

  “Correct!” Gallon shouted, pointing dramatically. “They become severely dampened! Crippled, even! And that, my friends, is why we—the Cinders—are essential. We have no innate law magic working against us. We bypass the dampening entirely. Why? Because we don’t have magic! Haha! And so! When Stylos sends its armies to . . . say . . . Biogah . . .”

  She drew a crude map of the continents, marking Biogah with an X. It was a huge continent, easily ten times the size of Stylos. It sat in the center of the map.

  “They send us. The expendable. The adaptable. The voidbloods who can fight where invading magebloods cannot.

  “But let’s focus back on Stylos. Back on our enemies who may invade us any moment now!” Professor Gallon yelled and grabbed her hair, pulling it manically. Then she took a deep breath and stood up straight.

  “What about the Stylos magebloods themselves? What about the famous royal mage knights or the magelord’s personal army? What kind of magic do they use, indeed? What do our ‘masters’ use to keep us in chains?” Gallon continued, walking down to a new section of the chalkboard. “Let us first consider Stylos’s Law of Vibration Magic.” She began drawing wavy lines, her chalk darting back and forth with frantic energy.

  “Who here knows what it looks like when a mageblood casts?” she asked, spinning to face us.

  “It’s like . . .” I hesitated, then spoke up. “It’s like they’re holding strings between their fingers. Almost like knitting.”

  “Yes!” Gallon cried. “The strings! The vibrations! They manipulate the very fabric of reality, tampering with elements, creating motion, and defying gravity itself! They knit the world, my dears. Knit it!”

  Sora raised her hand hesitantly. “I’ve . . . seen it before. When I was a servant, the strings would glow, and then they’d become . . . whips. Or threads of fire.”

  “Precisely!” Gallon cheered, running back and forth. “And what do we do to someone who can knit the vibrations of the world around them?”

  The room fell silent.

  Gallon’s grin turned wicked. “We cut off their hands.”

  For a moment, no one moved, no one spoke. The reality of what she was saying settled over us like a suffocating blanket.

  “Make no mistake,” Gallon said, standing straight and her tone turning cold. “This has always been a war. An arms race to see when our blood infusions and our techniques would outpace the elemental binding they study in their magical academies. War is not kind. You do what you must to survive. And if a little mutilation evens the playing field, then I say, go for the hands.”

  by Rowen_Kun

  With two bodies, they will rise above all others — twice as strong, twice as unstoppable.

  Justin was just an ordinary college student when the world ended. In an instant, civilization collapsed — and the planet was overrun by monsters, blood, and ruthless rules of evolution. Now, he finds himself trapped in a brutal sort of tutorial, where surviving means hunting, fighting, and learning faster than anyone else.

  But Justin carries something no one else does: he awakens in two different bodies, both sharing the same mind. Each one feels, sees, and experiences the world from its own perspective — and coordinating both is an almost insane challenge. One mistake, and he dies twice.

  To master this impossible condition, Justin will have to learn how to control two lives at the same time. If he fails, he’ll be torn apart by his own confusion. If he succeeds… he might be able to perceive and act beyond any human limit.

  And perhaps this new world was made for Justin — and for his strange condition.

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