Ecilipsia

Lightning split the night sky above Blackwick City, briefly illuminating the towering silhouette of Blackwick Boarding Academy.

Ancient stone walls rose above the city, their dark towers disappearing into storm clouds. Tall windows glowed faintly through the rain, while iron spires pierced the sky like silent sentinels.

To the outside world, Blackwick was prestigious.

To its students, it was something else entirely.

It was a place where the strongest were forged, where every examination mattered, and where failure could cost far more than a grade.

Five factions shaped student life within the academy—Cyrus, Elysia, Lunaria, Seleric, and Thorn. Their rivalries influenced examinations, missions, rankings, and even friendships.

Luen Cassian belonged to Thorn.

Thorn valued potential above everything else—the kind of potential that could turn an ordinary student into someone capable of changing Blackwick’s balance.

But lately, something had begun to change.

Students were disappearing.

The first disappearance was explained as a transfer.

The second became an accident.

The third was supposedly medical leave.

The explanations changed.

The students never returned.

Then, three nights ago, another student vanished.

This time, the academy had no explanation.

His room had been locked from the inside.

When security forced the door open, everything appeared untouched.

His uniform hung beside the bed. His shoes rested neatly beneath the desk. An open book lay beside an unfinished cup of tea.

The tea was still warm.

There was no broken window.

No damaged lock.

No sign of a struggle.

Only one thing was missing.

The student.

By morning, his name had disappeared from the ranking board.

That was when the whispers changed.

“They say he failed a secret examination.”

“No. He found something beneath the academy.”

“My roommate heard there’s an abandoned training level underground.”

“Then why would the academy erase his name?”

“I don’t know.”

A student lowered his voice.

“Maybe because Blackwick doesn’t want anyone looking for him.”

The others fell silent.

Someone glanced toward the empty corridor.

“Stop talking.”

“Why?”

The student swallowed.

“Because someone might hear you.”

No one laughed.

At Blackwick, rumors usually died after a few days.

This one didn’t.

And that night, the academy seemed quieter than usual.

Rain hammered against the tall windows as students gathered in small groups along the corridors. Their conversations remained low, often breaking whenever footsteps approached.

Earlier that evening, the five faction captains had been summoned to a private meeting.

No reason had been given.

That alone was unusual.

Then the academy announcement system crackled overhead.

Every conversation stopped.

“Attention, students. A new trial has been scheduled. Further instructions will be provided tomorrow morning.”

The announcement ended.

For several seconds, no one moved.

A new trial was nothing unusual at Blackwick.

But after four disappearances, nobody believed this one was ordinary.

At the very top of the academy’s ranking board, one name remained untouched.

#1 LUEN CASSIAN

Luen Cassian had held the position longer than anyone currently enrolled.

Students knew the name.

Some respected it.

Some hated it.

Most simply knew better than to underestimate him.

His reputation had little to do with appearances. He was known for strategy, observation, and an ability to remain calm when everyone else began to panic.

Tonight, however, the ranking board was the last thing on his mind.

Luen walked alone through the western corridor.

His footsteps echoed softly against the polished marble. His damp black hair fell around his face, the longer layers brushing his neck after the rain outside. His emerald-green eyes moved across the hallway, taking in doors, windows, corners, and shadows without lingering on any of them for long.

Several students noticed him.

A few stepped aside.

Others lowered their voices.

Luen ignored both.

He passed a tall window overlooking the courtyard.

Rain blurred the training grounds beyond the glass. Water streamed down the stone paths, collecting beneath the dim courtyard lights.

Then he stopped.

Something cold brushed across the back of his hand.

Luen looked toward the window.

Closed.

He checked the next one.

Also closed.

His brows drew together.

There was no reason for a breeze to move through the corridor.

He took another step.

Tap.

Luen turned.

The corridor behind him was empty.

Rows of classroom doors stretched into the darkness. He waited, listening.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Nothing.

His gaze dropped to the floor.

A thin layer of dust covered the edge of the marble.

No fresh footprints.

No disturbed dust.

No sign that anyone had passed behind him.

Luen straightened.

Then what made the sound?

He turned forward again and continued walking, slower this time.

A faint metallic scrape reached him.

Luen stopped.

Scrape.

Not behind him.

Below.

His gaze shifted toward the floor.

The western corridor stood above one of the academy’s oldest storage levels—a section that had been sealed for years.

His eyes moved toward the emergency stairwell.

Before he could take a step, the lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then the corridor went completely dark.

Luen didn’t move.

For three seconds, darkness swallowed everything.

He listened.

Rain against glass.

Thunder rolling somewhere beyond the mountains.

His own breathing.

Then—

A faint sound behind him.

The lights returned.

Luen turned immediately.

Nothing.

His eyes swept across the corridor.

Classroom doors.

Windows.

Empty marble.

Then something caught his attention near his feet.

A single black feather rested on the floor.

Luen stared at it.

Black.

Long.

Perfectly clean.

He knew the symbol.

There was only one faction at Blackwick associated with black feathers.

Thorn.

His own faction.

But Thorn didn’t leave messages like this.

Not openly.

Luen reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

He opened the academy’s internal security system and accessed the western corridor footage.

The camera showed an empty hallway.

He rewound it.

The lights flickered.

The screen went black.

Three seconds passed.

When the footage returned, the feather was already lying on the floor.

Luen replayed it.

Again.

Three seconds.

No one entered the corridor.

No one approached the feather.

He paused the recording.

His eyes remained fixed on the screen.

Someone knew the exact moment the camera would fail.

His thumb hovered over the display.

Or someone caused the failure.

A quiet unease settled in his chest.

Not fear.

Something more irritating.

A problem without enough information to solve it.

Luen looked at the feather again.

He could take it.

Examine it.

Run it through the academy’s identification system.

But if someone had gone through the trouble of leaving it there, touching it might be exactly what they wanted.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket.

Then he walked away.

He made it three steps before stopping again.

His eyes returned to the feather.

For some reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it hadn’t been left for the academy.

It had been left for him.

Luen turned away.

Behind him, the black feather remained perfectly still on the marble floor.

Far beyond Blackwick City, where the storm clouds had swallowed the moon, a lone figure stood at the edge of a dark forest.

Rain slid from the hood covering their face.

Between their fingers rested another black feather.

The figure looked toward the distant lights of Blackwick.

Then slowly closed their hand around the feather.

The storm swallowed the sound of their quiet laughter.