A Whisper of Secrets

 The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting long shadows over the academy grounds. I kept my head down, blending into the background as I always did. DIRS—DKP Institute of Research and Sciences—was alive with activity, the usual buzz of students showing off their magical prowess, laughing, joking, forming their little groups. Me? I preferred the quiet. It was easier that way.

Gray hair brushed across my eyes as I walked, my katana strapped to my back, the weight of it comforting. If only people could be as reliable as a blade. Around me, conversations bubbled, but none of them reached me. Just the way I liked it.

"Flame,"

a voice broke through my thoughts, sharp but familiar. I stopped, glancing over my shoulder.

Alexia. Her yellow hair glimmered in the sunlight, her gaze steady as always. She had a way of cutting through the noise, a calm confidence that demanded attention without trying. I slowed my pace, letting her catch up. She never wasted words on pleasantries.

"A new dungeon’s been discovered,"

she said quietly, glancing around to make sure no one overheard.

"Just outside the city. There's talk that it might contain some… sensitive things. It’s been declared off-limits for now."

Off-limits. That was always when things got interesting.

I said nothing at first, just taking it in. A forbidden dungeon. The kind of place where secrets lived.

"I see,"

I whispered, more to myself than to her.

Her eyes flickered toward me, searching for something, but I didn’t give her anything else. It wasn’t in my nature to get excited. I preferred to wait, to watch, to see how things unfolded. We continued walking in silence, the weight of her words settling between us.

The classroom was the same as ever. Rows of students hunched over their desks, all trying to prove themselves. I slipped into my seat near the back, next to Rash. He was staring out the window again, lost in whatever thoughts kept him from the present. Typical.

The professor's voice droned on, something about the principles of magic spellcasting. I barely registered. Rash, however, was completely gone, his gaze fixed on the world outside. I leaned in, whispering low,

"Rash. Pay attention."

He didn’t move, and before I could nudge him again, the inevitable happened.

"Mr. Rash,"

Professor Drey’s voice rang out, cutting through the classroom.

"Why don’t you answer for us? What is the fundamental of using magic spells?"

Rash stood slowly, his expression one of barely contained panic. He glanced at me, desperation written all over his face. I sighed. Of course, it was up to me to bail him out. Again.

I mouthed the answer quietly, hoping the professor wouldn’t notice. But Professor Drey had eyes like a hawk.

"And it seems Mr. Flame would like to share as well,"

he said, that same smirk he always wore tugging at his lips.

"Go on then, enlighten us."

I stood, keeping my voice steady.

"The fundamental of using magic spells lies in three elements: Will, Focus, and Energy. Will drives the spell, gives it purpose. Focus shapes it, keeps it from unravelling. And energy—either drawn from within or from the surroundings—fuels it."

Silence followed. Professor Drey stared at me for a moment, like he hadn’t expected me to know the answer. Then he nodded.

"Correct. Sit down."

I sat, feeling Rash’s glare on the side of my face. He didn’t like being shown up, even if it was to save him from embarrassment. But that was Rash—always taking things the wrong way. Before I could think too much about it, the bell rang, signaling the end of class.

I didn’t waste any time after the bell rang. Without a word, Rash and I made our way through the corridors and out of the academy, slipping into the shadows like ghosts. No one noticed us as we left; we made sure of that.

We met up with Elysia, Alexia, and Lessie at the edge of the academy grounds. They were already in their black cloaks, ready for whatever lay ahead. I pulled mine from my bag, the familiar fabric settling over my shoulders as I adjusted the katana strapped to my back.

"Are we doing this or what?"

Elysia asked, her voice cool and calm, like the flow of water she controlled. Her silver-cyan hair glinted faintly in the moonlight. She always seemed too composed, like she knew something the rest of us didn’t.

I gave a short nod.
"Let’s move."

Without another word, we disappeared into the night, heading toward the forbidden dungeon outside the city. The journey through the forest was long and silent, but the tension was palpable. Something about this dungeon felt different. Dangerous. And I wasn’t just talking about the monsters that might be waiting inside.

The entrance to the dungeon was hidden behind thick vines, almost as if the forest itself was trying to keep it sealed. The air grew colder the deeper we went, the walls slick with moisture and covered in faint, glowing runes. Each step felt like we were walking into the past, into something ancient and forgotten.

The monsters came at us fast—twisted, malformed creatures that lunged from the shadows without warning. But we were ready.

I stepped forward, unsheathing my katana. Lightning surged through my veins, crackling along the blade’s edge as I swung it with precision. Wind magic enhanced my speed, allowing me to move faster than the monsters could react. My blade sliced cleanly through the first, and before the others could reach me, I sent a gust of wind tearing through their ranks, scattering them like leaves.

Elysia moved next, her sword flashing in the dim light as she conjured a wave of water to crash into the monsters, sweeping them back. She was always so graceful, her movements fluid and controlled, like a dance. Her water magic followed her will perfectly, creating barriers and cutting down enemies with the same ease.

Behind us, Alexia unleashed her ice magic. Shards of ice shot through the air, each one striking its target with deadly accuracy. She kept her distance, controlling the battlefield like a general, her yellow hair flickering in the pale light. The monsters barely had time to react before they were frozen in place, shattering into pieces with a flick of her hand.

From the shadows, Rash muttered an incantation under his breath. Dark tendrils of magic snaked out from his hands, wrapping around the monsters and pulling them into the void. Their cries echoed briefly, but there was no mercy in Rash’s magic. His dark arts consumed everything in their path.

Lessie held the line, her earth magic solid and unyielding. She stomped the ground, causing stone pillars to erupt and impale the creatures, her pink hair swaying as she stood firm. When one monster tried to break through, she raised her hand and a wall of earth sprang up, blocking its path. Her fist followed, crushing the beast with a single, powerful strike.

The fight dragged on longer than I expected. Each strike, each spell, felt like a battle against the dungeon itself. By the time the last monster fell, we were all breathing hard, covered in scratches and bruises. But we’d made it through.

The final chamber was different. Colder. Darker. The air felt heavy, like something was waiting.

In the centre of the room stood an ancient chest, but that wasn’t what caught my attention. Off to the side, half-hidden in shadow, was a sword. It was lodged deep in a stone, the blade glowing faintly, almost like it was alive.

I stepped toward it, drawn by something I couldn’t explain. The others were focused on the chest, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the sword. There was a pull, a hum in the air that vibrated through my bones.

"This sword…"

I reached out, my fingers brushing the hilt. The moment I touched it, the ground trembled beneath us, and a surge of power rushed through me. This was no ordinary sword. It was something far more dangerous.

As my fingers brushed the hilt of the sword, something strange stirred inside me—a sensation I couldn't quite place. The blade felt cold, unnaturally so, and a low hum seemed to reverberate from it. The black, shadowy mist surrounding the sword slowly began to unfurl, creeping out like tendrils of smoke, twisting in the air. My breath hitched.

I’d encountered magic weapons before—enchanted blades, cursed artefacts—but this was different. There was something alive about this sword, something dangerous. And yet, I couldn’t stop myself. My grip tightened around the hilt, and the room around me began to dissolve, the cold dungeon walls fading into nothing.

Suddenly, I was somewhere else.

The ground beneath my feet was no longer stone but dirt, soaked with blood. The sky above me was thick with smoke, the acrid stench of fire and death clogging the air. All around, chaos erupted. Soldiers—men, women, creatures I couldn’t recognize—clashed violently, their screams of agony mixing with the clash of steel.

Bodies littered the ground, some still writhing, others unnervingly still. The battlefield stretched out as far as I could see, an endless sea of carnage. My heart pounded in my chest, though I knew this wasn’t real—it couldn’t be.

I was frozen, unable to move, as I watched the war unfold in front of me. Blood splattered across faces twisted in fear and rage. Magic erupted from the hands of mages, explosions lighting up the scene in bursts of blinding light. Weapons clashed with sickening thuds, the sound of steel meeting flesh ringing in my ears. It was brutal, relentless.

And then, amidst the madness, I saw him.

Standing alone in the center of the chaos was a figure, a swordsman, calm and unshaken. His movements were fluid, almost too perfect. He wielded the same sword—the one I held now—in his hands, moving with a grace that bordered on the supernatural. His form was shrouded in a cloak of shadows, obscuring his face, but I could feel the power radiating off him, a deadly calm that cut through the chaos around him.

Every time an enemy came too close, he moved effortlessly, the blade flashing as it parried every attack. But there was something strange about the way he fought—he never attacked. He only defended, keeping his opponents at bay with precision and skill that I could barely comprehend. No matter how many came at him, not a single scratch marred his body. He moved like a ghost, untouchable, invincible.

It was as if time slowed down. I watched, mesmerized, as more enemies came at him—soldiers, beasts, mages—and yet he stood his ground, perfectly defending himself without striking a single blow. The sword moved like an extension of his body, always where it needed to be, always one step ahead. It was almost... inhuman.

My gaze was drawn to the sword, glowing faintly in his hand, the same dark mist swirling around it, like it was feeding off the violence, the death. There was a malevolence in the air, thick and suffocating.

The battlefield began to blur at the edges, like smoke being pulled away by the wind. The blood, the screams, the swordsman—all of it started to fade, dissolving into shadows. I felt myself being pulled back, dragged away from the vision.

But just as everything faded into black, I saw it again—the sword. The glow. The power. And the swordsman, still standing in the midst of the slaughter, completely untouched.

Then the vision snapped shut, and I was back in the dungeon.

"Flame? Are you alright?"

Rash’s voice jolted me back to reality. I blinked, still gripping the sword’s hilt, my fingers stiff and cold. The room was silent again, the mist from the blade swirling lazily around my hand. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my heart still racing.

I glanced over at Rash, who was staring at me with concern etched on his face. His dark eyes flicked between me and the sword, the tension in the air heavy enough to crush.

"What just happened?"

he asked, his voice quiet but sharp.

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure I could explain it if I tried. Instead, I looked back down at the sword, my hand still wrapped around its hilt. The vision was still fresh in my mind—the blood, the battlefield, the swordsman.

I gritted my teeth and pulled.

The sword slid out of the stone with a soft hiss, the weight of it heavy in my hand. As soon as it was free, the shadows around the blade thickened, swirling like they had a mind of their own. I felt a pulse of energy shoot through me, a surge of power that made my blood hum.

But something was wrong.

 As I stared at the sword, something shifted in the air. A presence—no, a figure—appeared at the edge of my vision. I snapped my head up, and for a fleeting second, I saw him.

The same man from the battlefield.

He stood at the far end of the chamber, watching me. His face was obscured by shadows, but there was something in his stance, in the way he held himself, that sent a shiver down my spine. I blinked, and he was gone, like he had never been there at all.

My grip tightened on the sword, my mind racing. What the hell was this?

I glanced at the others, but they were oblivious, still focused on the dungeon. None of them had seen what I had.

I took a breath, steadying myself, but the unease lingered. Something had changed. And whatever it was, it had started the moment I touched this sword.

The air was thick with suspense, the shadows around us shifting like they were watching, waiting.