Whispers in the Veins
Morning light filtered through the cracked window like a lie—warm, gentle, and completely out of place.
Arin sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands. They weren't shaking anymore. But they didn't feel like his either. Not after last night.
That voice… that reflection… That wasn't me. Was it?
His aunt hadn't said a word to him since the knife hit the floor. She just… walked away. And the house felt even colder for it.
"Just like your father."
The words echoed like thunder in his mind.
His father—the one no one ever spoke about. The one whose name was scrubbed from every record, every photo, every memory. Whenever Arin asked, his mother would go silent. Sometimes she'd whisper something under her breath—"He was a star that fell too soon."
Now he wasn't sure if that meant death… or something else.
A knock broke through his thoughts.
Not a real knock. A tap—barely audible, from the inside of his wrist.
He yanked up his sleeve.
Nothing.
But for the briefest second… he swore he saw the faint outline of a symbol. A circle. Lines branching outward like veins. Faint. Flickering. Like static trying to remember an image.
Then—gone.
Am I losing my mind?
He arrived late to the Academy.
The moment he stepped through the front gates of Verdant Sky Institute, the chatter, the skybeasts circling overhead, and the sound of sparring from the training grounds all hit him at once.
The school was a blend of nature and tech—floating terraces, vines crawling across glowing walls, and students with aura-threaded weapons on their backs.
He walked fast, hood up.
"Oi, that's the clanless kid," someone muttered as he passed.
"I heard he snapped and tried to kill someone last night."
"Don't get close. His mom died weird too."
He kept walking. Eyes forward. Rage and shame brewing in his gut like poison.
"Arin!"
A hand slapped his shoulder.
It was Lena—bright-eyed, crimson hair tied into a loose braid, always with a grin too stubborn to die. The only one who didn't treat him like a curse.
"You're late." She looked closer, frowned. "And pale. What happened—"
"Nothing."
"Arin—"
"I said it's nothing." He yanked away, voice harsher than he meant.
She stared at him, then sighed. "Fine. But if you turn into a blood demon or some shadow freak, I'm chopping your head off first. Got it?"
A weak smile twitched on his lips. "Fair."
They walked to class together in silence.
But Arin couldn't focus.
His thoughts kept drifting.
To the knife.
The voice.
His father.
And that mark...
Every time his pulse quickened, he felt it again—something sleeping beneath his skin. Waiting.
Watching.
At the edge of the lecture hall, a tall man stood silently, arms folded. Eyes like ice. The new combat instructor.
"Today," he said, "we begin the evaluation of your Soul Resonance Level."
The class erupted with chatter.
Arin froze.
Because he knew something was wrong.
His soul… didn't feel normal anymore.
And if they tested him—
They'll know.