They returned to the Bound Path Guild with smoke in their clothes and ghosts in their eyes.
Three left.
Out of ten.
No cheers. No salutes. Just a heavy silence as they crossed the outer gate and handed over their sigils—stained, cracked, and still warm from the field.
Captain Varro didn't speak when he saw them.
He just nodded once.
And walked away.
Marx limped toward the infirmary without a word. Cray disappeared into the lower halls, silent as always. Only Eudora remained standing in the courtyard.
Alone.
The sky cracked with distant thunder. Rain threatened but didn't fall.
He was soaked in blood that wasn't his.
Most of it wasn't.
His body ached, but not from exhaustion.
From growth.
It wasn't strength in the traditional sense. It wasn't speed or skill.
It was certainty.
That whatever he faced now, he wouldn't die.
Not easily.
---
The Summon
That night, a guild runner appeared at his bunk.
"Guildmaster wants to see you."
Eudora followed in silence, the halls darker than usual, candles snuffed one by one the deeper they walked.
They reached the high chamber—where only the elite were judged.
Behind the wide oaken desk sat Guildmaster Rhio Varro.
A man with no hair, no eyebrows, and no smile. Just eyes like twin razors and a scar across his throat that made his voice sound like gravel scraped on steel.
He gestured without words.
Eudora stepped forward.
"You survived Hollow Pike," Varro rasped.
Eudora nodded.
Varro's fingers tapped the wood once. "Three of ten returned. But only one came back... changed."
The room darkened.
"You bled out twice. Your skull was fractured. Your heart was pierced. And yet… no healer touched you. No salve. No prayer."
Eudora said nothing.
Varro leaned forward. "You are not the first freak I've seen. We take monsters here, boy. But we burn the ones that don't know they're monsters."
The candlelight flickered. Shadows crawled along the walls.
"Tell me, what are you, Eudora?"
Eudora looked the Guildmaster in the eye. His voice was quiet. Steady.
"…Something unfinished."
---
The Cracks in Marx
In the following days, Marx didn't return to training.
He stayed in the chapel, staring at nothing. Eating little. Sleeping less.
Eudora visited once.
Sat beside him in silence.
Marx eventually spoke. "That altar… those symbols… I heard something."
Eudora didn't respond.
Marx's voice shook. "It said my name. Over and over. Like it was mine before I was born."
His eyes turned to Eudora. "Did it speak to you too?"
Eudora nodded. Slowly.
Marx whispered, "I don't want to lose my mind."
Eudora placed a hand on his shoulder. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Eudora said, "Don't fight it. Filter it. Whatever touched us… it wants to unmake us. But it can't unless we open the door."
Marx looked at him like he was something else entirely.
Not a comrade.
Not a friend.
But a mirror of the monster waiting beneath his skin.
---
Rising Rank
Four days later, Eudora's name was quietly moved on the Guild roster.
From Grey tier (initiate) to Iron tier.
No ceremony. No public notice.
Just a new tag placed beside his name.
But everyone noticed.
Veterans watched him now. Not with jealousy—with caution.
Cray began following him like a silent shadow.
And the Guildmaster's eyes stayed on him, longer than necessary.
Eudora trained harder. Fought sharper.
Not because he wanted to impress.
Because he could feel something growing inside him.
It wasn't just regeneration anymore.
His bones ached at night.
His shadow flickered in places it shouldn't.
And sometimes… just sometimes…
He dreamed of a face that had no eyes, whispering in a language he understood.