Shadowbound: The Awakened Fool

The sky over Obscured Flame Academy darkened unnaturally.

Clouds spun into a spiral, thick and black, yet no rain fell. Static clung to the air. Students across the campus stopped mid-step as the mana field rippled once, then twice before bending.

An invasion.

From the eastern tower, alarms rang out aural glyphs crackling to life with a shrill pulse. Sigils along the walls flared, and containment barriers snapped up in sequence.

But they were too slow.

He had already breached the perimeter.

A figure floated above the northern courtyard, clad in a long coat of flayed crimson hide, his hands wrapped in binding cords of bone. A skeletal helm obscured his face, but his aura screamed corruption, Abyssal magic, pure and unfiltered.

Instructor Varlen, the sole professor on campus during the off-day, stood in the plaza below, staff raised, sweat pouring down his face.

"You're not supposed to be here," he barked, voice tight.

The invader didn't answer. He merely descended slowly, his presence pressing down like gravity. Students scattered. First-years cried out. Shields flickered across the outer halls. But none dared step forward.

Varlen braced, muttering a reinforcement chant. Glyphs flared around his arms. Wind spiraled outward, forming a barrier of compressed air.

The skeletal man tilted his head.

"Weak."

He vanished.

Reappeared in front of Varlen.

And struck.

The windshield shattered like glass. Varlen flew back, hitting a pillar with a crack of ribs. Blood spattered across the stone.

Gasps echoed from the students watching from afar. No one moved.

The invader raised a hand. Abyssal runes lit up across the courtyard floor. Chains of corrupted mana burst from the earth, aimed at the helpless instructor.

And then

A shadow moved.

Not in front of the instructor.

Behind the attacker.

Silent. Precise.

From the rooftops above, a figure dropped cloaked in gray and black, face hidden beneath a loose hood and silver half-mask. The air around him was unnaturally still, as though the wind itself dared not touch him.

The moment he landed, time seemed to hold its breath.

He moved without a word.

The chain spell veered sideways, cut mid-cast, as if something had interfered with its formation. The skeletal attacker turned sharply, hand raised to cast another.

He never got the chance.

A blade of pure black pierced his shoulder from behind.

No clang. No sparks. No resistance.

The weapon slid through his defenses like ink through water.

The attacker roared, spinning, mana flaring outward like a detonation.

But the masked figure was already gone.

He reappeared behind him again, then to the side, then above.

Flickers of shadow marked each step, as though reality itself couldn't track him.

A voice spoke. Calm. Unreadable.

"You're not allowed here."

The attacker whipped his hand forward, summoning a barrage of bone spears. They launched in all directions, warping space as they tore through stone.

The masked figure raised a hand, and everything froze.

Not literally. Not completely.

But the air grew still. The shadows thickened. And in that moment, the attacker's spears slowed, suspended in their arc as if caught in oil.

The masked figure extended his arm. Shadows poured from beneath his feet, rising, solidifying, coiling around his hand to form a sword that looked carved from moonless night.

One clean swing.

The spears shattered mid-air.

Another flash, this time no one saw him move.

A black line split the ground beneath the attacker. A moment later, blood sprayed from his chest.

The skeletal man stumbled back, coughing violently. His aura began to flicker.

"You… You're…"

He didn't finish.

Because the masked figure had raised his free hand.

A circle of runes appeared, black runes, foreign to any system the academy had ever catalogued. They pulsed once, twice…

And a shadow swallowed the attacker whole.

No fire. No explosion.

Just darkness.

When it cleared, the skeletal invader was gone, his body half-embedded in the courtyard stone, unconscious, barely breathing.

The crowd that had gathered stood frozen, too stunned to speak.

Instructor Varlen groaned from the steps, clutching his side.

The masked figure turned to leave.

"Wait," Varlen called out. "Who are you?"

The figure paused.

A gust of wind swept through the ruined courtyard.

And the voice came, carried on a whisper.

"Liam."

Then he was gone.

Vanished into shadow.

On a rooftop, far from the plaza, Kairo pulled off the silver half-mask and tucked it beneath his cloak. His breathing was even. His heartbeat calm.

Umbra stirred.

"You used my power. Without restraint."

"I used only a fragment," Kairo murmured.

"You revealed yourself."

"No," he said. "Kairo Vale is still magicless. Only Liam fought today."

He stood and turned away, the night wind tugging at his coat.

In the distance, students scrambled to the ruins. Administrators were returning. Magical beacons ignited across the towers.

Kairo vanished into the alley shadows, leaving no trace.

But the name Liam would not be forgotten.