“Perfect.”
She launched herself into the pack again, spinning her blade in brutal, unrefined arcs—every strike born from muscle memory, aggression, and sheer refusal to yield. Her form was ugly, wild—but nothing got past her.
And behind her, Ethan danced.
Where Julia overwhelmed, Ethan controlled. Every enemy that broke through her radius was met with surgical bursts of lightning, his spear snapping out in short, precise jabs that targeted joints, cores, and exposed sigils. Where Julia cracked skulls, Ethan shut systems down.
They didn’t speak.
They didn’t need to.
This wasn’t coordination.
This was instinct.
Marin covered their blind spots with mid-range strikes, his blade darting between Julia’s kill zone and Ethan’s fallback line like a stitching thread. Kaela ghosted between outcroppings, never staying in one place for more than a few seconds, every arrow making space before the others could feel pressure. Raine’s hands never stopped glowing—shield, cleanse, mend, repeat.
Fifteen minutes.
That’s all it took.
The dungeon’s final chamber crumbled around them, the corrupted mana source at its heart still crackling faintly—until Julia smashed it open with one overhead strike that left a crater the size of a wagon.
The mist receded.
The mana stilled.
And just like that—it was over.
Ethan stood at her side, the crackle of his lightning fading with every breath. Julia wiped the blood from her blade with one swift swipe against a fallen beast’s fur, then turned to the squad.
“Time?”
Raine glanced at her wrist-sigil. “Fourteen minutes, forty-seven seconds.”
Julia whistled, low and amused. “Tch. Sloppy.”
Marin choked. “Sloppy?”
“You almost missed one,” Kaela added helpfully, nodding toward a half-melted beast Ethan had finished off mid-run.
Julia shrugged. “That was his job.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “I do love being backup janitor.”
“See?” she said cheerfully, slapping him on the back again. “That’s why I keep you around.”
And for a long moment, none of them moved. They just stood there, blood on their boots, sweat cooling in the dungeon air.
And for a long moment, none of them moved. They just stood there, blood on their boots, sweat cooling in the dungeon air.
But then—
Ethan’s fingers twitched.
It was subtle at first. A flicker of something—not sight, not sound, not even psion detection. Just presence. A pressure that didn’t belong. A ripple against the edges of his awareness, like a hand grazing the surface of still water from beneath.
He straightened, eyes narrowing.
The atmosphere hadn’t changed. Not visibly. The corrupted mana source was gone, the dungeon collapsing inward in slow, harmless pulses of dissipation. No new enemies. No alarms. No strange readings on the glyph scanners.
But the feeling was there.
Cold. Thin. Sharp.
Like breath on the back of his neck.
His gaze swept the craggy cavern walls—the broken ceiling overhead, the tendrils of mist still thinning into silence. Nothing moved. Nothing shifted.
And yet…
Ethan’s shoulders tensed.
The spear in his hand hummed faintly again, residual psions reactivating on reflex.
He didn’t speak right away. Just took a slow, measured breath. Then another.
There it was again.
A flicker.
A presence just out of reach—something watching, not from the shadows, but beneath them. As if the walls themselves had eyes. As if the dungeon hadn’t died—it had gone still. Waiting.
Julia noticed first.
Her voice dropped, low and wary. “What is it?”
Ethan didn’t look at her. His eyes were still fixed on the far corner of the chamber—a spot where the darkness seemed a shade too thick. Not unnatural. Just… off.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly.
Kaela had already readied another arrow.
Raine, without needing instruction, pulled her healing wards into a tighter formation around them.
Even Marin stopped joking.
Ethan’s grip on his spear tightened. “It’s probably nothing.”
He didn’t believe it.
The chill crawling down his spine wasn’t psionic. It wasn’t magical. It was instinctual.
Like something had brushed against the threads of his fate, then slipped away before it could be named.
And that—that—was what unsettled him most.
He didn’t sense a threat.
He sensed… awareness.
Not just of their location.
Of him.
Of his lightning. His psions. His breath.
As if something out there had just catalogued every strike he’d made—and was still deciding what to do about it.
Ethan stepped closer to Julia, voice low. “We need to move. Now.”
She didn’t argue.
None of them did.
Because though the dungeon had collapsed… Ethan still felt watched.
And that feeling wouldn’t leave.
Even after the gate opened.
Even after they stepped out.
Even after the light of the academy swallowed the darkness—
The weight of that unseen gaze lingered.
Like something had marked him.
And simply… let him go.
*****
The screen was already split into multiple angles—high frame-rate, combat zooms, mana-thread overlays—when the final monster fell. The corrupted core shattered in real-time, light folding inward, and the kill feed officially sealed:
[Team Six — Dungeon Four: Clear Time — 14:47]
There was a pause.
Then a low whistle from the center aisle.
“…Sloppy,” one scout repeated, voice dry. “That’s what she called it?”
“She’s not wrong,” said another. “Could’ve been sub-14 if Ethan hadn’t diverted for that intercept mid-run.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” a third countered, eyes locked on the rewind feed. “That flank would’ve taken out Kaela. The fact that he turned, cleared it, and rejoined in under two seconds is what made this a clean run.”
None of them were arguing.
Not really.
Because the performance was undeniable.
Julia Middleton was chaos incarnate. Her style hadn’t changed, but her command over it had. Every wild swing carried deliberate risk-to-reward calculation. No hesitation. No fear.
“She’s gotten stronger,” murmured one of the Dawn’s Cross tacticians, tapping a rune to zoom in on Julia’s overhead cleave in the final chamber. “Sharper, too. Less waste. Less noise.”
“Just like her brother,” another added. “That Middleton bloodline’s not going quiet, that’s for sure.”
There was a short silence at that—because everyone knew what that meant.
Lucas Middleton, the prodigy-turned-enigma.
Julia Middleton, the wildcard who’d once been written off as too erratic to ever lead.
And now both names were carving reputations on opposite ends of the field.
“But he’s not the one leading this team,” someone said, their tone shifting. “Not really.”
All eyes turned back to the footage.
Because while Julia dominated the field, it was Ethan Hartley who held it steady.
He never commanded.
Never called loudly.
But the tempo followed him.
Where Julia carved a hole, Ethan sealed it.
Where the others staggered, he created anchor points.
Every movement—refined. Every decision—precise.
Not flashy.
But undeniably effective.
“He’s got control,” the Blackstone Verge woman said simply. “The kind that doesn’t show up in highlight reels—but shapes every outcome.”
“And lightning affinity,” another added. “Rare enough. Harder to stabilize in confined terrain.”
“Late Awakening too,” someone murmured, scrolling through Ethan’s dossier. “Only came online a few months before term began. No affinity profile until week two.”
They all saw the same line:
Initial Ranking: Unlisted. Provisional Class.
And now?
He was matching Julia Middleton strike for strike.
And anchoring a formation most veteran squads would buckle under.
“The reports weren’t exaggerated,” said the Hollow Edge scout. “He really is the fastest-rising Awakened this term.”
They let that sit for a moment.
Because there was no need to exaggerate it.
Ethan Hartley was doing the one thing that no amount of hype or bloodline could guarantee.
He was earning it.
Step by step. Fight by fight.
Against stronger enemies.
In harder dungeons.
Beside more dangerous allies.
And each time—
He endured.
More than that.
He won.
A few names were quietly added to private lists.
Julia Middleton — Confirmed High-Priority, Close Combat Specialist
Ethan Hartley — Flagged: Rising Star / Adaptive Control Tier
No offers yet.
Not publicly.
Not while the boards were still shifting.
But the message was clear.
This year’s stars weren’t waiting to be discovered.
They were making sure no one could look away.
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