By the time Orin first saw Hachi Academy, the sun was starting its slow slide down the sky, turning the world bronze and long-shadowed.
The road had bent around a series of low hills, dipped past an old ward-stone half-buried in moss, then climbed one last rise. At the top of it, the trees thinned, and there it was.
Hachi didn't look like a school.
It looked like someone had taken a fortress, a cathedral, and a training ground and convinced them to share the same body.
Tiered walls climbed the slope in three layers, each one etched with overlapping sigils that caught the light and pulsed faintly, feeding into standing crystal pillars spaced at regular intervals. The main gates were tall enough to admit a siege beast, barred with reinforced metal and more runes. Beyond them, Orin could see open courtyards, training platforms ringed with wards, and the distant flash of ability use—fire, ice, something crackling white-blue.
Thin tram-rails glinted along the outer curve, leading to a small platform where a single transport stone sat—its surface carved deep with complex patterns, waiting to be fed power and destination.
Lines of tech-crystals followed the academy's edges like a string of slow-flickering stars, humming faintly even from here.
Orin stopped at the top of the rise for a long moment, just looking.
The Drills Inn felt very far away.
You are staring like it might walk away if you blink, a dry voice said in his mind.
Orin didn't look down. He didn't have to. "Just thinking."
A small black shape hopped lightly onto the rock beside him—a compact feline form, fur dark enough to swallow shadow, faint stripes barely visible along his flanks when the light hit them just so. Golden eyes took in the academy with the same steady attention they turned on everything.
Thinking is fine, Kahn-Ra said. Standing still forever is less useful.
Orin huffed. You're impatient for someone who decided to just "watch."
Watching requires you to keep moving, Kahn-Ra replied. I did not leave the north to observe a rock.
Orin rolled his shoulders, shifting the pack on his back, feeling the familiar cross-weight of his cleavers between his shoulder blades, the hatchet blades resting at his hips. His fingers brushed the edge of Sonny's letter under his vest, then dropped.
"Fine," he muttered. "Let's go."
He started down the hill.The closer he got, the more Hachi breathed.
Students moved along the outer path in small groups: some in simple training uniforms, others in light armor or reinforced fabric lined with faint rune-stitching. A few carried weapons openly; most wore their power in the way they walked, in the casual shift of weight that said they knew exactly what they could do if something came at them wrong.
A pair of automated ward-pylons stood near the road, their crystal cores dim but ready. Orin had seen echo-versions in Drills—cheap knockoffs meant to alarm more than fight—but these were the real thing. Lines of script ran down their sides, pulsing on a slow rhythm, tuned to the academy's perimeter.
The main gate was half-open, wide enough for two carts or a small company of students to pass through. In front of it, a checkpoint line had formed: a mix of wide-eyed hopefuls with travel packs, returning students, and a caravan or two making deliveries.
Orin joined the end of the line.
Kahn-Ra padded along beside his boot, small paws silent on the packed dirt. He moved like he had every right to be there, which, knowing him, was not entirely wrong.
A boy ahead of Orin—a lanky kid with nervous eyes and a pack that looked too heavy—turned, glanced down at the cat, then up at Orin.
"Nice pet," he said, trying for friendly.
Killed things larger than him for less, Kahn-Ra remarked privately.
Orin coughed once, mostly to cover the almost-laugh. "He's… not a pet."
"Oh." The boy blinked. "Companion, then. You're lucky. My parents said if I couldn't fight with my own two hands, I wasn't ready."
Orin didn't know how to answer that, so he just gave a small nod.
The line moved.
When it was his turn, he stepped up to the checkpoint table.
Two gate guards handled the flow. One, a woman with short-cropped hair and a scar slicing past her left ear, measured everyone with quick, practical glances. The other, a younger man with a jaw clenched a little too tight, seemed newer—and more eager to prove it.
The woman—her breastplate carried the insignia of Hachi's outer guard—looked Orin over.
"Name," she said.
"Orin Slain."
"Purpose?"
He could have said evaluation. Enrollment. Running away from the graves of everyone I loved.
Instead, he reached into his inner pocket and pulled out the folded set of papers Sarah had handed him: Sonny's mission report, recommendation, and the official stamp from Drill City's general office.
He placed it on the table. "Recommendation for Hachi Academy. From Drill City's Fang crew."
Her brows rose a fraction at the name.
Before she could react further, the younger guard's attention slid away from the papers and fixed on Kahn-Ra.
"You can't bring that thing in," he said.
Orin's hand tightened at his side. "He stays with me."
"It's an academy, not a barn," the younger guard snapped. "We've got wards keyed to student signatures, not stray animals. Dump it outside or turn around."
Kahn-Ra's tail flicked once.
Does this one truly think I cannot hear him? his voice slid into Orin's mind, edged with cool displeasure. Tell him I prefer not to be addressed in the same category as livestock.
Please don't maul him, Orin thought back, jaw clenched. We just got here.
"I said," the guard repeated, spear angling toward Kahn-Ra, "get rid of the cat."
Orin stepped slightly between the spear and Kahn-Ra. "He's not just a cat. He's a contracted beast. Rare type. Four-star from the north."
That at least made the woman guard's eyes sharpen. "You're a Beast-bonder?"
"Something like that," Orin said. It wasn't entirely a lie.
"He doesn't have a collar," the younger guard said. "Or a sigil band. Regulations say—"
The spear tip jabbed closer to Kahn-Ra.
Kahn-Ra moved.
He didn't blur or grow or roar. He just lifted one paw and swatted.
The motion was almost lazy. The result was not.
Metal screeched as the spear shaft was slapped sideways, the force of the impact making the younger guard stumble. The spear tip gouged the packed earth, leaving a furrow. The guard barely caught himself before falling, eyes wide.
Kahn-Ra's claws hadn't even come out.
He yawned.
Then, very deliberately, he turned his head and began to groom one paw, as if flicking aside weapons was something that happened between naps.
All around them, conversation dipped. A few students further back in the line leaned to see. One of the caravan handlers muttered something under his breath and gave the cat a much wider berth.
Orin's stomach dropped.
"That," the younger guard breathed, color draining from his face, "is not a cat."
"Correct," Orin said tightly. "Which is why you should stop poking him."
The woman studied Kahn-Ra for three long heartbeats. Her gaze flicked back to Orin.
"You said four-star?" she asked.
He held her eyes. "Rare type. Northern."
Her jaw worked once, remembering something. Stories, maybe. Or the way the spear had moved.
Finally, she exhaled. "We've had worse in the courtyards," she said. "Fine. But if he so much as scratches a ward stone, it's your hide, Slain."
"Understood," Orin said.
The younger guard started to protest. "Captain, he—"
"That's enough, Rell," she cut in. "You want to go barehand with a beast like that, be my guest. Otherwise, let the academy deal with what the academy admits."
She picked up his papers, eyes scanning the contents quickly. At Sonny's name, her mouth pressed into a line.
"I heard there was trouble with a Vrexus out of Drill," she said. "Didn't know it was that Fang crew."
The words hit harder than Orin expected. His throat tightened. "They… didn't make it."
Her gaze softened by a fraction. She didn't offer pity—not here, not with a line behind him—but her voice gentled.
"Sonny sent good people through these gates," she said. "If he signed your recommendation, we'll see what you can do."
She stamped the corner of the page with Hachi's gate seal, made a quick notation on a slate at her elbow, then jerked her chin toward the open arch.
"Head through the main courtyard," she said. "Orientation hall is straight ahead, then left. You'll be sorted into evaluations."
Orin nodded.
He stepped forward.
Rell, now keeping a careful distance from Kahn-Ra, muttered something under his breath about "cocky strays." Kahn-Ra's ear twitched.
Weak things should speak more quietly, the Black Tiger said inside Orin's head. Especially when their spears bend.
You promised not to cause trouble, Orin thought back.
You promised not to answer me out loud, Kahn-Ra said. We both falter.
Orin bit back a sigh and kept walking.Passing through Hachi's outer gate felt like stepping through a wall of air.
The ward-lines in the stone hummed as he crossed, a faint ripple skimming over his skin. The Solara charm under his shirt warmed briefly, then stilled. Kahn-Ra padded through after him as if walking through a stream.
The inner courtyard opened wide—a broad expanse of stone and packed sand crisscrossed with painted lines and training circles. Students sparred in some of them: fists, blades, abilities. An instructor stood at one circle's edge, calling out corrections while two Blood Hunters traded blows, their movements amplified by the subtle pulse of Blood Surge—he recognized it now, the way their veins stood out, the controlled flare of power under their skin.
Above, walkways connected multi-level buildings—classrooms, dormitories, armories, things he didn't have names for yet. Crystal arrays sat at key corners, feeding power into the campus wards. A few mechanical constructs moved along tracks near the far wall, hauling crates toward a storage bay.
All of it felt… alive. Focused. Dangerous in a way that had rules.
Orin stopped just past the archway, watching two students in one ring. One was taller, swinging a heavy hammer that moved with disconcerting ease in his hands. The other, a girl with a jagged scar down one cheek, wore a gauntlet that flickered with faint arcs of tethered lightning. Sparks snapped as she deflected a blow.
He found himself leaning forward a little.
"You're blocking the path," someone said behind him.
Orin stepped aside automatically as a trio of older students strode past, barely sparing him a glance. Their uniforms were marked with colored bands at the shoulders—some kind of rank or class designation. One of them eyed Kahn-Ra, frowned, then decided whatever it was, it was not his problem.
You see? Kahn-Ra said, amused. They already ignore you. You have much to prove.
You're very encouraging, Orin thought dryly.
I am honest. It wastes less time.
He exhaled through his nose and scanned the courtyard.
Straight ahead, across the wide expanse, stood a building that looked more like a government hall than a classroom wing—taller, fronted with carved pillars, banners hanging down bearing Hachi's crest: a stylized eye set within a sunburst, ringed in script.
Students funneled in that direction in small clumps. That had to be orientation.
Before he could move, a voice boomed across the courtyard.
"Slain!"
The sound cut clean through the usual noise. Conversations dipped. A few students glanced around.
Orin turned.
A man strode toward him from the far side of the courtyard, flanked by two instructors. Power moved around him like heat over stone, not loud but undeniable. He wore reinforced light armor layered over dark fabric, the kind that allowed for movement but could take a serious hit. His hair was shot through with gray at the temples, his jaw rough with stubble that stubbornly ignored any attempt at strict regulation.
General Lox.
Orin recognized him from rumors, descriptions, and the way everyone else reacted: straightening, stepping aside, pretending not to stare.
Lox's gaze took Orin in at a glance—the weapons, the travel-worn clothes, the fresh-healed scars. Then his eyes dropped to the small black shape sitting at Orin's heel.
His mouth twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Slain. Ashfall. Starke," he said, as if taking attendance on people who weren't even all here yet. His eyes flicked to Kahn-Ra. "And you brought your… companion again."
Kahn-Ra's tail flicked once.
He remembers, the Black Tiger said, tone edged with satisfaction.
Out loud, Lox added, "Very well—he behaved last time. No interference."
He spoke to Orin, but his gaze held Kahn-Ra's for a heartbeat longer.
Orin's mind snagged on last time, on the idea that these two had stood in the same place before he'd ever known either of them.
Questions could wait.
He straightened. "General Lox."
Lox gave a small, approving nod at the lack of stumbling.
"I read Sonny's report," he said without preamble. "And the letter he sent on your behalf. Hard way to prove you're ready, kid."
The word hit like a memory.
Orin swallowed. "I didn't prove anything. I lost control."
"And lived to be sick about it," Lox said. "That's the part that matters to me. Men who like what that kind of power feels like are the ones I don't let through these gates."
He held out his hand. Orin passed him the stamped pages.
Lox scanned them again, more for habit than need, then folded them and tucked them into a pocket at his belt.
"Hachi Academy isn't here to make you comfortable," he said. "It's here to see what you are under pressure, then decide whether you're worth the trouble of keeping alive. You want that?"
No. Yes. He didn't know. He nodded anyway.
"Yes, sir."
"Good." Lox looked him over one more time, like checking the edge on a knife. "You'll get your evaluation. Not today. You're bleeding tired and your head's still halfway in a forest grave. Go through orientation. Settle. Then we see what you do when someone hits back."
He shifted his attention to Kahn-Ra again, voice dry. "And you—try not to eat any of my staff."
Kahn-Ra's golden eyes half-lidded in the closest thing he ever gave to a shrug.
Depends on the staff, he said privately.
Orin did not relay that.
Lox's gaze returned to him. "One more thing. That beast at your heel? Most here will think four-star Blood Hunter contract and leave it at that. Let them."
"You know he's not," Orin said quietly.
"Oh, I know exactly what he is," Lox said. "And I know if I start throwing the word 'diamond' around, half the academy will trip over themselves trying to test you or leash you. You don't need that noise yet."
There was more wisdom in that than Orin liked to admit.
He nodded once. "Understood."
"Good," Lox said. "Orientation hall. Straight ahead, left door. They'll put you with the other new blood. Try not to break anything you can't fix."
With that, he turned and walked away, instructors falling in beside him, a cluster of students parting to let them pass.
Orin stood in the wake of his presence for a moment, feeling the echo of those words settle somewhere under his sternum.
He is less foolish than most, Kahn-Ra remarked.
You know him? Orin thought.
We have crossed paths, the Black Tiger said. He did not die. That is more than I can say for many.
Orin shook his head once, more to clear it than to answer, and started across the courtyard toward the orientation hall.
Students watched him in that quick, assessing way fighters did: weighing his weapons, the way he moved, the unusual shadow at his heel. None of them saw his hands clench briefly at his sides when he thought of Sonny's scrawled handwriting. None of them heard the quiet promise he carried with each step.
He mounted the broad stone steps, paused at the doors beneath Hachi's crest, and let out one steadying breath.
Then he pushed them open and walked inside, a Black Tiger padding silently after him, into the heart of the academy that would decide what kind of monster—or man—he was allowed to become.