Zylas stared at the Unbent Apostle, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. The dark vapor was still curling off his knuckles like dying smoke, and the heavy, metallic scent of the imploded Drowned hung thick in the air.
He had just erased a Phantom from existence, and now a living mountain was standing ten feet away, demanding an explanation.
He had two choices: attempt to fight a 2nd Rank Hallow while his own Mirror power was still screaming in his veins, or lie until his throat went dry.
Zylas slumped his shoulders, letting his knees buckle just enough to look pathetic. He forced his breathing to go ragged, his eyes widening with a rehearsed, stuttering terror that he had perfected over years of being an overlooked student.
"I… I don't know" Zylas tells the Hallow as he stumbles back toward the brick wall and ceases movement.
"I just turned the corner and... and it was already like that. The bodies, the monster—it just started collapsing into itself, I thought I was going to…be next."
It was pure, unadulterated bullshit.
The Unbent Apostle didn't move. He stood in his dark tactical gear, the pressurized steam of his aura slowly receding into his skin, though his eyes remained sharp as shards of glass.
He looked at the mangled, gravity-heavy sphere of flesh on the ground—a kill so… brutal it defied everything he knew about Unbent-rank combat—then back at the "terrified" teenager.
He had spent fifteen years hunting Drowned in the city's dark corners, he knew that monsters didn't just "implode" out of empathy for their victims.
But he also saw the raw, terrifying potential radiating from the boy—a stillness that shouldn't exist in a "normal" person who had just witnessed a massacre.
"Is that so?" The Hallow said, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with the authority of his rank. He didn't call the lie, but the skepticism was etched into the hard lines of his face.
Instead, he stepped closer, his heavy boots crunching on the grit of the alley. "You have remarkable mental strength, kid. Most civilians would be catatonic after seeing an Unbent Drowned, let alone standing in the middle of its remains without vomiting."
The Unbent reached into a pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief, tossing it to Zylas.
"I'm looking for new talent for the upcoming semester. The kind that doesn't break under pressure. How would you like a slot at The Meridian Academy?"
Zylas caught the cloth, his mind racing. The Meridian Academy was the peak of the Apostle world—a place where the elite were forged and the weak were discarded. He hesitated, not because he wanted to refuse, but because the invitation felt like a sudden, baited trap. Why would a Hallow invite a "nobody" from a blood-stained alley?
"Me?" Zylas asked, playing the part of the bewildered lucky soul.
"You'd... you'd recruit me? Just like that? I'm just an average citizen." A blatant lie that
"I have an eye for survivors," The Unbent Hallow replied with a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"And you, Zylas, look like someone who survives everything. Grab your things. My car is at the mouth of the alley. We aren't staying here for the cleanup crews to start asking questions."
The interior of the Apostle's car smelled of expensive leather and the faint, sterile scent of ozone.
As they pulled away from the crime scene, Zylas sank into the heated seat, watching the neon lights of the city blur past in a haze of red and blue.
"I'm Grant," the man said, steering the car with one hand while the other rested casually on the gear shift.
"A professor at The Meridian. You're lucky I was patrolling this sector tonight."
"Zylas," the boy replied shortly, his eyes fixed on his own reflection in the window.
"So, about that Drowned..." Grant began, his tone conversational, though his gaze flickered to the rearview mirror to catch Zylas's reaction.
"Did it do anything? Before it... collapsed? Did you see anyone else in the alley? A Hallow, perhaps? Or an Impure?"
Zylas felt a cold chill crawl up his spine. He stared out at a passing skyscraper, his face a mask of exhaustion.
"I told you, I didn't see much. It was all a blur of red light and screaming. Can we... not talk about it? I just want to forget the smell."
Grant let out a small, knowing hum. He didn't push further, letting the silence hang heavy in the car. It was a tactical silence, meant to make a guilty person speak, but Zylas simply leaned his head against the glass and closed his eyes.
They drove for nearly thirty minutes, leaving the cramped, smog-filled urban center for the sprawling, high-security outskirts of the city.
When they finally reached the massive iron gates of The Meridian, Zylas's jaw actually dropped.
Grant flashed his Silver Badge and a high-clearance ID to a biometric scanner, and the gates hissed open like the jaws of a sleeping titan.
"Are we going all the way up there?" Zylas pointed toward a colossal, Gothic-style building perched on a high hill, its black spires piercing the low-hanging clouds like needles.
"That's the Main Hall," Grant said, chuckling at the boy's bewilderment.
"But don't be mistaken. Everything you see—the private hospitals, the specialized restaurants, even that amusement park over the eastern ridge—it's all part of the Meridian Campus. It's a self-sustaining city built for those who are purified."
Zylas was baffled. The scale was obscene. He saw sparring grounds the size of professional football stadiums, shimmering with the blue light of training barriers. He saw students his own age walking in groups, their auras humming with a confidence that felt like a physical weight.
Grant took a sharp right turn, moving away from the central road that led to the hill.
"Wait, isn't the school that way?" Zylas asked, confused.
"You aren't going to the Dean looking like that," Grant said, eyeing Zylas's blood-stained hoodie and the dirt-streaked face.
"You're staying at my residence tonight. We'll get you presentable before the official induction."
Grant's residence was a literal mansion tucked into a private grove of silver-leafed trees.
Zylas was given a guest suite larger than his entire apartment, featuring a bed that felt like a cloud.The moment his head hit the pillow, the sheer, bone-deep exhaustion of "Mirroring" a God caught up to him. He didn't just sleep; he fell into a black void for twelve hours.
When he finally woke, the sun was high. He showered until the smell of the alley was gone and brushed the grit from his teeth. On the mahogany dresser, he found a set of clothes laid out. They were high-end—a pair of dark blue-black tactical pants and a black t-shirt with a complex white mark on the chest: five interlocking circles and a central triangle.
Beside the clothes sat a small, nondescript velvet box. Zylas opened it, finding a simple crescent moon pendant made of a strange, matte-black metal. Without thinking much about it, assuming it was just part of the school's aesthetic or a gift from Grant, he clasped the silver chain around his neck and tucked the moon beneath his shirt.
He tied the loose white over-shirt Grant had provided around his waist, creating a layered, fashion-forward look that hid the predatory tension in his frame. He looked at himself in the mirror. He didn't look like the "Average Zylas" anymore.
He stepped outside to find a different car waiting—a pristine white sports coupe. Grant was waiting, looking even more professional in a clean uniform.
"Your older brother came to visit you while you were sleeping. He didn't want to wake you up so he just left after entering your room. He had the same blood as you so I didn't question him." Grant told Zylas, while complimenting his taste in clothes.
"Anyways, just hop on. It's time we go meet the Dean."
Zylas was obviously confused about what Grant had said about his brother… since he was an only child, but he laughed it off thinking he was just joking since he even said that they had the same blood.
They drove up the winding road of the hill, the air growing thinner and the ambient pressure of the Main Hall growing heavier with every meter they climbed.
As they pulled up to the grand entrance, the building loomed over them like a god made of stone and glass. It was even bigger up close—an architectural nightmare of magnificence that stood as a testament to the power of those who could reach the Abyss.
"Ready?" Grant asked, stepping out into the crisp mountain air.
Zylas looked at the massive double doors, his hand unconsciously brushing the spot where the pendant lay hidden. "Let's go."