Kyren took a moment to absorb all the information he had studied. The library was quiet, save for the faint rustle of pages and the occasional muffled cough. The dim light from the enchanted chandeliers above cast a warm glow on the rows of ancient tomes and scrolls. With a sigh, Kyren slid the hefty book back into its proper place on the shelf.

As he stepped back, an unexpected noise caught his attention—a soft thud. Glancing down, he saw a weathered, rusty scroll lying on the floor, its edges brittle with age. It looked as though it had been forgotten for centuries, hidden behind the other books. Curious, he crouched down and picked it up, brushing off the dust. The title scrawled on its surface made his breath hitch: "To My Son, The Savior."

Intrigued, Kyren opened the scroll carefully, as if it might crumble in his hands. Inside, nestled among the ancient folds, was another piece of parchment—a letter that appeared as old as the scroll itself. The ink was faded, but the words were still legible:

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To the perceptive recipient,

I acknowledge your awareness of the genesis of this letter and the motivations propelling your interest. I earnestly beseech you to abstain from further exploration. This correspondence bears exclusive significance for my cherished son, Rezhura August. Kindly ensure its prompt delivery into his hands.

—River

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Kyren’s brow furrowed as he reread the letter. River? Rezhura's father? The name struck a chord in his memory, though he couldn’t place why. His eyes flicked to the sealed letter within the scroll, the wax unbroken, bearing an unfamiliar crest.

"This must be addressed," he muttered to himself, his mind racing. Should I read it?

For a moment, the temptation gnawed at him. He felt an almost magnetic pull to break the seal, to uncover the secrets hidden within. But something about River’s plea gave him pause. He considered the possibility that neither the scroll nor the letter had been touched by anyone—not even Rezhura himself.

Kyren found himself trapped in indecision. Should he give it to the authorities? That seemed like the safe option. Or should he deliver it personally after meeting Rezhura? A more complicated choice, but it felt right. The thought of giving it away unsettled him, as though he’d be betraying some unspoken trust.

Suddenly, the shadows around him seemed to stir, and a familiar chill crept over his skin. Kyren’s nightmare—the same recurring one—flickered in his mind like a haunting memory. The hissing voice from his dreams returned, whispering insidiously in his ear: "Open... it..."

His fingers twitched toward the seal, trembling. No. He clenched his fist and shoved the letter into his pocket, his heart pounding. “Nah, this is troublesome. Looks like I’ve got an unwanted and hidden mission now,” he muttered, forcing a wry smile.

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At that moment, Hiro’s cheerful voice broke through his thoughts. “Hey, is it lunchtime yet?”

Kyren glanced up, startled. Hiro stood by the library entrance, his casual grin a stark contrast to Kyren’s troubled demeanor. Grateful for the distraction, Kyren followed him out. Together, they headed to the cafeteria, where they grabbed their food and made their way to their makeshift hut tucked far behind their dormitory. The air outside was crisp, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the campus grounds.

"So, what did you learn, Hiro?" Kyren asked once they’d settled in the hut.

Hiro, already halfway through his meal, spoke with his mouth full. “At first, I watched some Section 10 students sparring with each other. Man, you should’ve seen it! Their teamwork was insane—punches, kicks, arrows, even roots! It all flowed together like clockwork. Then, I tried out those weapon-training dummies. You know, the enchanted ones? They’re pretty cool. You should give them a shot.”

Kyren smirked, shaking his head. “I’ll think about it. How about you? Learn anything else?”

Hiro paused to swallow a mouthful of food, then shrugged. “Not much. What about you, though? You’ve been acting weird since we left the library.”

Kyren hesitated, the weight of the scroll pressing against his chest. Finally, he decided to confide in Hiro. “Listen, Hiro. I didn’t mean to keep this from you, and I swear I didn’t steal it, but… look at what I found while browsing the shelves.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the scroll, its ancient surface gleaming faintly in the dim light of their hut.

Hiro’s eyes widened. “Whoa. What’s that?”

Kyren carefully unrolled the scroll, revealing the sealed letter hidden within. “I found this tucked away in a book. It looks… important.”

Hiro leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued. “What does it say?”

“There’s an attached note from someone named River, addressed to Rezhura August. It says it’s for Rezhura’s eyes only and not to open it. But look—it’s sealed. I couldn’t read the actual letter.” Kyren handed the smaller note to Hiro, who quickly scanned its contents.

Hiro’s face grew serious as he read. “This... this sounds heavy. Do you think we should report it to the proctors? Let them handle it?”

Kyren shook his head, his voice firm. “No. I have a feeling River didn’t want this in the hands of just anyone. We need to get it to Rezhura ourselves.”

Hiro frowned, clearly torn. “I get where you’re coming from, but think about it. What if we get caught with it? Or worse, what if someone else tries to take it from us? Maybe the higher-ups are the safer choice.”

Kyren sighed, the conflict within him growing stronger. “I can’t explain it, Hiro. It’s just… a feeling. Like we’re meant to deliver this.”

Before Hiro could respond, a piercing scream shattered the air outside their hut.

“Did you hear that?” Hiro asked, already on his feet.

Kyren nodded, his body tensing. “Yeah.”

“What do we do?”

“Let’s go. If someone’s in trouble, we can’t just ignore it. And if they run this way, they might spot our hut,” Kyren reasoned.

“Got it,” Hiro said, already heading out.

Kyren quickly hid the scroll in a small, concealed compartment beneath the floorboards of their hut. Then they sprinted toward the source of the scream. The sound grew louder as they approached, their hearts pounding in unison.

When they reached the scene, they skidded to a halt. There, near the edge of the forest, stood five older students, their expressions twisted with malice. Between them, a girl struggled desperately, her cries for help growing weaker with each passing second. Her uniform marked her as a 16th GA student, and her name—Zeeha—flashed in Kyren’s memory.

“Please, help me!” Zeeha sobbed, her tear-streaked face a mask of fear.

Kyren’s hands balled into fists, his earlier doubts forgotten. “Hiro,” he said through gritted teeth, “let’s stop this.”

“Right behind you,” Hiro replied, his tone deadly serious.