Chapter 22: Residual Echoes
Part 1: The Smell of Ash and Ether
Aster awoke to the bitter tang of disinfectant and the distant murmur of pain. It was not a sharp return to consciousness, but a slow, dragging ascent from a world of black static. His eyelids felt like iron, and every breath rasped against his throat as if he'd been inhaling smoke. He blinked once. Then again.
The ceiling above was canvas light brown, weather-stained. Not stone. Not the Academy. He wasn't in his dorm, or a trial room, or the Awakening Chamber. He was in a temporary infirmary.
A groan escaped him, unbidden. That's when he realized how many aches he had. His entire body thrummed with a dull soreness, like he'd been chewed on by something large and unfriendly, then spit back out just for the fun of it.
"You're awake."
The voice came from a healer, maybe in her mid-thirties, robes marked with soft blue runes and her hair tied back into a no-nonsense bun. Her face showed no particular relief. Just professional calm. She tapped a clipboard with a mana pen and nodded without looking at him.
"Vitals stable. No mana dissonance. Class awakening appears complete."
Aster squinted. "Class... awakening?"
The healer raised an eyebrow. "You don't remember?"
He didn't.
Fragments swam behind his eyes flickers of flame, tearing claws, his own heartbeat like war drums in his ears. Blood. Screams. And demons. Lots of demons.
It came rushing back, slow but steady. The invasion.
Valebourne Academy had been attacked by demons. Not metaphorical ones, not trials or illusions real, flesh-rending hellspawn that had poured through a breach while the professors were away. The weakest students were the first to die. First-years, many of whom had only just learned to channel mana, were torn apart. He remembered trying to help. Trying to run. And then
He clenched his jaw.
"How long was I out?"
"Three days," the healer replied flatly. "You were found unconscious at the northern edge of the Academy grounds, surrounded by fourteen Class C demons and one Class B. All of them dead."
Her gaze finally flicked down to him. "You don't have any visible weapons. Care to explain?"
He didn't.
Because he didn't have an answer. He hadn't fought them with weapons. He hadn't fought them at all, not with logic, not with training—he had survived, somehow. And now something inside him was different.
He looked to his right. The field infirmary extended further than he expected. Rows of injured students—bandaged, burned, coughing, groaning. There were at least thirty visible beds, all filled, and a few more covered by privacy curtains. The Academy had clearly underestimated the scale of this incident.
The healer noticed his attention. "Seventy-four students died. At least sixty more were injured. Most of the surviving staff were at an external summit when the breach happened. The barrier was compromised, and without the professors..." She trailed off.
He nodded slowly. He remembered the chaos, how many students had panicked, scattered like terrified birds. He'd stayed—why had he stayed?
Then he remembered the system.
Aster opened his interface mentally, expecting resistance, but the familiar screen flickered to life with unusual ease.
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SYSTEM MESSAGE:
> Class Awakening Complete. You have obtained: [??? Class: Hidden] Passive Ability Unlocked: Instinctive Motion — Minor boost to reflexes and danger sense. Trait Forming: [REDACTED]
> Coin Reward: +500 Shadow Archive updated.
---
He stared at it. Hidden class. Passive abilities. His body really was different. Faster. More aware.
But the message wasn't the most unsettling part. The most unsettling part was how the system had hidden what class he'd obtained.
Why?
His head still pounded, but he swung his legs over the side of the cot. The healer made a sound of protest.
"You're not fit to walk yet. Rest."
"I've rested enough," Aster muttered. "I need air."
The healer narrowed her eyes but didn't stop him. "At least wear the mana suppressor bracer. We're still scanning for possession remnants."
He reluctantly accepted the bracer—a dull silver ring of metal that clasped around his wrist with a slight tingle.
Outside, the late afternoon sun cast a golden pall over the academy's outer fields. Smoke still hung in the air, faint but acrid. Cleanup crews—mages, staff, some remaining professors—were combing through debris, dismantling charred remnants of buildings, magically sealing demonic corpses into reinforced coffins.
The northern field where he had been found was still cordoned off. Even from this distance, Aster could see the aftermath. The grass there was blackened, scarred with impact craters and burnt sigils. A few inspectors in dark coats stood over the area, analyzing mana traces. One of them turned, looked directly at Aster, then quickly turned back and began writing something down.
That didn't feel like nothing.
He walked slowly, carefully. Students who were upright moved out of his way without being told to. Some looked at him and whispered. Some refused to meet his gaze. Others just stared with undisguised suspicion.
Not awe.
Suspicion.
Whatever had happened out there—it wasn't normal. And the Academy knew it.
Aster stopped at the edge of a raised hill, overlooking the main grounds. He could still see the scorch marks, the broken wards, the signs of battle that hadn't yet been erased. He closed his eyes and let the wind brush past his face. For a moment, he felt peace.
Then he heard a voice behind him.
"You killed a Class B with your bare hands? Or did you stare it to death?"
Aster turned.
It was Felix Dawn. Rank 9. Wind magic user. Fast, sharp-tongued, and currently chewing on a twig like he didn't care about anything.
"What do you want?" Aster said tiredly.
"Nothing much," Felix replied. "Just curious. Rumor has it you awakened your class mid-fight and blacked out after massacring a whole squad of demons. Some say you started glowing. Others think you made a deal with something."
Aster raised an eyebrow. "Do you believe either of those?"
Felix smirked. "Doesn't matter what I believe. It's what they believe."
He gestured subtly toward the field, where a few students were clearly watching their interaction.
"You're either a miracle or a problem, Aster. And the Academy hates problems."
Aster looked back out over the destruction.
He had survived something no one else could. His class had awakened not in ceremony, but in carnage. And now, the echoes of that moment—those residual echoes—were starting to ripple.
And he had no idea what they meant.
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