Gilded Ashes: When Shadows Reign

The knife cut the air toward his throat.

Raizen moved.

There was no thought. No plan. His body just did what the Rust Room had hammered into it.

His knees bent. Weight shifted. His hand blurred to his right sword.

Steel hissed.

He dropped under and spun, pivoting on his hand. His shoulder brushed fabric. The knife's edge grazed his hair, fast enough that he felt a thin strand of heat on his skin.

Raizen's sword left the sheath in the same breath.

His feet slid where the Rust Room had taught them to go - inside the enemy's space, past the line of the strike, inside of the kill zone.

In a heartbeat, Professor Atman was no longer behind him.

Raizen's world flicked once, like a frame cut. Dash.

Then he was behind the professor, stance planted, chest screaming, breath burning.

His blade rested against Atman's neck.

No tremble.

No hesitation.

The steel kissed skin just enough to threaten. A few strands of dark blue hair drifted down between them, cut clean in the rush.

Raizen's lungs caught up a second later. Pain flared under his ribs like a hot wire. He gritted his teeth, ignoring it.

If he pushed a bit more, he could open the throat.

He did not.

His wrist stayed steady.

"Drop the knife" Raizen managed, voice low. "Now."

The office was suddenly very small.

Shelves. Wood. Paper. The faint smell of ink. A desk to one side. A window. No way out that did not go through the man in front of him.

Atman did not flinch.

He did not raise his hands. He did not even look worried.

His fingers loosened slightly around the knife. It tilted a fraction toward the floor, but didn't fall.

A cut piece of his hair brushed his shoulder, the end where Raizen's blade had taken it.

Raizen could feel the professor's pulse through his blade. Not racing. Not panicked.

Calm.

Too calm.

The ghost-blue Chasmis eye shifted, rolling to the side as far as it could without turning his head. It peered at Raizen, the pale iris almost glowing.

Then the Chasmis lit up.

A bright pulse ran through it, veins of cyan threading through the eye like lightning in slow motion.

Raizen's eyes widened.

He stepped back on instinct.

Too late.

The air behind him thickened.

Smoke slid into the room, fast and quiet.

It poured from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, curling out from the corners of the ceiling, from under the desk, from the professor's coat, even.

It was not normal smoke - too heavy, too colored. It glowed faintly with cyan veins that matched the Chasmis.

In a blink, Atman's office was drowned.

Raizen's sight sharpened. Reflex again. Map the room. Feel movement.

He tightened his grip on the sword.

Something enormous moved inside the dark blue that had not been there before.

Not behind him, not in front - all around. A weight. A presence. Like a huge body pushing through shallow water.

He had felt it before.

Not here. Not in this color.

Back in another time. In the village. In nightmares.

A Nyx.

Raizen did not think.

He slashed.

His blade cut through the dark in a horizontal arc where his instincts screamed the threat was. Steel met resistance, but not the kind he expected. It felt like slicing through water. The sword dragged, slowed, and came out the other side with a thin spray of glowing particles clinging to the edge.

Then, for half a heartbeat, he saw it.

A shape.

Not just a hand - an entire arm and part of a torso, towering in the haze. Long, sharp fingers, each one as thick as his wrist, reaching. The outline of a shoulder. The curve of a horned head turned his way. All of it pale cyan, the color of the Chasmis light, like someone had drawn a Nyx out of raw mist instead of shadow.

The eyes were empty.

Not black like normal Nyxes. Hollow.

Then the smoke swallowed it again.

The hand did not stop.

It grabbed him.

Cold fingers closed around Raizen's throat and jaw, lifting him clean off the floor. His boots left the wood. His free hand flew up on instinct, grabbing at the wrist. His sword arm jerked, trying to bring the blade up to cut.

It was like trying to pry apart stone.

All his strength did was make his muscles burn.

The grip squeezed.

Pain shot through his neck. His ribs flared as his body jerked. Air vanished in one fast, brutal squeeze, like someone had punched it all out and then refused to let it back in.

Raizen's vision blurred at the edges.

He swung anyway.

His blade cut through the wrist that held him. The steel passed through, a bit slower this time, dragging more cyan mist. It tore away a chunk of the shape - for a second, he saw it peel away like torn fog - but the fingers did not loosen.

They dug in harder, the cold pressure making the bones under his skin scream.

He tried to kick. His boot thudded into nothing solid.

The ghost Nyx had weight where it wanted to.

Every breath he could not take made his chest burn hotter. His fractured rib line pulsed with violent throbs of pain, sending needles through his side. Black spots began to creep into the corners of his sight, licking inward.

A familiar panic tried to rise in him.

It sounded like water crashing. Like snow crashing down. Like stone splitting.

He shoved it down.

He stared into the smoke where he felt the face should be.

It felt nothing.

This Nyx was different. No hunger. No glee. No wild, animal rage. Just obedience. A tool.

Somewhere through the haze, beyond the choking weight, he heard a sound.

Laughter.

Soft. Amused.

It came from the floor. From where Atman still stood.

"This is... Impressive" the professor's voice drifted up, smooth and untouched by strain. "You actually cut it. That is… new."

Raizen tried to answer.

Nothing came out. The ghost-hand gave his neck another small squeeze in warning. His head pounded. His fingers were starting to tingle.

"Don't waste energy" Atman said. "It will only make your circulation worse."

Of course he was giving advice.

Of course he sounded like this was a class.

The cyan haze pulsed once more.

The hand held Raizen there for a few more seconds. Long enough for his vision to narrow.

Long enough for his legs to feel like they weren't there.

Then the pressure stopped.

The grip loosened all at once.

Raizen dropped.

He hit the floor hard on one knee and one hand, the impact rattling his ribs. The sword clattered from his fingers and skidded across the wood, coming to a stop near the desk.

Air rushed back into his lungs like knives.

He coughed, sharp, violent coughs that tore at his throat and chest. Each one felt like it might crack something that had only just healed.

Cyan particles drifted in front of his eyes like dust in sunlight.

The ghost Nyx was gone.

The smoke thinned fast, sucked away into itself. It withdrew back into the corners, then into nothing, as if someone was pulling it through invisible cracks in the world.

In a few breaths, the office looked normal again.

Shelves. Diplomas. The neat desk. The window, half blocked by leaves outside. The only proof that anything had happened was the scattered cut hair on the floor, the faint traces of blue dust floating down, and the sound of Raizen's breathing.

Ragged. Too fast.

He pressed his palm against the floor and pushed himself up, legs weak for a moment before they decided to remember what to do.

His neck throbbed. No bruises when he raised trembling fingers to it - just soreness, and a tingling cold that slowly faded.

Professor Atman stood where Raizen had left him. A little more hair gone. Knife still in his hand, held loosely now. The Chasmis eye had dimmed back to its usual ghost-light glow.

He looked… pleased.

No, not just pleased.

Interested.

Very interested.

"Well" he said quietly. "You almost had me there."

Raizen's hand clenched into a fist.

"You tried to kill me" he forced out between breaths.

"At first, yes" Atman replied, as if they were discussing weather. "If you failed to react, you would have been useless to me. Dead weight. But you did not fail."

He inclined his head a little, like he was acknowledging something real.

"You moved like someone who has trained where most people do not survive. Your cut was precise. You went for control, not overkill. You even damaged the echo. That is difficult. You should be proud."

Raizen stared at him.

His heart still hammered in his chest. His throat ached. His ribs felt like someone had taken a hammer to them again. If Atman had left that ghost Nyx's hand closed for a few seconds more, he might have started to black out.

"Proud?" Raizen repeated. "You throw a knife at my neck and summon a Nyx in a closed office, and I should be proud?"

Atman's smile grew by a fraction.

"Of yourself" he said. "Not of me."

He turned the knife in his fingers, then slid it back into his sleeve with a smooth motion. It vanished like it had never been.

"Now" he went on, as calm as when they had walked the stairs. "We can talk properly. You passed."

Raizen wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. His palm came away clean.

"Passed what?" he asked, voice hoarse.

Atman's eyes - both of them - watched him closely. Measured. Weighing.

"An old test" he said. "One that only those forged in true rust can survive."

The word sat in the air between them.

Rust.

Raizen's shoulders tightened.

Atman noticed.

His smile sharpened.

"What did you expect, Raizen?" he asked softly. "You think someone like me would not

recognize a Rust Room survivor when I see one?"