CHAPTER 52: THE SECRET DOOR MAN

Eric felt the world tilt around him, his vision pulsing at the edges as a creeping dizziness washed over him, a sensation he hadn’t felt in weeks. The chatter of students leaving the training ground scraped against his skull, grating on his senses. Clutching his stomach, he felt a hollow, pulling sensation deep in his core. A hunger that no amount of food could conquer.

[YOUR HUNGER GROWS]

[MANA BANK: 0/0]

[HUNGER LEVEL: 25%]

The single word, "Zero," in his mana bank was like a death sentence.

At 25% hunger, the cold sweat and gnawing anxiety were already setting in. He remembered the climb, the same way it’d occured at the colony.

At 70% hunger, his mind would turn sharp and single-minded, hunting for the glow of mana in everyone around him.

At 90% hunger, he’d be growling like a wild beast, his sense leaving him gradually to be replaced by a beast’s.

If all was good, he’d let himself loose and reach a 100% hunger level in the academy. But these were innocent students and he wasn’t willing to feel self dread like he felt after killing all those people at the colony.

If he was going to phase into his beast mode, he’d like it to be in the midst of those bandits. So, he could hunt without caution and store as many mana as possible. His hunger will not only stop, he’ll get a massive upgrade too.

Opal’s offhand comment about bandits was his only lifeline now. They had mana, like everyone. They were outside the law. It was practical. No one would investigate the death of bandits. It was survival.

But first, he had to get past the guarded, watchful gates of the academy.

Breaking away from the dispersing crowd, ignoring Silver’s call, Eric half-ran, half-staggered back toward the dormitory. The room was blissfully empty, the others still on their way. His eyes landed on Bastion’s perfectly made bunk—a hollow prop, devoid of its owner.

His eyes shot to Bastion’s wardrobe which stood slightly ajar, and Eric yanked it open, greeted by nothing but an empty space and a faint scent of dry mint leaves.

’Where does a ghost live?’

Panic, thin and sharp, began to cut through his focus. He remembered he needed something for the hunt.

Dropping to his knees, he pulled his trunk out from under the bed, digging beneath his academy uniforms until he found the black bag that had once belonged to Void.

Eric’s throat tightened, but he pushed the feeling down. He couldn’t afford to be sentimental now.

Unfastening the buckle, he revealed the gear that Void had been so proud of— a beautifully designed black leather mask, and a pair of matching, fingerless gloves reinforced with flexible plates across the knuckles. They were the tools of a hunter, for silence and for grip.

He took one long look at the retractable katana, trying to decide if to take it along or not. Eventually he swept it up and tucked it into his pocket, unretracted. If he reached the bandit’s hideout before his hunger level was maxed, then he would have to fight with his human senses. So, he needed a weapon. If he phased into beast mode, he could easily fight with his teeth and nails.

Leaving the dorm at a run, his mind raced. High places, shadows, unused spaces. The old bell tower was locked, the library too open. Bastion would never be here.

Then he remembered the scent of mint leaves in Bastion’s wardrobe. He knew only one place where those leaves are planted in the academy.

The abandoned greenhouses near the eastern wall.

[HUNGER LEVEL: 28%]

A wave of lightheadedness hit him, and he steadied himself against a mossy stone pillar, eyeing the greenhouses a few meters away.

"Bastion?" he whispered, the sound swallowed by the greenery. "I need... help."

Silence.

Eric moved, his heart pounding against his ribs. Behind the greenhouse, pressed against the ancient outer wall, was a dense bush of willowherb and mint leaves.

He ducked into the green gloom, the thorns catching at his uniform, but he saw a path there. It led straight to the wall, and there, kneeling as if he’d been waiting, was Bastion.

The boy was running his fingertips over the blades of grass, not looking up as Eric approached. His dark eyes were fixed on his work.

Eric’s words tumbled out in a rushed, quiet plea. "I have to get out, now. Not tonight. Now. Past the wall. No one can know."

Bastion finally looked at him, his gaze flat and unreadable as it swept over Eric’s face. He noted the sweat, the slight tremble in his hands, the wild, urgent fear in his eyes. He looked at the slight bulge in Eric’s pocket where the mask was stored.

He said nothing.

Instead, he led Eric down a long path just by the high wall. Eric followed, thinking he was going to get out through a tunnel under the wall or something close.

But after taking him through a thin path through the bushes which he must have created himself, Bastion turned back to the wall.

His fingers pressed against a block, finding a specific crack. Bracing his feet and setting his shoulders, Bastion pushed, and with a soft, gritty sigh, a single, large block— the size of a small cabinet— slid inward an inch, then pivoted sideways on some unseen counterweight, revealing a black crawl space just big enough for a person to squeeze through. Cold, outside air whispered in.

Bastion pointed into the darkness, then held up one finger and made a slow, arcing motion with his hand— the sun’s path. He pointed at Eric again and held up four fingers.

The message was oddly clear.

You have four hours until dawn patrols intensify. Get back by then, or you’re locked out.

It was more trust than Eric had any right to expect, and he nodded, a sharp, grateful jerk of his head. "Thank you."

Bastion offered no reaction, simply stepping aside, a shadow merging with the deeper shadows of the thicket, giving Eric room to pass.

Eric didn’t hesitate. He pulled the grey leather mask over his face, the world narrowing to the eyeholes, then tugged the gloves onto his hands. Taking a last breath of academy air, he dropped to his hands and knees and crawled into the dark, cold hole in the world.

The stone whispered shut behind him, sealing him in utter blackness for a few terrifying heartbeats before he saw the pinprick of daylight ahead. He scrambled toward it, the hunger in his belly now a roaring, driving thing.

[HUNGER LEVEL: 31%]

He was out. The forbidden forest sloped away before him, down the forked road, up the hills. The bandits were out there. Their mana was out there.

He was the bandit now, hunting in the daylight. And he was starving.