Thorne was heading back to his sleeping quarters between classes when he saw her—Eliza, standing in the narrow corridor just outside the entrance. Her posture was stiff, her eyes scanning the faces of passing recruits. The moment she spotted him, a mix of emotions flashed across her face: relief, tension, and something else he couldn't quite place.

He wasn't alone; Rielle, Vance, and Rhea were with him, chatting about their recent training session. As they approached, Rielle's eyes narrowed at the sight of Eliza, her demeanor immediately shifting from relaxed to wary.

"Thorne," Eliza called, stepping forward with a tentative smile.

"Eliza," he greeted her, surprised to see her waiting for him. Before he could say more, he noticed Rielle bristling beside him, her gaze hardening as she eyed Eliza.

"Who's this?" Rielle asked, her tone sharp.

Thorne introduced them, but it was clear from the tension in the air that the two girls weren't going to get along. The dislike between them was immediate, like two predators sizing each other up. Rielle's hand twitched toward her bow, a subconscious gesture of readiness, while Eliza's stance remained calm, though her eyes flashed with challenge.

Eliza didn't waste time on pleasantries. "Can we talk, Thorne?" she asked, her voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of urgency.

Rielle stepped closer to Thorne, as if to assert her place at his side, but Thorne nodded to Eliza. "Sure," he said, glancing at Rielle. "I'll catch up with you guys later."

Rielle opened her mouth as if to protest, but Thorne gave her a look that silenced her. She huffed and turned on her heel, leading the others away, though not without a final glare in Eliza's direction.

Eliza waited until they were out of earshot before leading Thorne down a quieter corridor, away from the bustle of the base. They found a secluded spot near one of the lesser-used passageways, where the noise of the training halls was a distant murmur.

"How have you been?" she asked once they were alone, her voice softening.

"Better than before," Thorne replied, leaning against the cold stone wall. "And you?"

Eliza sighed, a heavy sound that carried the weight of the past year. "I've been... managing. It's been a year now since I joined the guild. They keep me busy, mostly out on missions."

Thorne frowned. "That explains why I couldn't find you before... before all this." He gestured vaguely around them, indicating the base, the guild, the life they were now entrenched in.

Eliza nodded, her expression guarded. "Yes. After the first year of training, they send us on missions regularly. It's how they test us, see if we're really cut out for this life."

"What kind of missions?" Thorne asked, his curiosity piqued.

At this, Eliza grew cagey, her eyes darting away from his. "I can't really talk about it, Thorne. We're not supposed to reveal the details of our missions to anyone outside our group."

Thorne's unease deepened. There was a secretive, almost haunted look in her eyes that he hadn't noticed before. It made him wonder just what kind of things she had been through while he was still on the outside, unaware of the guild's reach.

"These missions," Eliza continued, her voice low, "they're not just tests of skill. They push you, force you to confront parts of yourself you didn't even know existed. Sometimes... sometimes they break you."

Thorne nodded slowly, understanding dawning on him. "I've been through something similar," he admitted. "The trials they put me through—it was more than just survival. They wanted to see what I was made of, how far I could go before I broke. And I came close, Eliza. Closer than I'd like to admit."

Eliza looked at him, her expression softening with empathy. "What did they make you do?"

Thorne hesitated for a moment before responding. "They trapped me in a room for days, tortured me to the brink of death. It was a test, a sick, twisted test to see if I'd betray the guild. I didn't even know it was a trial until it was over."

Eliza's eyes widened, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. "Thorne, that's... I'm so sorry."

Thorne shook his head, trying to push the memories away. "I survived. But it changed me. Made me see things about myself I wish I hadn't."

They fell into a heavy silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Eliza spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've had to kill people, Thorne. Not just in self-defense, but because it was my mission. I've taken lives because I was ordered to. And now... I can't stand to look at our friends. Darius, Ben, Jonah—they don't know what it's like to have blood on their hands. But I do."

Thorne was taken aback by her confession. He had seen death, inflicted it even, but it had never occurred to him to feel ashamed in front of his friends because of it. The life they led didn't allow for such sentiments, or so he had thought. "Eliza," he began slowly, "I've killed people too. That doesn't mean I have to turn away from my friends."

She shook her head, a bitter smile on her lips. "It's different, Thorne. I wasn't just defending myself or fighting for survival. These missions... they make you do things. Terrible things. And now, I'm not the same person I was. I'm a killer, Thorne. A trained assassin."

Thorne's mind raced as he tried to grasp the full weight of her words. He had been learning to kill, to fight, to survive, but there was something about Eliza's tone that suggested her experiences were far darker than his own. "So what?" he challenged gently. "Does that mean you have to cut yourself off from the people who care about you? From those who understand?"

Eliza looked down, her expression conflicted. "Maybe," she whispered. "Or maybe I'm just afraid. Afraid of what I've become."

Thorne reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch firm but reassuring. "We all have to live with what we've done, Eliza. But that doesn't mean we have to do it alone."

Eliza's gaze met his, her eyes searching his face for any hint of judgment. "I don't know, Thorne. I killed because I was ordered to, but it's different for you. You've killed to survive, to protect yourself."

Thorne hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest as he wrestled with his own demons. Finally, he forced himself to speak the truth. "No, Eliza. It's not always been about survival. There were times... times when I killed because I wanted to. Because I was angry. Because I felt like it. This place... it's changed me. It's revealed parts of myself I never wanted to know existed."

Eliza's eyes widened in shock, but Thorne continued, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity. "I'm not proud of it, but it's the truth. I've done things—horrible things—that I can't take back. And I've felt a darkness inside me that scares me more than anything else."

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Eliza looked at him, her expression softening with understanding. "Maybe that's why we need our friends more than ever. To remind us of who we were before all this. To help us hold on to what's left of our humanity."

Thorne nodded, the weight of his confession lifting slightly. "You're right. We can't do this alone."

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation hanging in the air between them. Eventually, Eliza looked up, her eyes meeting Thorne's. "Maybe you're right," she said softly. "Maybe it's time I stop running from them. From myself."

Thorne nodded. "The next time we both have a free day, let's go together to see them. They've missed you, Eliza. And I think you'll find that they're stronger than you think. Just like you."

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, the first genuine smile he had seen from her since they had met up. "Alright," she agreed. "We'll go together."

They talked for hours, just like before, before their life changed. They talked about their friends, their enemies, the trials they had been through and what they hoped one day they would achieve.

Thorne never made it to his classes that day. He enjoyed the company of his old friend, and those moments softened something inside him that had been turning hard and brittle.

*

The next few days passed in a haze of tension for Thorne. Every moment felt like it stretched on endlessly, his nerves frayed as he waited for the next recruit to form their core. The anticipation gnawed at him, making him restless and irritable. He was hyper-aware of Sid's watchful gaze, ever-present, scrutinizing his every move. The constant surveillance felt suffocating.

Adding to his unease was Rielle. For reasons unknown to him, she had grown distant, her demeanor cool and aloof. Her usual warmth was replaced with sharp jabs and pointed remarks, delivered with her characteristic impassive face. Her behavior didn't help his mood.

Then, finally, during their morning class, it happened.

Thorne had been practicing his sword strikes when he heard a startled yelp. He turned quickly, his eyes locking onto Jareth, a tall, black-haired recruit who usually kept to himself. Jareth's spear clattered to the ground, forgotten as he stood frozen, his eyes wide with shock.

Around them, the other recruits began to murmur excitedly, the realization spreading like wildfire—Jareth was forming his core.

Thorne's breath hitched as he felt it—the strange vibrations that filled the room, as if an invisible wind had swept through, disturbing the very air around them. Jareth's black hair whipped about his face, his expression stark and transfixed, as though he were caught in a trance.

Without hesitation, Thorne activated his Aether Vision. It was as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes; the world around him exploded into a kaleidoscope of colors. His gaze honed in on Jareth, watching intently as the aether motes swarmed around him in a chaotic dance.

The scene was mesmerizing. The motes appeared to attack Jareth, crashing into him like waves against a cliff, their loose shapes forming and reforming in a futile attempt to penetrate his body. Each time they were repelled, only to regroup and try again. This constant push and pull created ripples in the surrounding aether, giving rise to the unsettling sensation of an invisible wind tearing through the room.

Thorne's mind worked furiously, his eyes capturing every detail, every movement of the motes as they circled and collided with Jareth. He seared the image into his memory, committing every nuance to mind so that he could replicate it later. This was his moment—his opportunity to finally fake his core formation. It had to be perfect.

Just as he was absorbing the last details, Talon moved swiftly. She grabbed Jareth by the arm and began guiding him out of the room. The boy was unresponsive, his body moving mechanically as if he were in a deep trance, oblivious to everything around him.

Thorne felt a pang of dismay as they disappeared from sight. He wished he could have observed the process longer, but he knew he had seen enough. It had to be enough.

His eyes flicked across the room, meeting Sid's. The older man's expression was unreadable, but Thorne caught the slight nod of acknowledgment. It was time.

He was ready to form his core.

*

Thorne's mind raced as he made his way through the base, heading towards a secluded area where he could enact his plan. His heart pounded with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. He had spent countless hours replaying the image of Jareth in his mind. Now, it was his turn to put it all to the test.

He found a small chamber, dimly lit and rarely used, a perfect spot for what he needed to do. Thorne took a deep breath, his nerves tingling with the awareness that this was a critical moment. He closed his eyes and activated his Aether Vision once more, drawing on the memory of Jareth's core formation. The colorful motes swirled in his mind, their movements ingrained in his consciousness.

This was it. The moment he would fake the process that so many others had gone through naturally. But he was different—his core had already formed long ago, a secret he had to keep hidden from everyone, even those closest to him.

Thorne focused, gathering the aether within him. He had to simulate the violent reaction of the motes, the clash and resistance, the visible struggle of forming a core. His mind reached out, shaping the motes around him, trying to create the illusion of chaos, the visible conflict of the aether trying to invade his body.

But it wasn't as simple as he had hoped. The motes moved, but not with the erratic energy he needed. They danced in the air, but they lacked the ferocity, the intensity that marked a true core formation.

"Come on," he muttered under his breath, frustration building. He could manipulate aether, but this was something entirely different. He needed to make it believable, make it look real. But no matter how hard he tried, the aether refused to obey, slipping through his grasp like water.

His thoughts raced, desperation clawing at him. If this didn't work, if he couldn't fake this, everything would fall apart. His secret would be exposed, and Uncle would know everything. Panic began to set in, the cold tendrils of fear wrapping around his heart.

Then, suddenly, an idea struck him. Aether Burst.

It was a skill he had barely used, a surge of aether released all at once. Usually, it was a concentrated blast of aether, but this time, he had to manipulate it to spread over a wide radius. It was risky, but it might just be enough to create the effect he needed. The skill had a fixed intensity, but Thorne needed small bursts of energy to achieve the correct display.

Thorne steadied his breathing, his mind calming as he focused on the aether around him. Slowly, deliberately, he gathered it, feeling the power build, the energy swirling. He could feel the pressure mounting, the aether straining against his control.

On his first attempt, he let out a burst, but the intensity was too high—it shot across the chamber, cracking the wall opposite him with a loud bang. Thorne winced but quickly reined it in, manipulating the subsequent bursts with more precision. Slowly, he managed to control the energy, releasing small bursts that created the chaotic storm of motes he needed.

The motes swirled around him, the invisible wind returning, whipping through the room. It wasn't perfect, but it was close—close enough to mimic what he had seen with Jareth. Thorne gritted his teeth, focusing on maintaining the illusion. He let out a gasp, feigning the struggle, his body trembling as if under immense strain. The motes swarmed him, just as they had done with Jareth, only this time, they didn't repel. Instead, they seemed to merge with him, drawn into his body by the force of his aether.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the storm began to subside. The motes calmed, settling around him, their energy dimming. Thorne let out a shaky breath, his body trembling with exhaustion, but his mind sharp and alert.

Skill level up: Aether Burst!

It was done. He was ready to fake his core formation.

That night, Thorne returned to his sleeping quarters, nerves still on edge. As the recruits settled in for sleep, he knew it was the perfect time to complete the ruse. He used his skills—Deception, Acting, and Mask of Deceit—all working together to replicate the signs he had observed during Jareth's transformation.

He gasped loudly, his body convulsing slightly as if under immense strain. His face contorted in feigned pain, his breath ragged as he acted out the struggle of a core forming within him. He released small bursts of aether, creating a small maelstrom around him. His hair whipped around and the small objects strewn across the floor rattled. He heard the murmurs around him as the other recruits noticed the change. The sensation of aether swirling within him was real, but the visible struggle was all an act.

Just as he had hoped, Sid appeared in the doorway, his expression a perfect blend of urgency and control. "Move!" Sid barked at the other recruits, who quickly scrambled out of the way. He grabbed Thorne by the arm, pulling him out of the room as the door closed behind them.

In the hallway, Sid leaned in close, whispering, "Good job."

Thorne let out a shaky breath, his heart still pounding from the performance. He had done it. He had faked his core formation, and no one was the wiser.

At least, he hoped.

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