That night, almost everyone was sleeping peacefully. The barracks were quiet, save for the occasional snore or the rustle of fabric.
Riley lay in bed with the head torch from his kit clipped on, quietly flipping through the small booklet they'd been given earlier. For something that looked so plain, it was packed with useful information—especially for someone like him, still trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
According to the booklet, people who developed unusual abilities were known as the Talented. These abilities were called Talents, and no two were exactly the same. Some gave strength, others speed, healing, or the power to affect the mind. But what mattered most was something called an Affinity—a category that helped determine how your Talent grew.
There were six Affinities: Juggernaut, Warden, Wraith, Augur, Terra, and Psychic.
Each one reflected a different type of strength. Juggernauts focused on raw physical power and body enhancement. Wraiths were stealthy, built for slipping past enemies or striking from the shadows. Wardens were known for healing and defense, while Terra users controlled elements like fire, stone, or wind. Psychics dealt with illusions and mental manipulation. And Augurs—like Riley—were specialists in perception, insight, and control.
The booklet explained that your Affinity shapes your training. Picking the wrong Affinity—one that didn't suit your abilities or personality—could seriously limit your growth. For example, someone with a Juggernaut-style Talent shouldn't try to train like a Wraith. They're built for different things. One leans toward front-line combat, the other toward speed and subtlety. Trying to be both usually meant being neither.
Riley found that part fascinating. He hadn't known any of this before, but it made sense. Talents weren't just about power—they were about direction. About finding the right path and sticking to it.
Some Affinities were easy to understand. Others weren't. The booklet mentioned that Wardens, Augurs, and Psychics often overlapped with other Affinities, which made them harder to define. For example, if your Talent gave you fast healing, were you a Warden… or a Juggernaut? If your body was rock-hard and could absorb hits, was that defense—or enhancement?
Riley wasn't worried, though. His Affinity had already been revealed by the Will of the Wisp: Augur. And honestly, that felt right. Seeing things others missed? Reading people, noticing patterns, understanding places? That was him. That had always been him.
But what really caught his attention was the mention of Class.
Every Talented person started out as Light-Class. But they could grow stronger over time—unlocking new abilities, climbing through the Classes, and becoming something more. The booklet didn't explain how that happened, only that it was possible.
That was enough to spark something in Riley's chest.
He took a breath and focused his thoughts.
The blue panel blinked to life.
[The Will of the Wisp]
Species: Human
Affinity:Augur
[Trait]
• Guided(Passive) — You are drawn to things. Things are drawn to you—for better or worse.
[Natural Talents Unlocked]
• Eyes of Focus(Active) — Your eyes can see and understand things at incredible speeds.
[Will of the Wisp Talents Unlocked]
• Echo System — The land shares its memories in strange ways. Find echoes left behind by a past long forgotten.
• Eyes of the Wisp(Passive) — To see what wasn't meant to be seen.
• Wisp's Flame: Light-Class(Passive) — A Wisp's Flame interacts with the world that should not be seen, like a knife and a chisel.
[Quest]
• Find the Echoes hidden around Velura:1 / 11 Found
Riley stared at the panel, mind racing. He still didn't know if everyone had something like this—or if it was unique to him. Proxy, his so-called handler, had said white wisps were rare. That much stuck with him.
So no… this probably wasn't normal.
But it was real. And somehow, it was connected to everything—the cracks in the world, the memories he'd stepped into, even Elias. The panel said his [Echo System] helped him find pieces of the past—things the world didn't want to forget.
And then there was Wisps Flame.
That one still confused him. It said it interacted with what shouldn't be seen. It had a similar description to his Eyes of the Wisp. It made him think that perhaps now he could finally interact with the strange fractures? The cracks he'd glimpsed in the world around him? Maybe this new talent lets him do more than see them.
Riley's pulse quickened. He looked around the room, scanning the dark. There had been a fracture here earlier, he was sure of it. If he could find it again…
He clicked off his head torch and slipped out of bed quietly. Socks muffled his footsteps as he crept through the rows of bunks. The room was dim, but his eyes adjusted fast. He moved between the beds, weaving through sleeping bodies until—
There.
Near the front of the room, glowing faintly like a sliver of light with no source. A fracture. It shimmered like broken glass frozen mid-air.
Riley stepped closer.
He reached out and touched it.
A white flame lit on his fingertip, coiling slowly up his arm. It didn't burn. It felt like warm water, relaxing his muscles. Then it reversed direction, sliding back toward his hand—like it was being sucked into the fracture vigorously and with the white flames rapid recession came a wave of exhaustion so deep he nearly collapsed.
Just before he passed out, the flame stopped.
His vision blurred. His body felt weightless.
In the next moment, Riley stumbled slightly, catching himself on the frame of a nearby bunk. The world around him felt hazy, his limbs heavy like he'd been wrapped in cotton. For a second, he thought he was still in his own dorm.
Same cramped space. Same rows of bunks. Same low, creaking wood beneath his socks.
But something was… off.
He blinked slowly, trying to shake the lingering dizziness. The fracture behind him still pulsed—soft and ghostly, humming at the edge of his vision. It hadn't vanished. It just hovered there, stable and silent.
He took a cautious step forward.
It wasn't until he glanced toward the opposite end of the room that he noticed someone else was awake.
A faint light flickered between the bunks. Someone sat upright on their bed with a small torch strapped to their head, reading quietly. Riley squinted through the dark, and his stomach dropped as the shape came into focus.
It was her.
The girl he'd seen earlier in camp. The one who, for reasons he couldn't explain, reminded him of Thalia.
Not that he really knew Thalia. He'd only shared a few moments with her, through Elias… through his pain, love, and grief so raw it had cut Riley to the bone. But somehow, watching this girl read quietly in the dark stirred that same ache.
It wasn't that she looked the same. Not exactly. It was something else—a softness in the way she held the book, the calm presence she carried even in silence. It made Riley's chest tighten.
He took an involuntary step back, and her torchlight twitched in his direction.
Riley ducked behind the nearest bunk bed. He angled himself so most of his body and, more importantly, his face were blocked from the head torch's light by the bunk bed.
He hoped that maybe she wouldn't make a scene, but of course, why would she not? This situation would alarm anyone
Her voice rang out, sharp and clear. "Who's there? Why are you just standing there?"
Panic shot through him.
He couldn't answer. Wouldn't. If she saw his face, it wouldn't just be an awkward encounter—it would be a disaster.
He was already facing the fracture and immediately reached toward it, hoping it would save him.
Please, just take me back. Riley cried in his heart.
The flame sparked the moment his fingers made contact—white and silent, racing up his arm. His knees buckled slightly as the energy drained from him, and his vision narrowed until all he could see was the glowing tear.
The room warped around him.
And then, with a breathless lurch, he was gone.
The next thing he knew, he was back in familiar darkness. Same low beds. Same shape of the wall. Same creaky floor beneath his feet.
He was home.
Mostly.
His body felt like lead, and it took effort to lift his legs. He walked across the room on unsteady feet, peering into the bunk he hoped was his.
Empty.
Thank goodness.
He climbed in without a sound and let the blanket fall over him like a curtain.
Exhaustion pulled at his bones, dragging him under.
But even as sleep claimed him, one thought stayed with him:
He couldn't just see echoes.
He could move through them.
And now, he was starting to understand how.