It started with a whisper.
"Did you hear? Someone new's already in the top thirty."
"Impossible—there's no way a gray-band even qualifies."
"Doesn't matter what his color is. They're calling him 'Ghost Hands.'"
Kael heard the murmurs long before the truth reached him directly. But he didn't chase rumors. He focused on training, sparring, and refining the strange power that seemed to deepen with every passing day.
Still, whispers have weight—especially in a place like Regis Institute, where power was everything, and the strongest cadets didn't just fight for class placement...
They fought for reputation.
It wasn't until lunch that things changed.
Kael sat with Lira, Dane, Renna, and, surprisingly, Rylen—who had become a regular presence at their table. The mess hall was noisy, alive with gossip and static from active combat reports playing on overhead projectors.
"Do you know you've been ranked?" Rylen said, stabbing a fork into a tray of synth-protein.
Kael raised an eyebrow. "I'm unranked."
Rylen grinned. "Not anymore. I'm not talking about official Institute placement. I mean the underground rankings."
Lira glanced up. "That exists?"
"Of course it does," Rylen said. "Everything in this place is a performance. And people love a show."
He pulled out a datapad and flipped it around. A black interface glowed on the screen: PROJECT WRAITH – Internal Arena Rankings.
Kael leaned in, curious.
A list of names scrolled past, each tagged with a codename, rank, and win streak. Some were expected—high-tier S-ranks, golden-blooded prodigies.
But then, near the bottom of the top 50...
#29 – Ghost HandsAlias: UnknownRecord: 4-0Notable Victories: Rylen Vex, Sim-Class Champions (Trial Matches)
Dane whistled. "They've been tracking you since your first sparring match."
Renna raised her eyes, barely interested. "Does it matter?"
Rylen nodded. "It does if you want control. These rankings? They determine everything outside official classes—access to better facilities, private gear, mentor requests. If you're in the top twenty, even high-ranks pay attention to you."
Lira narrowed her eyes. "How does one rise in this... Wraith system?"
"There's a network," Rylen said, lowering his voice. "Hidden combat floors. Private duels. No instructors. Just you, your fists, and your rep."
Kael leaned back. "And how do they find you?"
"They already have," Rylen replied. "If you're in the top 50, you'll get a challenge within a week."
Dane smirked. "I like this place more every day."
Later that evening, as Kael walked alone toward the Zone Theta training yard, he heard the soft ping of a private message on his ID band. He stopped, tapping the screen.
New Challenger – Authorized Wraith DuelOpponent: "Thorne" – Rank 21Location: Sublevel 6, West Wing. Midnight.
Kael stared at the message.
He wasn't surprised.
He was curious.
That night, under flickering hall lights, Kael descended into the West Wing's restricted access levels—places most cadets never saw. No staff. No cameras. Just hollow halls and echoes.
He reached Sublevel 6.
A small metal door waited at the end of the corridor. A retinal scanner activated as he approached, then blinked green.
Welcome to Wraith.
Inside, a makeshift arena glowed beneath a red-lit dome. The walls were scarred. The floors stained. Cadets—some masked, others just shadowed—lined the edges, murmuring quietly.
In the center stood a girl with crimson armor and silver gauntlets.
"Name's Thorne," she said, rolling her neck. "Rank 21. Two-year veteran."
Kael stepped into the ring. "Kael. No title. No rank."
She smiled. "Then I hope you're durable."
The buzzer screamed.
Thorne moved like lightning—fast, aggressive, and surgical. Her first strike was a sweep to Kael's knee, followed by a spinning palm aimed for his throat.
He blocked it with one arm, pivoted, and drove a knee toward her ribs. She twisted mid-air, dodging cleanly, and kicked off the wall to launch a flying elbow strike.
Smart, Kael thought. Uses her environment. Maximizes mobility.
She wasn't just powerful. She was efficient. Tactical.
Kael ducked, rolled, and jabbed—his strikes more measured, not as flashy, but accurate. He caught her shoulder, turned her momentum, and flipped her onto her back. She hit hard—but rolled to her feet almost instantly.
Thorne grinned. "You're good. Better than they said."
Kael exhaled. "You haven't seen anything yet."
The tempo increased.
Kael's body responded. Every exchange taught him something new—her timing, her stance shifts, the slight twitch of her left foot before every forward lunge.
His ability surged quietly in the background.
Adapting.
Calculating.
Improving.
By the seventh minute, he was matching her blow-for-blow. Then anticipating them.
Then countering.
With one clean motion, he parried her combo, slipped inside her guard, and struck her chest with a palm that knocked the air from her lungs.
She hit the ground and stayed there, panting.
Match End – Winner: Kael Vire (Ghost Hands)
Thorne sat up, coughing slightly. "Damn. No wonder they're scared of you."
Kael offered her a hand. "You alright?"
She took it, surprised.
"You're not like the others," she said. "Most guys who win down here gloat. Or posture. You don't."
"I don't care about looking strong," Kael said quietly. "I care about getting stronger."
She stood, brushing off her armor. "You're going to be dangerous."
Kael smiled faintly. "Already am."
Word spread fast.
By the next day, Kael's codename was at #19 on the Wraith list.
The halls buzzed. Students gave him space. Some nodded in silent respect. Others scowled in jealousy.
And in the mess hall, when Kael sat down with his squad, a few unfamiliar cadets changed tables.
Lira raised an eyebrow. "You've officially become an urban legend."
Dane snorted. "'Ghost Hands.' Could be worse."
Renna sipped her tea. "Could be Dead Hands."
"Thanks for the optimism," Kael said dryly.
But beneath his calm, Kael felt something shifting again.
Not just his body.
Not just his reputation.
But his place in this world.
For the first time since arriving at Regis, he wasn't just existing.
He was ascending.