#make it a character study instead of whatever that was supposed to be | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

megapteraurelia · 2 months ago

Text

EPITHIMIA. — talisman #2.

☾ SUMMARY; — having been sent up to tokyo as an exchange student to spy on the first-years, your objective had been crystal clear: don't meddle. don't change anything. just observe. you didn't expect fushiguro megumi to foil your plans that quickly — but it's not like you could help yourself, not when he refused to be someone you could respect. so, what else to do but meddle?

☾ WARNINGS; — fem!reader; enemies to lovers; forced proximity; attempted character study?? (badly done!!); angst; gojo being annoying; ppl being hypocritical!; kind of angsty yuji too; TW: mention of blood, death;

☾ WORD COUNT; — 20,458.

☾ AUTHOR'S NOTE; — i lied. there's no romance here because i'm stupid and i couldn't stop writing other scenes. there will be a part three (and if all goes well that SHOULD actually be the last part). also, frick action scenes! also had to sacrifice some of the aesthetics because i can only add 30 images oops

— back to masterlist.

15th of April; 07:22. — kugisaki nobara.

Fushiguro syndrome. — as coined by Kugisaki Nobara: part-time sorcerer, quarter-time model, quarter-time self-proclaimed doctor.

Definition. A rare but deeply annoying affliction characterised by excessive brooding, emotional constipation, and the compulsive need to shoulder the entire weight of the world whilst pretending it's fine. Symptomps. — saying 'I'm fine' while visibly not fine. — intense staring instead of talking. — going silent mid-conversation because feelings are hard. — randomly disappearing to punch curses alone without backup. — at least one major emotional crisis repressed into a singular eyebrow twitch.

They weren't fighting.

And honestly, that was weirder than when they were.

Nobara noticed it the second they all met up in the dining hall for breakfast: the sun cast high, the light refracting through the glasses of water on the tables, leaving behind a sparkling surface. Megumi's arms were crossed nonstop, his shoulders struggling to hold the tension, sporting the worst eye bags she had seen in ages (Should she recommend him some good eye cream?)

He fixed the ground with a glare, eyes narrowed like he was trying to exorcise his constipated feelings, before sitting down at one of the tables off to the side. Nobara thought that he looked like a statue with too much gel product in his spiky hair, the way he didn't even eat his food, just stared at it.

On the other hand, there was you, who kept fiddling with your uniform as if it wasn't sitting right on your body. It couldn't be that, though, because the tailors of Tokyo Jujutsu High were very high-calibre. She would know, her uniform sat perfectly, and she was quite finicky in that matter. So, it had to be something else.

Nobara couldn't read you, though. You kept to yourself and made no move to really integrate yourself to their friend circle and sure, as an exchange student, this entire stay here was supposed to be temporary, so to some extent, she did understand that maybe, it was better not to get attached. But then, there also was no telling how long you were staying, so wouldn't it be better to make friends?

But you didn't and so Nobara didn't, either.

It wasn't like she really disliked you, but she wasn't going to waste effort on somebody who didn't know to appreciate it. She was fine to ignore you most of the time, which wasn't hard, considering that you only let some comments slip sometimes, but then you had to go and be a bitch to Megumi.

It wasn't like she really cared about Megumi; if anything, he was annoying with the way he was zapping all the fun, but she couldn't stand by and watch him be hurt like that. In the end, he was her teammate and…..her…..friend……so she couldn't not feel a certain way about it.

In any way, there was no greeting, no arguing, not even a single snide comment about the other's expression, punctuality or whatever it was they used to bicker about constantly. No sarcastic jabs, grumbled responses that made her roll her eyes so hard, it gave her a headache.

Not a single thing.

Just silence and a whole mountain range of tension between them — and it wasn't even the fun type of tension. Ugh, this was so boring.

Nobara leaned back on the bench, her food untouched as well as she pretended to yawn, but mostly, she just wanted to gauge how bad it was between you two. She had seen you going at it before — loud, sarcastic, the kind of arguments that made Yuji glance between you two like some kind of referee in a sports match, so the weird silence — the chattering of Yuji's with the rest of the students aside — was honestly disgusting.

Yuji's voice, cheerful and loud as always, broke through her thoughts. Really, this kid had no tact or decorum. "Sooo, what's up with these two? It's like there's a black hole of energy today."

"Salmon," Inumaki said and stabbed a piece of fish (Fish? As breakfast?) to bring to his scribbled mouth. Nobara eyed the markings on his cheeks and Inumaki was quick to zip up his jacket and hide them behind his collar like he could hide from the world. Nobara didn't really mean to make Inumaki feel self-conscious but wow, these marking did not help out.

Yuji, on the other hand, kept eating the fish and the rice like he was starving, though knowing him, he probably was. Seven hours without food? A surprise he was still alive. With stuffed cheeks, he spat a few grains of rice onto her plate. She pushed it away. Gross little chimp.

"Yeah, it's like, they're magnets in reverse, you know? Like…repulsing? Was that the word?"

"Repelling," Maki's eye roll was so incredible in conveying her exasperation, Nobara was in love. "It's like watching two stubborn blocks of wood trying to figure out who is more stubborn."

Nobara had to try out the eye roll, too. "More like, who is a bigger pain in the ass."

Then she leaned over her food, ignoring Yuji's star struck chipmunk face when she pushed him back by the shoulder to shout over to you, "Oi, did Megumi infect you with Fushiguro Syndrome, too?"

Your voice was cheerful when you replied, "I think I'm just peachy, Kugisaki, thanks for asking!" but Nobara could spot fake-happiness from a mile away — the way your knuckles whitened holding your chopsticks, the annoyed twitch in your eyebrows, the distracted flitting of your eyes over the fish. Yeah, definitely Fushiguro Syndrome. You were sporting the most theatrical fake happiness anybody could ever ask for. Not that she'd know who would want it, but in case it was an attribute searched by anyone, at least she would know where and who to direct them to.

"She absolutely isn't."

"Yeah, no way in hell."

"Salmon, salmon."

Yuji swallowed the food without even chewing properly, a few rice grains still sticking to the side of his mouth. He tried getting them with his tongue when Inumaki pointed towards them, but gave up when the blonde sorcerer kept shaking his head. Nobara probably could tell him exactly where it was, but to his dismay and to her enjoyment, she did delight in watching Yuji make a fool of himself.

"It's weird, though," he said in between licks (no! Not this way — the rice grain was under his lower lip on the right side!) and then stuffed his cheeks with more food, "I mean, they've always been kind of odd with each other, but now it's different. It's like…they're those crabs that get stuck in the same hole and just…pinch each other until they both get annoyed enough to walk away, but they can't leave because they're stuck, and it's hilarious."

"What in the hell," Nobara paused. "are you talking about, Itadori."

Inumaki Toge nodded. "Bonito flakes."

"You seriously agree with him, Inumaki?" Maki quirked up her eyebrow, one of her chopsticks waving in the direction of Yuji and Inumaki as if to make sense of their non-sense, to bring to life the magic of understanding neanderthal-speak.

Megumi stood up with the slight screech of his chair skidding on the floor, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets as he walked out the dining hall without sparing a glance towards anybody. There was a distinct scoff coming from your direction, your chopsticks scratching hard against the surface of your plate, before you too pushed your plate away and got up to leave.

Nobara wondered if you had only been here for Megumi's sake, whether you had meant to leave at the same time, to give the impression that your presence at breakfast was just to make Megumi uncomfortable — maybe a reminder of whatever transpired between you both. But honestly, Nobara couldn't care less. Worrying about other people could mean that she'd stress over them enough to cause her hair ends to split or, worse, get grey hair.

God, just kiss or kill each other already, she thought with an exaggerated eye roll, but in the end it wasn't her business. Not really.

…but she definitely was going to text Yuji about it later.

16th of April; 13:26. — gojo satoru.

Gojo Satoru was many things.

Handsome (undefeated). The strongest (naturally). Adept at approximately all the things he put his hands on. But nosy? Not really. But once he was curious, there was no stopping him, and curiosity for Gojo Satoru was a dangerous thing.

Sipping from a can of peach soda, especially sweet, he sat lounging on the stairs. Below him, on the courtyard lawn, stood his little assortments of students, amongst which were his enigmatic black-haired student and his new Kyoto's little sharp-tongued mole. Well, exchange student, if he were to stick totechnicality, but then again, that word didn't do a lot of justice to the actual reason you were sent here.

Both of his students were standing a little too far apart; there was no speaking and no fighting like all the other times that he had the pleasure of witnessing. But that was the thing. There had been a fight.

If he could be generous to call it that — which he always was, mind you — the last mission ended with a little…disagreement. He hadn't been there, but the report Ijiichi had given him was quite clear. Something had happened that broke whatever little tolerance you both had for each other. Of course, he could imagine what it was, because Ijichi had been very detailed in the way both of his kids derailed into a shouting match over blame.

Gojo sipped his drink.

Interesting.

Megumi wasn't the type to carry grudges, usually. He carried a lot of responsibility, sure. A liberal amount of regret tossed in there, too, but what sorcerer didn't?

But something as petty as resentment? Not usually his deal. The nasty glare he had fixed on the exchange student was speaking volumes, though.

And you?

He had noticed it before; the way you made things personal, the way you didn't let up. Gojo thought that it wasn't the worst thing to happen to Megumi, especially if you could get him out of his mind once in a while. So he never saw a need to intervene, beside the fact that he didn't think Megumi would be unable to handle what you threw at him.

He could already imagine the glare sent his way if he meddled in Megumi's business beyond his own relationship with him as a teacher. Though, not that that really kept him from anything.

But personal tension, especially if it was persistent, had a way of bleeding into teamwork — or as 'team' as that work between you seemed to be, which did make it Gojo's problem, after all.

One eye peeking from underneath the blindfold, he noted the way Megumi's jaw tightened when you turned away without acknowledging him; the way your cursed energy flared aggressively when Megumi muttered something under his breath. There was a tight rope between apathy and something glimmering beneath it, heated, unspoken and definitely unresolved, tied between both your feet; ready to get you tripping if you moved too far away from each other.

He could be doing the responsible teacher thing: sit them down. Encourage open communication, blah blah — no.

That wasn't his style, and way too boring. What kind of teacher would he be if he didn't subtly abuse his incredible power for lighthearted surveillance?

Gojo Satoru tilted his head and his gaze fell on Yuji and Nobara, a slight tight-lipped smile widening, "Let's see what my adorable disasters are up to."

20th of April; 10:08. — gojo satoru.

"Already done? My, what hardworking bee you are, Megumi!"

"There any more, Gojo-sensei?"

"There's always an abundance of low grade jobs, but you sure you're not gonna turn into a zombie on me? Ya giving your brain enough time to catch a break?"

"I'm fine. I'll handle it," then, his voice a bit quieter: "I won't make any more mistakes."

Gojo tilted his head, his eyebrows drawn high, "I'll have Ijichi give you the details on the way. Just know that you'll lose your handsomeness if you turn into one of those undeads; flaky skin and all, you know? Now off you pop."

Though maybe he'll finally stop resembling his father then, Gojo thought, his finger turning the cuff of his uniform as he watched his student leave the room, a slight limp as he stepped on his right ankle.

22nd of April; 23:48. — zen'in maki, just called maki.

Zen'in Maki, just called Maki, hated reminders of her parentage.

For all the obsession with strength and cursed techniques, Maki found that the name of her clan in blood was less a title and more of a curse itself; a chain clinched around her throat since her birth, growing with her as she transcended childhood and grew into the young woman she was today. It was not rare for somebody to utter the name in her vicinity — not by virtue of upsetting her, but because even though she thought it was undeserved, there was no denying that the Zen'ins were one of the three great sorcerer families.

Even though it had been some time since she left the clan compound, she still felt the weight of it — the expectations she was meant to fail, the sneers she was meant to endure, the silence that was meant to shame her into obedience.

The traditional and backwards way her clan in blood operated made hers boil, and even though she would like nothing more than to circumvent any mention of this bitter reminder of her apparent inadequacy, she steeled herself each time the name passed somebody's lips. Because to flinch is to give in, to react is to admit defeat and to allow them to control her beyond their property by mere allusion. And Maki, with her stubborn heartbeat and her body honed into a weapon, refused to bow.

Her eyes, as sharp as ever, flitted over Megumi's black hair, though barely illuminated in the darkness and stillness of the night. Sometimes she forgot that he shared the same blood, but it wasn't the clan's much-heralded inherited Ten Shadows Technique that reminded her. It wasn't the black hair either that they shared. It was this.

The look in his eyes as he gripped his blade and performed katas with his sword. The cleanliness of it, the efficiency. It was the expression on his face that had her narrow her eyes, that had her muscles tensing as if to ward off any attacks — the same calculating silence masked as focus, the same quiet detachment.

She used to see that look in the training halls of the Zen'in estate: when her father would bark corrections with a tone that promised bruises and punishment; in Naoya's face when he used to kick the animals that lost their way onto their property, on the faces of several clans men. A mask that said feelings get you killed.

She watched him pivot, bring the blade up with a sharp, precise movement that made no sound but cut through the air like glass; the harsh exhale like there was a mountain of air buried deep in the cavity of his lungs needing to be set free. It was the feeling that this reminder of the mask brought out within her, the desperation to rip off that same look on her own face, the hollowed out thump in her chest that had her approach Megumi.

"You trying to break some record or are you just trying to kill yourself out here?"

Maki didn't expect a response and true to that, there was none following. She knew it all too well — this honed focus, the strangulation of an-ever growing vignette.

"Seriously, what the hell is going on with you?" Maki stopped a few metres short from where he was denying his body any rest, "It's well past curfew and you're bleeding all over the place. Training's not going to do you much good if you can't even hold your damn weapon."

Along the razor sharp sound of the blade slitting the air into two, Megumi's voice sounded out, painted with heavy breaths: "What about you then? What did you come out here for, huh?"

Silence. A slight stiffening of limbs.

"Don't pretend we don't know," Megumi halted in his movements, and his eyes — a wild, storming ocean — fixed her with a look, "You come out every night like you're being chased. Like you'll fall behind if you stop. So what is it — are you here to check on me or were you planning to do the same thing?"

Maki stayed quiet longer than she meant to.

There was a slight pressure behind her ribs, in the cavity that was her chest. Something curling up in on itself. A part of her wanted to scoff and tell him he was projecting, but the look in his eyes stopped her. The restless edge. The way he trained past exhaustion, the circles underneath his eyes, a promise that collapsing meant personal failure. The way he avoided eye contact when people asked if he was sleeping.

She knew what it meant. She knew where the road lead, because she was still walking it.

He wasn't wrong. The truth was that she hadn't come out here to check on him, that it wasn't on her mind until she saw the way he had danced over the training grounds. That she came because her body was buzzing from the inside with energy to waste, constantly caught between fight and flight, even when there was no one left to fight.

Her knuckles were still sore from last night. From the night before that. From the week before that.

Never leave me behind.

Maki's exhale was quiet. There was a promise and she broke it. She had left first.

Every time she trained until she couldn't feel her legs, every time her fingers bled grasping the hilt of her blade, it was with the breath of her sister's whisper down her neck. Because she had to believe that it would make it worth something. That she was getting closer to earning her way back, that she wasn't abandoning her twin — just biding her time until she could tear the clan down with her own two hands.

She glanced at Megumi, the tension in his muscles, the barely healed cuts on his arms, the faint trickle of blood from the ripped open callouses on the palm of his hand and the way he was holding himself together like his world was taped up hastily and might shatter. She saw herself in him, younger her who kept pushing forward because stopping and turning around meant seeing what she had left behind.

"I didn't come here to hurt myself. I came to train."

Something almost akin to a scoff escaped the boy, though it also could have been him breathing out in exertion, "Right. Because your hands weren't wrapped in tape yesterday either, right?"

"That's different," she said but Maki wasn't typically somebody who lied to herself.

Megumi bent at the knees, deep, the sword reflecting the moonlight for a split second, his shoulders twitching in a shrug. "I'll stop if you stop."

Maki felt it sit in the pit of her stomach — the guilt at her own decision, the rightful anger at her clan, the choking pressure of her desire. Then she rolled her own shoulders, steeled herself and with it came the resolve: even if there was nobody who would understand her, who could walk in her shoes, who could save Mai from the Zen'in clan's clutches, she would have to continue on.

There was no other way it could go.

"You're overthinking your third stance."

His voice was rough, almost desperate. "Show me."

25th of April; 01:18. — you.

There was a folded strip of black paper sitting on your bed, pressed and knotted with a red threat.

A talisman.

Kyoto-issued, so it seemed. You'd recognise the ink pattern everywhere having seen it in your school, a subconscious reminder that you weren't here to have fun. Well, it wasn't like you were having any special fun, but still, the appearance of such a charm had your spine straighten up immediately.

Carefully, you let your gaze roam through your entire room, but nothing seemed out of the norm. If anything, it might have been even too tidy, though that also might be your paranoia talking. As much as your room looked like it always did, the talisman was very well out of norm.

Kyoto Jujutsu High usually didn't get in contact with you, unless there was something dire.

And that couldn't be, because you hadn't noticed anything worthy of noting down yet, because nothing was happening here. Nothing of significance for Gakuganji, at least. Nothing that warranted them contacting you directly and sending you a message so obviously.

You picked up the paper, your eyes recognising the charm written up, general polite well wishes, and underneath in strokes that only a select few could read:

As we have yet to receive any updates, we would greatly appreciate a brief report at your earliest convenience. Should circumstances remain unchanged, we may be required to explore other available options. We appreciate your continued efforts and trust you will keep us informed.

Of course. There was no name, no seal, no malice in those words. Seemingly. Only incredible politeness, a veiled threat, so if one were to read it, it would sound like a mildly scolding letter.

You stared at the charm, the crease where it was folded neatly. Your first thought had been that you missed a report — that somehow you'd let something slip. But you knew yourself, knew the meticulousness with which you always prepared the seals, knew that the correspondence was as tight and precise as your technique.

You pursed your lips in thought.

If they had sent something now, that meant your charms weren't reaching them for a while now. You hadn't thought much of the silence after each of the transmissions; no confirmation coming back wasn't unusual. The Kyoto faculty preferred silence, the kind of quiet superiority that made them respond when they deemed it important, not one second before.

But now this.

If your reports weren't arriving, then either something had intercepted them…or someone had. Both implications had your forehead create way too many wrinkles for your age and instinctively, you glanced toward the window, the slow sway of the courtyard trees like a whisper about to tell you its secrets.

The paper folded without resistance, at the same seam as before. It didn't matter if someone had been interfering, you decided; you had no proof or any grounds to throw around accusations, especially since that wasn't Kyoto's intention to begin with. They'd rather replace you than make sure to find out who was trying to foil their plans. Beside the fact that it wasn't your job to speculate. It was to observe. To report. To be useful.

It wasn't quite the way you liked to do things for it made no sense to you that other people would offer up information out of their own volition. If there was no action taken, how could you ever find out about people? How were you ever going to prove your usefulness to the people who deemed it so easy to replace you?

You hadn't expected to feel anything, reading those words — certainly not this hesitation. Not when you were here with a purpose; but still: it twisted inside you, low and persistent.

Which meant no more distractions.

Because if your chest twisted like that then that meant you had been dragging your feet, it meant that a part of you had started to hope the assignment would quietly dissolve before it reached a critical point. Because it meant that you started to get attached when you were just being thorough.

You straightened the paper, smoothing the wrinkles that didn't exist. No more chasing tension for your enjoyment's sake. No more watching Fushiguro Megumi to see if you could crack the surface, to see if his innards spilled out with all the thoughts and feelings he kept hidden, the fight with himself to figure out who he was. No more trying to provoke him.

You'd wasted much time trying to figure out what lay behind that tired sharpness in his eyes, the way he flinched at praise, the way he always looked like he was dragging something unseen behind him.

You couldn't make that mistake again.

Whatever role he played, whatever potential Kyoto thought he might harbour and develop, it wasn't yours to decipher. It wasn't yours to push. It wasn't your mission. He wasn't.

Whatever interference had occurred, it wouldn't happen twice.

26th of April; 16:34. — fushiguro megumi.

"She's not that bad, you know?"

Fushiguro Megumi didn't want to look up to see the pink of Yuji's hair drown with an orange sheen, to watch the sky bleed into lavender, evening announcing itself slowly, gently.

He thought that he really didn't want to talk about it.

There wasn't anything to talk about, not about you, and not about you with Yuji. Especially not him. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his input — at times. But this? This wasn't something Megumi wanted to lay out for anyone, not something he wanted to talk with Yuji about.

Not the argument that him and you had, about the accusation standing in the room, about all the things that he knew Yuji felt strongly about. Megumi knew that he would take it hard.

So he scoffed, his chin finding its way onto the palm of his hand, "Yeah, well, she thinks being loud is the same thing as being right."

"Cool. But that's not what I asked," Yuji leaned back, his elbows finding the stone steps behind him.

No, it wasn't. He knew it wasn't.

There was a soft breeze, a certain warmth swinging alongside it. The stones beneath him were warm, too, still lingering in the former caress of the sun. Yuji wasn't looking at him, and that somehow made it worse. If he had been, if there had been pity in his face or concern in his eyes, then Megumi could have shut it down. Cut the conversation short. But the casual posture, the light tilt of his head back toward the sky — it made it harder to tell him to shut up.

It would have been easier if he wasn't here. If Yuji wasn't trying to poke holes in walls that Megumi had already worn himself out trying to keep up.

So he said, flatly, "Why you here?"

Yuji didn't take the bait, and that annoyed Megumi, too. But there wasn't a lot that didn't manage to irk Megumi nowadays.

"Because you don't talk to her," he said simply, "Maybe you'll talk to me."

Megumi didn't move, but the grass in front of him did; swinging with the soft picking up of the wind. Yuji's voice wasn't accusing or disappointed; it was gentle in the way that only Yuji could sound like. Goodhearted, open, optimistic. He talked like he knew it was difficult and didn't want to make it harder, and that was exactly what made it difficult to shove him away.

"You care. That's what's messing you up, isn't it?"

Megumi didn't dare breathe.

"She pissed you off. Got too close. Now you don't know what to do with it."

He exhaled softly. Yuji was wrong — or at least, somewhat. It wasn't that he cared about you. It was the way you looked him in the eye and questioned everything he believed in. His desire to save lives — all lives, if possible; that he wasn't actually doing it. That killing the curse wasn't always the same as winning, that the mission, the regulations weren't absolute. Couldn't be.

You believed in getting it done and accepting what had to be lost along the way, and it was the way you had been calm about it. Cold, even. Efficient, not even necessarily cruel, though he thought you were — but just clear.

And that had shaken him.

A part of him was wondering if you were right. He was pissed about that.

Because standing in the rubble of the half-collapsed shopping mall with the girl crying behind him, he had hesitated. Not even because it was hard. But because it wasn't.

"Mind your own business, Itadori."

Yuji stayed on the steps, solid, still, refusing to be dismissed. There was a pause, and then:

"Nah."

He knew Itadori Yuji. Knew the tone and knew exactly what it meant — that this wasn't going to be one of those conversations that got buried under a shrug and a change of subject. Yuji wasn't leaving, not until he had said whatever he wanted to come say. There was a quiet patience in his eyes, the kind that made Megumi feel seen, a little exposed, challenged.

He rubbed at the corner of his brow with two fingers, eyes closing with exhaustion that ran deep. "I said drop it."

"Yeah," Yuji nodded. "I heard you."

"You don't get it." Megumi imagined Yuji like a fly that he could swat away, bury all his thoughts under the same swatter, squish them out of existence. His tongue felt heavy. Had he never said this out loud? It felt like he had been saying nothing else for weeks now. With a tight jaw, he muttered, "You would've saved them. So would i. That's not the issue."

"Then what is?"

Megumi hesitated. He didn't want to offer his thoughts, everything in him didn't want to admit it like that, but this was Yuji. The same person who who had jumped into danger without a second thought just to protect someone he barely knew, so he cradled the thing that sat in his chest like weight and pushed it out, "She made it sound like doing that made me weak. Like— like it was selfish."

He thought that if he could save someone, even one person, that should be enough. But she made it sound like wanting that meant he was doing it for himself, like he wasn't thinking about the bigger picture. Like he didn't care.

Yuji was silent for a while, and Megumi stiffened, and then—

With a shrug that didn't match the weight of his words: "So what if it was selfish?"

Megumi's shoulders stayed tense but he blinked, his eyes wandering over to Yuji but all he met was a steady look back, calm, grounded in a way that Yuji rarely looked like.

"We make choices and live with them. Sometimes that's selfish. I don't think it means it's wrong," Yuji hesitated, then shrugged again, though this time it was more of a way to get rid of thoughts that intruded on his spoken words, "Maybe it's not even about who's right. Maybe it's just about who's willing to live with what they chose."

Megumi's chest ached. Yuji spoke with a certainty that made him think about Sukuna's finger that Yuji ate that roped him into a world that brought nothing but misery, and why he had such a hard time doing the same when he grew up within it. He didn't respond, not because he disagreed, even though he wanted to push back, to argue, to find a reason for why he would be right, but because the words wouldn't come.

Maybe it was his pride. Maybe it was shame crawling up his throat, laying bitter on his tongue. It wasn't a question of his decision, it was a question of who he was.

Yuji stood up and brushed off his pants like he hadn't just pulled something raw into the light, like the conversation was done. And maybe it was. Megumi made no start to stop Yuji, anyway.

"If you don't wanna talk to her, fine. But don't lie to yourself about why."

3rd of May; 18:52. — you.

The warehouse reeked.

Like mold, blood, and something sour that clung to the back of the throat — the kind of stink that told you a curse didn't die clean. And it didn't: there was a substance resembling blood splattered all over the floor, like it couldn't escape fast enough from where it had been squashed into mush.

Megumi stepped over it, his boots making a wet sound on the floor, his steps heavy and with purpose in the vast silence that suddenly laid itself on top of you like a thick blanket. The air was heavy with aftershocks of cursed energy; the taste tangy and metallic on your tongue.

You could hear the drip of blood from the curve of your sword, the echo hanging in the air, drip, drip, drip.

It gnawed on your nerves, a slow and deliberate sound that you couldn't escape, so you flicked the blade off with a swift motion. Your eyes swept over the shadows lingering from when megumi had called them.

Footsteps matching his in the quiet, the rhythm of yours echo out of sync, a subtle discord that had become almost too familiar. Before, the silence had been filled with sharp words, teasing, half-fulfilled orders, information, occasional jabs. Now?

Now it was just motion. Breathe. Get it done. Get out. No checks. No confirmation. No reason to linger.

Megumi didn't wait for you to catch up. He moved forward without a glance, the slight echo of his voice cutting through the stillness, not loud enough to be a real order, not quiet enough to ignore, "Let's go."

You followed because, well, it was over. The job was done, and there was nothing left to say.

5th of May; 12:01. — fushiguro megumi.

Fushiguro Megumi didn't know why he was lingering around the broken shopping mart in Yurakucho.

With his hands loose by his side, his eyes travelled over the police tapes that were slowly being rolled together. The curse hadn't come back, because if it had, there wouldn't have been the shifting from police workers to construction workers over the weeks.

His heart was beating steady, watching the bustle, the shouts over the sound of equipment, the everyday hustle of people who didn't know better, who didn't have to know better. He continued standing there, watching until the workers gathered together for lunch time.

Megumi ducked under the signs that warned other citizens to stay out, and entered through the broken doors, now cleaned off the shards. His feet took him to the third floor automatically, the entire mall looking weirdly peaceful without the shelves reaching over to keep him in their grasp, without the air weighing him down like he was going to crumble underneath the pressure. The lights were turned off, the electrical wires cut, but there was enough light coming through from the ripped down wall to the south side that he needn't worry about seeing, and he observed the dust dancing in the air.

There was no cursed energy lingering around anymore, but he found the faded circle of red on the floor easily.

He didn't have to worry about the cursed womb anymore, didn't have to worry about anybody else getting hurt.

His teacher had caught him on the extended balcony of the main building in Tokyo Jujutsu High a couple days back, jutting out to observe the main courtyard and if he turned, a side view of the sport field expanding right in front of him. His other schoolmates were training out, and he hadn't joined them; instead, his eyes flitted over the starfish spread of Inumaki's — a Yuji standing next to him poking him with a stick, the huge body of Panda's throwing around a screeching Nobara, the band of limbs blurring in a spar between Maki and you.

His lips twisted, and he looked away.

"Megumi skipping school? Scandalous!"

He barely flinched when he heard Gojo's cheerful tenor ring through the air behind him, too used to his teacher popping in at whatever times he deemed fit. He couldn't tell whether Gojo had come up using the stairs like a normal person, though knowing his teacher, that would have been too boring.

Megumi didn't think he needed to answer. He knew he was supposed to be down there training alongside the rest of his classmates, but he couldn't step foot onto the field, knowing you were there. If ignoring you had been difficult before, it was almost impossible now, even though he didn't speak to you, your own comments having dwindled, only terse necessities when you were put together on missions.

It was less the quantity of commentary that weighed on him heavily; it was just the way his hair stood on its ends, his skin prickling at your mere presence. There was a charge to the air between you both, the accusation and assumption sitting in the atoms he breathed in, heavy, tasting like static.

He shook his head lightly, the memory of a certain monitor beeping in his ears fading. He wasn't wasting time, he wasn't — he was going to train twice as hard, was going to make up for it. His missing the training with the rest of the students would have no bearing on his performance. He was going to make sure of it.

He had no other choice.

"Just so you know, I don't quite mind. I do approve of a little rebellious streak," Gojo's saunter towards the railing where Megumi stood was insufferable. It was not just the way he walked, like gravity bent over backwards for him, the bounce in his steps, like he was mocking the world and daring it to do something about it, but also the underlying message through the easy sway of his shoulders: that he was untouchable. "But skipping school is a slippery slope. First, it's one day. Then it's two. Next you know, the others avoid handling you at staff meetings, and I'm the one who has to go through all your reports. Not fun."

A dry remark, no questions intended. "Do you even read the reports."

"Nah. I don't. It's too much of a hassle," his teacher said with a grin, his canines sharp and glinting in the sun. His elbows propped up on the railing, his back to the sports field, he looked up to the sky. Or, well, his face was looking towards the sky, his eyes might has well have been roaming Megumi's face. Not that he would know where Gojo was looking with that blindfold on.

There was a kind of quiet between them that felt like it was supposed to be purposeful. He didn't like it, his hands gripping the railing a bit tighter, like he could redirect his tension through his fingertips to the wood. There was a breeze softly caressing Megumi's face, and for a second, he wondered if he deserved to have the world treat him so gently, when he—

"I exorcised the curse."

On instinct, Megumi whirled around towards Gojo and the distinctive curve of his jaw as he continued to study the sky's blue, the spare clouds here and there. Like clockwork, the stone in Megumi's stomach sank deeper, and his knuckles whitened on the wood, his nails digging between the rills of the old timber.

"I know there's coulda-woulda-shouldas going through your head. You don't have to tell me, I know I've got bingo already," Gojo said offhandedly, and finally turned his head to Megumi, his smile softening, less of a tease, more of an inspection.

Megumi looked away, the wood digging in between the nail and his skin, right in the crevice where it was hard to get out. "You shouldn't have had to clean up after me."

"Aww, come on, that's what I'm here for. Let me have my moment," a snap of his fingers, "I even looked cool doing it — real flashy. Big crown. Someone might have clapped, ya never know."

His teacher was so ridiculous, Megumi couldn't stop the huff escaping him. Of course, he was out to be praised, so full of himself the way he always was. To an extent, Megumi even appreciated the ease with which he talked. Not that he would ever admit it. "You're not helping."

Gojo bent down, the tip of his sharp nose getting awfully close to Megumi's. "Also, for the record, the whole spinning around you just did? Very dramatic, I give it an 8.5 out of 10."

Megumi jerked his head back, sending a glare towards his teacher, "Do you ever stop talking?"

"Not unless I'm unconscious. Or dead," both hands up in the hair, Gojo stood upright again, to his full height; assured, confident, a fact, "Hold your horses, Megumi — I'm not planning on either of those today. Or the near future."

Megumi's eyes found their way from his teacher to the field again. Inumaki had finally gotten up, though he was still a far cry away from actually gearing up to fight. Maki had moved on to rope Panda into blocking a flurry of her attacks, every movement precise and trained, no wasted moment. Yuji and Nobara were off to the side, engaged in the typical bickering he knew his classmates to partake in. A threatening raise of her hand at Yuji, an assuaged shoulder dropping directed at Nobara.

You were nowhere to be seen, and Megumi hated that he took note of it, that his fingers let up for a second, that the coil in his stomach uncurled. And when gojo spoke again, he hated the way relief wormed itself through his heart, as if he deserved it.

He hated, too, how much he welcomed the relief.

"It's alright for the stuff to weigh on you. You think you're the only one holding the line sometimes," Gojo's voice was serious, in a way that Megumi seldom heard, "You're not. You've got people behind you. Beside you. Me included, aren't you lucky."

Because it was true. Because Megumi could rely on Gojo Satoru. Because he could rest assured that his teacher had always looked out for him, and would always do so, despite being so annoying about it. Or maybe perhaps, even more so because of it.

"…thanks."

Gojo's grin returned with ease, shoulders pulled up as he kicked off the railing. "By the way, the next time you skip class, at least pretend to be doing something cool. Like I dunno — stealing a cursed artefact, annoying Nanami until it looks like the button on his collar is gonna burst, infiltrating a rival Jujutsu School…the list is endless!"

"Those are all terrible ideas."

A gasp, and Gojo turned around, his hand clutching his chest, "Excuse me for having taste."

Megumi had rolled his eyes, but inwardly, he had felt a weird mix between mollification and a nervous fraying around his edges. Making his way down to the training grounds as well to take over Panda's spot, he had even managed to ignore that he was only going down because you weren't there anymore.

A coward—

No.

He just didn't want to get into fights anymore, he told himself, he was sick of it.

Standing in the wreckage left behind of the failed mission now, he couldn't muster up the relief that he felt when Gojo first told him that the curse was gone. He didn't have to worry about it anymore, didn't have to agonise over it at night, could finally focus on his next missions, of not repeating the mistake.

The curse was dealt with. No one else would get hurt, no news alert or updates that he would have to await with bated breath. No more imagining what could have happened — because none if it had happened. And now, it never would.

So why, instead of ease, did he feel a familiar tightness in his chest?

His fingers swept over the mark of his shikigami's warding attack, muscles loose, not clenched, not angry.

The second Megumi learned that Gojo had stepped in, the weight had vanished from his shoulders like it had never been his in the first place. The moment it wasn't his problem anymore, it had stopped being real. The guilt, the panic, the second-guessing — all of it evaporated. Gojo had fixed it. He had always fixed it.

But what if his teacher died? What if there was nobody around to pick up the pieces he left on the ground?

He pressed his lips together.

Megumi didn't use to think about it, but then you threw it at his head, the question of whether he knew that his sense of justice disappeared so easily and—

The comfort sitting in his bones, in the cracks of his joints, turned sour, like milk that was expiring. Gojo could shoulder the burden like it was weightless — and for him, maybe it was. But Megumi wasn't like that. Was he going to rely on his teacher forever?

If he started choosing who lived, if he stained his hands so others could stay clean, would maybe one day the relief feel genuine?

1st of May; 14:28. — you.

You lingered near the restricted area, your fingers hovering over the glass display case. You didn't dare touch anything, but your eyes were sweeping over the more dangerous collection of cursed objects. The area hummed with restrained malevolence; the ancient talismans pulsed dimly, guarded by layered barriers woven so tightly that even the air seemed hesitant to stir.

You didn't intend to steal anything. T

his was merely reconnaissance, to confirm whether the rumour over at Kyoto's were true: that Tokyo Jujutsu High had been quietly amassing cursed relics far beyond what they reported to the higher-ups. That under Gojo Satoru's protection, they'd turned the school into something closer to a private arsenal than a neutral institution.

But this wasn't about fairness or balance, that you knew. It always came down to fear, to wanting to gain the upper hand against somebody they didn't trust. Neither gojo nor his students, and especially not the influx of power the first-years all brought along.

Standing there, surrounded by cursed tools older than some dynasties in Japan, you felt weird.

This wasn't just a vault, it was a warning, too. A reminder that if Tokyo wanted to, they really could overpower Kyoto before it ever drew its own blade. And if it was true, what would the elders plan to do with this information if you delivered it?

In the end, you shouldn't care. You were a tool to use, a means to someone else's end, you were just there to collect information, and leave before anything could happen. Ever since you found that talisman on your bed, you kept repeating it to yourself, yet still —

Strangely, your first thought was of Itadori Yuji.

Not because he was friendly, even though he was. Not because he always offered to spar, even though he did, or because he was so earnest, but because of what he carried inside him.

You had seen it in flashes; in the way his smile faltered when he thought no one was watching, in the tension in his shoulders when he had to deploy Sukuna to take over his body, like he was bracing himself for something he couldn't stop.

He bore the King of Curses like a time bomb behind his ribs, and the worst thing about it was that he wasn't just a vessel. He was a boy trying to stay himself. So if what you learned here about Tokyo's cursed arsenal got back to Kyoto's elders, would they have more leverage to use against Yuji?

You were their spy, yet—

"So, funny thing," came a voice from behind you, "back during my days, the restricted section wasn't on the student tour."

You froze.

Gojo Satoru stood just a few steps back, hands in his pockets, posture loose, like he had just strolled in by accident. His blindfold was slightly pushed up, one pale blue eye gleaming under the low light. He wasn't smiling, but his tone was light, breezy, almost bored.

Like catching you here was a minor curiosity.

You turned slowly, "Gojo-sensei."

"Wow. Polite!" he nodded appreciatively, the corner of his mouth twitching, "Didn't expect that, considering the whole Kyoto sending you here and not teaching you how to trip a proximity ward. How is Utahime, by the way? She still giving the staff at the Karaoke's grey hair?"

Your answer was hesitant, slow, careful, "This place is off-limits? I could swear it wasn't. That's my fault. I can be on my way out, no time wasted."

There was a brilliant smile on Gojo's face at you playing stupid now; like a mask, easy and lazy, but there was a dangerous glint in the way his canine caught the light. "Cute. You lie like somebody who's never had to lie to me before."

"I wasn't—"

"—lying? Spying? Trying to sell me some sweet, innocent act?" he finished for you, his grin sharpening, his attention on you razor sharp, "Nah. Of course not. I can give you some pointers if you want my professional constructive criticism."

So lying wasn't an option anymore.

Not that you thought it ever really was, but in the same way that the higher-ups had no issue throwing out obvious, outrageous excuses like that, you thought maybe you could do the same to save yourself. But of course, it was a stupid decision. You had neither the power nor the authority nor the leverage to pit against somebody like Gojo Satoru to even try to pull shit out of your ass.

If anything, you didn't know if Kyoto even had any control. Not when it was the honoured clan heir on the other side.

What were your options then?

Despite the imposing presence of Gojo's, like an incessant reminder of the energy thrumming underneath his cool demeanour luring you to see him as an enemy, you couldn't attack. Not if you wanted to keep all of your bones intact. It would only end one way and that was with you in a hospital and having lost all semblance of some sort of trust between not just you both, but also with the other first-years.

Not that any trust had ever been really genuine, but at least it hadn't disturbed the status quo between you during all the weeks before.

You also didn't want to fight. Not like that. Not against Gojo Satoru. Ever.

You could try to stick to lying and pretend like you were innocent — it might even work, depending on how much good-will Gojo owned in that moment, how playful he was to really allow you to walk that line. He wouldn't believe you, but maybe you could appease him a little. On the other hand, it could also go insanely wrong in that he doesn't take kindly to being toyed with.

As stupid as it sounded, it was a viable option, but it was too much of a wild card to really trust that it would work either way.

Another option, which, out of everything, was not high on your list, was to offer him something in return if he let you get away with it. If you could convince him that you were more useful to keep around, you might be able to play it safe. He might be insulted, or he might take the offer, but either way, you would lose his respect and any possible prospect of gaining trust. Which, again, did not help your case in any way.

That lead to two different problems, though, which could be viewed on two different scales of importance, too. For one, and far less important, your behaviour was not just representative of yourself, but of Kyoto too, so any repercussions were directed back to the elders as well. You yourself didn't particularly care whether Gojo Satoru had respect for you, though having him as an enemy was not quite on your to-do list, either; but being the reason for the stand-off between the two schools to sharpen? Difficult.

Another reason, far more important to you, was to sell yourself like that went against your own principles; you were not in the habit of disregarding your own feelings in favour of saving yourself.

You were following your job, you knew that. You could treat it like a mission, because it essentially behaved like one, except a part of you couldn't because it wasn't against enemies, curses and curse users that intend to hurt innocent people. It was against other sorcerers, in a game where you were supposed to smile in Yuji's face and then feed his future to people who'd rather he die quietly than live inconveniently.

How much of a pawn did you want to be? You didn't care when you came here to Tokyo, but you also hadn't known any of the students here, hadn't seen how hard they worked to make a different future for Jujutsu Society.

You talked all about Megumi and his inability to be true to himself, but how about you?

The words left your mouth as calmly as you could manage, as steady as you could bring yourself to sound with Gojo Satoru watching over you like a hawk, "I didn't come here to steal anything."

Was that your smartest move? Maybe. Maybe not. It was hard to guess with him, but it was at the very least the truth and sometimes, when nothing else worked, truth was all you had left. It was your best bet at catching his attention; somebody who occupied the stance that Gojo Satoru did would appreciate honesty, you thought.

"You must be really curious then to ignore all the seals."

So he wasn't going to let you off easy. Almost, you were hoping he would be kind to you.

"They don't trust you. Or Tokyo," you didn't have to mention who they was; Gojo knew. By the shift in the air, the lessening of oppressive attention, you also knew he was listening now. "Not with the first-years. Not with Itadori. And especially not with you standing between them and the chain of command."

He didn't interrupt, so you continued.

"I guess you could call me spy, but they never do. Well, not officially, anyway. It's called oversight, information gathering, or whatever other thing they can come up with," you swallowed the amount of saliva having gathered in your mouth from your rambling, "They think this school is building its own army."

"An army, eh?" Gojo made a low sound in his throat, an unceremonious snort escaping him, "I can't say we haven't a good roster this time round: a hammer, a puppeteer, a ticking walking bomb? Nah, I gotta tweak that one a little…just the bomb? Hmm…"

You interrupted him before he could spiral into another tangent, "Point is, they're scared of you."

He turned towards you and despite the brightness of his eye roaming over your form, his words were honest, "Good. They should be."

You stayed still, because— "What are you going to do?"

Gojo blinked, lazily, as if none of it truly concerned him. Like catching a spy in Tokyo Jujutsu High's restricted section was no more urgent than choosing what flavour Mochi to buy. But nothing about the casual motions of a tight-lipped smile curling onto his face or his fingers tapping his chin was idle to fool you.

"Me?" he echoed, "Oh no, I'm just sitting in the front-row seat of 'what are you going to do?"

You swallowed, just once. "I could tell them about all this here."

"Naturally," he said, one shoulder heaving up in a small shrug. The way his head tilted reminded you of a bird, "You could."

Was there a trap in his words? You weren't sure. That was the problem with Gojo Satoru — he didn't need to be flashy to be dangerous. Sometimes it even hid in plain sight, draped in his infuriating nonchalance and wrapped in his lazy smiles.

Was the off-handed way he regarded you a threat?

Maybe.

He didn't look like he was posturing. He didn't have to. He barely moved since the moment he caught you, and yet you hadn't relaxed once. His eye watched you, but not in a way a predator would its prey, because that was still seeing you on the same plane of existence as him and right now, you weren't.

He watched you like a god watched a candle.

You studied him back. "You're not going to stop me?"

"I already did."

Things were not written in stone. Theoretically, you knew that.

You could send your report back to Kyoto, and it would carry your name. You could choose to continue your mission the way it was intended, could accept that you essentially were a discardable part of a plan that was larger than you. The plan that encompassed the death of Itadori Yuji, that had its eyes set on Fushiguro Megumi and the power imbalance of his cursed technique officially belonging to no clan, but still could be seen as an extension of the Gojo family.

You could do a lot of things, but the way he was waiting for you to understand made you feel like your decision had been made hours ago already. That it had been cemented in moments that you hadn't thought twice about: the first time you snorted at Yuji's really-not-funny joke but he lit up like he got handed a prize when he realised who it came from.

The first time Nobara didn't bother hiding her annoyance during a dragged-out explanation during training but still shifted enough to give you a clear view.

The first time you saw Megumi hesitate before a mission, so minuscule that you had almost dismissed it, his jaw tight and eyes distant, that spurred on your curiosity about what he was hiding.

That was the trap, you thought, not Gojo's words but, put on the spot in front of a decision, how treacherous your heart and mind were.

7th of May; 22:13. — kugisaki nobara.

"Yo."

"Gojo-sensei!"

"Yuji, my favourite student who is absolutely not my favourite just because you're the only one who has decency enough to miss me so when I'm gone!"

Nobara tried her best at Maki's eye roll again, "Teacher's pet."

"Wait…am I not supposed to say hi?"

"Nevermind that, Yuji-kun! Won't I get a heartfelt greeting from my other two favourite gremlins?"

"Hi." — "What's the mission."

"Yuji, close the windows. There's a real cold draft. Weird."

"But there's none open…"

Ignoring yuji, her teacher continued cheerfully, throwing a file onto the table, "I come bearing gifts!"

Nobara's head thumped against her arm. Goodbye, skin care routine. Goodbye, a good night's sleep. Goodbye, peace.

8th of May; 23:42. — you.

Megumi's leg was touching yours.

The problem with being four people in a short limousine was that there were two single seats that both Nobara and Yuji were quick to claim. In fact, as you all were walking down to the awaiting car on the main street, both of your classmates started accelerating until they were speed walking at a very conspicuous pace. Megumi huffed to himself, a deep annoyed sigh, a few steps behind you but you didn't think much of it until Iwata opened the door for you both and an innocent Yuji was looking back from the front row seats.

The boy's pink-haired head immediately whirled forward when he caught your eye, but it wasn't quick enough for you to have missed the slightly guilty expression painted all over his features. Your eyebrows wandered even higher up when your periphery registered movement between the seats, Nobara's well-manicured fingers slightly pinching Yuji's thigh.

Her lips mouthed something towards him, quick, messy enough that you couldn't catch it but apparently that was enough for Yuji because his brows furrowed and he nodded, resigned, accepting his part in whatever scheme she was coming up with.

"Move," Megumi grunted from behind you when you took to long to enter, and pushed himself past you into the car.

"Don't strain yourself with all that politeness, Fushiguro," you bit out.

It was a cruel joke, looking inside the vehicle and finding that the only seat you could possibly take was right next to Megumi's right. Well, it would have been Megumi's left if you had entered the car first, but at least it would have been at your choosing which side you'd rather occupy.

Not your mission, you reminded yourself with a press of your lips, before sliding into your seat and allowed Iwata to shut your door close so he could drive you all to the mission site.

That had been eighteen minutes ago, and Megumi's leg was touching yours for the past thirteen of those. Megumi who had stubbornly stared out the window, who kept his body to himself, tense, with his arms crossed, until his head lolled forward slightly and his body relaxed slowly.

It was funny how open to an attack he was in that position, the back of his neck exposed as his chin softly bumped against his chest. If the Kyoto elders had tasked you to get rid of the Zen'in brat with the Ten Shadows Technique, you could have done so easily in that moment: taken a hold of the dagger you kept with you and aimed for his carotid, then dragged it up to his internal jugular. He would've been dead before he could have even had the chance to wake up again.

They didn't ask that of you, though, so you sat in this car with Yuji's and Nobara's whispers in front of you, and Megumi's leg that touched yours.

9th of May; 01:18. — you.

"This place smells like whatever's festering in those idiots' laundry pile."

Nobara wasn't exaggerating.

The stench of stagnant water reeked of bacteria finding a welcoming home; flowers that had been standing in their dirty water for weeks, a sickly sweet under note. It reminded you of buried corpses beneath wet earth, rotten.

The entrance to the underpass stretched out before you, half-drowned in shadow as murky floodwater trickled out steadily. Despite the sloshing of water reaching your ears faintly, there were no other sounds to indicate there was something nesting inside there: no breeze of wind, no metal creaking, no movement through the water.

There had been residual cursed energy picked up from the last site that the curse was lingering around, though it was difficult for to scouts who were monitoring the area to pick up the exact location. The curse was constantly moving, apparently extremely territorial and, most importantly, smart enough to avoid detection until now.

"What are you doing?"

You turned slightly to observe Yuji bending down, untying his boots, "I didn't know the water was going to be that deep!! I'm wearing my cool socks, so — " he rolled his socks into a little ball, stuffed it into his pocket before slipping into his shoes, sock-less, " — problem solved."

"Ugh, yikes."

"We should split up as we discussed," Megumi spoke up, his voice scratchy from when he woke up from his slumber earlier.

When the car came to a halt and the overhead light turned on, his body had stilled as his eyelashes fluttered lightly, opening, coming to his senses with a blink. He was quiet, when awaking. But Megumi, when left to his devices, was always very quiet, even more so in the recent weeks. His jaw slightly moved when he released the tension held within his teeth and his chest moved with a deep breath, shoulders staying relaxed momentarily before they stiffened when he felt your gaze on his face.

He had looked at you, something raw in his eyes, and you looked back. For a second there was nothing between you both other than just space that existed, then his knee had pulled away and you had turned and gotten out of the car.

"Sweep it from both ends. One team at the north entrance, and one from the spillway," Megumi continued. "At least this way we can cut off one route if it decides to lead us through a chase."

As you were approaching the mission site earlier, Yuji had asked about the distribution of teammates, and a quiet Iwata had spoken up. His voice was soft, hesitant like he was scared to unleash a storm with what he was about to announce. Apparently, Gojo had made it clear to the assistant manager to convey his explicit desire to have you and Megumi paired up.

You hadn't bothered to either act or be surprised about that development, taking the 'news' with as neutral a face as you could manage. Obviously, you would have preferred to share the name of teammates with Yuji instead, but after the encounter with Gojo, you weren't surprised that you were to be kept away from the pink-haired student that had the Kyoto elders in an uproar. It didn't matter that nothing in your secret mission had mentioned any bodily harm to Yuji, nevermind the fact that you didn't want to hurt him, but if it were you in anyone else's shoes, you would have kept yourself far from him, too.

The lack of trust didn't hurt you, for it made sense and you weren't sure you trusted Gojo Satoru and his little games entirely, either. It was a give and take, so nothing you could do about it.

What captured your attention instead was the fact that Megumi's face hadn't moved at the announcement, either. Where there would have been a palpable exasperation at sharing his presence with you, a frustrated grimace, a twist of lips, he just quietly accepted it now. It had you narrowing your eyes, a thoughtful curl of your mouth that you couldn't hold back.

His lack of ill-will was off-putting; the oppressive quiet he had layered over himself over the past weeks slowly, bit by bit, one that suffocated the usual reticence he carried with him. it wasn't like you knew too much about his private life, so you couldn't pin point what exactly had happened that had Megumi hide behind the biggest mask of indifference you had ever seen, and—

Not your mission.

There was fire licking at your fingertips, urging your tongue to loosen up to coax it out of him, because you knew there was something contained behind the seams, trying to burst. You knew because you felt the same way. Because there was something brewing in your chest that wanted out, because Kyoto made it clear not to intervene with anything and not to care. Because Megumi was not your business.

You're not going to stop me?

I already did.

You exhaled harshly.

The sound echoed off the walls of the underpass, seemingly stretching endlessly in front of you. Your shoes were wet and you were glad that the water hadn't seeped through them to dampen your socks — yet. If you had to walk any longer in the rising water level, they would become so sooner or later. The water rippled around your shins faintly, lit dully by the weak glow of your flashlights. Moss climbed up the walls in green veins and every few paces the rusted husk of a bicycle or the tip of a traffic cone broke through the surface.

Megumi was wading through the water as well, next to you, his eyes observing the tunnel walls like they might peel open and serve the curse on a silver platter, a stern line on his mouth. The silence stretched thin — taut with the weird change between you both. He hadn't spoken a word since you entered, and it didn't bother you, you told yourself.

Except there were comments that burned on your tongue, so you did the sensible thing and swallowed them down with the same-old mantra you had adopted ever since you found the talisman on your bed.

Ignoring the fact that ever since Gojo had found you sniffing around, you hadn't actively went to search for any new information, either.

9th of May; 02:03. — itadori yuji.

"If this thing doesn't show soon, I'm gonna curse it for wasting my time when I could be getting beauty sleep," Nobara's boots splashed as she moved on ahead, her hammer kept low.

Rip her mouth to shreds. She talks more than you whine around, brat.

Itadori Yuji flinched just a little, shoulders tensing instinctively at the voice that coiled through his mind like rot given form. Sukuna's tone was laced with dark amusement, sharp and sleazy, sliding into the quiet of Yuji's mind like a knife. His voice carried the weight of ages — dry, scornful, each syllable curled with contempt.

He tried not to show it. He was getting better at hiding when Sukuna slithered in, but it still left that familiar feeling in his chest, like he'd swallowed nails. But Yuji also knew that Sukuna loved to get the best of him, so his best bet had always been to not give the King of Curses the satisfaction of a response.

He trudged through the water beside Nobara, arms slightly raised like the water might leap up and bite, "It's not so bad. You think curses can swim?"

"Shut up before you jinx us," she muttered.

Yuji glanced at nobara, trying to gauge her mood. She was always so confident, so brash, but tonight there was something different about her. A tension in her shoulders, a tightness in her jaw. It wasn't just her missing her beauty sleep, it wasn't just the mission. She was annoyed, sure — that was kind of her default — but… more than that.

He couldn't really blame her because Yuji felt weird most of the time, too.

He knew that not everyone shared the same line that he drew in the sand.

He hated it. Hated the feeling of watching his friend hurting over something he understood very well, of the sting of pain that stayed lodged deep beneath his ribs, creeping into dreams and daylight alike. Yuji had lived it, Megumi had lived it, Nobara had, they were still living it; the same wound that wouldn't stop bleeding because it never got any time to heal.

Yuji knew that Megumi would throw himself into danger if it meant somebody could be saved — it was why he appreciated and trusted Megumi after all this time so deeply.

But you?

If he had to say, he wasn't quite sure where to put you on his scale. He didn't think that you both were strictly in the category of friends, but he also didn't think that you weren't. If worse came to worst, he would protect you as he would with any other of his teammates, the same way he would with any given human, but he wasn't sure whether he enjoyed your presence, not when he saw how biting your words could be.

Yuji generally was a forgiving person, straight forward, optimistic even, but then sometimes you fixed him with this look of yours as if you knew more about him than he'd like you to and—

He shook his head.

That wasn't the point. The point was that he had seen enough of you to understand that you weren't heartless, not in the strictest sense, that you did what the mission called for, that he saw you doing what other sorcerers were doing, and Yuji understood that.

It scared him, not because he thought it was cruel, which he had trouble figuring out if it even was, but because he knew that he had been shown over and over how the Jujutsu world worked. How easy it was for the mission to swallow everything else; that maybe, one day, doing the right thing by the rules would mean stepping over someone begging for help.

He wondered if, eventually, he'd have to become like that, too.

Yuji rubbed his chest; a self-soothing technique he only really started to use ever since his grandfather died, ever since he had swallowed Sukuna's finger and there was a presence within his body fighting his cells for power.

He didn't want to get used to death.

Such sentiment, truly. You weep over things already gone, how tedious.

Yuji's jaw tightened, but Sukuna kept going; his voice silken, venomous.

All this morality talk. You still speak of saving everyone, how quaint. How boring. This is not a tale of heroes, boy, it's a reckoning. In time, you'll grow accustomed to it. They all do. And when your bleeding heart betrays you, I shall be there.

He swallowed down the clawing urge to scream. To sleep. To disappear. Then, with a squeeze of his eyes, short, forceful, he re-focused on Nobara grumbling through the water, the faint sloshing echoing through the tunnel, the feeling of cold surrounding his legs and asked, "You think Fushiguro and her are doing okay?"

"They better have more going for them than we do, ugh, my poor shoes. I'm so going to have Gojo buy me a replica. Maybe even two, he knows I hate mouldy tunnels."

Fool.

9th of May; 02:21. — fushiguro megumi.

Megumi refused to be surprised anymore.

It had been Gojo's idea. Of course it had. Who else would think it brilliant to shove two people who could barely tolerate each other into a death trap as a form of 'team building'? He could almost imagine his teacher's laugh — the disgustingly cheerful, insufferable sound that was somehow still able to be genuine in its amusement.

Megumi didn't feel like laughing. He hadn't wanted the assignment to turn out this way. Not with you. Not when he had tried, again and again, to avoid being in your presence more than necessary. But this was necessary, so he clamped down the buzzing feeling crawling on his skin to focus.

When Gojo had given them all the file with the information gathered so far, Megumi had fingered the paper, eyes scanning over the information — sensor readings, half-legible scout notes, maps — only to turn the page and stop. There they were: blurry, cruel pictures staring back at him of the confirmed causalities. Faces frozen mid-expression.

Something had twisted in his chest at the faces, gripped his heart in an iron fist. It wasn't guilt, not exactly. Not yet. But something closer to pressure, sharp and unwelcome in the way it prodded his ribs from within.

"The curse's not consistent. Weren't sorcerers or anything special — locals, mostly," Gojo had said offhandedly, almost flippant. His voice didn't betray anything of what he thought of Megumi's question, "A maintenance worker. Two kids cutting through the underpass to skip school."

Simple facts, lives on paper, reduced to what they weren't.

He had felt the words lodge in his spine. This time, he wasn't going to freeze, wasn't going to falter, to hold back just because something inside him still bucked against the uglier parts of being a sorcerer. This time he couldn't be selective.

He was not going to run away.

Because if he hesitated—

No.

He didn't need to think about what-ifs, because there were going to be none. Because there was going to be no second-guessing, no moral hesitation, no wondering if he had made the right call, no thinking of you—

He bit his tongue.

Megumi's eyes flicked sideways toward you, just slightly, almost involuntarily. His eyebrows furrowed deeply. He hated how your presence was a quiet pulse at the edge of his focus like an itch that he couldn't ignore. He disliked that he didn't know why he found you so unfamiliar, why the air between you both kept feeling like spilled gasoline, invisible and waiting for a spark

You didn't speak, didn't look at him, and yet somehow it felt like you were doing both, like you were aware of everything he thought and felt, like he was being watched, measured, known in a way that he didn't want to understand—

He shifted his gaze forward again.

Not now.

The water was deeper now than when they first entered the north side of the tunnel, cold, heavy, like it wanted to slow him down. Instead of ripples, the water moved steadily with each movement, and he had to hold up the lantern a bit higher so it wouldn't be swallowed up, the dull glow barely pushing the shadows back.

Up ahead —

He squinted.

This was an underpass; there was only one way to go, it should have been a straight line. Yet right in front of him, there were dozens of access tunnels branching in and out, narrow, curling like roots in the dark. The architecture shouldn't be possible, yet…

He paused, and when the lantern was held out to you, you reached for it without a word, hand brushing against his own.

It was only a single moment, the brush of skin only that: a brush, yet it burned.

Tensing, he snapped his hand back, fingers poised and intertwined in each other, ready to summon his Divine Dogs at a moment's notice. The cursed energy coiled tight between his hands and the flash of heat through his chest.

9th of May; 02:38. — kugisaki nobara.

Miserable and damp, Nobara's boots splashed through the water that had no business climbing up her legs, dunking her flesh in the slimy substance she actually wasn't entirely sure was even water to begin with.

"Smells absolutely rancid," she muttered to Yuji, her nose curling, "Almost like—"

"My socks? Jokes on you, I'm not even wearing them," he grinned, bright and dumb as always, but even Nobara could see the sharpness underneath the smile, the vigilant squinting of his eyes against the darkness, "Think it's hiding?"

Obviously, she thought. Not long, and she would completely master Maki-senpai's eye roll.

"Yeah," Nobara scanned the ripples a few metres away, the suspicious feeling in the air intensifying. She was pretty decent at recognising the enemy's game plan, she'd say. She had to if she wanted to survive amongst all the backstabbing people in her old town. If she wanted to navigate through the lying, the lashing out, the manipulation she saw Saori enduring, "The water's deep, so it could be anywhere but..."

When the water stilled again, her muscles tightened, and she raised her hammer slightly. Nobara didn't like that the water was quiet, because quiet meant somebody was thinking, and thinking meant there was a trap ahead.

There were two things Kugisaki Nobara hated: inappropriate use of leopard prints and backhanded manoeuvres.

"…my feeling's telling me that…it's..right…"

A point with her hammer at the minuscule waves, "…there."

"Did you—"

Before Yuji could finish, there was a dark grumble interrupting him, deep and disgusting. A breath later and the curse burst out from beneath the water, twisting like a living shadow, fast, massive and so goddamn ugly. It was big, its head almost reaching the roof of the underpass, a tail smashing against the walls as tendrils, oily and slimy lashed out wildly.

Nobara's waist started to feel cold, and when she dared to catch a look down, there was water surrounding her. It hadn't been so high earlier, she noted, alarmed, "Yuji—"

"Shit—!" Yuji barely dodged the first strike of a tendril, thick as a tree's trunk, the water splashing violently as it crashed beside him. Make that three pairs, Nobara thought, when the oil splattered on her. This wasn't going to get washed out, no matter what, and honestly, she wasn't even sure if she wanted to try and clean it.

Her hammer was fully up in a blink, energy pulsing through her arms like fire, "I'm going to teach this ugly fuck a lesson."

She didn't have to look towards Yuji to find a determined grin on his face, "Count me in."

Yuji darted forward, quick and clean despite the water sloshing at his waist. His fists were already poised and up, eyes locked on the twisted silhouette ahead. Nobara hung back; not out of fear or reluctance, because contrary to popular belief (Megumi and Yuji), she would get dirty to get the job done, but because she'd rather watch the movements of the curse and aid the exorcism through ranged combat. Also, because there was no way in hell that she could be as fast in this water as Yuji.

A tendril cracked through the air, slicing down in a high arc. Her teammate twisted away just in time, water exploding around him as his fist connected with the creature's head. It screeched, high and guttural, the stench of rot rolling over them like a wave. Then it vanished, slipping beneath the surface with a splash.

“Crap,” Yuji muttered, eyes scanning the water. "It’s in the water. We're not gonna catch it like that."

He backed off, mumbling something that might've been a joke. Not that Nobara thought it would've been funny if she had been able to catch it. Her hand was already in motions, pulling nails from her pouch in a fluid sweep. With a flick of her wrist, she launched them: sharp darts of silver, one, two, three, humming with cursed energy.

A muffled shriek followed as the nails found flesh. Oil rose, swirling on the surface, then it burst from below with his ugly sharp teeth, sinews that hung loose and all the rage lunging at her.

"Not today, freak," Nobara snapped.

She held her ground until the last possible second, then side stepped, her hammer swinging upward to catch the curse across the shoulder. It connected with a thunder-like crack, and the curse reeled — right into Yuji's awaiting first. One hit. Two. The third sent it staggering back.

Then came the tail. A blur of muscle, whipping with brutal force.

It slammed into Yuji's gut with a wet, bone-jarring thud. He grunted, forced back a step, his boots skidding through the water, but didn't go down.

Seriously, what were his legs made of? Reinforced concrete?

9th of May; 02:40. — you.

"You heard that?"

Megumi nodded, his eyes fixed on the walls ahead. His entire body had gone taut, every muscle alert, like a blade drawn but not yet swung. A screech had cut through the air, faint and distorted by stone and water, but unmistakably the curse. Which meant either Nobara and Yuji had found the curse or the curse had found them.

There was a low hum of cursed energy in the air, but it was weak. Too weak to confirm the exact source just yet, barely enough to really catch it, but still, not faint enough to ignore. It didn't mean it wasn't dangerous.

The dampness began to creep into your bones, deeper now, soaking through your clothes and sliding icy fingers across your skin. Every slow gust from the tunnel behind felt like a breath on your neck, caressing your spine with a kiss and you suppressed a shiver.

You had chosen the far most right tunnel, because it was the easiest to retrace should anything go wrong. That had been the plan: don't get lost, don't get flanked, stay alert, focus, exorcise the curse.

But as you and Megumi pushed forward, the narrow passage began to widen, the ceiling opening up, revealing more waterlogged space. Holding up the lantern, the light shone faintly, shadows receding slowly.

Then—

A faint, irregular movement.

Just off to the side, slumped against the wall where a mound of debris had collapsed, was a figure. He was half submerged, water up to his shoulders, and trembling violently. His soaked clothes clung to him, ragged, probably weighing him down more. Almost like a ghost, his pale skin shone in the dim light as he shuddered; looking like he was barely tethered to the physical world.

He wasn't dead, though. Not yet.

The old man's face lifted slowly when he heard you, eyes wide, bloodshot, water droplets hanging from his messy beard. His lips parted, cracked and raw. How long had he been down there?

Megumi slowed, and the water shifted with his arm, like he was gripping his weapon, ready to draw, and when you turned slightly, the light of the lantern between you, he glanced at you for a fraction of a second.

There was an unreadable look on his face, like carved from stone, every line harsh, neutral, focused. But you didn't search his face, you searched his eyes underneath the dark hair, underneath the mask he put in place so tightly, and they always betrayed him, flickering with something fierce and momentary. A whirlwind of emotion he swallowed down with a bobbing of his Adam's apple, not clear whether they wanted to soften or harden.

9th of May; 02:52.— itadori yuji.

Another round of nails fired, and Yuji knew that even though the water wasn't clear, he could trust Nobara to do a good job surrounding the curse.

He was already moving when she slammed her hammer down on the final embedded nail, her cursed energy surging in a flash: a chain reaction snapping from point to point. The ground trembled with how fast it spread, and the explosion lit up the creature's side.

A shriek, a buckle from the curse.

A fist, elbow, knee from Yuji.

The rhythm of his strikes was relentless. Each one hammering the curse deeper into disarray, but when he made to surge through the water, raw knuckles ready to deliver another blow—

A splash of water, mud splattering on his face, and some landed on his panting mouth, the taste pungent and dirty. He couldn't keep the grimace from spreading on his face.

The surface calmed instantly, still, eerie in how quiet it became. Too quiet.

"Where the hell—"

"Shit," Yuji wiped his wet face, breathing hard, lungs ragged. His body was coiled like a spring ready to release, tight, "This thing doesn't stay down for long."

But there was only tense silence, the only sound interrupting was the soft splashing of water beneath their feet.

Nobara's eyes scanned the water, "Wait…"

His muscles tensed at her alarmed voice, "What? What is it?"

She didn't answer at first, her eyes shifting back to the water, expression sharpening. Then, with sudden certainty: "It's not coming back up. It's gone, not just hiding, gone."

Before he could respond, there was a low, echoing splash resounding in the distance. It sounded deep and wrong, and a tremor rippled through the water, legs vibrating, concrete humming underneath their wet boots.

Yuji's head snapped toward the noise. "North entrance. Megumi."

He was already running, water flying with each step. The air felt thicker, charged with the sense of urgency. The pounding of his heart kept time with the splashing of his feet.

He was not going to leave you both to your own devices, not if he could help it, not if he could still breathe, not if he still had blood pumping through his body.

Run, brat. Let's see how far those legs get you.

Yuji didn't flinch. He just pushed through the water harder.

9th of May; 02:53. — you.

One of Megumi's shadow beasts barked. Sharp, low, a warning cry that cut through the heavy silence.

Megumi's attention snapped to the darkness ahead. his stance shifted, spine straightening, sword already angled forward. the tension in his frame was immediate, palpable, his expression hard.

The old man behind them coughed out a garbled string of words, stuttering, his voice raspy and dry, like it hadn't been used in ages. But whatever he was trying to say drowned beneath the sudden shift in the air, heavy, suffocating, thick with cursed energy.

The ground trembled underfoot, a chilling surge of cursed energy spreading across the water.

"Get back," Megumi commanded, low and clear.

Then it came.

Emerging from the depths was a hulking mass of shadow and writhing limbs that twisted the laws of motion. The curse moved like a fluid wrapped in wrinkly skin, oozing cursed energy with each movement; its eyes were pits of malice, gleaming in the lantern light with unnatural hunger. The nasty smell rolled over you like poisonous gas, subtle, clogging your nose.

Megumi's dog lunged forward with a snarl, water splashing around its paws, saliva dripping from his bared canines.

You raised your weapon, but the sudden influx of oil made your grip slip — just for a second. It was enough to remind you how bad it could go. You hadn't expected it to be a walk in the park, of course, but you had hoped it would be at least a bit simpler. This though? This was difficult.

Then it roared. It was a low, bone deep sound that shook your chest, vibrated through the water and clung to your legs. And before you could blink —

It was fast. Faster than expected. Faster than you could dodge.

You registered the impact on your ribs from the tendril lashing out, before you skidded back from the force. Pain bloomed on your skin, a deep ache, and you thought you couldn't get any air even when you breathed. Gasping, you spluttered out water from where you fell back, face momentarily dunked in the liquid, "Fushiguro!"

There was another swipe of a tendril, and it dragged over the entire terrain, coming at you with shocking speed. Ducking under the water again just in time, you felt it catch some of your hair. Your lungs complaining, screaming for air when you couldn't get your diaphragm back into its rhythm from the strike before, you broke the surface again, in time to see the tendril catch the old man full in the chest. He wailed once, a broken, high sound, before the curse yanked him across the tunnel like he weighed nothing, like he was a rag doll to be thrown around.

You grunted, voice raw from the salt water as you moved forward, intent on cutting down the curse, but even as you charged, a shadowy tentacle shot from the creature's body, aiming directly for you, snapping through the air —

It never hit.

Megumi's blade was fast, cutting through the curse's arm mid-strike, slicing the shadowed limb clean in two. Black ichor splattered on the water, sizzling where it landed.

The curse shrieked, and in that brief moment of distraction, it let go of the man, retreating back into the shadows of the water once again, moving like liquid, too fast to keep up with.

The old man struggled to stay afloat, finding a log of discarded metal, rusted and probably carrying all the bacteria for the wound on the guy's forehead. Yet, he still clung to it with all his might, body trembling in fear, eyes wide in terror. You were sure he was only awake because adrenaline coursed through his veins like a drug, with primal fear at something he couldn't comprehend.

Megumi’s gaze didn’t waver from where it tried to track the curse; he stared at the water, sword angled low, a predator stillness to him. And for a moment, in the gleam of his eye, there was something unspoken.

Like a warning, like a challenge, like a promise.

9th of May; 02:56. — itadori yuji.

"It was already halfway gone before you punched it, Yuji, how about using your brain sometime to grab it or something."

"How am I supposed to see it coming? It's like swimming with a torpedo. A creepy, soggy torpedo."

"Whatever. When we're done, you're gonna carry me to the car. I'm way too tired."

"Do I even get a say?"

"No."

9th of May; 03:01. — fushiguro megumi.

The water exploded.

A monstrous surge of tendrils shot from the depths, writhing toward them with horrifying speed. There was nothing human in the way it moved — its limbs contorted as they stretched unnaturally. It was too long, too thin, but Megumi didn't flinch. It was not too difficult to kill.

There were jagged shapes protruding from some of the tendrils, and its movements blurred at the edges: frantic, fast, making it hard to follow with the naked eye. But he didn't need to. His shikigami tracked cursed energy like breath in the dark, flaring with each incoming strike. It always alerted him when the cursed energy levels changed, so he could trust his shadows, but you—

Megumi clicked his tongue.

You were already moving towards the curse, cursed tool in hand, dark energy radiating off it where you had imbued the blade. Despite having been flung through the air, your movements were still swift, graceful, but god, you had no patience. He swallowed down the bite rising in his throat, the urge to tell you to wait so that you could coordinate, to strike smarter.

The curse recoiled at your blow, but it wasn't retreating yet, just gathering momentum.

The water churned violently around its body, as though the curse itself was dragging the entire underpass toward it. Its mouth opened wide, teeth flashing as it lunged forward, but Megumi, who anticipated it — seeing as how he seemed to be the only one who tried to hatch out a game plan — was quicker once more.

His eyes narrowed and with a practised signal of his hands, his Great Serpent moved through the water like it was his second home, converging on the curse, coiling around its limbs and biting down hard. The curse snarled and writhed under the pressure, just enough to expose a weakness, enough to give you an opening.

"Now!" he pressed between gritted teeth, his voice carrying the urgency, snapping.

You both moved; your blade arced towards the curse's core, and Megumi stepped in to flank, but the curse twisted, unnaturally pliable. With a sudden, sickening twist, it tore itself free from Great Serpent's jaw, spraying deep purple blood across the concreted walls. The thing's body seemed to fold in on itself, reshaping as if wanting to escape the grasp of Megumi.

"Dammit!"

He didn't stop. Couldn't stop, pushing forward, determined to keep it boxed in, to keep it in check, to not allow it any time to recover, but the curse was relentless. It was like fighting an ocean of flesh, always shifting, always evading.

Your eyes never left the curse either as you tried to slash with your blade again, aiming for what seemed to be its neck, but the curse writhed, dodging; its inhuman agility almost more terrifying than its strength.

"Great Ser—"

Pain.

A sharp, burning stab to his side.

Megumi exhaled harshly, stumbling back a half-step. One of the curse's long, jagged limbs had found its mark, cutting deep. For a moment, his focus wavered. Blood dripped into the water, mixing into the water easily. Refusing to flinch, his hand instinctively clutched the wound, warmth spilling between his fingers. He couldn't drop his sword, he wouldn't— burning, it burned, right in his side. It burned.

"Megumi!"

Your voice broke through his haze, and he shook his head, once, hard, eyes squeezed together to rid himself of the feeling of pain, forcing it back, forcing focus. He snapped back to attention just in time to see the curse pivot and reach for him again.

Your cursed blade cut through the air, movements clean and fluid, synchronised with his own as if you had fought together for years, not just a couple months. Megumi's chest squeezed painfully as it hit him: not the pain, not the fight, but the weight in his chest, the strange sense of familiarity settling inside the cavity despite the tension.

"This thing is relentless," he groaned, voice tight with concentration, one hand coming up to wipe the blood daring to trickle down to his eye.

You nodded, readying yourself, but just as you were about to, the curse twisted violently, its body flailing in a desperate attempt to escape. Its tail lashed out as it caught the old man with brutal force, flinging him into deep the deep, murky water with a loud splash.

Megumi's shikigami was quick to snap back onto the curse, pinning it. It screamed, thrashed, and for a brief, fleeting moment, it was momentarily incapacitated, vulnerable.

They could end it. Now.

But the homeless man did not resurface.

And the curse was vulnerable enough to finish off.

His heart thudded once, hard and painful. Something tugged in his chest, tugged in his head. He had the chance to save the man, but—

No running, no hesitating. He felt it again: the pull. The he weight of his role pressing down on him, his duty to destroy curses, pulled at him with an iron grip. He couldn't flinch, he was a sorcerer, a weapon, that was what he was. And yet—

Before he registered what he was doing, his head had already whipped out to you and he met your eyes.

He didn't mean to look for you. He didn't know why he did, he didn't even want to. But here you were, already looking at him, meeting his gaze head on. There was no judgement in your eyes, not yet, but something else.

He hated that you were already looking at him. Hated that he felt like that was a test, hated the part of himself that didn't know which answer was right, hated that he felt observed, naked.

His jaw clenched, "Rush the curse," just as your voice sounded out: "We have time to go save him!"

9th of May; 03:05. — hasegawa masato.

The world around him was a blur of cold water and shadows. His heart, as weak as it was, hammered in his chest as endless dark loomed over him.

Masato's body was numb, though whether it was from fear or the icy water that soaked him to the bone, he didn't know. Terror clawed at his throat, tugged at his clothes, held his head in a vice grip.

He had been close to death before. Sickness when he couldn't afford medication was a vicious thing, hunger when he hadn't had anything to eat in weeks even worse. Sometimes, when a group of people, drunk, came by, they liked to make him dance for some money. Sometimes he would. If it meant he'd get some food, he sometimes swallowed his pride and went ahead with it.

But this? He had never been close to death like this.

That creature was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Grotesque, weird, unreal. Masato couldn't believe it was real, not when it looked like the stuff from nightmares, not when he thought he was going to piss himself.

When it had swung him around, he was paralysed under the weight of the monster's presence. The air thick with fear, the water having pushed him away from the safety of clinging to the metal piece; the scent of decay heavy on his tongue, his rasping breath barely able to satisfy his brain with enough oxygen.

Overwhelming helplessness consumed him as his limbs struggled against the water. They were like lead, the fear creeping deeper with every second. Oh god, he was going to die here, in this filthy underpass, alone. He was going to die alone with nowhere to run, no breath to take.

Was this how it was going to end? Was Masato going to die without having seen his daughter again? Without being able to tell her how sorry he was? That he wished he could hold her again, the way she was as a baby, a tiny thing that barely reached the entirety palm of his hand.

Masato had hoisted her up against his naked skin, her tiny little face nuzzled against his flesh, seeking his warmth. Then he had cried, mourning the lifeless body of his wife on the bed next to them, her legs spread and bloody, and his tears had caressed his daughter's skin.

Oh, how he wished he could tell her sorry, that he wished he could have given her a better life, that he didn't have to succumb to the deep abyss of all the feelings he didn't know what to do with after the loss of the light of his life.

He might have cried had his chest not been in so much panic that he kept trying to take a breath. It was a sheer miracle that he didn't, that he knew to press his hand against his mouth, trying to keep the precious little air he had left within his lungs.

Then—

Sharp pain at the back of his head. Everything blurred; his sight darkening slowly, warmth.

I'm sorry, Himari-chan.

9th of May; 03:07. — kugisaki nobara.

A faint bark sounded out, echoing through the tunnel.

"Dog's out, oh, what a good boy."

"He's so gonna get all the beef jerky he wants."

9th of May; 03:06. — you.

Your lungs burned, the world around you a blur of shadows and waves. The sounds of the curse seemed so far away, like there was cotton in your ear.

There. Just…a little…bit more.

Cold, slimy, your fingers slipped off the material once, twice, then, you gripped it harder. Tugged. Found it good enough, and then pulled as you struggled to haul the old man toward safety.

9th of May; 03:09. — itadori yuji.

Water sprayed as Itadori Yuji and Kugisaki Nobara exploded into the fray, his arrival marked by the sound of his footfalls pounding through a receding flood and the snarl of a curse that sensed another sorcerer enter the fight.

Megumi was already soaked, blood running down one arm in slow, steady rivulets, his expression eerily calm as it was grim — tight-lipped, pale, unshaken, angry. Shadows coiled at his feet, the water lapping up the blood oozing from Megumi like it was thankful for the meal.

The creature towered ahead, slick with oil and reared its grotesque head toward Yuji as he skidded to a stop beside his teammate.

"Took you long enough," Megumi said flatly, not sparing him a glance.

Yuji flashed a breathless grin, panting, "You look like shit."

"Then focus and stop wasting time."

Yuji's heart thumped in his ears, pounding like war drums, gaze trained on the curse and the way it twisted, the way it lunged forward, a mess of teeth and water, the movement causing a wave to crash against the tunnel walls. Without hesitation, Yuji ducked low under the strike, pivoted, his fist cocked back and ready to go.

He landed the first hit; clean and solid, pissed off, because fuck, Megumi was hurt and you were nowhere to be seen. A snap as the force rattled the curse's jaw back, howling in response.

Yuji ducked under the swing of a tentacle, and faintly, he heard a deep inhale, a pressured tension in Megumi's voice: "Max Elephant."

Water erupted as the enormous shikigami materialised, crashing down with enough weight onto the curse to shake the tunnel, its trunk hammering down like a wrecking ball, forcing the curse to rear back and expose its side for half a heartbeat.

Yuji darted around the curse, "Now!"

Nails flying through the air, hitting their mark from where Nobara stood at the head of the tunnel.

Megumi didn't hesitate either. With one swift motion, he snapped his hands together and called forth his Divine Dogs again, and they burst forward with fangs bared, eyes gleaming, latching onto the curse with force, ripping it apart. It shrieked and thrashed, momentarily locked in place as Yuji came from the other side, launching upward with an uppercut laced with cursed energy, coiled around his fist like a storm.

A rattling cry, a shriek then—

Purple, oily blood and cursed energy splashed outward like a shock wave and dissolved into vapour almost immediately. The pressure collapsed inward with a sickening pop, the oppressive air in the tunnel lifting like a vacuum sealed bag that gasped for breath.

And silence fell.

Max Elephant vanished with a spray of mist, and the Divine Dogs flickered out of existence, too, their shadows melting into the water. In the sudden stillness, the tunnel felt eerily quiet; water lapping gently against Yuji's legs like nothing had happened at all.

He staggered back, soaked, gasping. "Dude," he panted. "I'm done. I don't know what the hell that thing was but I'm calling it. No more sewer monsters. Ever."

No answer.

Yuji looked up and something in his blood sung, telling him to freeze. The water couldn't possibly become colder, except it did. There was a darkening to Megumi's face, something carved sharp. The kind of scary quiet that came before something snapped. His face was drained of colour, his gaze fixed somewhere past Yuji, unreadable, but his whole body was tense, a string pulled too tight.

For a heartbeat, yuji could swear he wasn't looking at a friend, which was stupid, because Megumi had always been Megumi, always good, old, reliable Megumi. Except that Megumi looked like he was two seconds away from turning into something else.

Yuji winced and tried to change the topic, "Soo…where's—"

Nevermind. He was not going to ask, not when Megumi looked at him then, and all the quiet, buried fury suddenly directed right on Yuji. He didn't wait for an answer, because behind him — a sharp splutter, a frantic gasp for air. He whirled around before his brain caught up, legs already moving toward the sound.

That expression — looks just how I like it.

9th of May; 03:11. — you.

Yuji was there in an instant.

He dropped to a crouch beside you, hands already curling underneath the old man's armpits to pull him up. His hair was ruffled like he had been going through it, and the look in his eyes was worried. Worried beyond just about the civilian man in your arms, worried like there was more weighing on him.

"Got him?" he asked, his otherwise cheerful voice tight.

"He's breathing. Took a hit to the head, though, so might have a concussion."

He nodded and gently pulled the man the rest of the way out of the water. Now that the curse was gone, the water was slowly receding, revealing more and more of the underpass, and becoming less and less like a maze.

You exhaled, warm air escaping you, blown out into the cold.

The skin of your neck prickled like the edge of a blade was pressed against your flesh — it wasn't the kind of shiver that came from cold water trickling down your wet hair. It was something tighter, and you didn't need to turn around to know who was staring.

Megumi, of course. It was always him when the silence felt like judgement.

The weight of his gaze sat between your shoulder blades like a hand pressed flat against your spine. He wasn't just looking; he was blaming.

So much for keeping low key, for staying professional, getting the job done and walking away. You could feel the air heat up, funnily enough, a kettle that was boiling and ready to whistle.

You refused to look at him, because if you did, you'd explode. Because if you looked at him and he dared to look upset with you, you were going to snap. If there was even a flicker of annoyance, of those stupid eyebrows drawing together and that stupid grimace on his mouth, you were going to kill him.

"Don't you look at me like that."

Megumi's steps were slow, deliberate, his boots sloshing through shin-deep water as he closed the space between you.

"Like what," his voice was low, rough, weird. Too calm.

He came to a stop just beside you, his chest brushing your shoulder, close enough that the warmth of his body clashed with the dampness of your clothes still seeping into your skin. Yet still, you refused to look, even though he was invading your space on purpose, even though you could see his hands balled into fists so tightly that the knuckles had gone bone-white, one still slicked in drying blood.

You spat, "What in the hell is wrong with you?"

The nail of his thumb dug into his pointer, "Me? What about you? You abandoned shit again right when I thought you knew what the hell you were doing."

You knew what you said.

That you wouldn't look at him. That you refused to give him the satisfaction of trying to stare you down. But well, the day was long and you talked a lot, and he pissed you off. You couldn't help it. You really couldn't, because Megumi had the nerve, because he never stopped.

You whirled around so fast that water flared up around your leg, arm raised and finger jabbing straight at his face, "Oh no, we're not going to start this again, Fushiguro," with the same nasty look on your face mirroring his. He didn't flinch. if anything, he stepped even closer, jaw tightening, ground teeth against teeth and his hand, long bloodied, trembling fingers, came to grip your wrist. Not enough to hurt, but enough for your senses to sharpen and hone on the contact of skin.

"This," his eyes were a dark blue carved out of the same murky water around you, "is what you wanted."

You barked out a laugh, mouth twisted in disbelief. "You think anything's changed? I thought your whole thing was not letting people die. But you — what? Tossed that out just like that? I mean, good on you, honestly. Growth or whatever, little Megumi finally growing balls, but you okay with that now?"

Megumi's anger was subtle, but it was laid out for you like a book to read. You looked at his jaw, cut sharply, and the way it tightened, skin drawn taut. His teeth were bared at your insult, a muscle in his cheek twitching as a droplet of water ran down the curve of his cheekbone.

He was angry at you, and even though you wanted him to be because it meant he let loose of that stupid mask he still kept up, it fired you up just as much. Because in the midst of his dark eyes narrowing, a wild storm in them, you thought that anger looked good on him, that you much preferred this to the silence and the ignorance the past weeks.

There was something bitter on your tongue and you let it sit there like ash when you looked at the way his wet hair hung down his forehead, the blood that was still running down the side of his face, circumventing his eye with a flick of his fingers, "I mean, if you're cool abandoning your values, fine. Be my guest. I just thought you'd learned from last time."

That got him.

Megumi's face shuttered, eyes dimming like a switch had been flipped, the storm cooling to heavy rain. His grip on your wrist didn't loosen; if anything, it became a tad tighter.

"Yeah?" he said, low, voice like ice, "Just like how you flipped on me now?"

"Excuse me?" you jerked your arm free, stepped forward so your chest bumped his, the air between you both hot despite the dampness, "I did what needed to be done. We had an actual opening, Fushiguro. You would've jumped on that weeks ago, now you're suddenly swinging from one extreme to the other?"

Megumi scoffed; a bitter, humourless sound that barely passed for amusement. His jaw flexed as he turned away slightly, and you noticed his other hand curling tightly at his side, "Don't try to sell me that bullshit."

You didn't back down, and this time when he focused his attention on you, his voice dipped lower, register dark and tight, the kind of controlled anger that came from being pushed too far too long, "Funny how 'what needed to be done' always ends up being what you decide. I'm starting to think you don't care about what the rules say, either."

"Yeah?" you snapped, "You got a problem with that?"

Fuck.

You could punish yourself for the way that slipped from your mouth. Because it sounded like an admission, because you knew that he wasn't entirely wrong, either. You always thought yourself to be a pride-less person, hell, you typically were, but not with this look in Megumi's eyes, one that's deeply rooted in proving you wrong.

And you might have chosen the wrong thing to say, but you would fight tooth and nail to prove to him that it didn't immediately absolve him, either.

His hand trembled, barely held back. In the back, you heard Yuji mumble something, but Nobara's voice cut through his, and he fell silent. For a second, you wondered what he said, why Nobara pulled him back when it was so very clear that he wanted to intervene.

Though, truth be told, you didn't know if you wanted him to.

"You judge me for going off-course. For ignoring your precious protocol, now you do the same exact thing and suddenly it's fine. Tell me, why is it okay when you cross the line?"

"It's not the same—"

"Like hell it's not."

Did he not see? Did he not see that whilst his snake was holding the curse, you both actually had a tangible moment of saving somebody who was drowning right in front of you? Was he so focused on suddenly pretending he cared about the regulations now that he threw his entire morals away again?

His eyes burned with something wild. Not rage exactly, maybe disbelief, maybe betrayal somewhere, "That's what you said about me, wasn't it? Not to let my emotions cloud my judgement. So what — now it's different? Because you felt like saving someone?"

Your heart was pounding and your throat scratchy as you memorised his face in your mind, the harsh lines, the curve of his nose, his wet hair, the hard press of his lips. Almost, you wished that Kyoto had told you to kill him, maybe then you'd stop feeling like there was a fire within you that you couldn't put out.

"So why didn't you?" you narrowed your eyes, because you couldn't kill him, after all, because even if you did have that order, you didn't know if you would, "You could've summoned your toad, couldn't you? I know you've got that shikigami. You're perfectly capable of calling out two of those shadows, so what the hell stopped you?"

He inhaled sharply through his nose, and his voice sounded like each word was an effort to not raise his voice, thick with feelings, and it made you go crazy, "You think I didn't consider that? You think I wasn't aware of every option, every second, every goddamn breath we had left while trying to hold that curse in place?"

"Then why didn't you do it?"

"Because I was holding the line," he hissed and his nose brushed yours, "Because you ran off without a plan, because you ignored what I said, again, and I had two choices: drop the curse and go save that man's life or hold it and save all of us, hoping that your pea-brain was going to handle the other side."

"Don't you put this on me—"

"I will put this on you," his breath was heavy and you felt it caress your mouth and your chest tightened, "Because you walk around like you've got it all figured out, preaching about this and that. So quick to tell me I'm wrong for my decisions, but here you are, doing the same damn thing I did."

You stared at him with your chest heaving, repressed shivers making you tremble, betraying you. Because he wasn't wrong and you hated that. Hated how easily he cut through you when it came from him.

"Stop acting like you're above it," Megumi said, quiet now, bitter. Raw in a way he rarely let out. "You're not. And neither am I."

Your pulse was loud in your ears, loud, fast. You couldn't bring yourself to speak — too much crowding your throat.

He watched you for one long moment, then looked away, the tension in his shoulders rigid as he turned and walked off slowly, his hand pressing down on his side.

9th of May; 03:31. — iwata.

Iwata wondered if he would ever get relieved of his duty to chauffeur the kids around. Not that he necessarily minded the act itself; on the contrary, he quite enjoyed the thought that in some way, he was able to contribute to bettering society, of ridding the world from curses.

It was just that whenever he drove the kids anywhere, they came back looking a little more like soldiers, hardened and soiled, and a little less like teenagers.

That part, Iwata hated the most.

He watched them now from the driver's seat, engine idling quietly as rain pattered on the windshield, mixing with the muddy streaks from the tunnel water still clinging to their clothes. The smell of rotten water, blood and burnt cursed energy hit him the second they climbed into the car.

Iwata pretended to be busy, but his eyes searched them for any signs that they lost a little bit of themselves out there.

The pink-haired student, Itadori Yuji, climbed in first, breathing a little hard, wearing the same tired grin he always did — like if he smiled hard enough, none of the bad things would stick, like they would just ricochet off him. He flopped into the far seat and winced, arms limply sprawled across his knees as if it was too much effort to lift them.

Right behind him was Nobara; she looked like she still had some fire left in her, though it was only a glimmer. She muttered a string of curses under her breath, most of them aimed at the curse they had just fought — or maybe the mud in her boots, it wasn't clear to Iwata.

"Whoever sends us into another one of those tunnels," she sighed as she relaxed against the seat, "will have me hexing their entire bloodline."

"That a threat?" Yuji yawned.

"No. A promise."

Iwata didn't comment. Instead, the door in the back opened and Megumi followed in silence, a hand pressed to his side. The blood had mostly clotted, his jacket crumbled up to apply pressure against it, but Iwata saw the way he walked, the stiffness in his joints, the pain he tried to hide. Iwata couldn't do a lot, not until they got back to the school and to Shoko Ieiri. He slid back, elbows on his thighs, eyes locked on the floor like it might answer for something.

Lastly, there was the exchange student, the one he barely knew. Not that he knew the others that well either, but this one was even more of a puzzle to him. So he couldn't read your face, only saw the way it was set in granite, lines hard. You shivered slightly though you hid it well, instead looking out the window, hands clenched in your lap.

Iwata eased the car into drive, pulling away from the tunnel entrance. He had called an ambulance for the old man the kids were carrying out, already having given the first aid that he could. Silence settled over the kids, save for the soft purr of the engine and the patter of the rain.

He caught glances of them in the rear view mirror — Megumi stubbornly clenching and relaxing his hands, your eyelids slowly closing, Nobara picking at dried blood under her nails, Yuji fiddling with a broken zipper on his jacket.

God, they were just kids.

They shouldn't have been worrying about life and death, not making choices that adults twice their age couldn't shoulder without cracking. Should have instead been having fun out there, enjoying their youth, enjoying making memories all kids their age do.

He exhaled quietly, one hand tightening on the steering wheel. He didn't say anything. He never did. But he reached forward and flipped a switch on the car's dashboard to heat the seats for them.

Yuji leaned back a little more, Nobara let out a tired hum of approval, Megumi let his head fall back against the seat finally, his eyes closing and your shoulders loosened slightly.

It wasn't much. But it was something.

11th of May; 07:29. — kugisaki nobara.

"You think they're going to come out of this alive?"

"God, I hope not."

11th of April; 07:30. — gojo satoru.

"Well!" Gojo Satoru announced cheerfully, "Who needs actual curses when the real horror is whatever this — " he waved a hand in the direction of his two students, " — unresolved..bit…thing…is supposed to be. Hm. That sentence got away from me."

Neither Megumi nor you looked at him, and Gojo didn't need them to. He understood their silence perfectly well, after all. One could call him the whisperer of anguished teenagers, if one will. Not that anybody would, but he thought there was a high chance it could be true.

He sighed loudly, exaggerated. "Y'know, I didn't set this training camp up because I love early mornings or physical labour. I set it up because I actually care."

Still no answer. His lips twisted slightly, and he clapped his hands once, loud enough to echo through the wooden beams of the dojo they were occupying, the two kids sitting in front of him on the ground. Megumi stared down at the floor, his posture rigid. Next to him, you had your arms crossed, staring right past Gojo's shoulder at the wall.

"Alright, group meeting, just us three. Megumi, dear exchange student, and your incredibly good-looking, well-adjusted teacher."

That got your eye twitching, at least. Megumi's jaw flexed like he was grinding down a curse by tooth alone. Not quite efficient, but at the very least, he had them react to something. Sigh. Kids were so difficult these days.

"You two are good sorcerers. Really, of course still lots to learn, but good. Smart even, shockingly so actually, considering the choices you've both been making lately."

Megumi exhaled slowly. "We're getting the job done."

"Are you? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you are one outburst away from killing each other."

Then his voice dropped, just enough to remind his students that they were his students after all, "You can hate each other all you want once the job's done. But while you're out there? You work together. You trust each other. Or I pull you both off the field. Permanently."

That definitely got some reactions.

Megumi's head whipped up, a disbelieving, annoyed look on his face, the one Gojo loved to see, and you narrowed your eyes in response, "You can't be serious."

Ah, the poor exchange student by day, spy by night. How interesting it was to watch you scuttle under his attention, knowing the implications his words had on your situation. When he caught you in the restricted section, he had toyed with the idea of sending Kyoto a memento about what he really thought about having a child sicced on him by the higher-ups. A reminder that consisted more of a body part than it did of anything verbal, but he wasn't cruel enough to succumb an innocent person to that kind of torture.

Though, of course, he did think it would have been a good shock for them. And really, what would they have done? What could they accuse him for that he couldn't point right at them?

After all, they had started it.

"Oh, I'm so serious," he sang, the smile still there, but it didn't quite reach his eyes anymore, "This is your mission now: finish this training camp. Together. No sulking. No bickering. Just work. And progress, of course. I know, it's boring. Tough luck."

He stepped forward, clapping a hand on each of their shoulders, his slender fingers pressing in ever so slightly with something akin to encouragement, "So! You've got two choices: succeed…or succeed. Because that's all I'm offering."

Megumi glared at him viciously, like he thought maybe he shouldn't have come under Gojo's patronage. He thought he might have deserved it— nah, who was he kidding.

"Breakfast's in an hour, and if either of you come late, I'm making you sit next to each other and hold hands."

The look of disgust mirrored on both of your faces had him try to suppress a giggle. Oh, he should have done that earlier.

AUTHOR'S NOTE | thank you for reading!!

TAGLIST | @binkibuns @1l-ynn @nscuit @julieannah (tagged you guys because you seemed excited about the first part so i hope i'm not disturbing you with it!!)

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #megumi x you #jjk megumi #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #megumi x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk angst #megumi angst #jelly writes #jelly fic: epithimia

185 notes · View notes

solar-wing · 10 months ago

Text

⚣ Heroes of You and Me 💧

⚣🌊 A/N → The way you people get series and 20k+ fics out of me needs to be studied. How was a request SUPPOSED to be a one-shot, turn into a whole multi-part fic. Maybe I didn't feel like cramming over 20k words into one fic again. (and look how that went). But lemme me tell you something, cause I warned yall how I feel about writing for IRL characters. If Sky's actor who's name I won't specify for fear of his pr team getting a ping from this and showing it to him ever posts a reaction of him reading THIS or ANY fanfiction, this and ME will disappear off the face of the earth. I am not above going into hiding and living off the land. anyways, enjoy! MUAH 😘 WARNINGS: Slight Canon Divergence | Emotional Angst | Growing Curiosity and Feelings | Slow-Burn (fuck yall cause I hate slow burns but also still love you) | Jealousy |

⚣🌊 Summary → Magic, monsters, and bad decisions—The new fairies just wanted a peaceful first day considering how much everything had changed for them recently, but now they're dodging Burned Ones, losing magical rings, and trying not to die. Welcome to the Otherworld. What else could go wrong? Wait...don't ask that.

⚣🌊 Words → 26.6K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🌊

youtube

Sky made his way through the steel gates that led him into the courtyard of Alfea College, the late morning sun casting warm rays across the stone pathways. The campus was alive with the hustle of move-in day, the energy palpable as students reunited, chatted, and navigated their way to their respective dorms. Sky slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, taking a moment to breathe in the familiar scent of fresh-cut grass and the distant hum of chatter.

As he surveyed the scene, a familiar sense of unease settled in his chest—a mix of unresolved tensions from last year and the pressure of the responsibilities awaiting him this year. He pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand: getting through another year at Alfea.

‘Another year’, he thought, his gaze sweeping over the bustling scene before him. Despite the familiar surroundings, there was a tight knot of tension in his chest, a lingering unease that he couldn’t quite shake. It could be the anticipation of his new role as a squad captain, which Silva had been kind enough to only inform him about a couple of weeks before the start of the school year. Whatever it was, he pushed it to the back of his mind and focused on the task at hand.

As he walked though the courtyard though, Sky couldn’t help but notice the contrasting scenes around him. All the smiling faces of friends reuniting after a whole three months apart, animatedly talking to each other about their vacations and showing pictures and funny videos on their phones. Then, there were those who weren’t talking to anyone, but taking every moment they could to take a ‘aesthetic’ photo so they could update their Insta stories. That was his generation for you.

Just as Sky started making his way toward the Specialist hall, a few familiar voices called out to him.

"Sky! There he is, our fearless leader!" Timmy’s voice rang out, pulling Sky from his thoughts. He turned to see a group of his old friends waving him over, their faces lit up with excitement.

Sky couldn’t help but smile as he approached them, his unease momentarily lifting. "Hey, guys," he greeted, offering a firm handshake to each of them. "Good to see you."

"Good to see you too, man," Brandon said, grinning widely. "We were just saying how we were wondering when you’d show up. Thought maybe you’d decided to bail on us."

Sky chuckled, shaking his head. "Bail? You know me better than that. Just taking my time this morning."

While they were catching up, Sky’s attention was momentarily drawn away from the conversation as his eyes scanned the courtyard. It was instinctual, almost reflexive—years of training had taught him to be aware of his surroundings at all times. But what caught his eye this time wasn’t a potential threat; it was another student, possibly a Specialist judging by their build, looking very lost.

Without thinking, Sky patted Brandon on the shoulder, interrupting their conversation. "Hold on a sec," he said, his focus shifting entirely to the struggling student.

He started to make his way toward the guy, acting on an impulse of empathy and something else he couldn’t name. He remembered his first day at Alfea, the mix of excitement and nervousness, and how a small gesture of help could make all the difference. As he approached, he was about to call out when he saw someone else reach the guy first—Sam Harvey, an Earth fairy and one of Professor Harvey’s kids.

“Hey, you must be Y/N. I’m Sam,” the Earth fairy greeted with a warm smile, holding his hand out for introduction.

“Nice to meet you, and yep, that’s me. I’m guessing you're the one Headmistress Dowling assigned to show me around?”

As Sky slowed his approach, the realization that his assumption was wrong—that the guy was indeed not a Specialist but a fairy—stopped him in his tracks. He couldn’t quite place why he felt a twinge of disappointment, but it was clear Sam had things under control. Just as he was about to turn back to his friends, something else caught his eye—a flash of ginger hair, standing in the middle of the courtyard with her bags. She also looked lost, her gaze scanning the courtyard as if she was waiting for someone.

When no one seemed to come, she grabbed her bags and started walking toward the Specialist Hall.

Sky hesitated for a moment, torn between going back to his friends and helping the girl who looked like she was struggling. The decision came easily enough—his natural instinct to help others always overrode everything else. He quickly started toward the girl, his strides purposeful but not hurried.

As he approached her, Sky noticed the way she was carrying herself—there was a certain determination in her step, but it was undercut by the uncertainty in her eyes as she glanced around. She didn’t seem to notice him at first, too focused on trying to figure out her way.

He didn’t quite know how to stop her and offer his help, so he just went with the first thing that came to mind.

“Wow, you are so lost,” he said, falling into step next to her.

Observational.

“I’m impressed with your confidence in the face of complete ignorance.”

Tactful…maybe?

“The issue is, you’re overcommitted. I mean, you’re essentially running.”

Yeah, there’s no word for this one. Maybe an ice cream truck will fall from the sky and save him. His only hope at this point.

“And now that I’m here, you can’t give me the satisfaction of turning around—”

Of course, throughout this entire questionable interaction, the specialist failed to notice her brows furrowing and the even more tense aura of her body language. Men…

“I don’t need help,” she interjected, saving everyone from witnessing a train wreck. A true hero, this girl is. “But thanks.”

“I don’t remember offering it,” he said with a slightly amused breath. “So presumptuous, you must be a fairy.”

“I am a fairy,” she responded, reluctantly continuing the dialogue while still trying to find where she was supposed to go.

As their conversation continued, neither noticed the approaching figure from behind or the eyes watching them from a distance. As Sky was pointing to the fairy hall, Riven, another Specialist and old friend of Sky’s, walked up to his friend from behind, surprising him.

“Quit perving on the first years,” Riven said with his usual condescending tone.

Sky, used to his friend's antics, wasn’t phased by it but did turn to acknowledge him.

“Riv, just give me one second. Yeah?”

“Why? You gonna chase her?” Riven asked, leaning to the side to look past him.

Sky turned his head to see that indeed, the girl had taken off, heading right for the fairy hall. He let out a disappointed sigh, though it wasn’t as bad as the one he felt earlier, which he was still confused about.

“Nope,” he replied before his friend tackled him with a hug. The two boys laughed and caught up while meeting up with the other Specialists and making their way over to the training grounds by the pond.

Sky and Riven made their way to the training grounds by the pond, the sounds of their laughter fading as they approached the more serious atmosphere of the Specialist area. The training grounds were a familiar sight, with well-worn paths leading to various stations where students practiced everything from hand-to-hand combat to more specialized weapons training.

As they entered the area, Silva, the head of the Specialists, was already there, barking orders at a group of first-year students who were fumbling through a basic drill. His sharp eyes caught sight of Sky and Riven, and he gave a nod of acknowledgment before turning his attention back to the recruits.

“Looks like the newbies are getting a warm welcome,” Riven commented, his tone laced with sarcasm as he watched a particularly nervous student nearly drop his weapon.

“Silva’s always had a way of making sure everyone knows what’s expected,” Sky replied, his gaze shifting to the group. “We were all in their shoes once.”

“Yeah, but some of us didn’t look like we were about to wet ourselves,” Riven shot back with a smirk.

Sky chuckled, but his focus was already shifting. He had a responsibility to these students now, not just as a fellow Specialist but as their squad captain. The weight of it settled more heavily on his shoulders with each passing moment, but he knew better than to let it show.

“Let’s get warmed up,” Sky suggested, nodding towards the sparring rings where a few other upperclassmen were already engaged in drills.

Riven raised an eyebrow, clearly catching on to Sky’s shift in tone. “You’re all business today, aren’t you?”

“Just focused,” Sky replied, his voice steady. “It’s going to be a long year.”

Riven shrugged, though he didn’t argue. “Alright, let’s see if you’ve still got it, Captain.”

Did anyone else catch that foreshadowing? Why did that feel like foreshadowing? Uh uh, nope. Take it back, take it back right now!

As Silva continued to give introductory speeches and expectations to the first-years, the rest of the returning Specialists were all warming up, getting back into rhythm after what felt like a long summer. The familiar sounds of weapons clashing, feet shuffling against the ground, and the occasional grunt of effort filled the air, creating a symphony of discipline and focus.

Sky took a deep breath, letting the energy of the training grounds settle over him. This was where he thrived—in the midst of the action, surrounded by the familiar rhythm of drills and the unspoken camaraderie among his fellow Specialists. The weight of his new role as squad captain was still there, but it felt more manageable now, woven into the fabric of his responsibilities.

Riven, on the other hand, seemed content to stretch out the pre-drill banter for as long as possible. He gave Sky a sidelong glance, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “So, Captain, any big plans for how you’re going to whip these new recruits into shape?”

Sky rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You know Silva’s got that covered. I’m just here to make sure they don’t trip over their own feet too much.”

“Good luck with that,” Riven quipped, his tone light, though his eyes flicked over to the first-years with a more serious glint. “Looks like we’ve got a few who might need a miracle to make it through the first week.”

While they continued sparring with each other, Riven found moments to keep teasing Sky—not only about his new role but also about the ginger-haired girl he caught him with in the courtyard. A joke about Sky being smitten after one chat, and another about how gingers are amazing shags.

Classy, Riven. Classy.

But, of course, Sky, ever the romantic, couldn’t help but feel there was something about her. Yet, his mind couldn’t seem to stay away from the fairy he had been approaching before Sam stepped in.

After their last spar ended with Sky knocking Riven on his butt, they decided to call it. Well, more like Riven decided to skip the rest of the session to go have a smoke in the woods, asking Sky to distract his ‘aggro father figure’ so he didn’t get caught—and thus expelled.

Again, very classy, Riven. Please note the extreme sarcasm.

Though he hadn’t planned to, Sky ended up doing exactly as Riven asked when Silva pulled him into an impromptu spar, using him as an example of what first-years could become, legacy admissions or not, if they showed up and did the work. But then, one of the students had to chuckle, and now they were all getting a vivid story about how Silva lost his father to a Burned One when he was only ten years old.

No one could imagine what it was like for a 10-year-old boy to watch the light and life drain from his father’s body—then to be the one to put their parent down, knowing it was either them or you. A few of the students bowed their heads, trying not to appear affected or ‘weak’ on their first day. But it was understandable why they would be.

Burned Ones had been part of the Otherworld for as long as anyone could remember. They were creatures with humanoid figures that moved faster than a car and were just as ruthless as wild animals. Their charred and blackened appearances looked as if they had just walked out of a raging fire, somehow still alive, but burnt to a crisp, with cracks that glowed like embers, revealing the fiery torment that raged within them. Their limbs were long and skeletal, their fingers ending in claws sharp enough to tear through flesh and bone. But it was their faces that truly terrified—hollowed, with sunken eyes that glowed with a sickly, menacing light, and mouths filled with jagged teeth, ever ready to rend and consume.

The Burned Ones were more than just monsters—they were the stuff of nightmares, their very existence etched into the collective fear of society. Some said they were the remnants of an ancient curse, while others believed they were born from dark magic, a spell that left them behind as twisted remnants of the souls consumed by it. Their appearance haunted the minds of those who dared to venture too close to the shadowed places they roamed.

In every village, town, and city across the realms, the story of the Burned Ones had been passed down through generations. It was a tale told with hushed voices around campfires, a warning to the young and old alike. The Burned Ones were said to be the vengeful spirits of those who had fallen to the darkest depths of magic, their bodies scorched and twisted by the flames of their own corruption. They were symbols of dark times, death, and destruction—a reminder of the consequences of straying too far into the forbidden realms of the magical world. Parents would tell their children to behave, to stay within the bounds of what was known and safe, lest they suffer the same fate as those who became like the ones they feared.

As Silva so beautifully (or questionably and concerningly) put it to Dane, the first-year Specialist who dared chuckle, “Be thankful you’ve never seen a Burned One. But if you do, pray that it kills you, so the ones you love will not have to.”

The other first-years all looked a bit put off—nervous, terrified, or finding something far off to focus on instead. It was clear Silva’s story had shaken them. Dane, who had initially met Silva's gaze with unflinching defiance, now held a stance that communicated fear despite his best efforts to hide it.

Was it a bit extreme? Maybe. But it was also unnecessary.

No one has seen a Burned One in years. Yeah, they’ve got the protective barrier, but if the last sighting was more than a decade ago, then what’s all the fuss about?

Just as Silva finished his tale, a scream echoed from the forest, cutting through the tension like a knife. Riven.

It’s always fucking Riven…

The tension from the training grounds lingered in the air, following Sky as he headed back toward his dorm in the Specialists' Hall with his friend, who was a bit more shaken up than he’d liked to admit, yet still trying to act as if he was fine. Whatever he saw was enough to spark a wildfire of rumors, spreading to every corner of Alfea, and it wasn’t long before the news traveled to the heart of the school—the Headmistress’s office.

Y/N stood outside Headmistress Farah Dowling’s office, the cool stone walls of Alfea surrounding him like a protective barrier. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the meeting ahead. His thoughts were a whirlwind, full of the uncertainties that had plagued him since the decision to come to this school, and even before that.

The office door creaked open as Y/N hesitated, a warm voice beckoning him inside.

“Come in, Y/N,” the Headmistress called, her tone gentle yet authoritative.

Y/N stepped into the office, taking in the room’s comforting atmosphere. Shelves lined with ancient tomes and magical artifacts adorned the walls, while the large stained glass window behind Farah’s desk let in the soft, natural light of the morning sun. Farah herself sat behind her desk, her expression calm, yet her eyes held a depth that made Y/N feel as though she could see straight through to the core of him.

“Please, have a seat,” she offered, gesturing to the chair across from her.

Y/N nodded, moving to sit down, his movements slightly stiff from nerves. As he got settled in the seat, waiting for the Headmistress to begin, the weight of everything hit him hard. He thought about Sam, his new roommate and mentor, and how, despite his helpfulness, Y/N still felt like a fish out of water. Sam had been kind and welcoming, showing him around and making sure he didn’t get lost, but there was still an overwhelming sense of unfamiliarity.

His thoughts drifted to the other students he’d seen around campus—their easy smiles, their confident strides. They all seemed to belong here, like they’d been doing this their whole lives. Y/N, on the other hand, felt like he was constantly on the verge of tripping over his own feet. What if they found out he didn’t belong here? What if they discovered he was just an outsider pretending to be something he wasn’t?

He remembered walking past the training grounds, seeing a few students already practicing. Their movements were fluid, confident, like they were born with swords in their hands. Strangely enough, it reminded him of home for a moment, but then, he remembered these guys were using swords, not guns, and once again, he felt out of place. He could control water, sure, but combat? Strategy? He’d only ever learned those things from his dad, and even then, they were more about survival than thriving in a place like this.

But he was here now, and there was no turning back. He had to make this work. He had to prove—to himself more than anyone—that he could belong here, that he could make something of himself at Alfea.

The silence stretched for a moment as the Headmistress sorted through files before finally speaking, breaking the deafening quiet.

“How was your trip? Painless, I hope?” she asked.

Y/N went to respond, though his words seemed to get caught in his mouth, thinking back to the ‘convenient’ location Miss Dowling had instructed for him and his father to travel to. Close enough to where they resided, but far enough to hide from any prying eyes.

Y/N forced a smile, though it felt hollow. “It was... fine,” he replied, his voice betraying the turmoil just beneath the surface. The journey to Alfea had been anything but painless—not in the physical sense, but in the emotional weight it carried. The memory of his father standing in the middle of the clearing while he traveled through the magical gateway Miss Dowling had set up for him lingered in his mind. The man who had raised him, taught him everything he knew, and kept him and his secrets safe, had watched him leave. It felt a little too surreal and heart-aching for Y/N’s taste.

It was like the feeling of being left behind, only this time around, he was the one leaving and not the one being left. And he wasn’t sure he knew how to cope with that.

Of course, his dad, tough as nails, didn’t shed any tears, but it was still clear as day how hard it was on him too, seeing Y/N step through that gateway, giving him a soldier’s salute as a final goodbye before the doorway closed behind him.

As much as Y/N wanted to be here—needed to be here—the thought of leaving his father behind gnawed at him. His dad had been his anchor, his rock, and now he was an unknown number of miles away, alone. Y/N’s chest tightened with the familiar pang of guilt, the same guilt that had clung to him since the day he’d agreed to come to Alfea.

He remembered the look in his father’s eyes as they said their goodbyes—a mixture of pride, worry, and something else that Y/N couldn’t quite place. It was as if his father knew this was the right thing to do, but it didn’t make it any easier for either of them. The memory of his dad’s last words echoed in his mind: “You’ve got this, kid. I’ll be here when you come home.”

Got what, though? Y/N didn’t even know what he was supposed to be ready for. All he knew was that he had to learn control—real control—over his powers before they controlled him. He could still remember the floodwater rushing through the halls, the panic in his father’s eyes as he tried to contain the situation. And the fear—Y/N’s own fear that he could have hurt someone, that he could have hurt his dad.

Yeah, so much for painless.

Y/N took a deep breath, forcing a more convincing smile onto his face as he looked up at Farah. “It was definitely an experience,” he said, trying to infuse some lightness into his voice. “The, uh, magical gateway was a nice touch. Makes traveling feel a bit more... grand.”

Farah smiled gently, but Y/N could see the understanding in her eyes. She wasn’t fooled by his attempt at humor, and it made him feel a strange mix of comfort and vulnerability.

“I’m glad the journey went smoothly,” Farah replied, her tone warm but measured. “I know leaving home is never easy, especially under such... unusual circumstances.”

Y/N nodded, his smile fading slightly as he looked down at his hands, which were clenched in his lap. “Yeah, it’s been... a lot,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “I’ve never been away from home or at least my dad like this. And with everything that happened, it’s hard not to feel...”

“Out of place?” Farah offered gently.

Y/N looked up at her, surprised by how easily she seemed to understand. He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Like I’m in over my head.”

Farah leaned forward slightly, her gaze steady and reassuring. “It’s perfectly normal to feel that way, Y/N. Alfea is a place of learning, but it’s also a place of growth. You’re not expected to have all the answers right now, or to have everything figured out. That’s why you’re here—to learn, to grow, and to discover your own path.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her words hitting closer to home than he expected. He wanted to believe her, wanted to feel like he could find his place here. But the weight of his powers, the fear of what he could do if he lost control again, was a constant shadow hanging over him.

“I just don’t want to let anyone down,” he confessed, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Farah’s expression softened even more, and she reached out, resting her hand lightly on his. “You won’t, Y/N. I can see the strength in you, even if you can’t see it yourself yet. It’s okay to be afraid, but don’t let that fear hold you back. You’re here because you have potential, and we’re going to help you reach it and refine it.”

Y/N felt a lump form in his throat, and he nodded, unable to find the words to respond. Farah’s kindness, her unwavering belief in him, was something he wasn’t used to. It made him want to try, to push through the fear and doubt, if only to prove her right.

“Thank you, Headmistress,” he managed to say, his voice thick with emotion.

Farah gave his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. “You’re welcome, Y/N. You can think of Alfea as your new home. You have people here who want to help you, who want to see you succeed. Don’t be afraid to lean on them when you need to.”

Another moment of silence passed between them, with Y/N rubbing his hands up and down his legs to stir his nerves.

“I trust Sam has been treating you well, yes?” Farah asked.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then nodded again. “Yeah, he’s been great. Really helpful, showing me around and making sure I don’t get lost.”

Farah smiled at that, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. Sam is one of our most dependable students. He’s Professor Harvery’s son who you’ll meet when taking your potions, botany, and natural magics courses. I figured he’d be a good fit to help you adjust.”

Y/N offered a small smile in return. “He’s definitely made things easier. It’s just... a lot to take in, you know?”

“I can imagine,” Farah replied, her expression softening. “It’s a big change, but you’re handling it well. And remember, you have people like Sam—and me—here to support you.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a bit of the tension in his chest ease. “Thanks, Headmistress. That means a lot.”

Farah gave him an encouraging smile before leaning back in her chair. “Now, let’s talk about what you can expect this year.”

Y/N straightened up slightly, eager to shift the conversation toward something more concrete. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering about classes and... well, everything really. I want to make sure I’m prepared.”

Farah nodded, understanding the unspoken concerns in his words. “Of course. Your schedule has been tailored to help you develop your skills while also giving you a solid foundation in the broader aspects of magical education. You’ll start with the basics, learning how to use your magic slowly, but safely in a controlled environment. And, to reiterate as I did with the student I had right before you, when I say slowly, I do mean it. Magic can be dangerous and I don’t want you to cause yourself any harm in trying to prove something. But, I do believe you’ll find the subjects we have laid out for you not only challenging but also rewarding.”

Y/N listened intently, absorbing the information. He appreciated the Headmistress’s approach—firm but understanding. It was clear that she valued safety and caution, which was something Y/N could respect, especially given his own fears about his powers.

Farah continued, “You’ve already demonstrated a remarkable degree of mastery for someone your age. That’s not something we see often, especially with powers as complex as yours.”

Y/N blinked in surprise, not expecting the compliment. “Thank you. My dad... he’s been a big help. He helped me learn how to control my powers enough from a young age to hide them for obvious reasons,” Y/N nervously laughed, but Farah’s warm smile kept him at ease. “He used a lot of techniques he learned from the military. Breathing exercises, disciplinary lessons, staying calm under pressure... it’s all pretty much drilled into me. No pun intended.”

Farah’s eyes softened with understanding. “Your father sounds like a wise man. It’s clear he’s done an excellent job helping you harness your abilities. Water fairies like yourself often have been known to struggle with control, given the fluid and ever-changing nature of water itself. But you’ve managed to find a balance.”

Y/N looked down at his hands, which had finally unclenched. The memories of his father’s training sessions flashed through his mind—hours spent practicing, focusing, and learning to control the water that flowed through him like second nature. “He just wanted to make sure I didn’t put anyone... or myself at risk.”

“And he succeeded,” Farah smiled warmly, a sense of reassurance in her gaze. “You’ll also have regular meetings with me to discuss your progress and address any concerns. And you can always reach out if you need help with anything.”

Y/N was about to respond when the door to the office burst open, startling both of them. A Specialist student, out of breath and with a look of urgency on his face, stood in the doorway. Farah immediately tensed, her calm demeanor shifting to one of alertness.

“Headmistress, I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s been an incident in the forest,” the student panted. “ Professor Silva asked me to inform you immediately.”

Farah’s eyes narrowed slightly, her mind clearly processing the information quickly. She rose from her seat, her authority evident in the way she carried herself.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice steady but laced with concern.

“I’m not sure, but Mr. Silva said it was urgent and asked for you and Professor Harvey to come quickly. In the forest near the training grounds.”

Farah’s expression grew more serious as she turned to Y/N. “Y/N, we’ll have to continue this conversation later. For now, I need you to stay in the main building and avoid the forest. I’ll have Sam meet you to help you get settled into your dorm.”

Y/N stood up as Farah did, the tension in the room palpable. He felt a strange mix of anxiety and curiosity at the mention of the incident in the forest, but he knew better than to pry.

“Yes, Headmistress,” Y/N replied, his voice steady despite the unease settling in his chest, his discipline from living on a military base immediately kicking in as a response to the headmistress’s authoritative tone.

Farah nodded, offering him a reassuring smile despite the urgency in her eyes. “Good. I’m sure everything will be fine, but it’s best to be cautious. Stay close to the main building and try to relax for the rest of the day.”

Well, that was a bit ironic considering she looked anything but relaxed herself.

As she grabbed her coat from the stand near the door, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift in her demeanor. Gone was the gentle, nurturing headmistress; in her place stood a leader, focused and ready to handle whatever was waiting in the forest. The transformation was striking, and for a moment, Y/N felt a mix of admiration and a touch of intimidation. It was a reminder that, beneath the warmth, Farah Dowling was a woman who commanded respect and authority in a world that demanded both.

Y/N nodded, offering a small, appreciative smile. “I will. Thank you, Headmistress.”

Farah gave him one last nod before slipping out of the office, her coat billowing slightly as she moved with purpose down the corridor. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Y/N alone in the quiet office.

As Farah left the room, Y/N lingered for a moment, feeling the weight of the conversation settle over him. The urgency of the situation in the forest hung in the air, but there was something else, too—a sense of unease that he couldn’t quite shake. He knew he had to follow the headmistress’s instructions, but the curiosity gnawed at him. What could be so urgent that it pulled her away from their meeting?

Y/N let out a slow breath, reminding himself that it wasn’t his place to get involved, not yet anyway. He was still the new kid here, barely even unpacked, and already there was so much to take in. His thoughts flicked back to Sam, who had been nothing but helpful since his arrival. Maybe if he found Sam, he could get some guidance on what to do next, or at the very least, some company to distract him from the whirlwind of emotions he was feeling.

He glanced at the door, knowing he should probably try to find his way back to his dorm. But without Sam around to guide him, it felt like navigating a maze. He couldn’t remember the exact turns they’d taken earlier, and the thought of wandering aimlessly through the hallways didn’t exactly appeal to him.

After a brief moment of indecision, Y/N decided it might be worth exploring a bit. If he could find his way back to the dorm on his own, it would be a small victory—proof that he was capable of figuring things out here, even without someone holding his hand.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, stepping out into the hallway. “Time to see if I can actually find my way around this place.”

He took a deep breath and started down the corridor, hoping he’d get lucky and run into someone familiar—or at the very least, a sign pointing him in the right direction.

“Who actually saw the Shepherd’s body?” Terra, an Earth Fairy and Sam’s sister, asked as she held her beverage, talking with two of her freshly acquainted suitemates, Aisha and Musa. Her usual bright tone was tinged with unease, the curiosity and morbid speculation threading through the conversation like a dark undercurrent. “Maybe he was just old. People get old, die. We all die.”

“That old-age decapitation really sneaks up on you,” Musa quipped, a dry laugh escaping her as they lingered near the snack table at the orientation party. The lively atmosphere clashed with the darker topic swirling around the room, the buzz of gossip overshadowing the usual excitement of the new school year.

The air felt thick with rumors. The discovery of the Shepherd’s body, mutilated and left in the forest just outside the magical barrier, had set the school abuzz. Headmistress Dowling had tried to keep things under wraps, hoping to prevent a panic, but apparently, she didn’t hope hard enough. The news had spread faster than wildfire, twisting through the student body and growing more sinister with each retelling.

“Happened to my nan right in the middle of Bingo,” Aisha added with a grin, clutching a churro stick as she joined the dark humor. “Just... thwop, thwop, thwop. Down the table.” She mimed a head rolling off, her satirical tone not helping much to veil the subtle tension beneath still.

Musa laughed, a sharp burst of sound that cut through the unease for the earth fairy, though she remained quiet. As they continued their conversation, it was in this moment that Y/N strolled into the party. He glanced around, taking in the lively scene, but the undercurrent of tension still being unmistakable. He wasn’t immune to the rumors either; whispers about the dead Shepherd had reached him not long after he left his meeting with the Headmistress.

As his eyes scanned the room, he spotted Sam standing on the other side of the room closer to another beverage table, chatting with a few other students. Y/N weaved through the crowd, nodding to a few faces he recognized from his earlier tour around campus, but feeling that familiar sense of being an outsider in a crowd where everyone else seemed to belong.

“Y/N!” Sam called out as soon as he spotted him, waving him over. “There you are! Glad you made it.”

Y/N offered a small smile, grateful for the warmth in Sam’s greeting, even if the unease from the ongoing gossip lingered in his mind.

“Yeah,” Y/N responded with a small smile, though his thoughts were elsewhere. “Got a bit lost coming from the Headmistress’ office but I made it. I was gonna go back to the dorm but I’d figured I’d check it out.”

"Good call. Everyone's here tonight." Sam gestured around at the buzzing party, cups in hand, snacks being passed, though there was still a murmur beneath it all—a sense of unease they couldn’t quite shake off.

Just then, Terra approached, her expression somewhere between cheerful and overwhelmed, as if she didn’t know where to go. Which, was a bit weird considering both her and Sam practically grew up around Alfea. Her warm demeanor returned quickly, though, as she saw her brother standing with Y/N. Sam immediately gestured toward her as she approached.

"Y/N, meet my sister, Terra. Terra, this is Y/N, my new roommate.”

Y/N extended his hand with a polite smile. “Hey. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too!” Terra responded brightly, shaking his hand with enthusiasm. “Sam’s told me a bit about you. I hope he hasn’t scared you off yet.”

Y/N chuckled lightly. “Nah, not yet. He’s been a good guide.”

“Good,” Terra said, still holding onto a friendly smile. “I know Alfea can be a bit overwhelming at first. Especially with... you know, everything going on.”

There was an unspoken understanding between them—everyone knew what she was referring to. Y/N gave a slight nod, sensing the weight of what had happened in the forest still hanging over the party. Even though Terra was trying to keep things light, he could tell she wasn’t as carefree as she appeared.

“Everything alright, Terra?” Sam asked sensing his sister’s somewhat tense and despondent mood.

Terra looked a little caught off guard at the question, trying to keep her cheerful demeanor up, but both Sam and Y/N could see through it.

“Oh, I’m good. Just a little early roommate drama, but nothing to worry about. Joys of having five girls in one space.”

Sam raised a brow, a knowing smile playing at his lips. “You mean to tell me you’ve already started trouble? And here I was thinking it’d take at least a week before you drove someone mad.”

Y/N noticed how Terra tensed at the jab. On the surface, it was harmless, the kind of playful sibling banter Y/N had seen between others plenty of times. But something about the way Terra’s smile faltered—how her fingers tightened just a bit around the rim of her glass—hinted at a deeper insecurity. He couldn’t quite place it, but it was as if she was trying too hard to brush it off. Maybe it was the pressure of being likable, of wanting to fit in with her new roommates, that made her so self-conscious.

From what Y/N could tell, Terra seemed like the type who wanted to go out of her way to please everyone around her. That kind of eagerness could easily come across as overbearing to the wrong people. He had seen it before—people who bent over backward to make others happy but ended up standing on shaky ground themselves. Maybe her need to fit in made her more vulnerable to criticism or, worse, outright rejection.

He could see Sam pick up on the shift as well, though his smile remained teasing. "Isn’t Stella in your suite?" Sam asked suddenly, his tone seemingly casual but loaded with implication. Y/N didn’t miss the way Terra’s face fell for just a second—too brief to be obvious to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. The name "Stella" alone seemed to strike a deeper chord.

Y/N's curiosity piqued. He hadn’t met everyone at the school yet, and the way Terra reacted made him wonder who exactly this Stella was. He could sense there was something more to the question, something beneath the surface that Terra wasn’t saying.

“Stella?” Y/N asked, tilting his head slightly. “Who’s that?”

Terra hesitated, glancing between Y/N and Sam before finally answering. “Stella’s... well, she’s the Crown Princess of Solaria. You know, the realm that Alfea’s in.”

Y/N’s brows raised at that. “A princess? Seriously?”

Terra nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, seriously. She’s... well, she’s royalty, so she’s got that whole ‘above-it-all’ vibe, I guess. She’s in my suite with Aisha, Musa, and Bloom.”

Y/N could sense there was more she wasn’t saying—maybe something about the way Stella acted, or the dynamic between the roommates. Still, he didn’t press. “Sounds intense,” he said instead, trying to keep things light.

“You could say that.” Terra let out a soft laugh, though it sounded a little forced. Her eyes flickered for a moment, as if debating whether to continue. “She’s kind of... used to getting her way, I guess.” Terra hesitated, her gaze briefly shifting to the side before she added, “And then, there’s her history with Sky…”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Terra’s expression shifted, her eyes widening slightly as if she realized she’d said too much. She bit her lip, clearly regretting bringing it up, and quickly glanced at Y/N, gauging his reaction.

Y/N blinked, intrigued by the new information. He didn’t know who Sky was, but judging by the way Terra said it, it seemed like a complicated situation. “Sky?”

“Yeah, Sky’s a Specialist,” Sam chimed in, filling the gap. “Top of the class, actually. He’s… well, kind of Alfea’s golden boy. Everyone looks up to him.” Sam’s expression shifted slightly, as if even he had mixed feelings about the guy.

Y/N nodded slowly, processing the new information. A princess and the top Specialist—there was definitely more to unpack there, but he decided to leave it for another time. Instead, he turned back to Terra, offering her a small, encouraging smile. “Well, it seems like you’re holding your own, right? Can’t be easy.”

Terra seemed to relax a little at that, her smile becoming a bit more genuine. “Thank you, I appreciate that. It’s just... new, you know?”

“Oh yeah,” Y/N said with a chuckle, thinking about his own recent arrival. “I definitely know a thing or two about being new.”

Terra’s mood seemed to lift at that, her smile growing a little brighter. Sam, noticing the shift in his sister’s demeanor, seemed pleased to see her returning to her usual cheerful self.

“Well, since you are new, and I’m positive Sam didn’t show you nearly enough of Alfea for you to know your way around,” Terra began, her voice taking on a teasing lilt, “why don’t I give you a proper tour? We can explore a bit more of the party. There’s so much you haven’t seen yet.”

Sam shot her a mock-offended look. “Hey! I think I did a pretty decent job as a tour guide, thank you very much.”

Terra raised an eyebrow, her expression dripping with playful skepticism. She turned to Y/N, clearly setting up her next move. “How many times have you gotten lost already?”

“Twice,” Y/N admitted, flashing a sheepish grin. Sam immediately threw his hands up in exaggerated frustration, his face contorting into a look of mock betrayal.

“See?” Terra smirked triumphantly, turning back to Sam before looking at Y/N. “I rest my case.”

Y/N chuckled, shooting an apologetic glance toward his roommate. “Sorry, Sam.”

Sam clutched at his chest as if wounded, putting on a show of hurt. “Go on then, leave me behind. Abandon your proper tour guide. I’ll just be here… wallowing.”

Terra shook her head, clearly amused, as she gently tugged Y/N along. “You’ll be fine, drama queen.”

Y/N gave Sam an apologetic wave, mouthing ‘Sorry’ again as they moved further into the crowd, Sam waving him off with a faux-injured expression that quickly turned into a playful grin.

Sam watched as Terra tugged Y/N further into the crowd. “Just don’t let her talk your ear off about plants,” Sam called after them. “I’ve heard it all before.”

“Oh, shut up!” Terra threw back at her brother, laughing now.

Across the party, Sky stood casually by a pillar, his eyes scanning the crowd of new and returning students as they mingled and introduced themselves to one another. Though his posture was relaxed, his mind was far from idle—people-watching was something of a habit at these events, and tonight was no exception.

Yet, despite the throng of lively faces, his gaze kept drifting back to a familiar figure: the new arrival he’d seen earlier. He couldn’t quite place why, but something about this fairy had captured his attention. As he watched them walk off with Terra, a flicker of curiosity tugged at him.

Before Sky could think too much about it, a voice snapped him out of his quiet observation.

“This is a lot of people,” came the familiar voice of the red-haired fairy he had tried to assist earlier.

Sky’s head snapped around, his gaze falling on the fairy who’s name he learned to be Bloom. A smile pulled at his lips as she approached, chuckling softly.

“What? You don’t have parties in California?” Sky played along, pretending not to remember their earlier conversation. There was something playful in the way he said it, but his focus remained split—part of his mind still on the new fairy and his curious departure with Terra.

“Oh, he remembers!” Bloom quipped back, her own smile matching his as she tugged her jacket a little closer.

“Oh, impressed?” Sky chuckled, his tone light as he tried to push thoughts of Y/N out of his head, if only for a moment. He offered Bloom a soft smile, though there was an undeniable flicker of distraction in his eyes.

For a brief moment, there was a comfortable silence between them, the hum of the party surrounding them like background noise. But Sky’s attention was tugged back to Bloom as she gestured to the crowd.

“Where can I go that’s the opposite… of this?” Bloom asked, her voice lowering as her gaze flicked toward the noisy party. “What’s outside?”

Sky blinked, her question catching him off guard. “What, beyond the Barrier?” he asked, incredulity creeping into his tone. His mind raced slightly, trying to figure out if she was serious.

“Mm-hmm,” Bloom responded with a nod, her curiosity clearly piqued.

Sky couldn’t help but smirk. “Well, depending on rumors, wolves, bears… or something much scarier.”

He expected that to be enough to dissuade her, but Bloom didn’t even flinch.

“But no people?” she asked, cutting straight to the point. Her gaze flicked back to him, searching for an answer.

Sky hesitated, his posture stiffening slightly as the weight of his concern settled over him. “Um…” He didn’t really want to let her go out there alone, especially with the tension in the air since the discovery in the forest. Was it his place to offer?

“Perfect, thanks,” Bloom nodded quickly, turning to leave without a second thought.

“Wait,” Sky blurted out, stepping forward and stopping her without actually touching her. “At the risk of, um... mansplaining, it is dangerous outside right now. You probably shouldn’t go alone.”

Bloom’s eyes narrowed slightly, her lips curving into a smirk as she threw back, “Are you offering to escort me?”

Sky’s smile turned slightly sheepish. He hadn’t meant it as an invitation, not really. But as she said it, the words hung in the air between them, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt that this interaction had gone in a direction he hadn’t anticipated.

“Is that what this is? It’s not the worst pickup line,” Bloom scoffed, her chuckle half-masked by something deeper, though her amusement was clear.

“It wasn’t a line,” Sky said, raising a brow, his voice casual but firm. “Trust me?”

Bloom’s expression softened, though she wasn’t quite ready to let her guard down. “Hm. I just met you, but maybe one day I will.”

They locked eyes for a brief moment, a quiet pause settling between them. Sky’s gaze lingered on Bloom, but in the back of his mind, an unspoken curiosity remained—one that drew him back to the quiet stranger who had caught his attention earlier that day. Why his attention and focus kept seeming to rush back to this stranger who he hadn’t even properly met was a bit perplexing but nothing he felt he needed to dissect.

But even if he wanted to, he couldn’t dwell on it any further, as another familiar voice broke through the moment.

“Hey, Sky. Can we talk?” Stella’s voice was light, but there was an edge to it, something demanding his attention.

Sky tore his gaze away from Bloom, his expression shifting as he turned to face Stella. His shoulders stiffened slightly, a hint of frustration creeping in. He glanced back at Bloom, only to see her taking the opportunity to slip away.

Bloom didn’t waste a second, skedaddling into the crowd, leaving Sky standing there with a faint sense of disappointment—and maybe even a little agitation. He sighed, watching her disappear from sight as Stella stepped closer. And while his attention should’ve been fully on Stella by now, part of him still lingered elsewhere, in thoughts of Y/N.

With a slight exasperated breath, he stepped over to face the Princess of Solaria, taking the orange beverage she held out for him in silence with no reaction, though he didn’t drink it, rather opting to wait for her to speak. He could already feel the tension that always seemed to follow their interactions.

"I haven't seen you all day," Stella commented, her tone light but with an underlying edge, something Sky recognized all too well.

“Summer, Stella. All summer,” Sky replied, his voice carrying an exasperated note as he let out a breath. His expression reflected the weariness of someone who had dealt with this dynamic for far too long.

Stella tilted her head, a carefully controlled smile playing on her lips. “You know that girl you were talking to? Bloom? Yeah, she’s my suitemate.” Her words were laced with a mixture of casual observation and thinly veiled warning, though she tried to play it cool.

Sky’s brow furrowed slightly as he met her gaze. “So, what does that mean, Stel? That I can’t talk to her?” He knew where this conversation was heading, but he wasn’t interested in playing along.

“I didn’t say that,” Stella quickly retorted, her voice deceptively sweet, though Sky could feel the tension building beneath her words.

He stared at her for a beat, then sighed, pushing the conversation to the point. “What are you saying, specifically?” His tone sharpened, a touch of sarcasm creeping in. “I’d hate to make you upset. I know what happens when you get upset.”

Their exchange was attracting a few curious glances from the nearby students, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by either of them. Sky’s gaze flicked toward the onlookers briefly before returning to Stella.

Stella’s smile wavered just for a second, a flash of something like vulnerability crossing her features before she masked it. “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing,” she said, her voice steady but tight.

Sky held her gaze for a moment longer, then handed back the glass without taking a sip. “I always do,” he replied, slipping one hand into his brown leather jacket before turning to walk off, the weight of the interaction already tiring him.

Stella took the glass back begrudgingly, her grip tightening around it as she noticed the eyes of the crowd still lingering on them. She shot them a sharp look, raising her chin in defiance.

"Enjoy the show?" she snapped, her words laced with irritation before she stormed off, leaving the onlookers to exchange glances in her wake.

But as Stella strode away, her focus on Bloom was more than a little misdirected. Sure, she noticed the subtle sparks between Sky and the new girl, and that definitely stung. But, in reality, Bloom wasn’t the one who posed the real threat to her carefully constructed world—not yet, at least. Though bunking just beyond the wall, the redhead was only the start of Stella's concerns.

Because, whether she realized it or not, and whether Sky did either, there was another fairy lingering quietly in the background. One who was already starting to occupy space in the blonde Specialist’s mind, even if no one had caught on just yet. And for now, that particular fairy was flying completely under Stella's radar.

The sun was gradually sinking toward the horizon, its warm light fading as the moon began to ascend into the night sky. Terra had managed to show Y/N far more of the school than Sam had, and with each new landmark or shortcut, Y/N felt his anxiety ease a little more. Navigating the sprawling grounds of Alfea didn’t seem as daunting now, and the prospect of finding his classes in the morning felt less like a challenge and more like something he could manage.

He appreciated Terra's extensive tour. While Sam’s earth magic allowed him to phase through walls and take unconventional routes, the paths he’d shown Y/N earlier hadn’t exactly been practical for someone without those abilities. But Terra's guidance had been a lifesaver, giving Y/N the confidence he needed to feel a little more at ease in this new environment. And it didn’t hurt that he could now say he had another friend beyond just his roommate.

As they made their way back towards the main area where the orientation party was still in full swing, Y/N felt a quiet sense of accomplishment. He’d spent the day getting to know the school and making connections—small victories that meant a lot after such a whirlwind arrival.

When they reached the party, Y/N paused, looking back toward the lively crowd. “I think I’m going to step outside for a bit,” he said, turning to Terra with a small smile. “I need to call my dad, let him know I’m okay and made it through without any major disasters.”

Terra nodded, understanding. “Yeah, sure! It was good getting to hang out with you, hopefully we’ll have classes together. Maybe Sam and I’ll make an earth fairy out of you yet Or at least I can, Sam’s not that reliable..” She grinned, her teasing light-hearted.

Y/N chuckled. “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Still got to master my own magic first.” With a wave, he stepped away from the party, grateful for a moment of quiet outside.

As he walked off, Terra’s gaze shifted across the canteen, catching sight of Riven. The cocky Specialist was in the middle of harassing what looked like a freshman. Her smile faded, irritation flashing in her eyes. “Great,” she muttered to herself, moving towards the scene, ready to intervene.

Y/N stepped out into the quiet evening, the crisp night air brushing against his skin as he moved away from the hum of the party. The noise, the whispers, and the pressing weight of new expectations faded into the background, replaced by the stillness of the night. Above him, the stars were beginning to dot the inky sky, and the moon hung like a soft lantern, casting a gentle glow across the grounds.

Under the soft glow of the moon, Y/N felt a quiet sense of peace settle over him, a kind of stillness that seemed to resonate deep within his core. The world around him grew quieter, and yet, at the same time, he felt more alive, more in tune with everything—especially the water that flowed in the nearby river. The moon's silver light washed over the landscape, but it also seemed to wash over him, sharpening his senses, making him more aware of the subtle hum of magic pulsing through his veins.

There was always something about the moon that brought him a heightened sense of awareness. Its gentle, luminous presence had a way of amplifying his connection to water, as if the tides within him swelled and receded in perfect harmony with the celestial body above. The longer he stood under its glow, the more he could feel his magic stir, stronger and more defined, like a calm current just waiting to be guided.

It was during these moments that Y/N felt most like himself—connected, powerful, but also grounded. The pull of the moon acted like an anchor, steadying him in ways that the chaotic energy of the day never could. There was an unspoken bond between him and the water, one that felt even more profound when the moon was present, as though its light illuminated not only the world around him but also the depths of his own potential.

Now, sitting on the bench near the edge of the courtyard, Y/N felt that same pull from the moon overhead. The familiar hum of his magic stirred within him, quieter now but still present, like the tide waiting to rise. He glanced up at the bright object, a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips. It reminded him of home, of those nights by the lake, and of the man who had always stood by his side.

A soft pang of longing settled in his chest, and he pulled out his phone. After a few taps, he called his dad.

The phone rang a few times before his dad’s gruff but warm voice answered, “Y/N, about time you called. Thought I was gonna have to send a whole squad in after you.”

Y/N chuckled softly, leaning back on the bench. “Sorry, Dad. It’s been crazy since I got here and it’s a lot to take in. Alfea is huge. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”

His dad’s voice softened with a note of humor. “Let me guess—got lost, tried to play it cool, but couldn’t figure out which building was which?”

Y/N laughed. “Twice. Sam’s shortcuts aren’t exactly... beginner-friendly. Luckily, his sister Terra gave me a proper tour.”

His dad hummed, the sound low and steady, a quiet comfort even from miles away. "Good. I’m glad you’re finding your way," he said, his voice warm but soon shifting to the no-nonsense tone Y/N had grown up with. "Did Miss Dowling go over the curriculum with you? What’s it gonna be like for drills and practices?” His tone sharpened, slipping into that familiar edge of military discipline, a reminder that beneath the caring father was a man who had spent years in service, accustomed to strict routines and rigid expectations.

Y/N leaned back on the bench, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His dad’s voice always carried that familiar weight, even in casual conversations—like there was an invisible checklist in his mind, keeping everything measured and focused. "Yeah, we went over it. The curriculum's solid," Y/N replied, trying to keep things light, though he knew his dad would pick apart every detail. "It’s a lot of basics at first—control exercises, learning how to use magic slowly and safely, all that. They’re big on precision and making sure no one gets ahead of themselves too fast. Miss Dowling made it pretty clear that we’re gonna be challenged, but nothing I can’t handle." He paused for a second, remembering something she’d mentioned in passing about her own military background. “Honestly, I think you’d get along with her. She’s definitely no-nonsense—reminds me of you."

He paused, running his hand through his hair, still feeling the weight of the headmistress’s words from earlier. "I’ll have regular check-ins with her too—y’know, to keep track of how I’m doing. She’s real big on making sure we don’t try to prove something and end up hurting ourselves. So, yeah, lots of discipline, lots of control. But it sounds like I’ll be able to figure it out." His tone was casual, but beneath the surface, he knew it was going to be intense—and his dad would expect nothing less than him excelling at it.

“As they should be,” his dad said, though his tone was a bit lighter than usual. “It’s your first day, but don’t get too comfortable. I’m sure you’ve got a leg up on thosen other slackers with what I’ve already taught you, so make sure you’re putting it to good use. Don’t just go through the motions because it’s new. Take it seriously from the start.”

Y/N nodded, feeling that familiar tug of expectation settle in. “Yeah, I know, Dad. I’m not slacking. Miss Dowling’s big on safety and control, and trust me, she’s not about to let anyone take it easy. She’s got this whole ‘slow but steady’ approach with magic, so I’m sure I’ll get plenty of practice.” He chuckled softly, then added, “Seriously, I think you and Dowling would get along great. She’s got a military background too, so she’s all about discipline.”

His dad hummed approvingly on the other end. “Good. Sounds like you’re in the right hands then. Just make sure you keep your focus and set the tone early. That’s how you get ahead.” Even though it wasn’t a drill-sergeant tone, the message was clear: the groundwork Y/N laid now would shape the rest of his time at Alfea.

Y/N smiled softly, the weight of those words familiar but not suffocating—not yet, anyway. His dad had always pushed him, but there was pride behind it. And while the pressure was always there, it felt less about being perfect and more about becoming something better than he was the day before.

Y/N leaned back on the bench, the cool night air grounding him as he listened to the comforting sound of his dad’s voice on the other end. He glanced up at the moon, its light reflecting off the nearby river. "Actually, I’ve already seen some pretty cool stuff here, magic-wise. My roommate, Sam—he’s an Earth fairy, and get this—he can literally walk through solid objects. Like, I’m talking full-on phase through walls, no big deal." He chuckled, the memory of Sam casually disappearing through their dorm room wall earlier still fresh. "And then there’s the girls who use magic to take selfies. I mean, honestly, not as surprising as you’d think, but still, the Otherworld is wild. It’s different here... and kind of the same, in weird ways."

There was a pause, and Y/N could almost hear his dad raising an eyebrow on the other end. "Sounds like you’re adjusting," his dad remarked, amusement slipping into his tone. "Learning any new tricks yourself? Besides dodging magical selfies, I mean."

Y/N grinned, though the question struck a deeper chord than he wanted to admit. "Not yet," he said, his tone light but laced with something heavier beneath it. "They’re big on control here—real slow and steady. Apparently, it’s all about mastering the basics, making sure we don’t accidentally blow up half the school or anything." He let out a small chuckle, but the humor in his voice felt forced, more like a shield than anything else. "Which, you know... kinda makes sense, considering... well, let’s just say that’s the main reason I’m even here."

There was a beat of silence. Y/N’s words hung in the air, his attempt at joking about it doing little to cover the weight of what he’d left unsaid. The memory of that one night—the water flooding in, his dad’s panic—flashed through his mind like a vivid dream he couldn’t fully wake up from. But instead of letting the pain sink in, he threw up his usual defense—a half-smile, a shrug, and a quick change of subject.

His dad was quiet for a moment, the weight of that shared memory hanging heavy between them. "You’ve come a long way since then, Y/N," he said, his voice softer, more careful. "But I get it. Even when you were a kid, you had this way of diving headfirst into chaos and somehow, just barely, pulling yourself out of it. And yeah, it probably felt easier back then, knowing I was always there to catch you if things went south. That safety net, right? But you're stronger now. You’ve learned to handle it on your own. You don’t need me right next to you to pull you back. You’ve got this under control."

Y/N swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He didn’t want to admit how much he missed the reassurance of having his dad right beside him. "Yeah, I guess. It just feels different now. Like, what if I mess up, and there’s no one around to stop it? What if I hurt someone?" His voice wavered slightly, betraying the insecurities that had been bubbling under the surface since he arrived at Alfea.

"Hey," his dad interrupted, that firm yet comforting tone snapping Y/N out of his spiral. "I know it's new, and it’s scary being out there on your own, but you’ve got this. You’ve got the discipline, the training—you’ve always been able to pull yourself together, no matter what. And even if I’m not there physically, I’m always with you. I’m in your head, telling you to keep your feet grounded, your mind sharp. You’ve got more in you than you think."

Y/N smiled softly, his heart swelling with gratitude. "Thanks, Dad. I just... it’s good to hear you say that." There was a long pause, the sound of crickets filling the space between them as the moon continued to rise higher in the sky.

"Good. Now, just to check, you’re not letting any boys distract you from all that hard work, are you?" His dad’s tone took on a teasing edge, a small chuckle filtering through the phone.

Y/N snorted, rolling his eyes even though no one could see him. "Dad, seriously?"

"I mean it! I’ve got to make sure no one’s catching your eye and pulling you off your game. Any eye candy running around there?"

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at his dad’s playful concern. "The only boy I’ve heard about that’s worth looking at is this Sky guy. Apparently, he’s the golden boy around here, but from what I’ve heard, that’s a mess I definitely don’t want to get involved in."

"Oh really? Sounds like someone’s been doing their homework." His dad’s voice was light, but Y/N could hear the smirk in it. "So, Sky, huh? What’s the deal there?"

Y/N shrugged, his tone casual. "I dunno, something about his ex-girlfriend, drama, whatever. Definitely not something I’m about to jump into on day one." He chuckled, leaning back again as he looked up at the stars. "Besides, I’ve got enough to deal with just figuring out where all my classes are."

"Smart man," his dad replied with a chuckle, but there was a familiar edge to his tone. "Keep your head on straight. Boys can wait until you're the top water fairy in that school, right? And just so we’re clear," his voice dropped an octave, that serious military dad tone slipping through the humor, "if any of those boys give you trouble... well, you know where to find me. I don’t care how far Alfea is."

Y/N smirked, knowing his dad was half-joking—emphasis on half. "Yeah, I’m not about to test that."

"Still can’t believe my son’s a fairy,” his dad muttered, the teasing tone unmistakable.

“Careful, old man,” Y/N shot back with a grin. “Talk like that, and you’ll end up cancelled.”

A loud scoff echoed through the phone. “Cancelled? Please. Your generation’s full of a bunch of soft pussies. Ain’t no-one canceling me.”

As time passed, their conversation flowed easily, with Y/N filling his dad in on his new dorm, mentioning Terra’s bubbly personality, Sam’s easygoing nature, and a few of the other students he’d come across. His dad listened patiently, offering his usual dry comments or a chuckle here and there. But mostly, he let Y/N ramble on, giving him the space to talk through everything that had been building up inside. It was comforting, like a piece of home grounding him in the unfamiliar world of Alfea.

Y/N leaned back, glancing up at the sky again. The moon had climbed even higher, casting a cool glow that bathed the courtyard in silvery light. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant trickle of the river were the only sounds that filled the space around him now, making the night feel even more serene. It was almost too peaceful, in contrast to the emotions still swirling in his chest.

“I should probably let you go,” Y/N finally said, the reluctance clear in his voice. “I don’t want to keep you up.”

His dad’s tone softened, that rare moment of vulnerability slipping through. “You’re not keeping me up, kid. I’m glad we got to talk. And remember, if anything goes sideways or you need anything, I’m just a call away. You’re not in this alone.”

Y/N swallowed the lump forming in his throat, grateful for the reassurance but wishing he didn’t feel so far away. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll be alright... I miss you though.”

“I miss you too, Y/N. But you’re doing great. You’re where you need to be. Keep your head straight, and don’t let anything distract you from that.”

Y/N smiled softly, the familiar comfort of his dad’s words settling over him like a blanket. “I won’t. Talk to you soon?”

“Always.”

“Cool, love you dad.”

“Love you to, kid.”

With that, they said their goodbyes, Y/N holding onto the phone for a moment longer after the call ended, as if keeping the connection alive just a little longer. The night seemed quieter now, and despite the warmth in his chest from the conversation, there was still a restlessness lingering under his skin.

As Y/N stood up, slipping his phone into his pocket, his attention was drawn to movement in the distance. Two girls were making their way back from the forest toward the school—one with bright ginger hair pulled into a ponytail, the other with braids tied up and still in athletic swimwear. He recognized them from earlier in the day. Their voices were raised, the sharp tone of their argument carrying faintly on the wind, though the exact words were lost to him. Still, the tension between them was palpable, enough to make Y/N pause for a moment, curiosity and some small concern bubbling up inside him.

He watched them for a brief moment, before letting out a sigh, deciding he didn’t even want to know what that was about. Whatever was going on between them, it wasn’t his place. Not tonight. He had enough to process without diving into someone else’s problems.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as the weight of the day settled over him. There was still too much swirling around in his mind, and the emotional pull from talking to his dad hadn’t fully left him. Needing more space to clear his thoughts, he let his magic guide him. The familiar tug in his chest pointed him toward the nearby river, the soft hum of the water beckoning him with its soothing energy.

Y/N took one last glance at the retreating figures before turning in the opposite direction, heading toward the river’s edge. The water called to him, and tonight, he needed that quiet connection more than anything.

“No, you shouldn’t have been out there.”

Bloom’s words, sharp and filled with frustration, echoed as she and Aisha ascended one of the stairways in Alfea’s grand halls. Bloom turned, her body tense, facing Aisha who looked back with an incredulous expression.

“Is that American for ‘sorry I almost set you on fire’?” Aisha shot back, her voice edged with sarcasm. Her arms crossed over her chest as she took a step closer, challenging Bloom's deflection. “You were a runaway train with no idea what you were doing.”

“Which is why I was out there alone—trying to figure it out.” Bloom's tone held the weight of exhaustion as she stormed up the stairs, not wanting to hear another lecture. Her steps were quick and purposeful, as if she could walk away from the guilt building in her chest. Aisha followed closely behind, her eyes narrowing.

“Brilliant idea.” Aisha muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm, though there was an undercurrent of concern she didn’t bother to hide.

Bloom stopped abruptly, turning toward Aisha with a tired expression. She waved her arms out, a gesture of frustration and defeat. “I’m not like the rest of you. I didn’t grow up here. I don’t have fairy parents. I’ve done magic once in my life and it was...” she trailed off, unable to even finish the thought. Her words hung in the air, weighted with emotion.

Aisha, unfazed, raised an eyebrow. “What? Terrible? I’m shocked. I flooded my entire secondary school after I failed a math test. Taps, sprinklers, toilets... Have you ever waded through human poo? I have. Not pleasant. Sometimes being a fairy means you have to deal with shit.”

The hallway they stood in felt quieter now as Bloom sighed and sat on one of the benches nearby. The weight of her confession bore down on her, and her shoulders slumped slightly. Her voice came out quieter this time, less defensive. “So my... mom and I don’t really get along.” There was a small, almost bitter chuckle that followed. “I know. It’s a shocker. I’m not... exactly the ideal daughter for her. She’d love a cheerleader, and I’m whatever the opposite of a cheerleader is.”

Aisha stayed quiet, sensing there was more Bloom wanted to say. And after a moment of silence, Bloom’s eyes darkened with a memory she wished she could forget. She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, her hands clasped tightly together as if holding herself together. She described a vivid memory of her mother instructing her father to remove her bedroom door after a heated argument. The punishment had felt unfair, extreme even, and the anger had built up inside Bloom, festering.

“That night, I… couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, the rage just kept building. Then it happened.”

Aisha leaned in, listening intently as Bloom continued. She spoke of the first time she’d tapped into her magic, unknowingly igniting a fire that blazed a trail from her room to her parents' bedroom. “It was almost like the fire had a life of its own... I don’t remember how long I let it burn. I just remember their screams.”

Her voice cracked as she described the scene—the sight of her parents huddled in the corner of their bedroom, her father desperately trying to shield her mother from the flames that engulfed the room. “My mom...was covered in third-degree burns…’cause of me. Every night after that, I… I snuck out. I was so scared I’d hurt them again that I slept in this creepy-ass warehouse near my house. Until Miss Dowling found me.” There was a bitter chuckle mixed with a sniffle, her hands wiping away the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes.

Aisha, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, her voice softer than before. “All right. Fire story beats shit story. You win.”

A faint smile broke through Bloom’s pained expression, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She looked down at her hands, the weight of her past still pressing on her shoulders. Aisha stood and walked toward the ledge that overlooked the canteen below, her expression thoughtful, as though piecing together Bloom’s story in her mind.

“And your parents had no idea it was you?” Aisha’s voice was steady, but there was a hint of disbelief.

Bloom shook her head slowly, the disbelief mirrored in her own voice. “I don’t know how distant my fairy ancestors are, but... the most mystical thing my parents believe in is knocking on wood.”

Aisha was quiet for a moment, her mind turning over the pieces of the puzzle before her. “It’s just... odd,” she began cautiously. “You drew on a great deal of magic without even trying. It’s hard to believe you’re from a dormant bloodline. Is there any chance you’re adopted?”

Bloom chuckled softly, shaking her head. “No. No, I... No, I’ve heard the story of my birth a million times. ‘Miracle baby.’ I had a heart defect in the womb, but a day after I was born, it was gone.”

Aisha’s expression shifted, her eyes widening slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Oh God. You... You’re a changeling.”

“What’s that?” Bloom asked, her confusion deepening. “Aisha, what’s a changeling?”

Aisha slowly sat down next to her, the weight of her words sinking in. “A changeling is a fairy baby that’s switched with a human one at birth.”

“Wait, what?” Bloom's voice cracked slightly, her confusion turning into shock.

“It’s barbaric,” Aisha said quietly. “It barely happens anymore.”

“That’s not possible.” Bloom was adamant, shaking her head.

“You’re clearly very powerful, Bloom,” Aisha pointed out. “You have to be pure-blooded.”

Bloom slowly rose out of her seat, her voice following suit. “I would know if my parents weren’t my parents, Aisha. Why would you even say that?”

“I’m just trying to help,” Aisha replied, her tone cautious, but her intent sincere.

“Well, you’re not.” She stormed off, her footsteps echoing in the hallway as she passed Musa, who had just arrived.

As she passed, Musa approached them, her eyes flicking between the two. “What the hell did you tell her?” she asked, eyeing Aisha with confusion.

“The truth,” Aisha said standing as well as she slowly approached the mind fairy, still staring after Bloom. “Because someone’s been lying to her.”

The dim glow of the evening light filtered through the stained glass windows of Headmistress Dowling's office, casting long, soft shadows across the room. She sat at her desk, a steaming cup of tea in her hands, its gentle aroma filling the quiet space. Her gaze was distant, her thoughts clearly elsewhere as she took a slow, deliberate sip. The warmth of the tea was comforting, but even that couldn't ease the weight pressing on her mind.

After a moment, Dowling set the cup down gently on its saucer, the faint clink barely audible. Her eyes flicked toward the door across the room, sensing a disturbance, though none had entered. With a subtle movement of her hand, the door silently swung shut, closing the space off to the world beyond.

She exhaled quietly, her expression unreadable, before turning her attention to the far side of the room. The ornate bookshelf that lined the wall appeared ordinary to any unsuspecting observer, but as her hand raised slightly, the wood seemed to shift, the books trembling momentarily as the shelf retracted into the wall, revealing a hidden passageway behind it.

Without hesitation, Dowling rose from her chair and moved toward the secret entrance, her steps soundless on the floor. The passage yawned open, dark and shadowed, as she stepped inside, her figure disappearing from view. The bookshelf slid back into place seamlessly, leaving the office as still and untouched as it had been moments before, save for the faint swirl of steam rising from the now-abandoned cup of tea.

The sun disappeared below the horizon, taking its golden, orange, and pinkish-purple hues with it. The moon now sat comfortably in the night sky, casting long shadows across Alfea’s combat arena. The air was thick with the scent of fresh grass and the distant hum of students winding down from their day. In this quiet, secluded part of the academy grounds, only the steady, rhythmic sound of breathing could be heard—evidence of someone deep in training.

Sky had needed to clear his head. After the party and that tense conversation with Stella, he'd come out to the training grounds to blow off some steam. He hadn’t planned on being out here so late, but training was what he knew best—what gave him clarity when everything else felt chaotic.

As Alfea’s newest Specialist Squad Leader and the son of Andreas, Sky was no stranger to pressure. Even in his second year, the expectations placed on him by Silva, his peers, and the legacy of his father were enough to weigh down even the strongest. And now, the added worry of a possible Burned One sighting made the stress all the more suffocating.

He moved with practiced precision through the drills, each strike and parry sharper than the last. But no matter how many times he tried to lose himself in the rhythm, his thoughts circled back to the burdens he carried. The responsibilities of leadership, the looming threat of the Burned Ones, and the unresolved tension with Stella—everything felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on him.

And then there was that fairy.

Sky couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about them kept gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. Maybe it was the way they moved—calm and controlled, but with a kind of unrefined intensity that suggested more power than they even realized. Or maybe it was the way they carried themselves, like they were used to keeping people at arm’s length, though not out of arrogance—more like they were afraid of letting anyone get too close.

It was different from anyone else he’d met. And that look...like they were holding back something deep, something that pulled Sky in even when he should’ve been focused on other things. He’d seen that intensity in their eyes—focused, yet almost searching for something or someone, like a puzzle they were trying to piece together, but couldn’t quite crack.

It was enough to make him pause, to make him wonder if he was reading too much into it. But every time the thought crept in, it wouldn’t leave.

He shook his head, trying to push the feeling away. There was too much going on, too much at stake, to get distracted. But still… his mind kept drifting back, wondering what it was about them that made it so hard to just look away.

Sky paused, sheathing his sword as he took a moment to breathe. His chest rose and fell with the effort, but even the burn in his muscles did little to quiet the storm inside. He sat down on the edge of the raised platform, staring out at the open field, hoping the stillness would help center him.

That’s when he heard it—the faint sound of splashing water, barely distinguishable from the natural hum of the nearby river. It wasn’t much, just enough to make him pause. He stood up, scanning the area, listening intently. The sound of rushing water grew more distinct, and along with it, a faint rustle of leaves. Sky’s instincts kicked in, and his focus sharpened.

Curiosity got the better of him, and Sky followed the sound, moving quietly through the trees that bordered the field. As he approached the riverbank, he noticed muddied footprints cutting through the overgrowth, disappearing into the forest. Someone had been here recently.

He crouched down, inspecting the footprints. They were fresh, still damp, meaning whoever made them hadn’t passed by long before he arrived. A trail led toward the river where the shimmering Barrier of Alfea’s protective force field could be seen in the distance.

Sky knew he should probably report this to Silva or even Headmistress Dowling. It wasn’t a good idea for anyone to be out here alone, especially this close to the Barrier after what had happened in the forest. But something made him hesitate—whether it was a need to prove himself or just an unconscious draw to see what lay ahead, Sky couldn’t say. But whatever it was, he decided to follow the trail himself.

He stepped into the thickening trees, the sounds of the forest growing louder around him—rustling leaves, the distant chirping of insects, and the constant, rhythmic flow of water. The further he went, the more the noise seemed to focus on the river. And as he reached the treeline, stepping into the clearing by the water’s edge, his eyes widened at the sight before him.

Standing near the river was the same water fairy from earlier. Sky recognized him immediately—the way he moved was unmistakable. The fairy’s back was to him, seemingly unaware of Sky’s presence as he practiced his magic, manipulating the water with a grace and precision that was mesmerizing to watch.

Sky’s first instinct was to turn back. They were still within the Barrier, and it wasn’t uncommon for students to seek solitude near the river to practice. Privacy was something Sky valued too, and he understood the need to escape the buzz of Alfea life. But something about the way the water fairy moved held him in place.

There was a seamless blend of power and precision in the way he controlled the water, sending it twisting and spiraling through the air. The fluid motions were almost hypnotic, each arc of water bending and shifting under the fairy’s control before solidifying into sharp, crystalline shapes. A spear, a shield, and then, just as quickly, back to water again.

Sky had always found water magic fascinating, but watching this guy work was something else entirely. There was no hesitation, no faltering. Every movement was deliberate, calculated, with the water responding as if it were an extension of his body. It was clear that he wasn’t just practicing; he was refining combat techniques in a way that was both deadly and beautiful.

Sky found himself captivated, his eyes following every motion, every subtle shift in the fairy’s form. There was a discipline to his movements, a quiet intensity that spoke of years of training. He couldn’t help but admire the control and focus it must have taken to reach this level of mastery. And yet, as much as he was drawn to the magic, he found his attention shifting to the fairy himself.

The water fairy was lean, his athletic frame moving with a dancer-like precision. Sky’s gaze lingered on the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt, the fabric clinging to him as he commanded the water. There was a calmness in the way he stood, a poise that made every movement seem effortless, deliberate.

Sky shook his head slightly, forcing himself to focus. He wasn’t sure why he felt so drawn to this guy—someone he didn’t even know. But the sense of ease and quiet confidence the fairy exuded was hard to ignore.

As he was about to turn back, his boot caught a branch, the snap of wood echoing through the clearing. Sky winced as the sound broke the stillness, and the fairy immediately turned to face him, his cerulean glowing eyes narrowing with a mix of surprise and wariness.

Four ice weapons materialized in the air, hovering around the fairy in a defensive stance, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. The blue glow of his magic shimmered in the moonlight, casting an ethereal glow around him.

Sky froze, his hand instinctively moving toward the hilt of his sword, but something stopped him. Despite the threat of the ice weapons, there was no malice in the fairy’s gaze. Sky felt an odd sense of trust, like the fairy wouldn’t actually harm him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the fairy said, his voice calm and composed. With a flick of his wrist, the ice weapons dissolved back into water, falling harmlessly into the river. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be out here.”

Sky let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his body relaxing slightly as the immediate threat dissipated. He managed a small, reassuring smile. “No, it’s my fault,” he replied, his voice steadying. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just… curious.”

The fairy’s expression softened, though his eyes still held a hint of wariness. “Curious?” he echoed, his tone inviting Sky to explain.

“Yeah, I just—” Sky gestured toward the path he had taken. “I saw footprints leading here and wanted to make sure no one was in trouble, being so close to the Barrier and all. You’re new, right? First year at Alfea?”

The fairy’s expression softened, a nervous smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, first year—first day, actually. It’s been a lot to take in, especially with all the rumors about that body found in the forest. I mean, it was probably just a random animal attack, right? But people seem really on edge, even with the Barrier in place.” He glanced at the river, his tone shifting. “I just needed a break—get some peace and quiet. The river seemed like a safe spot. Calm, secure, no distractions. A chance to relax and clear my head.”

Sky nodded, understanding the logic. "Makes sense," he agreed, though there was still a flicker of concern behind his casual tone. "But, you know, being out here alone... it’s not exactly safe."

The fairy’s brow furrowed slightly, picking up on the shift in Sky’s demeanor. "What do you mean? It’s probably just a wild animal, right?"

Sky hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “You really don’t know what everyone’s been saying? About the possibility of it being a Burned One?”

Y/N’s confusion deepened, his brow tightening. “A Burned One? No, I’ve... never heard of that.”

Sky’s surprise was evident as he raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you don’t know what Burned Ones are? Aren’t you from the Otherworld?”

Y/N chuckled softly, the sound almost masking the guarded edge in his tone. "No, not at all. I’m from Hawaii."

Sky blinked, processing the unexpected answer. "Hawaii? You’re from the First World?"

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, his grin more cautious now, though still carrying a trace of humor. “I’m guessing not a lot of people from around here know what or where that is. You’d be surprised, but Sam and Terra actually knew about it. Figured most people here wouldn’t, though, considering how secretive everything’s supposed to be.”

Sky’s smile widened at that. “Hawaii, huh?” His mind immediately drew a parallel to earlier that day, when Bloom had told him she was from California. Another First Worlder. He hadn’t realized how many non-magical realm students Alfea attracted, but it was starting to make him wonder how many more were out there, hidden in plain sight.

“Yep,” Y/N confirmed with a nod, though his gaze briefly flickered away, as if there was more he wasn’t ready to dive into. “I’ve known I was magical since I was a kid—my dad helped me figure out how to control it. But, honestly? I had no idea a place like this even existed. When Miss Dowling first told me about it, I thought she was punking me. I was half expecting to end up in some knock-off Hogwarts amusement park, not... well, here.” He chuckled lightly, the humor genuine, but there was a thread of unease woven beneath the words. “Coming here’s been... a pretty big leap.”

Sky could sense that Y/N was holding something back, like there was a part of his story he wasn’t ready to share. But he didn’t press. Instead, he matched Y/N’s energy with an easy chuckle of his own. “Yeah, I can imagine the culture shock. Seems like we’re getting more and more First Worlders these days.”

Y/N’s smile faltered for a brief second, his guard still up, though he quickly recovered. “Yeah... something like that.”

There was an unspoken tension between them—Y/N was giving Sky pieces of his story, but not the whole picture. And Sky, for all his curiosity, could tell that pushing too hard wasn’t the way to go. Not yet.

The fairy gave a slight shrug, his lips twitching into a small, guarded smile. “Anyway, I’ve got enough of a handle on my magic to be able to take care of myself," he replied, his voice steady, though still carrying that subtle edge of uncertainty, like he wasn’t quite convinced. "And from what I’ve heard, that Barrier is supposed to be impenetrable, right? Should be more than enough to keep us safe. I’m not too worried."

Sky raised an eyebrow, his expression somewhere between playful and cautious. “Supposed to be, yeah,” he echoed, the tone light but carrying a hint of skepticism. “But you know, the rumors swirling around aren’t exactly about stray animals. Burned Ones aren’t your average woodland creatures.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and curiosity. “Still don’t really know what those are, but... sure,” he admitted with a shrug, trying to play it off casually, though a hint of unease lingered in his voice.

Sky couldn’t help but smile at the fairy’s self-assuredness. There was something infectious about the way he spoke, a quiet confidence that made it hard to look away. The specialist shifted his stance slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to maintain an air of casualness. His own expression softened as he took in the guy in front of him—something about him drew Sky in, even if he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

“Still,” Sky added, a hint of playfulness creeping into his tone, “it never hurts to have someone around who knows what to expect and knows their way around combat. You know, just in case that Barrier isn’t as foolproof as they say.”

The fairy raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “Confident, aren’t we?” he quipped, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Let me guess... Specialist, right?”

Sky chuckled, feeling more at ease as the energy between them started to feel less tense and more comfortable, even natural. It felt as if they were simply falling into a rhythm that neither had expected but both were enjoying.

“You got me,” Sky admitted with a grin, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the fading sunlight. “I guess I can’t help but be a little protective.”

“And what makes you think I need protection?” Y/N asked, his eyes narrowing slightly in playful challenge. Then, he paused for a second, as if piecing together the puzzle. His gaze flicked over Sky—blond hair, confident stance, and the slight swagger that came with his title. “Hmm,” Y/N tilted his head, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess you’re the golden boy I’ve been hearing so much about. Sky, right?”

Sky blinked, surprised but intrigued. He hadn’t expected to be recognized, especially out here, and he certainly hadn’t anticipated Y/N’s keen observation. “That’s right,” he said, a hint of curiosity in his voice. “What exactly have you been hearing about me?”

Y/N shrugged, his smirk widening just a bit. “Oh, you know, just that you’re Alfea’s newest squad leader, the one everyone seems to look up to. Plus, it’s hard not to notice when your name’s on just about everyone’s lips today.”

Sky chuckled again, though there was a trace of modesty in his response. “Well, I guess my reputation precedes me,” he said with a grin, but his expression turned a bit more serious as he added, “But you might want to rethink the whole ‘no protection needed’ thing. This place has its dangers, even with a Barrier.”

Sky watched the fairy carefully, his curiosity growing with each passing second. There was something about the way Y/N spoke, a quiet confidence, but also a guardedness, that intrigued him. He hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn, but it wasn’t unwelcome. In fact, Sky found himself wanting to know more.

“Maybe,” Y/N said with a casual shrug, though his voice carried a darker edge. “It’s not like I’ve been wandering around without a clue. When it comes to magic… let’s just say I’m probably more of a threat to others—and myself—than anything out here could be to me.” His eyes flickered briefly, a subtle tension beneath the surface. “I can handle myself, and I’m definitely not looking for trouble.”

Sky tilted his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, but the flicker of curiosity in his eyes gave away that he’d picked up on the deeper meaning behind Y/N’s words. “Maybe you’re not looking for trouble,” he said, his tone casual yet pointed, “but that doesn’t mean trouble’s not out there looking for you.”

Y/N huffed softly, amusement flickering in his eyes as he narrowed them in a playful challenge. “And what makes you think I’m the type that needs rescuing?”

Sky’s grin widened, leaning into the teasing banter. “I don’t know… maybe it’s just my hero complex kicking in.”

Y/N let out a light laugh, the sound easy and carefree, a contrast to the tension that had been hanging between them earlier. “Hero complex, huh?” he teased back, his smirk growing. “And here I was told you Specialists were all about strategy and precision.”

Sky chuckled lightly at Y/N's retort, their easy banter creating a surprising warmth between them. But as the playful atmosphere settled, a silence followed. They exchanged a few lingering glances—curious from Sky, and slightly more guarded from Y/N. There was something in the fairy’s expression, a subtle nervousness, that made Sky feel as though Y/N wasn’t used to being watched so intently.

After a moment, Sky cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. “It’s getting late, and we’ve got classes in the morning. Probably best we both head back to the dorms.”

Y/N gave a slight nod, though he couldn’t resist another jab. “You’re really serious about that hero complex, huh?”

Sky grinned, unable to stop himself from playing along. “You’d be surprised how serious I am about it.”

The tension between them dissolved into a more comfortable camaraderie as Sky offered a small gesture toward the direction of the dorms. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”

They began their walk back through the forest, the sounds of the river fading behind them, replaced by the quiet rustle of leaves and the distant hum of Alfea. Sky and Y/N moved in step with each other, their conversation light, touching on the campus, the upcoming classes, and the expectations looming over them both. There was a natural flow to their interaction that felt almost... easy.

When they reached the Fairy Hall, Sky hesitated for a moment before flashing Y/N a genuine smile. “Well, here you are. Fairy Hall, safe and sound.”

Y/N chuckled softly, rolling his eyes at Sky’s mock-seriousness. “Guess you weren’t kidding about that hero complex.”

With a final grin, Sky offered a casual wave before turning to head toward the Specialist Hall. “See you around, first-year.”

Y/N watched him disappear into the distance before turning to make his way inside. But as he took a step forward, something caught his eye—a figure slipping out from the shadows near the edge of the courtyard. He paused, narrowing his gaze, trying to make out the person’s features.

It was a girl, the same one he saw earlier walking back with that swimmer looking girl towards the school when they were seemingly arguing. She was still wearing the same clothes, her ginger hair pulled into a ponytail, and she was walking away from the halls, heading toward the forest.

She wasn’t far enough yet that Y/N couldn’t spot the nervous twitch in her hands, like she was fidgeting with something. As she stepped into the moonlight, something golden caught his eye—small, shiny, like some type of jewelry that was faintly glowing with a trace of magic.

Y/N felt a twinge of unease. He didn’t know why, but something about the way she moved, the way her fingers fidgeted with the golden object, tugged at his instincts. He stood there for a moment, battling in his mind with what to do.

Clearly, she wasn’t heading for the dorms. Something in Y/N’s gut twisted, a nagging instinct that screamed at him to follow her, while his brain—not to be outdone—was urging him to run straight to Miss Dowling and let her handle it. There was the smart choice, and then there was… well, the choice Y/N usually made.

Naturally, he didn’t choose smart.

With a quiet huff, he slipped after her, his footsteps light as he shadowed her path towards the trees. His curiosity—and maybe a touch of concern—grew with every step. She was heading toward the Barrier. Toward the forest. And for reasons he couldn’t fully explain, that only made the gnawing feeling in his gut tighten. Quickening his pace, he stayed far enough back to not alert her, but close enough to see what she was up to. Because apparently, tonight, he was committed to bad decisions.

Aisha and Musa entered the Winx suite, their footsteps quiet as the tension between them grew. Stella was sprawled on the couch, taking selfies, the glow from her magical light casting her face in soft, flattering shadows.

"She's blanking my texts," Aisha said, her frustration laced with a hint of worry.

Musa’s eyes narrowed, her voice sharp with sarcasm as she glanced at Stella. "Strange. I wonder if it's because she poured her heart out to you and you called her a freak?"

Her comment hung in the air, heavy with accusation, but Stella remained unmoved, still engrossed in her phone. Aisha’s lips tightened as she tried to keep her cool.

"Have you seen Bloom?" Aisha asked, directing her question to Stella.

"Not recently," Stella replied dismissively, barely sparing Aisha a glance as she focused on her screen.

Musa wasn’t convinced. Her gaze intensified, the light in her irises turning a faint purple glow as her expression darkened with suspicion. Stella, sensing Musa’s scrutiny, snapped her fingers, dispelling the magical light she had been using for her selfies. She finally looked up, defensive and annoyed.

"Yes?" Stella’s voice held a challenging edge.

"Your face looks so calm, yet you're racked with guilt," Musa said, her eyes never leaving Stella.

"You're a mind fairy," Aisha added, her voice taking on a sharper tone.

Before the tension could deepen, Terra stepped into the room, oblivious to the building atmosphere. She glanced between them, catching the subtle hostility in the air.

"A mind fairy? What's your connection? Memory, thoughts—" Terra started, her curiosity piqued.

"Not a great time," Musa interrupted, cutting her off.

Terra frowned, sensing something off. "Is everything OK?"

Stella’s fingers danced across her phone, ignoring the mounting tension.

"Not really," Aisha said, her frustration seeping through. "I'm looking for Bloom. For some reason, Stella's feeling guilty about it."

At that, Stella’s eyes flicked up, her annoyance flashing before she masked it with indifference. She rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Could everyone save the drama for drama club?" Stella quipped.

Terra wasn’t having it. "Wasn't she talking to Sky?" she asked, her tone firm.

"And?" Stella replied, a coy smile tugging at her lips.

"And I know what happened to the last person who was 'talking to Sky.' I was here last year, remember," Terra said, her voice rising slightly, as if placing air quotes around the words.

Stella scoffed in response, turning back to her phone with a petulant smile, clearly dismissing the concern.

"Stella, where's Bloom?" Terra’s expression hardened, her tone leaving no room for games.

Stella glanced up through her lashes, realizing she had no way out. There was no escaping the questions now. Sighing, she dropped her phone into her lap, her face reflecting both guilt and defiance.

"She was feeling homesick, so I did a nice thing and I lent her my ring so that she could go back to the First World," Stella admitted, though her tone carried an air of justification, as if she hadn’t done anything wrong.

As they spoke, deep in the forest, far beyond the Barrier protecting Alfea, Bloom hurried through the dense trees, her steps quick and purposeful. The moonlight barely filtered through the canopy, casting a ghostly pallor over the cemetery ahead of her. The air was thick with moisture, the weight of the night pressing down on her as she neared an ancient mausoleum covered in vines and decay.

"Doesn't it only work outside the Barrier?" Terra asked, concern clear in her voice.

"Yes, and there's a gateway in the old cemetery," Stella replied, still acting as if this was all completely normal.

Bloom paused before the weathered stone structure, glancing over her shoulder to ensure she was alone. Behind her, Y/N kept his distance, careful not to be noticed. His instincts were on high alert, something in his gut screaming that whatever she was about to do, he needed to be there.

With a shaky breath, Bloom reached out and pressed her hand—Stella’s ring shimmering in the moonlight—against the cold stone of the mausoleum’s door. A soft glow pulsed from the ring, spreading out like liquid gold until it covered the entire surface. The door creaked open with a slow groan, revealing the darkness inside. Y/N held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched her disappear inside.

"That's deep in the forest, Stella," Terra pressed, her voice taking on a more serious, worried tone. “You know what’s out there, right?”

Inside the mausoleum, Bloom found herself stepping into what looked like an old, abandoned warehouse—the same one where she’d hidden before Miss Dowling had discovered her. The air was thick with dust, carrying the stale scent of decay and neglect. Every corner felt eerily still, the kind of quiet that pressed down on you, almost suffocating in its heaviness. She glanced around briefly, memories flickering at the edges of her mind, before making her way to the main door. When she stepped outside, the familiar warmth of the California air washed over her, a stark contrast to the cold atmosphere inside.

Unnoticed, Y/N slipped into the warehouse behind her. His eyes swept over the unfamiliar space, the faint tension in the air alerting him to how far they’d ventured. It wasn’t until he followed her through the main door and felt the warm breeze on his skin that he realized, with a sharp pang of surprise, that they weren’t in the Otherworld anymore. This was somewhere else entirely.

Judging by the scenery—the dry hills, the faint scent of salt in the air—Y/N guessed they were somewhere on the West Coast. Probably California. But he didn’t have time to play detective because, despite growing up with a military dad who drilled him in endurance, Bloom was already a good half-mile down the road. He huffed, picking up his pace with a ragged breath escaping from at his lips. Seriously, how was she outpacing him like this?

As Y/N rushed to catch up with her, his mind raced just as fast as his legs. This clearly wasn’t just a casual stroll—she had a destination, and whatever it was, it must have been important with the way she was moving.

Back at the Winx suite, the tension in the air thickened. Just as Terra was about to ask Stella another question, a knock sounded on the door, sharp and urgent. Terra called out, “Come in!” The door creaked open, revealing Sam standing there, looking unusually anxious. His eyes darted around the room, his usual calm demeanor noticeably shaken.

“Terra, have you seen Y/N?” Sam asked, his voice tinged with worry. “He hasn’t come back to our dorm, and I’ve been looking for him everywhere.”

Terra frowned, exchanging concerned glances with Aisha and Musa. “No, I haven’t seen him since the party,” she said slowly. “He said he was going outside to call his dad.”

Sam’s jaw clenched, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “He’s not answering his phone either. I’ve checked every spot I showed him today and even more but I can’t find him anywhere. He’s just... gone.”

Musa, who had been quietly observing the exchange, tilted her head slightly, her sharp gaze flicking to Sam. For a brief moment, something flickered in her expression—interest, curiosity—but the weight of the situation kept her silent.

“I’m sorry, but who is Y/N?” Aisha interjected, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Sam glanced at her, then sighed, running a hand through his dark-brown hair again. “Y/N’s a first-year fairy, from the First World. Miss Dowling assigned me to mentor and guide him since he’s still getting used to everything here and we’re rooming together. He’s from the First World, Hawaii I think, and he said he’s known about his magic for awhile, but the Otherworld is completely new and—well, kind of a shock for him. But he’s smart. Quick learner.”

Before Sam could continue, Terra spoke up, her tone reflecting her growing concern, “The last time I saw him was at the party. He never came back though. I thought maybe he just needed some air, but if he hasn’t come back, I don’t know where he might have gone.”

Aisha nodded, absorbing the information while Terra’s frown deepened. “So, we’ve got a homesick Bloom who’s probably wandering around somewhere in the First World, hopefully not setting things on fire, and a first-year fairy also from the First World who’s gone missing as well? Perfect.”

Terra’s concern deepened. “I don’t believe Y/N would just go off somewhere without telling someone.”

Stella, who had also been silent as she sat in her guilt, put down her phone again, raising an eyebrow. “Missing? You sure he didn’t just... take a walk to be alone or something?”

Sam shook his head, clearly unsettled. “He’d at least tell me where he was going if he was. I’m telling you, something’s wrong. But, what’s this about your suitemate missing somewhere in the FIrst World to?”

Aisha and Musa exchanged a brief, uneasy glance before Aisha cleared her throat. “It’s... kind of a long story,” she started, her gaze flicking toward Stella, her words slow and deliberate. “But Bloom was feeling homesick. I think she wanted to go home to see her parents.”

Sam frowned, crossing his arms as he took in the information, but it was clear he wasn’t getting the full picture. “And how exactly did she manage to do that? Isn’t the Barrier supposed to prevent anyone from leaving like that?”

Musa’s eyes landed on Stella, her expression unyielding. “She had a little help,” she said pointedly, causing Stella to shift uncomfortably on the couch.

Sam’s eyes darkened, clearly picking up on the accusatory tone in the room. “Help from who?” he asked, his voice growing more intense.

Aisha sighed, still clearly upset but staying as calm as possible. “Stella lent Bloom her gateway ring, so she could go back to the First World.”

Sam’s expression hardened, his jaw clenched. “She’s beyond the Barrier? Alone?” His voice was laced with disbelief, mixed with a rising tide of anger. His eyes darted between the girls before settling back on Stella. “Do you even realize how dangerous that is?”

Stella opened her mouth to respond but closed it again, not entirely sure what to say in her defense. Her face reflected a mix of guilt and frustration, but Sam wasn’t waiting for an answer. He was already pacing, his thoughts spiraling.

Aisha, seeing the worry etched on Sam’s face, quickly put together the pieces. “Wait,” she said, her voice becoming more thoughtful. “Bloom and Y/N… they’re both from the First World, right?”

Sam stopped mid-pace, his eyes snapping toward Aisha. “Yeah, they are. Why?”

“It just seems like more than a coincidence, don’t you think?” Aisha said, her brows furrowing. “They’re both from the First World, both entirely new to the Otherworld, both personally assigned mentors by Miss Dowling... and now they’re both missing.”

Musa leaned against the wall, her arms crossed as she considered Aisha’s words. “You’re right. It feels off. Too much of a coincidence for my taste.”

Sam’s concern deepened, his frustration palpable as he clenched his fists at his sides. “And now they’re both out there, somewhere, probably with no idea of the danger they’re walking into.”

Stella, clearly uncomfortable with the weight of the situation she had unintentionally caused, looked down at her hands, the guilt catching up to her. She wasn’t used to feeling this much responsibility, and it was starting to weigh on her more than she let on.

Aisha continued, her voice growing more urgent as she pieced it together. “Could it be possible Y/N might’ve followed Bloom, especially if he noticed something was off? They could both be in the First World right now, but neither of them have a way to get back.”

Sam nodded, his expression tight with concern. “It’s definitely possible,” he said, the tension in his voice unmistakable. “Y/N gives off that selfless, 'help others first' vibe. He’s the type of guy who’d follow someone if he thought they were in trouble, even if he didn’t know them well. I mean, we’ve only spent one day together, but I could already tell—given what’s he’s shared with me about where he grew up and his dad. If he thought Bloom was in trouble, no way he’d just let her go off alone.”

Aisha nodded firmly. “Then, we need to get ahead of this before it gets worse. We’ll have to tell Miss Dowling, let her know what’s going on. They’re not just two students wandering off—they’re basically fresh prey for whatever is out there beyond the Barrier.”

Sam, his frustration now mixing with fear, glared at Stella. “You had better hope nothing happens to them. This is more than just playing with magic.”

Stella, for once, had nothing to say. She looked away, her face stiff with the realization of what she had set into motion.

Y/N hurried to catch up to Bloom, his steps light but determined. His breath was shallow as he finally spotted her, standing at the corner of a white picket fence, her figure bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. She was motionless, her gaze fixed through a large dining room window. Y/N followed her line of sight, his heart clenching when he saw a couple inside—a man and a woman seated at the dinner table. He didn’t need to guess who they were. He already knew: her parents.

She was talking to them, but not directly. Instead, she held her phone close to her ear, her voice trembling as she spoke.

"Um... What if I... What if I... like, made a mistake?" Bloom's voice was faint, just above a whisper, but Y/N could hear the weight of her words as if they carried the burden of years of doubt.

Even though the phone wasn't on speaker, the soft, distant voices of her parents carried to Y/N's ears. The words were unclear at times, but the emotions behind them—concern, love, reassurance—were unmistakable.

"You're too special for here," her mother’s voice, faint but firm, echoed through the phone. "It's not who you are."

"What if you don't know who I am?" Bloom's voice cracked, her vulnerability clear in the way she clutched the phone tighter, her other hand trembling by her side.

Y/N, from his place of hiding, felt his own chest tighten. He knew this feeling. The uncertainty. The loneliness of being misunderstood by the people who were supposed to know you best. He wanted to look away, to stop intruding on this private moment, but something rooted him to the spot. Everything she said mirrored his own struggles with his father—always trying to live up to expectations, always feeling like he had to hide parts of himself.

Inside the house, Bloom’s mother rubbed her arms absentmindedly, and Y/N caught a glimpse of red marks, faint but unmistakable, like burns. He put two and two together, watching as Bloom’s expression faltered—guilt flooding her features. Whatever had happened, Y/N could feel the heaviness of it through his magic, and he knew, somehow, that it had been her doing.

"No, you're right. Alfea's where I belong now," Bloom said, her voice barely holding it together.

"Bloom, listen to me," her mother continued, her tone softer now. "Whatever you're going through, I know it sucks, but I also know you can handle it. I always knew your path wouldn't be like everyone else's."

Y/N’s breath hitched as Bloom let out a teary chuckle, fighting to keep herself together.

"Not like mine or your father's. That's hard. But at the end of it, I can't wait to see who you become."

Her father's voice chimed in then, warm and supportive. "We love you, Bloom."

Through sniffles and quiet sobs, Bloom replied, "I love you too."

The call ended, leaving a hollow silence in the air. Bloom stood there, her shoulders trembling as soft sobs escaped her. Y/N’s heart clenched painfully. He knew this moment wasn’t for him, wasn’t meant for anyone else. Slowly, he took a step back, ready to retreat and give her the privacy she so desperately needed. But as he turned, his foot made a faint sound against the gravel, and Bloom whipped around, her tear-streaked face locking onto him.

The call ended, leaving a hollow silence in the air. Bloom stood there, her shoulders trembling as soft sobs escaped her. Y/N’s heart clenched painfully. He knew this moment wasn’t for him, wasn’t meant for anyone else. Slowly, he stepped back, retreating into the shadows. The weight of her sorrow hung heavy in the air, pulling at him, but he knew she needed this moment alone. He needed to give her space, just like he had craved so many times himself.

He moved quietly, making sure his steps were soundless against the gravel. His pulse echoed in his ears as he carefully distanced himself from the corner of the fence, slipping further into the darkness of the street. With every step he took away from Bloom, the cool night air seemed to grow thicker, almost pressing down on him with the weight of everything he had just witnessed.

But still, he kept moving, his eyes never leaving her until the distance between them was enough to cloak him in the safety of anonymity. He let out a quiet breath, turning back towards the direction of the warehouse. His mind raced with thoughts and emotions, unsure of what exactly he had just seen but knowing, deep down, that it resonated with him in ways he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge.

Y/N made his way back to the warehouse, the chill of the night air doing little to calm the whirlwind of thoughts running through his mind. His feet felt heavy, as though they carried the weight of everything he had just witnessed. Bloom’s words still echoed in his head, the vulnerability in her voice striking a chord deep within him. It was a moment he hadn’t expected to stumble upon, and it left him feeling raw, exposed in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

As he reached the entrance of the warehouse, the shadows inside seemed deeper than before, the quiet of the space pressing in on him. Y/N took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around, trying to piece together what his next move would be. The golden shimmer from Stella’s ring earlier had disappeared, and now the doorway to the Otherworld was sealed shut.

"Great," he muttered under his breath, glancing at the door. "No way back. Now what?"

The silence of the warehouse felt oppressive, like it was swallowing him whole. He walked deeper into the space, his eyes scanning the empty room as he tried to figure out how Bloom had opened the passage in the first place. His fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the doorframe where the gateway had once shimmered. There had to be something, some way to open it again.

But nothing happened. No golden light. No subtle hum of magic.

Y/N cursed under his breath, frustration bubbling to the surface. He felt stuck—both literally and figuratively. Trapped between two worlds and unsure of where he really belonged in either of them. He pressed his back against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the cold, hard floor. His head fell back against the brick, his eyes closing as he let out a long, tired sigh.

Y/N didn’t have time to rest, though. Just as he settled down, trying to figure out how to get back to the Otherworld, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps. His eyes snapped open, heart pounding. Oh, shit. Was it Bloom? Or worse… someone from this world who wasn’t supposed to know about magic?

The door creaked open, and in walked Bloom, her expression a wild mix of confusion, suspicion, and the look of someone who was two bad decisions away from a breakdown as she immediately spotted him considering he was sitting in the most obvious space.

Y/N froze, like a deer caught in headlights, his mind going into full panic mode. Oh double shit.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked, her voice sharp but laced with exhaustion, as if she didn’t have the energy to be fully angry yet.

Y/N pushed himself to his feet, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "I can explain," he started, though he wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to explain any of this. He knew how it looked—him lurking around in the shadows after following her all the way from Alfea.

Her eyes locked onto him like laser beams, the glare making him feel as though he’d just been caught red-handed stealing cookies from a grandma’s cookie jar.

"Who the hell are you?" Bloom demanded, her voice sharp but tired, like she just didn’t have the energy to deal with whatever circus this was about to become.

Y/N scrambled to his feet, hands shooting up in the universal gesture of ‘Please don’t murder me.’ "I can explain!" he blurted, though let’s be real—he had no explanation. None. He looked around frantically, as if the walls might suddenly provide some magical excuse for why he was creeping around like a weirdo.

Bloom crossed her arms, her eyebrow raised to the ceiling as she stepped closer, inspecting him like he was some deranged squirrel that had wandered into her personal space. "You’ve got about ten seconds before I call the cops," she warned, her patience thinner than a thread holding up a bad decision.

“Uh, uh... okay!” Y/N stammered, trying not to look like the world’s worst stalker. “So, funny story, really—uh, you see, I, um...” He took a deep breath, his eyes darting around the room as his brain short-circuited. “...I’m not a serial killer!”

Bloom’s arms tightened, not amused in the slightest.

“No, wait! That came out wrong,” Y/N flailed, realizing how insane he must’ve sounded. “Look, I’m a student at Alfea—like, for real! I swear! First-year! Magic! Totally not creepy!” He motioned wildly to his face like that somehow made him look more trustworthy. “I just... saw you leave and thought you might need help? Maybe?”

Bloom’s glare didn’t waver. "So your bright idea was to follow me... to another world... in the middle of the night... alone?"

Y/N blinked, taking a step back. “Okay, in hindsight I can see how that may not have been the most reasonable decision on my part. But I swear, I had good intentions!”

Bloom rolled her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was done with life. “Wow, congratulations. You’re not a serial killer. Gold star for you.”

Y/N took a deep breath, his posture softening as he realized his flailing explanations weren’t getting him anywhere. Time to try another approach. Something less chaotic and maybe a little more… honest.

“Look,” he said, dropping his hands and glancing away, his voice quieter now, more serious. “I know how this looks. Trust me, I get it. But I’m not here to cause trouble. I just—” He hesitated, searching for the right words, something that wouldn’t make him sound like an idiot or, worse, a stalker. “I overheard a little bit of what you were going through... back there with your parents.”

Bloom’s defensive stance didn’t drop, but her eyes flickered with surprise. He pressed on, knowing he had to tread carefully.

“I didn’t mean to listen,” he continued, his tone softer. “I really didn’t. I just... well, I could relate to what you were saying.” He swallowed, feeling that familiar knot in his stomach tighten. “I’ve gone through something similar with my dad.”

Bloom’s expression shifted slightly, a tiny crack in her hard exterior, though she still didn’t move. Y/N took it as a sign to keep going.

“I think we’ve got more in common than you realize,” Y/N began, his voice softer now, stepping forward just a little. “You and me… We’ve both grown up with this, haven’t we? Magic.” He paused, studying her face as she absorbed his words. “The only difference is, I’ve known about mine since I was a kid. I’m guessing you just discovered yours.”

Bloom’s eyes flickered, but she didn’t respond, her guard still up.

“In all that time,” Y/N continued, “I’ve made a lot of mistakes. More than I can count, honestly. And I’m guessing you’ve made some too, right? It’s kind of impossible not to, with magic like this.” He looked down briefly, running a hand through his hair, remembering the weight of his own guilt. “I saw the burns on your mom’s arms,” he said gently. “And, trust me, I get it. That guilt? That feeling like everything you touch breaks, or worse? I’ve been there.”

Bloom’s expression wavered, something flickering in her eyes as she listened.

“I’ve screwed up a lot, uh... Bloom, right?” Y/N said, his voice carrying a mix of vulnerability and regret. “I froze an entire military base, in Hawaii of all places. You can imagine how easy it was trying to explain that to people. I even almost drowned my dad, who acts like he’s fine, but I can still see him get tense when I’m near large sources of water. I’ve hurt people. People I care about. And it makes you feel like... like you’re dangerous. Like you can’t trust yourself anymore.”

Bloom’s posture softened, her arms loosening as she shifted her weight. For a moment, her expression flickered between exhaustion and curiosity, like she wasn’t sure whether to keep her guard up or let it drop.

“You almost drowned your dad?” she asked quietly, her voice losing some of its earlier edge. There was a strange mix of disbelief and understanding in her tone, like she was processing the idea of someone else living through a situation so close to her own.

Y/N let out a breath, relieved that she hadn’t immediately told him to get lost. “Yeah. I mean, it was an accident, obviously. But... that doesn’t really make it any easier, you know? The people who care about you say they’re fine, but deep down, you can see the way they look at you differently. Like they’re afraid.”

Bloom’s eyes flickered with recognition, and for the first time since their strange, chaotic encounter, she looked at him like he might actually understand what she was going through. She hugged her arms closer to her body, glancing toward the back of the warehouse.

After a beat of silence, she nodded toward one of the side rooms. "Come on. I’ve got a room set up through there. It’s probably better to stay here for now then risk walking back throught the forest. We can figure out the rest in the morning."

Y/N nodded, grateful for the chance before following her, the two of them moving toward the backroms with the grimy windows, likely spaces utlitzed as office rooms in the warehouse. The room was sparse—an old mattress, a few blankets, and some personal belongings scattered around. It wasn’t much, but it was clear this had been her sanctuary for a while, a place to escape from everything.

Bloom sat down on the edge of the mattress, letting out a long sigh. Y/N hovered near the doorway, still a little unsure of where he stood in all this, but feeling that at least the immediate threat of being kicked out had passed.

The room was quiet, the kind of stillness that made Y/N’s skin prickle with unease. He watched as Bloom settled on the edge of the mattress, her hands resting limply in her lap. She hadn’t fully relaxed, though. Her shoulders were still tense, her eyes darting around the sparse space as if she were expecting something—maybe trouble, maybe just more bad news. Y/N shifted uncomfortably, staying near the doorway as if keeping his distance would somehow make this situation less awkward.

For a few long moments, neither of them spoke. The tension hung in the air like a thick fog, both of them sitting with their own thoughts. The silence wasn’t necessarily hostile, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It was like they were both waiting for the other to make a move, to break whatever this strange, shared moment had become.

Bloom kept her eyes downcast, staring at the floor in front of her. Y/N wasn’t sure if she was processing everything or just trying to avoid any more conversation, but he figured it was best to give her some space. His mind was racing with everything they had both just confessed. He wasn’t sure what to say next, afraid to say the wrong thing and make it worse.

After what felt like an eternity, Bloom finally broke the silence, her voice low but not as sharp as before. “So... how’d you end up in the Otherworld?” she asked, glancing up at him, her expression curious but guarded.

Y/N blinked, a little caught off guard by the sudden question. He stepped further into the room, leaning against the wall as he thought about how to answer. “It’s kind of a long story,” he said with a dry chuckle, trying to ease the tension.

Bloom raised an eyebrow, giving him a look that clearly said, I’ve got time.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve known I was magical since I was a kid,” he began, his voice quieter now, more reflective. “My dad—he’s not magical, but we found out about my powers early on and he helped me keep them a secret. Tried to help me learn how to control them. But... well, things didn’t always go smoothly.”

Y/N chuckled bitterly, his gaze dropping to his hands as if the weight of his memories pressed down on him. “I did well for the most part, but... there were always these little moments when I lost it,” he started, his voice softening, laden with regret. “We pretty much figured out early on that my magic was influenced by my emotions, but we didn’t realize how much—how intense it could get.”

He paused, taking a shaky breath, the memories clearly weighing on him. His fingers twitched as he remembered that day. “One day, I found out my dad was getting deployed overseas for something really dangerous. And I just... I lost it. I mean, what’s a 16-year-old kid with magic he barely knows how to control supposed to do? Stop the government from sending his dad into a war zone?" Y/N’s voice cracked slightly, the bitterness in his tone deepening. "I couldn’t calm down. No matter how hard I tried, the anger and frustration just kept building, and I couldn’t control it. Next thing anybody knew, every pipe, faucet, and drain on the base started spitting out more water than they probably even held.” He swallowed hard, his shoulders slumping as he relived the chaos he had caused.

Across from him, Bloom remained silent, her expression softening with empathy. She knew all too well the feeling of emotions spiraling out of control, of your magic becoming something terrifying when you needed it to stop the most.

Y/N’s eyes were distant, as if he was back in that room, reliving every moment. “That wasn’t even the worst of it,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “When my dad realized what was happening, he tried to calm me down, like he always did. But I was so upset—at the situation, at myself for what I was doing—that I couldn’t get a grip on anything, least of all my magic.” His voice wavered slightly, a tremble beneath his words.

Bloom’s heart clenched as she listened, knowing that feeling of panic, that moment when everything slips through your fingers no matter how much you want it to stop. She watched him closely, seeing the guilt etched into every line of his face.

Y/N’s gaze flickered to Bloom’s for just a second before he looked away again, his voice quieter now. “The room we were in filled up with water faster than either of us could react. It didn’t affect me—my magic just doesn’t, I guess—but it affected him.” His breath hitched, and he swallowed hard. “He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get out. I was drowning my dad, and I couldn’t stop.”

For a moment, the silence between them was palpable, the weight of Y/N’s words hanging heavy in the air. Bloom could feel the knot forming in her own chest, the suffocating pressure of guilt that Y/N clearly carried with him. She had felt it herself, every time she thought of her mom’s burns, every time she thought of what her fire had done.

“I got a grip—barely—and stopped the water before it was too late,” Y/N continued, his voice strained. “But after that... things between me and my dad were never the same. It wasn’t his fault, really. He didn’t blame me, but I could see it in his eyes—he didn’t trust me anymore. And honestly? I didn’t trust myself.”

Y/N ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath as he leaned back against the wall. “That’s when Miss Dowling showed up. My dad knew I couldn’t stay at the base—it was too risky. People were paranoid, on edge, waiting for something else to go wrong. I mean, the base in Hawaii nearly froze over like it had been hit by a winter storm straight out of Michigan. One more slip-up, one more incident, and people would start connecting the dots. If they figured out I was the one behind it all… my life would've been turned completely upside down.” He let out a small, humorless laugh, glancing up to meet Bloom’s gaze. “I didn’t exactly fit into the normal world. And it wasn’t like I had a guidebook for being... whatever this is. Alfea became my only choice.”

His voice trailed off, leaving the room in a thick, heavy silence. For a moment, neither of them spoke, both lost in their own thoughts.

Bloom shifted slightly, her arms wrapped around her knees as she looked at him with understanding in her eyes. “I know what that’s like,” she said quietly, her voice soft but steady. “Hurting people you care about because you can’t control it. That guilt... it doesn’t really go away, does it?”

Y/N’s eyes met hers, and for the first time, he saw that she wasn’t just listening—she understood. Truly. It was like she could feel every ounce of his pain because she had carried it herself.

Bloom’s gaze softened further, her voice carrying a fragile weight. “My mom... those burns... I didn’t mean to hurt her, but I did. And I can’t ever take that back.” She swallowed, her voice wavering just slightly. “It’s not just the guilt—it’s the fear. That constant feeling like you might hurt someone again if you’re not careful.”

Y/N nodded, the weight of Bloom's confession settling between them like a thick, shared burden. He could feel the truth of her words, the way they echoed his own experience. It wasn't just about losing control—it was the fact that, unlike everyone else around them, they didn’t grow up in a world that understood magic. The other students at Alfea, as reckless as some of them were, had grown up with people who knew what magic was, people who could teach them how to control it, guide them, and, more importantly, who could understand and forgive their mistakes because they had made those same mistakes themselves. They had families who knew the risks, mentors who had lived through it all, seen the dangers firsthand. The Otherworld wasn’t new or strange to them—it was home.

But for Bloom and Y/N, it was different. Magic had blindsided their lives. Y/N’s dad didn’t know what to do when his son froze an entire base or nearly drowned him. He barely understood the power his son carried, and once he saw just a fraction of it, the fear in his eyes was enough to change everything between them. It wasn’t the kind of fear that came from misunderstanding—it was the fear of seeing something dangerous in someone you love and realizing you have no idea how to protect them or yourself from it. The same fear that Y/N could see in Bloom's eyes when she talked about her mom’s burns. That kind of shift in perspective cut deeper than any physical wound, because it wasn’t just about fear—it was about losing the trust of the people who mattered most, and knowing that no matter what you did, that trust might never come back.

Y/N shifted slightly, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable. He glanced over at Bloom, her eyes downcast as she wrapped her arms tighter around her knees. She looked smaller than before, like the weight of her own story had pressed her into herself. His gaze softened, and after a moment, he broke the silence.

“So... what about you?” Y/N asked quietly, his voice low and steady. “I think I put together bits and pieces, but... what’s your story?”

Bloom glanced up at him, her eyes searching his for a second as if weighing whether or not to trust him. She sighed, running a hand through her fiery hair, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly, though her guard wasn’t completely down.

“There's not much to tell,” Bloom began, her voice softer now, a little less guarded. “I grew up in California. Suburbs, you know? My parents are... well, they’re great. Normal. Loving. But they don’t know anything about magic. I didn’t even know until a few months ago.”

Y/N listened quietly, noticing the way her voice wavered just a bit. He didn’t push her—he knew better than anyone how hard it was to relive those moments. Bloom’s eyes remained fixed on the floor, like she was trying to make sense of her own words before speaking them aloud.

Bloom shifted slightly on the mattress, her fingers fidgeting with a stray thread from the blanket. "It started with a fight," she continued, her voice soft but steady. "My mom and I... we don’t really see eye to eye. She’s always been the type who had this image of what her perfect daughter should be—cheerleader, top of her class, the whole thing. And I’m just... not that." Bloom gave a small, bitter laugh, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe it herself.

Y/N stayed silent, sensing there was more to the story.

"One night, things got really bad between us. I was furious, and I couldn’t calm down." She paused, her hands tightening around the edge of the blanket. "And that’s when it happened. The fire... it just started. It was like everything I was feeling inside was too much, and it just—"

She broke off, swallowing hard, her eyes glossing over with unshed tears. "I didn’t mean to... but the fire spread to their room. My mom... she got burned, really badly." Bloom’s voice trembled with guilt, and she quickly wiped at her eyes, trying to push the tears away. "I could hear them screaming. I wanted to stop it, but I didn’t know how."

The weight of her words hung in the air, thick with the shared understanding between them. Y/N’s heart ached in his chest as he watched her struggle with the memory. He knew that kind of guilt—the kind that stuck with you, that didn’t go away no matter how much time passed.

"They don’t even know it was me," Bloom whispered, her voice barely audible now. "They don’t know what I am... what I did." She finally looked up at Y/N, her eyes filled with a pain that mirrored his own. "I slept in this warehouse for weeks after that. I was terrified I’d hurt them again, that I couldn’t control it. I’d sneak out at night and stay here until... Miss Dowling found me."

Y/N’s brow furrowed as he listened, his heart heavy with the weight of her words. He knew exactly what she meant—the fear, the uncertainty, the crushing realization that no matter how hard you tried, your magic always seemed to have a mind of its own.

“I get it,” he said, his voice sincere. “It’s terrifying. Not knowing when or how it’ll come out again... but also knowing it’s there, waiting.”

Bloom nodded, her gaze distant, lost in thought. “It’s why I came back here tonight. I thought maybe seeing my parents... maybe being here again would help me figure it out. But I don’t belong here anymore, and I don’t know if I ever did.”

Y/N, still leaning against the wall, raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Wait, how did you even get here? I mean... it’s not like there’s a direct flight between the Otherworld and California.”

Bloom blinked, coming back to the moment. “Oh, right... Stella,” she said, her tone holding a hint of reluctance. “She gave me her gateway ring. It opens a portal back to the First World.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait—she just handed it over?”

“Well, not exactly,” Bloom muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. “It was more like I was desperate, and Stella... she understood that. So, yeah, she lent it to me. Honestly, I think it was more of a ‘get out of her hair’ type of thing.” She shrugged, but Y/N could hear the gratitude in her voice, buried beneath the layers of frustration.

Y/N let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “A gateway ring... That explains a lot.” He glanced at her, studying her face for a moment before speaking again. “But you don’t think you belong here? You really think that?”

Bloom hesitated, her gaze falling to her hands. “I don’t know where I belong,” she admitted, her voice soft, almost fragile. “I thought this place... home... would give me some answers, but it’s just made me realize how far away from normal my life has gotten.”

Y/N opened his mouth to respond, but something caught his attention. A faint noise, barely perceptible, coming from outside. It was a soft rustling sound, like leaves being disturbed in the distance, but in the stillness of the warehouse, it felt louder than it should’ve been.

He paused, his body tensing slightly as his eyes darted toward the window. “Did you hear that?”

Bloom furrowed her brow, glancing in the same direction but not seeming overly concerned. “What? I didn’t hear anything.”

Y/N hesitated, his instincts on high alert for a moment before he forced himself to relax. “Never mind. Probably just the wind.”

Y/N had barely relaxed when he noticed something unsettling. It was faint at first, a shadow that didn’t quite belong. His eyes flickered to the wall, where an unfamiliar silhouette moved, just beyond the confines of the room. It wasn’t his, nor was it Bloom’s, and there was no way it could be coming from anything else in the sparsely furnished space.

He straightened up slowly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. As the shadow shifted again, Y/N felt his heart rate spike, his body instinctively tensing.

Bloom, still sitting on the edge of the mattress, noticed his change in demeanor. She turned, her eyebrows furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slowly rose from his sitting position on the floor, standing up on his legs at a snail’s space while looking through the grimy window above and behind Bloom, peering out into the open space of the warehouse. His breath caught in his throat.

“Y/N?” Bloom asked, more urgently this time, standing up from the mattress herself. She followed his gaze, turning closer to the window to see through it’s blinds what had petrified him in fear.. The moment her eyes locked onto the scene outside, a gasp escaped her lips.

In the dim light of the warehouse, just a few feet from them, stood a creature that seemed like it had crawled out of their worst nightmares. It was tall and emaciated, with skin that looked like charred, cracked stone. Its long, skeletal limbs hung loosely at its sides, while its head twitched unnervingly, eyes glowing with an ominous red light. The faint shimmer of molten cracks ran down its entire body, giving off the impression that it was a living, breathing furnace that had cooled too soon. The creature’s entire form seemed to absorb the surrounding shadows, blending in with the darkened warehouse as if it were part of the gloom itself.

Its head snapped toward them with a disturbing speed the moment Bloom locked eyes on it, the glowing embers of its gaze fixating on them like a predator that had just spotted its prey.

"Shit!" Y/N cursed, stumbling backward, his heart hammering in his chest as the creature’s burning eyes seemed to pierce straight through the window. Bloom let out a panicked gasp, jumping back in fright, her hands shaking as she stumbled into Y/N.

As she scrambled, her suddenly sweaty hands lost grip of something—Stella’s ring. In the shock of the moment, her grip faltered, and before she knew it, the ring slipped from her grasp, clattering loudly as it fell through one of the metal grates on the floor.

Both of them froze for a moment, eyes wide, as they watched the ring disappear through the grate with a soft metallic clink.

Y/N blinked, staring at the grate in disbelief. "Seriously?" he muttered, his voice laced with sarcastic exasperation. "Of all the times to drop the only thing that can get us out of here."

Bloom looked mortified, her eyes darting between Y/N and the grate. "I didn’t mean to!" she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper as she frantically glanced back toward the window.

The creature was still standing in the open warehouse, its eerie eyes locked on their hiding spot, its head tilting slightly as if trying to pinpoint their exact location.

Y/N shot Bloom a pointed look before his gaze turned back towards the monster on the other side of the wall. "And this is exactly why you people never survive in horror films."

Sky pushed the door to his dorm room open with a weary sigh, his whole body dripping wet from the shower. The towel wrapped around his waist clung to his hips, while droplets of water slid down his skin and into the messy strands of his blonde hair. His muscles ached from the day's training, but his mind raced with a different kind of exhaustion—one tied to the growing web of tension he couldn't quite shake.

As he stepped inside, his eyes widened in surprise. There, sitting on his bed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, was Stella. She leaned casually on the edge of the mattress, her long legs crossed, and her blonde waves tumbled over her shoulders. The subtle shimmer of her top sparkled in the dim light, catching his attention for a fleeting moment. Her expression, though playful on the surface, had a hint of something more—vulnerability, uncertainty. She watched him, her head slightly tilted, her lips parted as if she had been waiting for him to speak first.

Sky let out a frustrated sigh, his hand brushing through his damp hair. He made his way to the dresser, pulling open a drawer to grab some dry clothes.

"You can't be in here, Stel," he muttered, keeping his back to her as he fished for a his trousers. "If Silva finds out..."

Before he could finish the thought, he felt her presence behind him, warm and close. Stella rose from the bed, stepping softly until her body was pressed against his back. Her hand ghosted over his bare skin, making his muscles tense at the unexpected touch. She leaned into him, her voice a soft whisper against his ear.

"I'll leave before the sun comes up," she murmured, her lips brushing against his shoulder in a delicate kiss. Her fingers traced down the length of his arm, drawing shivers in their wake.

Sky’s jaw clenched as he stepped away from her, turning to face her with a mix of frustration and weariness. "You can't pull this shit, Stel... You broke up with me."

Stella's once-confident demeanor crumbled at his words. She stepped back slightly, her arms dropping to her sides. The glimmer in her eyes dimmed as she looked at him, now appearing smaller, more fragile.

"No, I know," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Sky shook his head, exasperation creeping into his tone. "I didn't hear from you all summer, and then I say two words to a first year?"

"I said I know, OK?" Stella cut in, her voice trembling now, her mask of indifference shattered. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes met his, filled with regret, and Sky’s chest tightened. He wasn’t sure if it was anger, confusion, or something more complicated swirling inside of him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just another one of her games.

"What are you doing here?" His voice softened, searching her face for answers.

Stella hesitated, her gaze falling to the floor before she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I got jealous."

Sky’s brows furrowed in disbelief, and before he could respond, she spoke again, quicker this time, as though she was anticipating his reaction.

"Yeah, I know I'm not allowed to, but I did. And I did something really stupid." Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke. "Now they all think I'm a monster."

Sky’s expression softened at that, and for a moment, his heart ached for her. "Oh, Stel..." he started, but she cut him off.

"No, please," she pleaded, her eyes glistening with desperation. "I can't sleep in there, Sky. In a room where everybody hates me." She swallowed hard, her voice trembling with vulnerability. "Please. Tonight, can I just stay with you? Next to someone who doesn't... hate me."

The room was silent, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them. Sky’s gaze softened, and his shoulders dropped as the tension drained from his posture. He could see it now—the cracks in her usually perfect facade, the fear hiding behind her bravado.

"You're better than you think you are, Stella," he said quietly, his voice steady but gentle. "Other people can't see that if you don't."

Bloom and Y/N hit the ground hard, their backs pressed up against the cold concrete wall as their breaths came out in panicked, shallow gasps. The creature's distorted growls echoed throughout the warehouse, sending a chill down Bloom's spine. Her chest heaved, panic clear in her eyes as she whispered in a strained voice, barely able to control her fear.

“What the hell is that thing?” she hissed in a frantic whisper, her hands clutching the edge of the broken concrete behind her.

Y/N's heart was pounding so fast he thought it might burst from his chest. His eyes stayed locked on the ground, too terrified to look up in case the creature’s gaze might catch him through the darkened corners. “I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice shaky, “but it had to have followed us... from the gateway. Guess I wasn’t the only one doing the following tonight.”

They both held their breath, the silence of the warehouse stretching out unbearably. Seconds dragged on like hours, and for a moment, it felt like the creature had moved on. The air around them was thick with tension, each heartbeat deafening in the quiet space.

Then, the silence shattered. Glass exploded above their heads, spraying shards everywhere as the monster’s twisted, clawed hand burst through the window with a snarl. Its guttural growl reverberated through the space as its fingers clawed wildly, searching for flesh.

Bloom screamed, her body instinctively jerking away from the reaching claws. “Shit, shit, shit!” Y/N cursed, scrambling to his feet as they dodged the creature’s grasp, scrambling across the floor. He tried to summon his magic, but his fingers trembled too much. His mind was a chaotic mess, panic overriding any focus he had.

He clenched his fists, his jaw tight as he whispered through gritted teeth, “The one time I need you to flare up and lose control and nothing? Magic is such an ironic, cold-hearted bitch.”

Bloom grabbed his arm, yanking him toward a narrow corridor where a metal gate led into the crawl spaces under the warehouse. “This way!” she shouted, pulling him along as the monster roared behind them, trying to break through the window and wall as they descended into the tight space. Bloom softly shutting the floor gate in hopes of not letting alerting it to their location.

Her hopes and prayers were not answered.

Their breaths were ragged as they crawled, the clanging sound of the monster’s claws against the metal grate sending vibrations through their bones. The confined space felt suffocating, but it was their only escape. The pipes lining the walls hissed with steam, their warmth contrasting sharply with the cold terror clinging to their skin.

Then Bloom spotted it—Stella’s ring. It glinted just a few feet ahead, on the other side of another metal gate. "There it is!" she cried out, her voice filled with desperation.

She crawled toward the gate, her fingers reaching through a small hole to grasp the ring. But it was just out of reach, her fingertips barely grazing the surface. “Come on, come on,” she whispered to herself, stretching as far as her arm would allow, her voice growing more frantic. “Please, please, please…”

Suddenly, a deafening roar filled the space as the monster crashed through the opposite end, barreling toward them. Its grotesque form moved faster than Bloom had anticipated. Her heart jumped into her throat, panic flooding her senses.

“It’s too late!” Y/N shouted, his hand grabbing her arm, yanking her back just as the creature's claws swiped toward where she had been. The monster's hand snatched the ring from the ground, and with a viscious snarl, it clutched it tightly in its grotesque fist.

Y/N’s mind raced, searching for any sliver of magic he could control. His fingers twitched, and he focused on the hissing steam escaping from the pipes. With a burst of adrenaline, he manipulated the steam, using it to form a scorching barrier that erupted between them and the monster. The creature shrieked in agony as the steam obscured its vision, giving them precious seconds to escape.

“Go, go, go!” Bloom urged, pulling Y/N forward as they crawled through the narrow path, their bodies barely fitting through the tight spaces.

They burst through another gate, kicking it open just as the creature roared behind them, its footsteps growing fainter as they ran back into the main space of the warehouse. Both of them were out of breath, their bodies trembling from the adrenaline coursing through them. They made a break for it, desperate to get away.

As they ran, they nearly crashed into Miss Dowling, who stood waiting for them at the entrance. Her calm, composed presence was a stark contrast to their frantic energy. "Don't stop now," she commanded, her voice steady but firm.

She pointed toward the door where they had entered from the Otherworld. The gateway shimmered open again, casting a faint golden light.

Bloom and Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. They sprinted for the door, their lungs burning as they crossed the threshold. Miss Dowling stayed behind, and with a wave of her hand, she sealed the portal behind them, cutting off the terrifying sight of the monster charging down the stairs after them while she dealt with it.

Once they were back in the First World, both Bloom and Y/N collapsed onto the grass outside the mausoleum, their chests heaving as they tried to catch their breath. Their hearts pounded so loudly it was hard to hear anything else. For a moment, they lay there in stunned silence, the cool night air hitting their sweat-covered skin.

“Are you guys OK?” A sudden voice startled them both, causing Bloom to gasp and Y/N to let out a yelp. They looked up to see Aisha, Musa, Terra, and Sam standing in front of them, their faces etched with concern.

"Yeah," Bloom gasped, trying to compose herself. "Yeah, yeah, I think so."

Y/N, still catching his breath, shot them a bewildered look. “Speak for yourself. I’m over here still trying not to piss my pants. What the hell was that thing?”

Terra frowned thoughtfully, her voice calm but grim. “I’m pretty sure it’s called a Burned One.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, the pieces of his earlier conversation with Sky falling into place. “That’s a Burned One?” he exclaimed, incredulous. “What the fuck? No wonder everyone here is shitting their pants.”

Despite the tension in the air, the others couldn’t help but laugh at Y/N’s outburst, even Bloom managing a small smile.

“I like him,” Musa said with a grin, nudging Terra lightly.

Sam stepped forward, pulling Y/N into a tight hug. “Your first day and you’ve already gone and probably gotten me banned from the mentor roster for life. Don’t do that again.”

Y/N winced, patting his friend on the back. “Sorry, man. I just saw her walking alone and didn’t want something to happen to her out here by herself.” He glanced around warily. “Now I see why everyone’s so freaked about going beyond the Barrier.”

A tense silence followed until Bloom’s eyes widened with a sudden, dawning realization. Her stomach dropped, and her breath caught in her throat. "Wait... where’s Stella?"

The others exchanged confused glances, not understanding the urgency in her voice. Aisha tilted her head, her brows furrowing in confusion.

"She’s at school. Why?" Aisha asked, clearly not following Bloom’s line of thinking.

Y/N, still catching his breath, turned to look at Bloom. His expression shifted from confusion to grim understanding, his face paling as the pieces started falling into place. The heavy weight of what had just transpired settled between them, thick and suffocating.

Bloom’s eyes were wide, a sinking feeling gnawing at her insides as the memory flashed before her—the twisted monster, its grotesque hand swiping at her hand in the crawlspace before Y/N pulled her back. This was not going to be easy to explain to the Princess in the morning.

"That thing just took her ring."

To be continued...

☀️ | Prince Sky Masterlist | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

251 notes · View notes