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nightingalestory · 10 days ago

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Chapter 3: Evening In Saltmere

Ruffling.

The sound of rustling cardboard echoes faintly in the room as I move around, settling beside the now-empty boxes that once held all my packaged items from Russia. With one final push, I place the last box neatly on top of the others — I’ll toss them later.

I let out a long, exhausted sigh and wipe the sweat dripping from my forehead.

“Whew,” I exhale aloud. “That should be the last of it.”

Talking to myself feels natural — the room's been too quiet otherwise. I glance around, mentally checking off everything I’ve unpacked. Clothes? Folded. Laptop? Connected. Desk utilities? Organized and in their rightful places.

Satisfied, I cross the room to check my closet — all garments folded neatly. My bed? Perfectly tucked.

Good. That’s everything.

A breath of relief escapes me as I pull out my phone to check the time. The screen lights up: 5:03 PM.

Wait—what?

I blink in disbelief. Had I really been at this all afternoon? I guess time really does fly when you’re focused. I allow myself a moment to just breathe, grounding myself.

I glance toward Rofi’s side of the room — his bed’s still untouched. Seems like he hasn’t come back yet. Maybe he’s still helping downstairs?

“Speaking of downstairs…” I murmur, slipping the phone into my pocket. “I should check in, see if anyone else needs help.”

I open the door and step into the warm hallway of the second floor. The house has this cozy, well-kept charm — hints of the old world, yet familiar. My steps are slow as I head for the stairs, one hand brushing the polished railing.

Halfway down, I remember Alex’s promise from earlier. Weren’t we supposed to head out? Strange — he hasn’t called me or come to get me. That’s not like him.

The living room comes into view — nestled just beside the front entrance, adjacent to the dining area. I step inside and am greeted by a quiet scene.

Papa and Thelmise are sitting together near the windows, newspaper in hand, softly discussing something unreadable from here. Rofi, on the other hand, looks completely destroyed — he’s sprawled on a nearby sofa chair, limbs limp, eyes half-lidded in exhaustion.

The soft creak of my footsteps catches their attention.

“Aegis!” Papa calls out warmly. “Finally finished unpacking, my dear?”

“I am,” I smile gently. “Thought I’d come down to see if anyone needed help — I’ve got nothing left to do up there.”

“Bah! No such thing,” Thelmise replies, sipping from a heavy ceramic mug. “Everything’s sorted. No need to trouble yourself. Rofi’s been more than enough help.”

Rofi offers me a tired thumbs-up without lifting his head. “Y-Yeah, all good here… Aegy…”

I giggle softly, clearly amused by how far gone he looks.

“By the way, Otchim?” I ask, turning toward Thelmise with a polite tone.

He glances up. “Hm?”

“Do you happen to know where Alex is? We planned to go out earlier, but I haven’t heard from him. It’s already evening…”

Before Thelmise can answer, a loud voice cuts through the house — almost on cue:

“All right, I’m ready!”

Alex’s voice echoes from somewhere near the entrance.

“There’s your answer,” Thelmise says with a knowing smirk, eyes amused behind his glasses.

I turn to see Alex approaching with that usual grin plastered on his face.

“Aegis!” he calls out. “You ready for our little tour session?”

“Barely,” I reply, crossing my arms. “You didn’t even give me a heads-up.”

“Too bad!” he teases. “Gotta move fast if you wanna keep up with me, lil’ bro!”

I sigh dramatically. “Yes, yes… Just give me a minute. I need to grab my coat and a few things.”

“I’ll start the car. Meet me outside!” he calls, already moving toward the door.

I nod and head back upstairs, my steps quick and focused.

Once in my room, I pull on my red puffer coat and slip into a pair of brown Chelsea boots. What? I like looking presentable — even if it’s just Alex.

I double-check my pockets: phone? Yes. Handkerchief? Always. Spare key from Marie? Tucked securely.

And now, one last thing.

I approach my desk and open the top drawer. Inside rests a familiar black pen — and beside it, the book.

The Grimoire.

Wrapped in aged brown leather, its surface bears the marks of time. The pages are yellowed, almost too frail to hold together. But this book — this thing — holds centuries of secrets, written in the bloodline of the Nightingale family.

Ancient records. Obscure knowledge. Forgotten beasts. Medicines. Wards. Lost spells. Things that no one else in the world remembers.

My eyes linger on it. So many nights I spent in Russia, slaving over every page, memorizing every line. I hadn’t realized how brutal the training would be when I was first chosen to become a Seer.

No one warned me I’d need to memorize nearly the entire book on the go. Word for word. Page by page. Over and over.

So many nights. So much coffee. So many tears.

I pull myself away from the memory just as something glints in the drawer’s corner — something small. Metallic.

A gun.

My revolver.

I pause, staring at it. Why do I even have this on me again? Right — I’m a hunter. A Seer, yes, but also a protector.

Our family arms itself, always.

In times of danger, even healers must defend the people they protect. Especially those who can’t defend themselves.

I hesitate, then slowly reach for it. My fingers brush the cold steel as I open its case to check the chamber.

Loaded.

Not with ordinary bullets — but specialized ones. A mix of precision and purpose.

Each bullet is cast in an alloy that captures solar energy, forged with sharpness that pierces even enhanced flesh. They're coated in fine silver, then blessed in holy water.

Sunlight and silver for creatures of the night — werewolves, vampires, lycaons. Holy water for… other things.

Demons.

The word alone chills me.

I reload the chamber with care and slide the revolver into my inner coat pocket.

“Maybe I’m being paranoid,” I murmur. “But… better safe than sorry.”

It’s probably strange to bring a weapon along for a simple sightseeing trip — especially with Alex.

But after everything I’ve been through… after how many times I’ve almost died without a weapon nearby…

No. I won’t risk it.

Not anymore. I quickly grab the disposable cardboard boxes and head downstairs. Before leaving, I make sure to let everyone know I’m going.

“So soon already? Shouldn’t you be resting, young man?” Papa says with suspicion, clearly unhappy that I’m already doing too much.

“It’s fine, Papa. Just a little sightseeing and all. We’ll be quick,” I say, trying to calm him. “I promise I’ll sleep perfectly when I come back!” I add as I begin to leave.

I can see Papa opening his mouth to protest, but he’s quickly shushed by Thelmise, who gives both of us a reassuring look, silently granting me permission.

“Well… fine then. But do be back soon, and keep safe!” Papa calls out.

“I will!” I reply as I take out the keys and unlock the entrance door.

Once outside, I’m greeted again by the familiar gloom of the neighborhood—peaceful, quiet, and dimly lit in that oddly comforting Saltmere way. Up ahead, a large black Jeep is parked by the curb with Alex in the driver’s seat.

“Hey!” he calls out. “Took you long enough. Come on, hop in!” he adds, playfully honking.

“Yes, yes, coming!” I roll my eyes and quickly toss the boxes into a nearby recycling bin before jogging toward the passenger side. I hop in, buckle my seatbelt—safety first, kids—and settle into the seat.

“All right!” Alex exclaims. “You ready to roll out?”

I nod with a smile as he turns the keys, bringing the engine to life. The car rumbles as we pull away, slowly exiting the neighborhood.

“I’m assuming this is yours?” I ask, glancing at the interior.

“Yep! Brand new, baby. Got it for a good deal too,” he replies, clearly proud.

I giggle, and soon enough, we’re cruising along the main road into Saltmere’s busier streets. What follows is a casual little car tour—Alex’s version of showing off the “wonders” of Saltmere (his words, not mine).

We mostly drive past touristy spots and small places Alex claims to love. At one point, I roll the window down to let the breeze in. Among the stops is a cozy-looking bakery.

“See, now that there is a treasure,” Alex says, pointing at it.

“Oh? What’s so treasuring about it?” I ask, intrigued.

“They sell the greatest sweets known to man!”

“Really?” I raise an eyebrow.

He launches into an enthusiastic description of treats like moonberry pies and ghost pepper donuts (…how appealing).

“That bar over there? That’s where the vamps hang out. Good folks. Just don’t go during blood hour,” he says, pointing to a sleek neon-lit building labeled The Red Lounge.

“Is that a thing?” I ask.

“Eh, depends who you ask. I never checked it out myself.”

…Great. Sounds so welcoming.

“That’s the cliff—locals call it the Warden’s Watch. You’ll know why once you see it at sunrise,” he adds, pointing to a sharp drop with a scenic overlook. “Great tourist place though. Amazing view!”

I nod, listening quietly.

After a while, we’re back on the main road. Alex goes quiet, clearly thinking about whether we missed anything.

“This place… it feels alive. So lively,” I say softly, looking out the window, still caught in the moment.

Even though the streets aren’t busy, Saltmere feels like it’s pulsing with something. There’s warmth in the air—like a hum of trust and unity beneath the fog.

“That’s because it is,” Alex says. “Saltmere isn’t just some lousy port town. It’s filled with people who depend on and look out for each other.”

I smile. He’s right. It has that kind of touch.

Just then, Alex’s phone buzzes, pulling him from his thoughts. He glances at it and groans.

“Hm? What is it?” I ask.

“Damn it. I forgot I’ve got pre-orientation tonight. It’s why I even came out in the first place.”

“Pre-orientation? I thought orientation day was supposed to be the day after tomorrow?”

“Yeah, for you, maybe. Second years have to attend a ‘special’ meeting. Something about interspecies conduct, yearly reminders, course updates—all that junk. It’s short, but still…”

He sighs, visibly annoyed. Then suddenly, his eyes widen.

“Shit. I forgot it’s second years only!”

He’s clearly panicking now—probably thought we’d be done long before he had to leave. I watch him fumble through his thoughts, clearly not wanting to leave me alone.

An idea clicks in my head.

“Why don’t I just wait for you while you finish?” I offer confidently.

Alex looks at me, hesitant. “Really? You don’t mind? I could try to drop you off somewhere, you know. It’s gonna be boring.”

I look at him—soft eyes, clearly caring. This idiot really does worry too much.

“I mean… you said the meeting’s only for a little while, da? I think I can hold on. Someone has to watch your car, no?” I say with a playful smirk.

After a pause, he gives in with a reluctant sigh and turns the car around. It takes us about twenty minutes to reach the location—a tall, wide brick building with no signs or obvious purpose. Likely a town hall or something like it.

Alex pulls into the parking lot and turns off the engine.

“By the way,” I say, “you don’t mind if I stretch my limbs outside for a bit, do you? Just need some fresh air after being cooped up in here.”

He hesitates, scanning the area—dim, mostly empty except for a few passersby under the streetlights.

“You suuure? All by yourself?”

I giggle. “If you’re worried about my safety, I know my way around self-defense. Plus, I’ll just scream ‘Molester!’ or ‘Fire!’ to draw attention.”

Alex laughs. “Okay, okay, I believe you.”

We lock the doors, and he hands me the keys. Before walking off, he turns around one last time.

“Stay safe! If a crow lands near you and starts talking, ignore it. Or… maybe don’t. Depends on the dialect.”

“…What.”

But he’s already gone, disappearing into the building.

And just like that, I’m alone again—just me, the fog, and my thoughts.

I hug his coat tighter. The air smells like sea salt and starlight. Somewhere in the mist, a crow really does caw, making me jump.

I’m not sure if it said anything.

And honestly?

I’m not sure I want to know. Time passed—for what seemed like hours on end. The summer dusk had deepened into a silver night. Saltmere Haven’s air clung cool and thick to my skin, humming with that particular coastal stillness—like the town was breathing in and waiting.

I stood alone beneath a crooked lamp just outside the old brick civic hall, leaning against Alex's Jeep. The distant sound of waves rolled up from the port like a lullaby muffled in fog. Streetlamps buzzed. My breath curled faintly in the air. I pulled my coat tighter, adjusting my thick glasses and tilting my head skyward toward a single faint star breaking through the clouds.

Then, quietly, I began to hum.

It was really the only thing I could do, drowning in my own thoughts, alone. A Russian lullaby—one my grandfather used to sing to me when my nerves frayed. Though calming, the isolation of the environment was starting to get to me. The air hummed low, and I could hear the wind slipping through the broken pews of the nearby chapel.

“Jesus, just how long is this meeting?” I muttered, clearly growing uncomfortable. I debated whether I should just wait in the car—but thought better of it.

“Wouldn’t want to waste any of the gas…” I mumbled.

Defeated, with nothing else to do (especially without Wi-Fi), I kept humming the lullaby. I sang it the way Grandpa used to—soft, rhythmic, and slightly haunting.

“My lord… could it really be?”

A voice, strange and sudden, called out from the darkness, catching me off guard.

“It really is you, isn’t it? Mr. Nightingale.”

Before I could blink, my hands darted to the left-side pocket of my coat, fingers curling around the grip of my gun. I didn’t think. I just reacted. Fight or flight—it always chose fight first.

“Peace! I come in peace!” the voice called again, calm but firm.

I turned sharply in its direction, one hand hovering near the concealed holster beneath my coat. Then I saw her.

She stood just beyond the lamp’s halo—at the edge where the stone path met the chapel garden. A young girl in a short red dress, the hem fluttering slightly in the breeze. Her hair was cut into a sharp, neat bob, and her face held a kind of marble stillness—soft around the eyes, firm at the corners.

She stepped forward into the light, unafraid. In her hands, she held a small bundle of herbs—lavender, rosemary, and something black and brittle-looking. Silver chains looped around her wrists, one ending in a small rosary. She raised a hand gently, signaling for me to lower my guard.

There was something about her presence—still, reverent, like a candle flickering in a cathedral.

“I’m not a threat. I come in peace,” she repeated, her voice calm but sure. She waited.

Something told me she wasn’t lying. Hesitantly, I removed my hand from my coat. She took that as a cue to step closer. I let her.

“…I never thought I’d see that face again. My, you really haven’t changed, have you?” she said.

I blinked, confused. A stranger just approached me from the dark, talking like this was completely normal. I studied her carefully. Her eyes were… older than her face. They felt familiar, but distant, like a dream just out of reach.

“Uuum… can I help you, madam?” I asked awkwardly, voice laced with confusion.

She stared for a moment before letting out a soft giggle.

“You really don’t remember, do you? I suppose I can’t blame you… it’s been quite a while.”

“Remember you?” I asked. “Were you part of—?”

“The Black Witch Incident,” she said, cutting me off gently. “You may not remember me—I wasn’t on the frontlines. But you saved someone I love.”

My breath caught.

“The Black Witch Incident…?” I whispered.

“My best friend, Claire,” she said, her voice steady but emotional. “She was one of the cursed patients at the docks clinic. You… held her hand. You prayed with her. You stayed until the pain stopped. You saved her.”

Claire.

The name pulled at something deep inside me, tugging it to the surface.

Claire Bettin. One of the cursed. I remembered. My face must have given it away, because the girl smiled faintly.

“Oh—Claire! Yes! I remember her!” I blurted. “Is she alright?”

She paused, taken aback by my sudden reaction. I quickly composed myself.

“I remember her,” I said more softly. “She wore those cute bows on her head. Told me I looked like a ghost with freckles.”

The girl laughed—a breathy sound, half-laugh, half-relief.

“Yes! That Claire,” she said, smiling fondly. “The one you saved. She’s alive because of you.”

A flush crept onto my cheeks. I looked away, feeling unexpectedly shy.

“Oh… that’s good to hear. How is she?”

“Doing well. Very well, thank you,” she said, looking back up at me, her smile warm.

We stood in a silence that wasn’t awkward. It was… reverent. Like two souls recognizing each other after passing through the same storm.

“Pardon me, I never introduced myself,” she said at last. “My name is Catherine Cropford. I’m a first-year, just like you. Majoring in botany. I work part-time in the chapel gardens—and I’ll be attending Saint Christopher’s alongside you.”

That caught me off guard. “Really? That’s a surprise,” I said, my accent poking through a bit.

“Mhm,” she nodded.

I glanced down at the herbs she held. “Those black petals… are they nightshade?”

“Good eye,” she said. “Yes—nightshade. Don’t worry, they’re safe.”

“Safe to hold?” I asked.

“Only if your intentions are pure,” she said with a teasing smile.

I chuckled, rubbing my gloved fingers together. “Well then… I think I’ll keep my hands in my pockets.”

We stood a little closer now. There was something magnetic about her calmness. She had the posture of a monk, but an edge like she’d cast a spell without blinking.

“You’re Catholic,” she noted, nodding to the silver crucifix tucked under my collar.

I nodded. “Since I was a child. You?”

“Devout,” she said. “But curious, too.”

“Curious?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“I like studying what others fear. Satanic rites, demonic folklore—the usual bedtime reading.”

I blinked.

She really just said that.

Looking closer, I noticed the symbols on her dress. Occult sigils, star pendants, runes… things often used in rituals.

“That’s… unusual,” I said carefully. “Didn’t think someone so holy would be into… that.”

“Unusual is half this town’s bloodline,” she replied dryly. “I find that understanding darkness is the only way to dispel it. Same reason I summon familiars.”

Familiars?

My eyes widened.

“Wait—did you say familiars?” I asked. “You’re a summoner mage?”

“Right again, sir,” she said proudly. “I summon not demons or monsters, but beings of aid in times of need.”

That explained the aura around her. Summoners were rare—born with a unique scent or energy that attracted spiritual beings.

“And the church is okay with that?” I asked.

“It hasn’t struck me down yet,” she quipped. “Besides, the nuns at Saltmere’s cathedral like me fine. Sister Agnes even gave me holy water for my birthday. Kindness, truly.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

Then Catherine tilted her head, studying me.

“You know,” she said slowly, “when I first heard your name, I thought the rumors were exaggerated. But now that I’ve met you… I understand why they call you Angel.”

My cheeks burned, and I dropped my gaze.

There it was again… Angel.

“Please don’t call me that,” I said firmly. “I don’t like that title.”

“Why?” she asked.

I hesitated. The wind moved gently between us.

“Because… people still got hurt.” “People… still fell ill,” I murmured. “I wasn’t quick enough when it happened. Some even got worse…”

Catherine didn’t say anything. She only looked at me—puzzled, maybe even a little nervous—as though the weight of my confession had caught her off guard. Her silence wasn’t judgmental. Just unsure. Searching.

Then, quietly, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled something out: a sprig of rosemary and a small pressed forget-me-not, both wrapped delicately in red thread. She held them out to me with calm hands.

“For remembrance,” she said gently. “Not of who you couldn’t save—but of who you did.”

Her words stunned me. I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to take it. My fingers brushed against hers as I accepted the small token, and I felt her warmth—a grounding contrast to the cold night air.

“T-thank you,” I whispered, clutching it close, her words looping in my mind like a quiet echo.

She nodded once. “Well… I think I should take my leave. It’s getting late. I heard our first day starts soon. I hope I’ll see you there.”

“H-huh? Wh—oh, right! Yes, of course!” I fumbled, snapping out of my thoughts. I had been too deep in her words to notice she was preparing to leave.

“I hope we meet again soon,” I said, offering an awkward wave. “Safe travels to you.”

She smiled faintly and turned, stepping back into the dark garden path. Her silhouette blended with the hedges, fading like a ghost in reverse. Just before the shadows swallowed her completely, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder.

“Before I go… I thought you ought to know, Mr. Nightingale,” she said, her voice low, something eerie tightening the air.

I stood still.

“I heard a rumor,” she continued. “A feeling… that something ominous has come to town.”

A chill slipped down my spine. The air grew still—cold, too quiet, as though the garden itself was holding its breath.

“I feel its presence. Its hunger,” she went on. “It lingers. Watching us. Not long before you arrived.”

I felt my pulse quicken.

“I hope… now that you’re here… you’ll be able to help us. Dispel it. Before it catches on.” She paused. Her eyes flickered in the dim light. “I can feel it growing stronger every day—hungrier by the minute. I don’t know what it is. Or what it wants. But I hope your arrival means something. I hope you can stop it… before it’s too late.”

And with that, she turned and walked into the mist.

“Wait! Wait, wait—what!?” I shouted, stepping forward. “What do you mean!? Is something—”

But I was cut off. A violent gust of wind swept through the garden, nearly knocking me off balance. My glasses fogged instantly, blinding me.

“Damn it—wait!” I cried, yanking them off and wiping them quickly on my shirt.

By the time I shoved them back on, she was gone.

Catherine had vanished into the fog, swallowed by the night—without sound, without trace.

I spun around, scanning the hedges and shadowy corners. Nothing.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, heart pounding. “What the hell did she mean…”

Was this another witch? Another curse? Had something happened while I was gone?

My thoughts spiraled, racing faster than I could catch them.

Блядь. I cursed in Russian, rubbing my forehead. Just what the hell is going on…

BANG. The sudden crack of opening doors shattered the stillness. I jumped.

I turned to see the meeting hall doors flung open. People were pouring out—some in a hurry, others chatting in tired clusters, clearly eager to leave.

“Huh… Guess the meeting’s finally over,” I mumbled, trying to shake the lingering dread. But Catherine’s words still clung to me.

Among the crowd, I spotted Alex emerging, slouching forward like a bored teenager after a too-long class. Figures. He looked done.

He wasn’t alone. Four others trailed behind him—tall, confident, familiar with one another.

Oh no.

Shit.

They’re coming this way.

Alex hadn’t told me I was meeting anyone. Four people!? Shit.

As the group approached, clearly following Alex toward me, I panicked—slicked my hair back, leaned casually against the side of our jeep, tried to look cool.

Crap… don’t look weird. Just act natural. Normal. Relaxed. …God, I’m going to mess this up. The voices grew louder as the group approached, a casual storm of laughter and conversation. I straightened up against the jeep, trying not to fidget. Just be cool. Just be—cool.

“Aegis!” Alex’s voice shot out with his arms waving wildly like an inflatable tube man. He jogged ahead of the group, clearly excited, grinning from ear to ear.

“Sorry, that orientation thing dragged on forever,” he said, dramatically rolling his eyes. “Swear I almost died in there. Bored outta my mind, man!”

I gave a small nod, amused but quiet. He looked fine for someone claiming to be half-dead.

“But!” he added, flashing a mischievous smile. “Since you’re here, I figured now’s the perfect time to introduce you to my crew. You’re gonna love them. They’re weird like you!”

“…Y-yeah?” I replied, eyes flicking nervously to the group now fanning out behind him.

Among the cluster of faces, one immediately pulled my attention like a hook to the chest. A boy—taller than Alex, maybe my age—with tousled, light gold hair and striking green eyes. His smile, though…

It wasn’t normal.

It was huge. Too huge. Like it wanted to swallow his cheeks. There was something about the way he looked at me—like he was seeing a ghost and trying not to cry about it. Our eyes locked. I quickly looked away.

And then—

“GAAHH!!” I gasped as I was pulled into a rib-cracking hug, caught completely off-guard by the golden-haired boy who practically launched himself into my torso.

“IT’S YOU! IT’S REALLY YOU!!” he practically shouted into my shoulder, arms crushing me with alarming enthusiasm. “The Angel of Saltmere! AHHH I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!”

“Wh-what—wait—!” I wheezed, trying to breathe. His voice was full of adrenaline and joy.

He finally let go—slightly—and took a step back, still holding onto my arms like I might disappear.

“I can’t believe it. You’re really here. Alex said you came back, and I didn’t wanna believe him—I mean, I did, but also, hope makes fools of us all—but now you’re here, like actually here, standing here—!”

I blinked, stunned, lips parted in total confusion.

“…Hello?” I tried.

The boy laughed brightly, eyes glinting with something wild and deeply sincere. “I’m Leon! Leon Wallace. Werewolf. Second-year. Resident chaos elemental. I believe in love, destiny, coffee, and drop-kicking evil in the teeth.”

“…U-uh. H-hello?” I replied, still not processing.

He stared for a moment, brows furrowing. “Wait…” he said, his energy dipping just slightly, “Do you… not remember me?”

His voice was quieter now. Still hopeful. But hesitant.

“C’mon, really? It’s me,” Leon added, his green eyes doing that stupid thing—big, soft, wide. Puppy eyes. Literal puppy eyes.

I hesitated. He… looked familiar. Kinda. Sorta. My mind flashed back—then to Catherine, then to the garden. Déjà vu, again. Another familiar stranger.

And then—

“…Miss Wheeler?” he asked softly. “Grandma?”

Click.

A mental switch flipped so loud I swear I heard it.

“Misses Wheeler—Lorraine Wheeler!” I gasped, eyes going wide. “You’re Leon Wallace—her grandson!”

“DING DING DING! He remembers!!” Leon cheered, throwing his hands up like he just won a game show.

“Holy crap—of course! Your grandma was a key ally during the Black Witch Incident. She helped expose the witch’s weakness right before she fell ill.”

“She totally did!” Leon beamed. “Granran’s a legend.”

I nodded firmly. “And she recovered after the curse broke, right? I remember—I stayed with her until the healers came.”

“You really didn’t forget her…” Leon said, softer now. “Even after all this time.”

“Of course not,” I said, feeling warmth rise in my chest. “How could I forget someone like her? She helped save Saltmere.”

Leon’s expression shifted into something… gentler. He smiled again, and while his grin was still a bit unnerving, it felt more genuine this time. “And I didn’t forget you either, y’know,” he said, voice low. “My savior. My angel. You don’t know what you did for me. Or for Granran.”

I looked away, embarrassed by the sincerity in his voice. My cheeks warmed.

“…I’m glad you remember,” I mumbled.

“You’re still so shy, huh?” Leon chuckled. “I love that.”

“Yeah,” Alex piped in, finally joining us again, rubbing his forehead. “I probably should’ve warned you. Leon’s basically a golden retriever. With rabies.”

“Excuse you,” Leon huffed. “I’m passionately exuberant. And frankly, you’re lucky I didn’t bring the glitter bombs.”

“Oh god please don’t give him ideas,” Alex muttered.

Leon turned back to me, his voice softer. “Seriously though. I'm glad you're back. You meant a lot to us. To the town.”

I blinked at him, unsure of what to say. Part of me still felt unworthy of all the praise, the excitement, the memories people seemed to hold of me. I didn’t feel like an angel. I just felt… me.

“…Thanks,” I said.

And I meant it. “Alright, Leon, let him breathe. Kid looks like he’s about to explode,” a dry voice says behind him.

Leon lets out a dramatic scoff but finally steps back. The pressure releases from my ribs, and I bend forward slightly, taking a deep breath. My lungs feel like they’ve just been resuscitated.

“I’m… okay. Just… processing,” I mutter as I fix my glasses and pull my coat straight.

When I look up, I’m met with another unfamiliar face. A taller guy, probably a few inches above Leon, with soft blond hair tinged with brown and sharp, dark green eyes. He’s wearing tight jeans and a college varsity jacket, sleeves pushed up casually, like he doesn’t care but still knows he looks good.

Alex smirks, gesturing toward him with a lazy wave. “Aegis, meet Lung Ton. Tactician. Beast in combat. And an insufferable pain in my ass.”

“Bitch, please,” Lung scoffs, clearly amused as he throws Alex a sideways glance. Then he turns to me with a cocky smile, his expression loosening. “Hey there, rookie. How’s it hangin’?”

“U-uh, nice to meet you. Sudar Ton…?” I say, startled but trying to keep composed.

His eyebrow quirks. “Damn, that accent really is thick, huh? And you’re short. Way shorter than I expected.”

I puff my cheeks. “I—I’m average height!”

Lung grins wider, leaning in, so close I can feel the warmth off his breath. “Feisty too. I like it.”

His nose practically brushes mine. I freeze up, my entire face flooding red. I step back on instinct, barely able to breathe. He giggles at my reaction, cheeks pinking slightly.

“Cute too,” he murmurs under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

Before I can recover, another voice cuts in smoothly.

“So you’re Aegis. Huh.” A guy appears next to Lung, his posture relaxed, arms crossed, a hoodie tied lazily around his waist. He’s all sharp cheekbones and sarcasm.

Alex groans softly. “Oh no.”

“You really do look like you stepped out of an oil painting,” the guy continues, tilting his head like he’s examining a particularly interesting museum piece. “All pale, scarlet-haired, ethereal… and are those boots with heels? Bold choice for someone built like a glass dove.”

Lung wheezes, and Leon covers his mouth to stifle a laugh.

I blink.

Pause.

Something in me just—activates. I don't knoW why……but……..something in me just…bursted. As soon as he said that. I immediately fell silent. I don't know why, but something about the way he said it completely ticked me off. It got on my nerves.

I straighten my back. My arms cross in front of my chest. My eyes narrow, just slightly.

“Excuse me?” I say, sharp and cold.

That wipes the smug look right off his face. He stammers, eyes darting.

“W-Wha—I—” he tries.

I don’t let him.

“Do you have a problem with the way I dress?” My tone is clipped, no-nonsense. “Or are you trying to imply something? Because if there’s an issue, you can speak plainly.”

The guy’s eyes widen in panic. He holds up both hands in surrender, stumbling over his words.

“Wait—no, that came out wrong—! I wasn’t trying to be a creep, I swear! It was a joke! A stupid one! God, that sounded so much worse out loud—”

SMACK!

A sharp slap lands on the back of his head.

“OW—!”

“That’s why we don’t lead with sarcasm, Dombry,” says a dry, unimpressed voice. A girl steps forward, arms crossed, gaze flat.

Dombry—apparently the name of the guy I nearly incinerated with my stare—mumbles something like “I was trying to be funny” under his breath.

She turns to me, expression softening. “Sorry about him. He doesn’t know when to shut up.”

I blink at her, slowly lowering my guard. She has short, dark hair in a low ponytail and sharp amber eyes. She’s dressed casually—cargo pants, cropped jacket, layered necklaces. Confident. Grounded.

“Where are my manners?” she says, offering a hand. “Name’s Ash. Ash Baker. That idiot next to me is Elli Dombry. We’re both second-years with Alex, so I guess that makes us your charming upperclassmen.” "Aegis…" I say as I reach out to shake her hand.

"I know. Alex never could shut up about you," she replies, smirking as she gestures to Alex.

I glance at him, and sure enough, he's already looking away, a red blush creeping up his cheeks.

That’s when I realize I’ve gone back to normal. My heart isn’t racing anymore, and my hands aren’t clenched. I’m grounded again. But then I remember what triggered all this in the first place—Elli’s comment. I glance back at him.

He looks completely out of it.

Like all the shame in the world just washed over him. His eyes are distant, his posture tight, and he’s not even trying to meet my gaze. It’s like he thinks he’s just killed my dog or something.

Shit.

I went overboard.

I didn’t mean to sound so… harsh. So cold. It’s just—what he said, that thing about the way I dress, it stirred up something ugly. Something I didn’t want to remember.

Still. He didn’t deserve that. Not really. I can tell now, looking at him, that he didn’t mean it to be cruel. Stupid? Sure. Inappropriate? Definitely. But cruel? No. It was a bad joke. And I made him feel small.

Damn it. I need to apologize. I can’t afford to start making enemies—especially not with Alex’s friends. He clearly wanted me to meet them. He even seemed proud.

“H-Hey, um…” I start, stepping a little toward Elli. “I’m so—”

“And now that the ‘witty banter’ segment has turned into a public shaming,” Leon cuts in loudly, hands raised like a sports referee, “let’s keep this meet-n-greet rolling!”

Before I can even blink, the group starts moving again, ushered to the side by Leon’s exaggerated gestures.

I lose my chance.

Damn it.

The rest of the evening drifts by in fragments—idle gossip, classes, rumors about some cursed vending machine in the north dorms. Alex and his friends chat effortlessly, while I keep stealing glances at Elli. He barely speaks. Keeps his hands in his pockets. The shame hasn’t left his face.

And that just makes it worse.

Finally, after what feels like hours, Ash stretches her arms and breaks the lull. “Anyway, me and the others were gonna grab a bite at Mel’s Diner. You comin’?”

She’s looking at Alex as the others start drifting in the opposite direction.

Alex scratches the back of his head. “Naaahhh… gotta get home before Pops starts complaining again.”

Thelmise, no doubt.

“Bummer. Well, see ya later,” Ash says, giving him a small wave.

Alex jogs over to say goodbye to the group—quick hugs, fist bumps, casual smiles. I’m still watching Elli.

He looks… tired. Disconnected.

I need to talk to him. I can’t let this hang.

I start to step forward—but I freeze. Alex is already next to him. He drapes an arm gently over Elli’s shoulder and leans in close to whisper something I can’t quite hear.

Elli’s expression changes immediately.

His eyes lift, and a faint blush colors his cheeks. He smiles, just a little.

Huh. They seem… close. Closer than just casual friends. The way Alex talked to him—it was soft. Reassuring. Familiar.

I wonder…………. Soon enough, Alex returns to my side as his friends disappear into the distance. We walk toward his car in silence, the cold night air brushing against our clothes. Just as we get in, I hesitate before closing the door.

“Hey, Alex…” I say quietly.

He looks over with a bit of confusion. “What’s up?”

“D-Did I go too far? Is Elli… alright?” I ask, my voice almost a whisper. “He’s had this gloomy look ever since we spoke.”

“Hm?” Alex furrows his brow for a moment, then recognition clicks. “Oh that! Don’t even stress about it.”

He waves a hand casually, like swatting away a fly.

“Elli can be a bit overboard sometimes. I told him to lay off the sass, but, well, I guess that didn’t stick.” He chuckles, lighthearted. “Seriously though, he doesn’t take anything to heart. I’m sure he’ll bounce back. When you two meet again, you can clear things up. Trust me—it’s not hard to please that guy.”

He beams at me with that carefree smile of his, radiant and comforting.

“Heh… Let’s hope,” I reply, finally sliding into the seat. The door shuts with a dull thud.

But even as the car hums to life, my thoughts don’t drift from Elli.

I’m so sorry, Elli. Next time I see you—I’ll make it right.

Third Person POV

The laughter was gone.

So was the car. So were the footsteps. So was the warmth of life that had passed through this place like the memory of sunlight in a morgue.

Only fog remained.

And the fog was too quiet.

Thick, pale tendrils crept across the treeline like something being dragged. They wrapped around roots and slithered over pavement, but made no sound. Not a rustle. Not a whisper.

Even the lamps outside the dorms buzzed once—twice—then dimmed into silence.

The world held its breath.

And then it came.

Not a figure. Not a beast. Not even a shadow.

A presence.

A wrongness in the air. A pressure that made the sky feel shallower. That made the trees lean back, their branches trembling as though trying to flee. That made the soil beneath the campus pulse—like flesh under bruised skin.

Something had awakened.

Not with thought. Not with memory. Not even with sentience.

Only with hunger.

It did not crawl—crawling suggested form. It did not slither—that required intent. It spread, like infection. Like blight. Like famine licking at the marrow of the world.

It had no face. No mouth. No eyes.

But it was smiling.

Beneath the roots of the old warding stone—its runes cracked, its glow flickering like a match drowning in oil—something began to twitch.

Something ancient. Something skinless.

A jaw that wasn’t a jaw cracked open across what wasn’t quite a skull. Bone grated against bone. Muscle spasmed around cartilage that bent in the wrong direction.

It twitched again.

Like a butcher’s puppet trying to remember how to dance.

It didn’t know why it watched. Didn’t need to know.

But it saw.

The red-haired one. The scent. Warm blood. A heartbeat like honey. A light that hurt its teeth.

It twitched again.

Behind its ribcage—jagged like frostbitten ivory—something pulsed. Like an egg. Or a boil. It writhed. It yearned.

The wards still held. For now.

But the stone was dying.

And the world… tasted like ash.

So long. So long without sound. So long without the blood. So long without the noise.

It stretched again, its joints crackling like ice in boiling water. A limb scraped the edge of the barrier. It hissed, recoiling, steaming. But it didn’t retreat. Didn’t flinch.

It simply waited.

Waited for the light to return. For the heartbeat to wander too close. For the mistake.

Because they always made it. They always stepped past the line. They always thought they were safe.

They always bled the same.

In the stillness, its jaw cracked open sideways, grotesque and endless.

No breath. No thoughts. No mind.

Just meat. Just need.

The fog stilled.

And from the hole where its throat should’ve been, came no growl.

Only a whisper.

The sound of teeth grinding against bone. A voice born of starvation and instinct.

TIME TO EAT.

And the fog was too quiet.

Thick, pale tendrils slid along the treeline like they were being dragged. They wrapped around roots, slithered across pavement, but made no sound. The lamps outside the dorms buzzed once—twice—then dimmed. Not a flicker. A silent dying.

The world held its breath.

And then it came.

Not a figure. Not a body. Not a beast. A presence. A wrongness in the air that made the sky feel shallower. That made the trees around it shudder and lean away. That made the earth pulse like flesh beneath diseased skin.

Something had awakened.

Not with thought. Not with purpose. Not with sentience.

Only with hunger.

It did not crawl. Crawling implied shape. It did not slither. That required direction. It spread, like rot, like sickness, like famine in the marrow of the world.

It had no face, no mouth, no eyes. But it was smiling.

Somewhere deep between the roots of the old warding stone—its runes cracked, its glow barely flickering like a match drowning in oil—something ancient and skinless began to twitch. A jaw that wasn’t a jaw stretched wide across something that wasn’t a skull. Bone grated against bone. Muscle spasmed against cartilage. Its limbs bent like broken scissors.

It twitched, again. Like a butcher’s puppet trying to remember how to dance.

It didn’t know why it watched. It didn’t know what it watched.

But it knew what it saw. The red-haired one. The scent. Warm blood. A heartbeat like honey. A light that hurt its teeth.

It twitched again.

Behind its ribs — which jutted like branches carved from frostbitten ivory — something pulsed like a maggot egg. It writhed. It yearned.

The wards kept it back. For now.

But the stone was dying.

Everything tasted like ash.

So long… So long without… So long without… the noise. So long without the blood.

It stretched again, body creaking like a frostbitten corpse bent in reverse. A limb brushed the edge of the barrier. It hissed, pulled back, steaming. But it didn’t flinch. It didn’t feel. It simply… waited.

Waited for the light to come back. For the heartbeat to return. For the mistake to be made. Because they always made it. They always wandered too close. They always thought they were safe.

They always bled the same.

In the silence, its skull-like jaw cracked open sideways.

No breath. No thoughts. No mind. Just meat. Just need.

The trees went still. The fog paused.

And from the hole where its throat should’ve been, came no growl.

Only a voice, if you could call it that. A whisper of teeth grinding against bone. A wordless, soundless echo of instinct.

TIME TO EAT.

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