The dojo was a wide, open room, its wooden floor scuffed from years of combat practice, the air thick with the smell of sweat and polished wood.
Dim lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting a soft orange glow that flickered across the walls, where racks of training weapons glinted faintly.
It was evening, just past 6:30 PM, with Morgan's wake looming at 7:00.
Darel stood alone in the center, shirt damp with sweat, his fists slamming into a heavy punching bag that swayed with each blow.
His knuckles were red, his dark eyes focused, his breath sharp as he tried to pound away the anger from his fight with Lira in the greenhouse.
Footsteps echoed behind him, soft but clear. Darel paused, glancing at the door, his chest heaving. Lira stood there, her silver eyes hesitant, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
He turned back to the bag, ignoring her, and threw another punch, the thud loud in the quiet room.
Lira stepped closer, her boots scuffing the floor. "Darel, I want to talk," she said, her voice soft but firm.
He kept punching, his rhythm steady, his jaw tight. After a moment, he stopped, grabbing the bag to still it. "How'd you find me?" he asked, not looking at her.
"I asked a friend," Lira said, her voice low, not naming anyone. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier. I was wrong. I need your help."
Darel grabbed a towel from a nearby bench, wiping sweat from his face. "I don't want to help," he said, his tone flat, eyes hard.
"Why not?" Lira asked, stepping closer, her voice rising slightly.
"I said I don't care," he snapped, tossing the towel down.
Lira's eyes narrowed. "You're lying. You wanted to help me this morning."
Darel turned to her, his face red with frustration. "I was messed up today, Lira. Morgan's death is eating at me. I went to the greenhouse to clear my head—it's my spot.
Then I ran into you, and for a minute, I didn't feel so bad. I thought we were connecting. But when you had that… whatever it was, I just wanted to help someone I thought I was bonding with."
"It's not like that," Lira said, her voice sharp. "You don't get it."
"Then get out," Darel said, pointing to the door. "I'm done."
Lira snapped, her hands balling into fists. "Just because we talked doesn't mean I owe you my whole life story, Darel! You don't get to demand that."
He stepped closer, his voice low, almost a growl. "You didn't trust me then, so why now?"
"I still don't trust you," Lira said, her eyes flashing. "But I'm trying, and you're making it hard."
Darel grabbed her arm, his grip firm, his whisper like a threat. "Stay away from me, Lira. I don't want anything to do with you. I'm a prefect, rank 8. You're a first-year. Know your place." He let go, stepping back. "If you won't leave, I will—just this time."
He turned to go, but Lira's voice broke, trembling with tears. "I saw Morgan."
Darel froze, his hand on the door. "He was bloody, pointing at the academy. There was fire everywhere—black fire. And writing: Il es despertus. I don't know what it means."
Darel turned slowly, his eyes narrowing. "Il es despertus," he whispered, like the words were familiar, tugging at a memory.
Lira wiped her eyes, her voice desperate. "I don't want to be friends, Darel. I don't trust you. But you saw my eyes twitching. There's a reason you were there. Please help me."
Darel paused, his expression softening for a moment. "I'm busy," he said, then added, "But I know someone who might translate it. I'll let you know." He walked out, the door swinging shut, leaving Lira alone, tears streaking her face, the dojo's silence heavy around her.
Theo's dorm was a small, cluttered space, its walls covered with star charts and Chronothite sketches, their lines curling like the Ouroboros symbol.
Books were piled on a desk, the bed unmade, and a small window let in the fading evening light, the clocktower's shadow creeping across the quadrangle outside.
The air smelled of old paper and faint incense.
Asher, Rowan, and Theo sat on the bed, staring at the blank note Theo had shown them. Asher turned it over, frowning. "What if we try the fire thing?"
Rowan looked confused. "What fire thing?"
Theo's eyes lit up. "That's right—the fire thing! Let's try it."
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "Someone explain."
Asher ignored him, looking at Theo. "Got a lighter?"
Theo shook his head. "No."
Rowan pulled a lighter from his pocket, holding it up. "I do, but you're not burning that note."
Asher snatched the lighter, rolling his eyes. "I'm not burning it, moron. It's to check for hidden writing."
Theo nodded. "Exactly. How do you not know this, Rowan?"
Rowan smirked. "Okay, fine."
Asher held the lighter under the note, moving the flame carefully left to right. The paper warmed, but no words appeared. "It didn't work," Asher said, confused. "What does this mean?"
Rowan leaned forward. "You sure you grabbed the right note, Theo?"
"I'm sure," Theo said, his bruised lip twitching. "That's the one Morgan made."
Rowan sighed. "So how do we get the message now?"
Theo hesitated. "What about Elara? She was close to Morgan. She might know something."
Asher shook his head. "Trusting anyone outside us is risky. They could turn on us. We do this ourselves."
He paused, his eyes lighting up. "Wait. I think I know someone who can help."
Rowan laughed. "What happened to 'no trusting anyone,' huh?"
Before Asher could reply, the clocktower bell rang, its deep tolls shaking the room. It was 7:00 PM—time for Morgan's wake.
Theo stood. "Looks like we've got other things to do."
Asher nodded. "Let's meet after the wake."
"Agreed," Rowan said, and they headed out, the blank note still a mystery in Asher's pocket.
The quadrangle was packed, students holding candles that flickered in the cool evening air, their flames casting soft light on somber faces.
The wake began with a slow procession, a haunting song rising for fifteen minutes, its notes heavy with grief.
Afterward, the school gathered in the open space, the clocktower looming at the far end, its brass face watching under a starless sky.
All prefects except Gaius stood in a line, alongside Headmaster Talus and a few teachers.
Talus stepped forward, his tall figure imposing, his gray hair glinting in the candlelight. "Tonight, we honor Morgan," he began, his voice smooth but cold.
"He was a bright student, a prefect who served this academy well." His tone shifted, turning sharp. "But he chose a path that led to his end. Some lessons come at a cost."
Darel, standing among the prefects, clenched his fists, his face red with anger.
The headmaster's words felt like a slap, blaming Morgan for his own death. He took a step forward, ready to shout, when a voice echoed in his mind—Gaius's, calm but firm.
Calm down, Darel. Breathe.
Darel froze, his eyes scanning the crowd.
"Look up at the building ahead", Gaius replied.
Darel glanced at the dormitory across the quadrangle, where a figure in a long cloak stood in a window, watching silently.
"I believe you", Gaius said. "Stay sharp".
The link cut off.
Talus continued, his voice colder. "We move forward. Tonight, we welcome a new prefect.
All ranks below 5 will move up, and Elara has been chosen to join the prefects."
Elara's eyes widened, shock clear on her face as she stepped forward, accepting a badge with trembling hands.
The crowd clapped, the sound hollow. Talus listed the new ranks: "Darel, rank 7; seline, rank 6…" Darel didn't wait to hear the rest. He pushed through the crowd, his jaw tight, leaving the ceremony behind.
Lira, clapping slowly, noticed Darel's exit, her eyes lingering on his retreating figure.
Asher, standing beside Rowan, muttered, "This is bullshit."
Rowan laughed softly.
Suddenly, time froze for five seconds, the world silent. A voice whispered in Rowan's mind, Rowan do not forsake me now, do not forsake me.
Rowan's eyes widened. "Leave me alone," he said aloud, just as time unfroze.
Asher turned, confused. "What was that?"
Rowan checked his Chrono watch—no detection. "Nothing," he said, brushing it off. "You're distracting me."
Asher grinned, teasing. "Sure, sicko."
The ceremony ended, students dispersing. Asher spotted Lira in the crowd and approached. "Hey, Lira. Seen Nico?"
"He just went to the bathroom," she said, pointing toward the dorms.
"Thanks," Asher said, spotting Nico returning. "I'll wait for him."
Nico joined them, his dark hair messy. "Hey, what's up?"
"I need to talk," Asher said. Theo walked up, looking around. "Where's Rowan?"
"No idea," Asher said. Rowan snuck up behind them. "Right here, went to check something."
Nico raised an eyebrow. "What's this about?"
Before Asher could answer, the clocktower bell rang again, signaling curfew. "Shit," Asher muttered. "Not now."
"I guess tomorrow," Nico said.
Theo shook his head. "We can't. Classes run till six, and it's a full day."
Asher sighed. "Fine, after that."
Rowan grinned. "Nope. First CCT—combat training."
Asher groaned. "Meaning?"
"Combat Chrono-Training," Nico said.
"Thursday's lighter. We can meet then."
"Fine," Asher said, disappointed. "Thursday it is."
A prefect approached, barking, "To your dorms!" They scattered, heading inside.
Asher and Rowan's dorm was tidy now, the floor swept, beds made, and books neatly stacked on a shared desk.
The small window showed the quadrangle, the clocktower's shadow dark against the night.
They were changing for bed, the wake's weight still heavy, when a knock came at the door.
Asher froze, meeting Rowan's eyes. The same thing had happened their first night—a knock, a threat. Tension filled the room, the air thick with unease.
"Open it," Rowan said quietly, his voice tight.
Asher approached the door, heart racing, and opened it slowly. No one was there, but a folded note lay on the floor. He picked it up, his fingers trembling.
"What is it?" Rowan asked, stepping closer.
"A note," Asher said, his voice low.
Rowan's eyes narrowed. "Calm down. Hand it over. Don't open it."
Asher ignored him, unfolding the note with shaking hands. "Shit," Rowan muttered. "I said don't!"
Asher read aloud, his voice slow, suspenseful, his heart pounding. "RUN..."
Rowan leaned closer. "That's it?"
Asher shook his head, his face pale with shock, eyes locked on the note's final line, too stunned to speak.