The courtyard lay hushed beneath the pale glow of the evening lanterns. The mountain winds stirred the ivy crawling up Ravenwood Academy's walls, filling the air with a faint rustling that sounded almost like words carried on the wind.
Kura lowered himself onto one of the stone benches. His uniform blazer hung loosely from his shoulders, and his tired eyes carried the weight of a sleepless night. Beside him, Lila Frost sat in silence, her silver-white hair shimmering softly in the lamplight.
Kura broke the quiet first. His voice was low, hesitant, but edged with raw curiosity. "Why did you help me… back then? You didn't have to. You could've just walked away."
Lila turned her head slowly, studying him with eyes that shimmered like frozen glass. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, in a voice more fragile than she intended, she breathed, "Because I know what it's like—to scream inside, to wish someone would reach out… and to be left with no one."
Kura froze. His chest tightened with something that wasn't quite pain, but close. "Your family too?" he asked, almost dreading the answer.
She let out a soft laugh—bitter, not joyful. "Cold. Demanding. They saw me as strength to be polished, not a daughter to be loved."
The words struck him like a mirror held to his own life. Slowly, Kura's lips curved into a hollow chuckle. "Guess I wasn't the only one then. Japan wasn't any kinder to me. A family that didn't want me, a world that treated me like I was already gone."
The irony of it cracked something open in both of them. Their laughter came sudden, startled—at first lighthearted, almost like real happiness. But as the laughter stretched on, it grew heavier. The joy thinned into something fragile, until they were laughing at their pain, their shared wounds, until suddenly the sound broke into silence.
Kura looked away, his throat tight. Lila's smile faltered into an awkward curve, her eyes drifting down to her lap. What began as joy had ended in quiet sadness.
It was Kura who finally spoke again, forcing his voice steady. "Maybe… maybe we should stop pretending this place is normal. You feel it too, don't you? Ravenwood is hiding something."
Lila looked up, meeting his eyes. "At night, the walls breathe differently," she murmured. "It feels like the academy itself is alive… watching."
"Then let's search tonight," Kura said firmly, rising from the bench with a strange determination.
Her silver eyes widened slightly, but then she nodded once. "Tonight, then. When the shadows walk."
That night, when the dormitory lamps dimmed and the corridors fell silent, Kura and Lila slipped into the academy halls. The moonlight bled through tall stained-glass windows, scattering fractured colors across the floor. They moved cautiously, exploring the abandoned wings, brushing their hands across old stone and locked doors. For hours they wandered, finding nothing but dust, cobwebs, and the groans of ancient wood. Yet the deeper they went, the heavier the unease grew.
At one point, a sound froze them both.
A long, dragging scrape. Like claws drawn across stone.
Kura gripped Lila's arm instinctively. She raised a hand, frost-light sparking faintly across her fingers, ready to summon her ice. But when they turned the corner, the hallway stood empty.
Another hour passed. They searched storage rooms, archives, even the old chapel, but found nothing unusual. Finally, weary and disappointed, they sat on the cold floor of a deserted corridor.
"Maybe we're imagining things," Kura muttered, running a hand through his messy hair.
"No," Lila said firmly, her eyes narrowing. "This academy is too perfect in daylight. Perfection always hides rot."
Kura managed a dry laugh. "Maybe you're right. But maybe tonight just isn't our night."
He started to rise, ready to give up—when something caught his eye.
At the far end of the corridor, a patch of wall shimmered faintly, as though the moonlight bent unnaturally across its surface.
Kura squinted. "Wait…"
He approached, heart thudding faster. The closer he got, the clearer it became: the wall wasn't solid. A faint outline, almost like a doorway, pulsed against the stone.
He raised his hand, reaching out—then stopped, hesitating. "Lila… do you see this?"
She frowned, stepping closer. Her eyes widened at the faint glow. Without hesitation, she pressed her palm against the door.
Her hand passed straight through the surface.
She gasped and stumbled back. "What…?!"
Kura froze, staring. She tried again, thrusting her whole arm forward, but it slipped through like mist. Her body couldn't touch it at all.
She turned to him, alarm in her eyes. "It's… it's rejecting me."
Kura swallowed hard, dread rising. "Then maybe… maybe it's only for humans."
The idea chilled them both.
He reached out slowly. His fingers pressed against solid stone. Not mist. Not emptiness. Solid.
The door was real for him—and only for him.
Before either of them could speak, a sharp, echoing sound filled the hall. The scraping noise returned, louder, multiplied. Shadows rippled across the walls, stretching, twisting into humanoid shapes. And from the darkness stepped a figure—human, cloaked in black, with a smile that gleamed too sharp in the dim light.
"You've found the forbidden door," the stranger said softly. "How… troublesome."
The shadows surged forward.
Kura and Lila fought back. Ice shields blossomed under her hands, frost biting into the floor. Kura swung wildly with a piece of broken wood, barely keeping the creatures back. But the fight was overwhelming.
Then, without warning, the shelves lining the corridor cracked. Books tumbled from above like a flood, burying them beneath an avalanche of tomes.
The last thing Kura saw before being buried was Lila's pale face, her hands flaring with icy light.
The weight pressed down, crushing, suffocating. But suddenly, a shimmer of cold air enveloped him. Lila, her arms outstretched, had formed a dome of pure transparent ice. The books piled on top, but the dome held—barely.
Kura gasped for breath. Lila's face was pale, sweat dripping down her temples. "I… I can't hold it forever."
Among the books pressed against the dome, one began to glow faintly.
A boy's voice, pure and sorrowful, whispered: "How long will you two shield each other? It has been long enough. Everyone else has gone. Open me."
Kura's eyes widened. "Did you hear that?"
But Lila shook her head. "What?"
The voice spoke again, clearer, but only to him. "You… the broken one. Open me."
His hand trembled as he reached for the glowing book. The moment he touched it, the dome shimmered brighter, buying them a few seconds of breath.
The book fell open. Only a single line filled the page—symbols in no language he knew. Yet somehow, he understood. His lips moved, whispering the words.
Lila's eyes widened. "Kura—what are you saying? I can't hear it!"
The words spilled out of him in a voice that felt both his and not his.
The moment the last syllable fell, the book twisted, warping into a shard of black steel—an ethereal anil—that pierced straight into Kura's chest.
Pain seared him. His eyes widened, his scream trapped in silence. The steel melted into his being, absorbed into his heart.
He collapsed forward, gasping, clutching his chest. His vision blurred, darkness creeping at the edges. But before the world vanished, one truth crystallized within him:
He could now see the outline of the door clearly—etched in blood and shadow.
He had powers. Unknown. Terrifying. His to bear.
His body went limp.
"Kura!" Lila cried, catching him as he slumped against her. His head fell into her lap, his breath shallow. His skin burned with fever, sweat glistening on his brow.
"No… no, stay with me," she whispered, her icy fingers trembling as they brushed his hair from his face.
But his eyes had already closed.
Kura drifted into unconsciousness, sinking into a void that would hold him for two weeks—while Lila sat in the silence, clutching him, alone under the weight of Ravenwood's secrets.
When Kura finally opened his eyes, sunlight streamed gently through the dormitory curtains. His head pounded, but his body felt strangely light—as if something inside him had shifted. He sat up slowly, rubbing his temples, blinking against the brightness.
"…Wasn't I just in the hall?" he muttered, confused. "Did I pass out? It feels like… only a day."
But outside his window, the trees bore signs of a passing storm, and faint whispers of rumor clung to the air in the dormitory halls. He didn't know it yet, but two full weeks had gone by.
He sighed, dragging himself out of bed. His uniform hung neatly on the chair, pressed as if someone had tended to it daily. He began to change into it, movements sluggish but steady, pulling off his shirt just as the door creaked open.
"Kura—!"
Lila stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes widening as she caught sight of him bare-chested. Color rushed to her pale cheeks, and she whipped her gaze aside, but before she could retreat, something broke inside her.
She dropped all restraint, rushed forward, and threw her arms around him. Her body trembled against his as her silver hair brushed his shoulder.
Her voice cracked as she choked out the words, "I thought… I thought you'd never wake up!"
Her tears soaked into his skin, warm and desperate.
Kura stood there, stunned, his heart racing as the weight of her words sank in. Slowly, uncertainly, he lifted his arms and wrapped them around her shaking frame.
For the first time in years, he felt… not abandoned. Not alone.
And for Lila, the cold mask she always wore had finally shattered.