Silas remained silent at Victor's question, a clear signal that he did not wish to answer, that he had no interest in small talk or idle conversation.
Victor noticed immediately. He understood that the new student was uncomfortable speaking—or perhaps simply unwilling to engage at all.
"Ha… alright, if you don't want to tell me…"
Victor said this with a smile that seemed to light up his face, as if a small beam of sunlight had suddenly broken through the tension. Silas did not understand why he was smiling; there was nothing amusing here, no joke, no laughter necessary. And yet, Victor's expression carried a warmth, a casual friendliness that seemed effortless.
He stopped walking. The place where he paused was near the teachers' office, where the doors led to the administrative and faculty spaces. Silas came to a halt as well.
"If you need anything," Victor said, glancing at him, "don't hesitate to tell me. Okay? Now go on in—Teacher Anna wanted to speak with you."
Silas looked up at the small board above the door: Teacher's Office. His gaze lingered there for a moment, then shifted back to Victor, meeting his eyes.
"Hmm," Silas murmured, acknowledging him with the faintest of sounds.
Victor laughed lightly. "I have to go now—have some word to do. We'll meet later, friend."
With that, he gave a final, easy smile and broke into a quick jog, disappearing down the hallway.
Silas watched him go, motionless, his expression unreadable. Then, with slow, deliberate steps, he turned and made his way to the teacher's office.
Teacher's office… huh?
The moment Silas stepped inside, a teacher's eyes fell on him. She was seated at her desk, busy sorting papers, yet the instant she noticed him, her attention shifted entirely.
"Silas—"
At the sound of his name, he looked toward her.
"Come here, come here."
Silas moved toward her without hesitation. This must be Teacher Anna, he thought, noting the quiet efficiency in her movements.
She was bent over a drawer, pulling out books and notebooks, placing them on the desk with a soft thud. The pile was substantial, filled with the materials he would need for his classes.
Looking up at him, Anna adjusted a strand of hair from her face and said gently, opening a folder before her:
"I've reviewed your file, Silas. You were among the toppers at your previous school. I trust you will do well here too. Welcome to Velendra Frost High School. Here are the rest of your books, textbooks—"
She gestured gracefully toward the neatly stacked books.
"—Everything you will need is here. If you require anything else, don't hesitate to ask. Your father has made sure you are well taken care of."
Victor stood silently nearby, listening. He seemed utterly uninterested in the details about Silas' father or the arrangements made for him.
Silas, too, remained quiet. He was about to start picking up the books and notebooks when Anna's voice spoke again, soft but firm:
"Silas, I understand that many students today are fond of fashion—"
The words caught him off guard. Fashion? In the middle of this serious introduction? He blinked, uncertain why she was bringing this up.
"—This is a school, Silas. Today I am letting it pass since it is your first day, but from tomorrow, you cannot come to school with your hair colored or lenses in your eyes. Make them appropriate."
For a moment, Silas simply stared. Now he understood—Anna was referring to the color of his hair and his eyes. But what she did not know was that he had neither dyed his hair nor used colored lenses; he had been this way since childhood.
Silas did not wish to speak about the color of his hair or his eyes. He had no desire to explain something that had always been a part of him. But now it had become unavoidable. After all, how could he suddenly "apply" color to hair that had never been dyed, or wear lenses that had never existed? To clear the misunderstanding, he finally spoke.
"Miss Anna… I haven't dyed my hair, and I haven't worn lenses. This… this is natural. It's been like this since childhood."
Anna's eyes widened, her mouth slightly open in astonishment. She had never seen anyone like him before. Sure, she might have come across students with pale orange or red hair, but never with strands of fine, crimson red threaded through black hair, and certainly never eyes so arresting, so unlike anything she had seen before.
"Since childhood?" she repeated, almost breathless. "You mean… it's always been like this? My goodness… this is extraordinary!"
Silas did not wish to speak about the color of his hair or his eyes. He had no desire to explain something that had always been a part of him. But now it had become unavoidable. After all, how could he suddenly "apply" color to hair that had never been dyed, or wear lenses that had never existed? To clear the misunderstanding, he finally spoke.
"Miss Anna… I haven't dyed my hair, and I haven't worn lenses. This… this is natural. It's been like this since childhood."
Anna's eyes widened, her mouth slightly open in astonishment. She had never seen anyone like him before. Sure, she might have come across students with pale orange or red hair, but never with strands of fine, crimson red threaded through black hair, and certainly never eyes so arresting, so unlike anything she had seen before.
"Since childhood?" she repeated, almost breathless. "You mean… it's always been like this? My goodness… this is extraordinary!"
Anna practically circled him like an inquisitive squirrel, inspecting him with bright, curious eyes. She examined the strands of hair, the unusual contrast, the subtle crimson highlights, and finally her gaze rested on his eyes, which seemed to hold a depth that was intoxicating, almost hypnotic.
"This… this is truly remarkable," she whispered, awed.
Silas shifted uncomfortably. Every time someone commented on him, it was the same refrain: a living advertisement for fashion, a show of pride, a distraction from the ordinary. All his life, people had assumed he intentionally altered his appearance—to show off, to flaunt, to challenge others. Anna's words, though different in tone, carried the same intensity of fascination.
"May I go now, Miss Anna?" he asked finally, his voice steady, though his mind remained alert, aware of every movement around him.
Anna, absorbed in his hair and eyes, only now noticed him speaking. She cleared her throat softly, disguising a small, almost childish cough that masked the wonder in her eyes.
"Ah… yes, of course," she said finally. "By now, your class should be starting."
Silas bent to lift the books from the desk. The stack was heavier than it appeared—textbooks and notebooks piled high. When he tried to lift them all at once, they resisted his effort.
"Stop," Anna said, shaking her head gently. "You won't be able to carry them all at once. Take half for now. The rest? I'll have Victor send them to you. Is that alright?"
Victor. At the mention of the name, Silas's mind conjured his face immediately—the laughing boy, the one who had walked with him earlier. A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Silas' memory, even as he focused on balancing the weight of the books.
Silas nodded slightly, a subtle gesture of acknowledgment. He lifted half of the books in his hands and stepped out of the teacher's office, moving steadily toward his classroom.
He walked with purpose, balancing the weight of the textbooks in each arm. Perhaps it was the gaze Anna had cast upon him, or perhaps it was the way he imagined his classmates might be looking at him too—examining his hair, his eyes, forming silent judgments about him.
He looked ahead. His classroom was a short distance away, but something about it felt… off. A strange energy hung in the air, faint but unmistakable.
As he approached, he saw it: a crowd of students clustered inside. Some stood, some sat, some leaning casually, others rigid, watching silently. Who belonged to the class? Who was a bystander? Silas had no interest in figuring it out—not yet. Not until he saw it for himself.
And then he did.
The sight before him drew his eyes sharply. For the first time that day, the faint lifelessness in his expression gave way to something more serious, more deliberate. The classroom had gone still. A collective expectation seemed to settle on the students, all eyes fixed on him, waiting. Quiet whispers began to ripple through the crowd, hushed exchanges passing from one student to the next.
Silas could not understand why this happened every time he arrived. It had become a familiar pattern: every gaze, every whisper, every pause in conversation seemed to center on him.
And then he saw it clearly.
All the books he had so carefully arranged that morning, placed neatly on the desk beside his seat, were gone. They lay strewn across the floor like shattered glass, enormous fragments of polished chaos, reflecting light in uneven flashes.
The scene was both absurd and silent, a frozen testament to some unspoken tension that had built while he had been away. He stopped for a moment, standing at the edge of the chaos, absorbing the strange, expectant energy of the classroom, and the weight of their eyes upon him.
His bag lay abandoned on the floor, separate from the chaos around it. Pouches of pens, pencils, and other supplies were scattered, strewn in disorder as if tossed carelessly by an unseen hand.
Silas's expression remained unreadable. No anger, no frustration, no overt reaction—only a calm, quiet seriousness settled over his features. With deliberate steps, he approached the desk and placed the books he was holding neatly to one side.
The classroom watched him with a mixture of curiosity and impatience. Silence had returned, heavy and expectant, broken only by the quiet murmur of three students seated near his spot, speaking in hushed tones to one another.
Bending slightly, Silas began picking up the books, one by one, lifting each with precise care and placing them neatly on the side desk. When the pile was finally arranged, he turned to the scattered pouches. Some lay under desks, others were missing entirely. He gathered what remained and placed it aside as well.
Only one obstacle remained: his seat.
Occupying it was a student whose hair was neither light blonde nor dull brown but a strange, blended mix of both. From behind, Silas could see the strong, healthy frame of the boy—tall, well-built, a body as fit as any of the other students in the class. Beside him, another boy of similar stature stood, talking quietly to him.
Silas walked forward deliberately, unhurried, his hands empty now. As he approached the seat where he had started the morning, the classroom's eyes followed him with rapt attention. The two boys speaking with the blonde-brown student fell silent, their gazes turning sharp and cold, fixated on Silas.
"...."
"Move. From my seat."
His voice was low, calm, but carried a subtle sharpness that cut through the silence.
"What do you mean?"
The words barely left the boy's lips before Silas flinched. That same uneasy, familiar feeling surged through him again—this was impossible.
The student occupying his chair slowly turned his pale green eyes toward him.
They were sharp. Dangerous. Predatory. The kind of eyes that seemed to measure you, to weigh the threat of your existence in a single glance. His presence was like a blade, cold and precise.
"This… this can't be happening," Silas murmured under his breath, a whisper lost amidst the silence of the room.
A..Ahser..why is he here?.
To be continued....