For a moment, nobody moved.
The words hung in the corridor like something physical, like they had changed the air itself.
A monster tide is coming for the city.
No one spoke. No one breathed. The only sound was the shrill, distant blare of the warning sirens outside, dragging across the walls and glass like the cry of something wounded.
Then the corridor exploded.
"What?"
"No, no, no, that's not possible—"
"Monster tide?" someone shouted.
A girl near the back started crying immediately, her hands flying over her mouth. One of the younger boys from another class looked like he was about to faint. Students began speaking over one another, voices rising higher and faster until it became a mess of panic and confusion.
"Everybody quiet!"
Mr. Renlow's voice cracked through the corridor like a whip.
It worked, barely.
The noise dropped, though fear still trembled through the students in sharp, uneven breaths.
Mr. Renlow stood straighter, forcing calm into his posture even if his face had gone pale. "Listen to me carefully. We are moving to evacuation points immediately. Stay together. Stay with your teachers. Do not leave the grounds unless instructed by a bonded official or city guard."
"Evacuation points?" someone repeated, voice shaking. "Why would we need evacuation points if they're already here?"
"They may not be here yet," another student said too quickly, like saying it fast enough would make it true.
Nate had gone rigid beside me. "Mark," he muttered, not looking at me, "please tell me this is some kind of test."
I didn't answer.
My mind had snagged on one word and wouldn't let go.
City.
Not the school. Not the district.
The city.
That meant home.
A cold feeling slid into my stomach.
Mr. Renlow kept talking, louder now, trying to push through the panic before it could take full control. "The nearest reinforced shelter is two streets east of the academy. We move there as a group. No running. No shoving. Stay close and do exactly as I say."
Someone near the front gave a short, hysterical laugh. "No running?"
"Enough," Mr. Renlow snapped.
Another teacher rushed into the corridor from a side hall, breathless, clutching the sleeve of her robe as if she had thrown it on in a hurry. "Renlow, the front streets are already packed. Staff are being redirected to the lower west passage."
Mr. Renlow's jaw tightened. "Are there reports of contact?"
She hesitated, and that hesitation was answer enough.
A terrible silence rippled through the group.
"Minor contact near the outer wards," she said at last, far too carefully. "That's all I know."
Minor contact.
The phrase sounded thin and useless next to the blaring horns.
Outside the tall glass doors at the end of the corridor, the school grounds had become a blur of motion. Instructors hurried students across the stone paths. Guards sprinted toward the gates in partial armor, some fastening chestplates as they ran. Farther out, beyond the walls of the academy, the skyline shimmered under a haze of movement and smoke.
The city felt different now.
Not distant.
Not safe.
Alive in the worst possible way.
Mr. Renlow turned back to us. "We move now."
The corridor stirred into motion, though no one moved cleanly. Some students shoved too close together. Some stood rooted until someone grabbed their arm and dragged them forward. A boy from my class kept muttering, "This isn't real, this isn't real," under his breath like a prayer that was already failing.
I fell in with the others automatically, my feet moving before my head caught up. Nate stayed close, glancing at me every few seconds as if he expected me to collapse.
All around us, fear had a sound.
Quick breaths. Shoes squeaking against polished stone. Choked sobs. Teachers barking directions that overlapped until half the words were lost. Somewhere above us, another alarm began—a lower, heavier pulse that thudded through the building like a heartbeat.
We rounded a corner into one of the main entry halls, where three staircases fed into a wide chamber lined with banners and tall windows.
It should have been a place of ceremony. Quiet speeches. First-day announcements. Harmless things.
Now it was chaos.
Students from different classes were bottlenecked near the west hall entrance while staff tried to sort them. Some were crying openly. Some were shouting questions no one had time to answer. Others just stared, pale and blank, as if their minds had left ahead of them.
A little girl from the lower division clung to her older brother's arm so tightly her knuckles had gone white. A teacher knelt beside her, trying to coax her forward, but the girl was frozen solid.
"Keep moving!" another instructor shouted. "Do not stop in the center hall!"
The words echoed sharply against the stone.
Something crashed outside.
The entire chamber flinched.
Heads snapped toward the windows.
I saw only a brief shape beyond the glass, too fast, too large, a blur of black movement streaking past the outer courtyard wall, and then it was gone.
"What was that?" someone whispered.
Nobody answered.
A second later, the front doors blew inward.
The sound was deafening.
Wood exploded off its hinges in a shower of splinters and twisted metal. The doors slammed against the floor hard enough to crack stone beneath them. Wind and dust rushed into the hall, carrying with them the stink of smoke, hot metal, and something animal and foul.
And in the wreckage, something landed.
It was low to the ground at first, shoulders rising and falling in a slow, predatory rhythm. Bigger than any panther had a right to be, far bigger. Its body was all coiled muscle under a hide so black it swallowed the light around it, except for the jagged streaks of crimson that ran along its flanks like glowing scars. Its limbs were too long, its paws ending in hooked talons that bit into the stone with a screech. Along its spine, bony ridges jutted up like broken blades.
Its head lifted.
The face was almost feline, but wrong in every way that mattered. The jaw was too wide. The teeth were too long, layered in rows that didn't belong in any natural mouth. Its eyes burned a molten orange, bright and hateful, and when it opened its mouth, a string of dark saliva slid between its fangs and hissed where it hit the floor.
For one impossible second, the entire hall went dead still.
No screams.
No movement.
Just shock.
The monster's tail flicked once.
Then it moved.
It was faster than my eyes could follow.
One moment it stood by the shattered doors, the next it was in the middle of the students.
A boy near the front didn't even have time to raise his arms.
The creature hit him with enough force to lift him off the ground. There was a wet, snapping sound that didn't register as real until his body flew sideways and struck the base of a staircase, limp and wrong.
Then blood hit the floor.
Someone screamed.
The hall shattered into noise.
The monster ripped into the next student before anyone could get away, a girl I recognized from an upper-year class. One clawed paw came down across her shoulder and chest, and she crumpled before she finished screaming.
Panic detonated.
Students bolted in every direction. Some fell over each other. Some froze where they stood, hands over their heads, crying. A teacher tried to throw up some kind of warding light with a shaking hand, but the spell broke apart before it formed.
"RUN!" Mr. Renlow roared.