In the silence of an old, forgotten corridor, footsteps echoed.
Step… step…
Each one reverberated through the walls, hollow and slow—like the pulse of something not quite dead. The place was abandoned, yes… but it watched. It breathed.
Tattered clothing lay strewn across the floor like shed skin. Half-rotted food lined the base of the walls, untouched by time—but not by vermin. Dust drifted from the ceiling, settling onto debris that had long since claimed the ground.
A small mouse crept from the shadows, hugging the wall with twitchy caution. Its tiny feet made no sound, but its ears flicked constantly, tuned to every whisper of danger. It paused near a crust of stale bread, sniffed, and pounced—cramming the crumbs into its mouth with frantic glee.
Then—
THUD.
A boot landed inches away, black and silent, heavy as a falling coffin.
The mouse squeaked—a single note of terror—and vanished into a hole in the wall, gone like breath in winter.
Standing above where it had been was a figure clad in obsidian black.
His presence sucked the warmth from the corridor. A long coat draped over his form, swaying with each calculated step like shadow given shape. The fabric shimmered faintly with dark, shifting threads—lines that writhed like veins, pulsing with some forbidden energy.
A high, stiff collar rose behind his neck like a gravestone, and his waist was cinched by a belt bearing a broken lunar crescent cradling a twisted vine—neither plant nor bone.
Tight leather gloves concealed his hands. His boots, though heavy, struck the ground with measured weight—each step deliberate, echoing like a judge's gavel in the silence.
And over his face… a porcelain mask. Flawless, bone-white, yet cracked through one side as if fractured by something from within. Its eye sockets were bottomless voids—too dark, too deep. The thin mouth bore no expression, yet something about it screamed silence.
When he moved, the air recoiled. A coldness spread, sharp and unnatural, as if reality itself strained to hold him in place.
Without a word, he strode to the end of the corridor, where a makeshift door—no more than two crooked planks nailed across an open frame—waited like the mouth of some forgotten tomb.
He reached out.
The door creaked wide.
From the pitch black beyond, six eyes blinked into view—unblinking, watching. Not human. Not kind.
The man stepped through.
The door slammed shut behind him, all on its own.
And the corridor was silent once more.
But high above—unseen in the gloom—a single crow perched on a rusted wall sconce, watching it all.
Its head tilted, eyes gleaming like beads of ink.
Darkness unfolded across the corridor like a curtain drawn by unseen hands.
Then—
The crow burst from the rafters, hopping once, twice, then spreading its wings. With a single beat, it vanished into the shadows above.
Moments later, it soared over the academy grounds—gliding through the open corridors that circled the inner garden, weaving through shafts of moonlight and drifting petals. Students and staff passed below, unaware of the black silhouette cutting through the air above them.
The crow dipped lower.
It dived.
And landed silently within the heart of the garden.
There—beneath the whispering branches of an old ash tree—stood Nox.
His face was drawn, eyes shadowed with fear and sorrow. Yet behind the tremble of his breath, something flickered.
Purpose.
He walked through the corridor, each step echoing with the thought: "Alright, let's do it."
Outside, the sun blazed at high noon, scorching the sky. From above, we looked down on Nyx standing in front of Aria's door, his hand hovering uncertainly near the handle. Beads of sweat trailed down his cheek. His eyes twitched. He was scared.
With a loud gulp, he finally reached for the handle—then paused—and knocked.
"Come in," came Aria's voice from within.
He opened the door, immediately locking eyes with her. She stepped past him with a calm smile, placed a hand on his shoulder, and said, "Relax," before quietly closing the door behind him.
Nyx turned to see Luna lying on the bed, legs swinging rhythmically as she flipped through a book. Her world was quiet and peaceful—until she noticed him.
"Luna?" he said, voice soft, almost unsure.
Her head snapped up. Her eyes lit up like stars, wide and glimmering. "Brother!"
She scrambled to the edge of the bed, plopped onto the ground, and ran toward him. Arms wide open, she leapt into him, wrapping him in a tight embrace.
She smiled up at him, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "Brother, where have you been?"
"I haven't seen you for two days!"
Nyx's heart raced—he could feel each beat against his chest like war drums. Thoughts swirled chaotically in his mind. His throat tightened. A single drop of sweat slid down his neck. Guilt settled like a stone in his stomach.
He slowly raised a hand and placed it gently on her head, patting her with trembling fingers. "I'm sorry," he murmured.
Luna tilted her head, puzzled. "Why?" she asked, her voice light and curious, tinged with innocent mischief.
The word struck Nyx like an arrow. The guilt sharpened, digging deeper. His hand froze in place. His eyes squeezed shut.
"Let's sit down," he said quietly.
Luna eased her hug and replied with a cheerful, "Alright!" She skipped over to the chairs, pulled one out for Nyx, then dashed across the table and dropped into her own with a bounce. She looked at him expectantly.
But Nyx didn't move.
Still frozen in place, anxiety clutched at his chest. Slowly, he lifted one leg—then the other—and began walking. Every step made his heartbeat louder, faster.
And then—
He sat down. Hands resting on his lap. Eyes locked on Luna.
She simply looked back at him, unbothered, her gaze full of innocent curiosity.
Silence lingered for a moment. Luna looked at Nyx, legs swinging gently beneath her chair, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
Nyx finally broke it, his voice cracking slightly. "About yesterday…"
He paused, second-guessing his words, then forced his tone steady. "At the clothing store. Yesterday. I'm… sorry."
His gaze dropped to the floor. His mouth opened—then closed. No words came. So he waited.
Luna tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean? Yesterday—"
Then it clicked.
"Oh, that." She chuckled softly, brushing it off with a wave of her hand. "Don't worry. You didn't do anything wrong."
Nyx flinched. His head snapped up to look at her, eyes wide with confusion and fear. "What? No—" He struggled to find the words, his fingers trembling. "I put you in danger. If I'd been there, none of it would've happened."
Luna let out a light sigh, shrugging. "Brother, you worry too much. Nothing happened. He just wanted to talk, that's all."
But then she really looked at him—saw the sweat on his brow, the guilt carved into every line of his face, his twitching brows, and the fear behind his eyes.
Her voice softened. "Nyx… calm down."
"I know you feel bad about it. But truly, nothing happened."
She stood from her chair and walked toward him slowly. Reaching out, she took his hand, gently brushing her fingers across his trembling ones.
"Calm down," she repeated, her voice warm and soothing.
"I know you wanted to apologize—but there's nothing to apologize for."
She motioned for him to lower his head, and he obeyed.
Her hands came up to cradle his face, her thumbs brushing gently across his cheeks. "Nothing happened," she said, her gaze steady. "Alright?"
Nyx was on the verge of tears, but he fought them back. "No. No tears. Don't look pathetic in front of her."
He reached up and held her hands in his, the trembling slowly fading. The sweat cooled. His muscles relaxed. His eyes squeezed shut—and the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly.
"Alright," he whispered. "Nothing happened."
"See? Easy," Luna said with a soft smile.
She gestured for him to kneel. Nyx followed without hesitation.
She stepped closer, pulling his head gently to her chest, wrapping her arms around him in a quiet, protective embrace.
"Nothing happened," she whispered again.
And in that moment, something lit within him—a spark. A purpose.
"I'll never let you down, he thought."
"Never."