Silent footsteps spread across the quiet street, almost imitating the repetitive turning of a clock. A light breeze and the blinding rays of sun occasionally accompanied the owner of the footsteps. In the stillness of the morning, the faint creak of a bicycle wheel from a distant alley seemed like the only other sign of life.
Liewen walked with a deliberate pace, the weight of each step matching the rhythm of his thoughts. His shoes clicked sharply on the cobblestones, but the sound was distant—almost foreign—as though it didn't quite belong to him. He caught a glimpse of himself in the window of a shuttered bakery, a flash of sharp features and a pale, almost sickly complexion. His blue eyes lingered on the reflection for a fraction of a second before he looked away.
It wasn't the first time he'd walked this way, to this place—new school, new faces, a new beginning. It was becoming all too familiar.
The gates of St. Arlen's Institute rose in front of him, black and imposing, their spires catching the sunlight. The building behind them stretched high into the sky, a fortress of stone and ambition. There was something about it that made him feel smaller, despite his height.
He stopped just short of the gate, the quiet thrum of his pulse filling the silence between them. The air felt heavier than it should have been, but maybe it was just the weight of another repeat.
He straightened his tie, adjusting the blazer sleeve. Everything about this felt like it had been preordained, and that was something he never liked.
The gate creaked open, smooth and effortless, as though expecting him. A familiar, cold breeze brushed past him as he stepped through, the chill creeping under his collar and down his spine.
The grounds of St. Arlen's lay before him in eerie stillness—hedges trimmed to perfection, the paths clean and unblemished. A few figures passed by in the distance, but no one paid him any mind. It wasn't unusual. He preferred it this way.
A man emerged from the shadow of the building, tall and sharp, dressed in the same dark uniform as the others. He regarded Liewen with a measured, almost absent look.
"Liewen, I presume?" The man's voice was neutral, almost rehearsed.
Liewen nodded, offering a quick smile that felt a little too sharp, a little too practiced. He wasn't sure why he smiled—it wasn't like he had much to feel cheerful about.
"We've been expecting you. I trust your journey was uneventful?" the man continued, stepping aside to let Liewen pass.
"Uneventful," Liewen echoed, though the word tasted unfamiliar on his tongue. He hadn't actually thought much about the journey itself—just the arrival.
The man led him deeper into the grounds, where the silence seemed even more pronounced. No chatter, no bustling students hurrying to class. It was almost like the world had slowed down here. The buildings stretched upward in the silence, casting long shadows on the cobblestones beneath them.
For a brief moment, Liewen felt a tightening in his chest, something that made the air feel thicker, as though something in the world had shifted, but he quickly dismissed it.
It's just another day, he reminded himself, but the thought didn't quite settle right.
As they moved further into the campus, the feeling of being watched lingered. Not by anyone he could see, but by something just beyond his peripheral vision. But it was fine. It was just a feeling.
Liewen kept his steps steady, his gaze forward, though the stillness around him pressed against his awareness. Each breath felt deliberate, as though he had to remind himself to take it. The man in front of him spoke sparingly, offering only curt directions when necessary.
"We'll begin with the Headmaster," the man said, his voice cutting through the silence.
The word Headmaster had a weight to it that Liewen couldn't quite place. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and followed.
The main building loomed ahead, its arched doors carved with intricate patterns that looked more decorative than functional. The man held one of the heavy doors open, and Liewen stepped inside. The shift in atmosphere was immediate.
The air here was colder, and the light from outside was reduced to narrow shafts streaming through tall, stained-glass windows. The hall stretched out before him, echoing faintly with their footsteps. Somewhere deeper within, the faint ticking of a clock played against the silence.
They passed rows of portraits hung on the walls, each face frozen in a stern, calculating expression. Liewen didn't linger on them, though one in particular caught his eye—a man with sharp features, his gaze cold and unwavering, as though he could see through the canvas.
"This way," the man said, motioning toward a staircase spiraling upward. Liewen followed, his hand grazing the smooth wood of the railing as they ascended.
At the top of the stairs, they stopped before a set of double doors. The man knocked twice, then stepped aside.
"Go in. The Headmaster is expecting you."
Liewen hesitated for the briefest moment before pushing one of the doors open. It swung inward with surprising ease.
The room beyond was spacious yet sparse. Bookshelves lined the walls, their contents arranged with almost obsessive precision. At the far end of the room, a large desk sat bathed in the faint glow of sunlight streaming through another tall window.
Behind the desk was a man. The Headmaster.
He was older than Liewen expected, his face lined with age but his posture upright and commanding. His sharp, silver-framed glasses caught the light as he glanced up from a leather-bound book.
"Liewen," the Headmaster said, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of authority. "Please, sit."
Liewen crossed the room, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. He sat in the chair opposite the desk, feeling the weight of the Headmaster's gaze.
"Welcome to St. Arlen's," the Headmaster continued, closing the book and folding his hands on the desk. "You come highly recommended, though I suspect you already know that."
Liewen didn't respond immediately. He wasn't sure what the man expected him to say. Instead, he nodded, keeping his expression neutral.
"Your academic record is impressive," the Headmaster went on, his tone measured. "But St. Arlen's isn't just about academics. We seek students who are capable of... adapting. Thriving under pressure. Do you think you're up to the task?"
The question hung in the air. For a moment, Liewen considered giving a simple answer, something safe and predictable. Instead, he said, "I suppose that depends on what kind of pressure we're talking about."
The Headmaster's lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. It wasn't quite a smile, but there was something in his expression that suggested approval.
"You'll find out soon enough," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Your dorm assignment has been prepared. I trust you'll find everything to your satisfaction. If not, well... adaptability, as I mentioned, is key."
Liewen nodded again, though his mind was already racing. The Headmaster's words seemed innocuous enough, but there was a weight to them that he couldn't ignore.
"Dismissed," the Headmaster said abruptly, turning his attention back to the book on his desk.
Liewen stood, the chair scraping softly against the floor as he pushed it back. He didn't linger, walking back toward the door without a word.
The man who had escorted him was waiting just outside, his expression as unreadable as before. "I'll take you to your dormitory now," he said.
The walk was shorter this time, the hallways a blur of muted colors and sharp lines. The dormitory wing was just as pristine as the rest of the campus, each door marked with a brass plaque.
"This is yours," the man said, stopping in front of one of the doors. "You'll find your schedule inside. Classes begin tomorrow."
Liewen nodded, murmured a quick thanks, and stepped inside.
The room was modest, though it carried the same meticulous order as the rest of the school. A single bed, a desk, a wardrobe. Everything was in its place.
He set his bag down and sat on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on his knees. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the blank wall in front of him.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
Liewen leaned back, letting his head rest against the wall. The faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the room filled the silence. He closed his eyes, but the stillness didn't ease.
He didn't need to look at the clock to know how much time passed. The sense of waiting, of holding his breath, was something he was used to. This wasn't his first new start.
And yet, as he sat there in the empty room, surrounded by an unnatural calm, something about this place felt different.
Not wrong, exactly. But not right either.
Liewen let out a long breath and opened his eyes.
"It's fine," he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the clock's rhythmic ticking. "It's just another school."
But even as the words left his mouth, they felt hollow.
He glanced at his bag, still untouched where he'd left it. The thought of unpacking felt exhausting, but ignoring it seemed worse. With a soft sigh, he reached for the bag, pulling it closer.
The first thing he saw was the envelope—a stark white rectangle against the darker fabric of his belongings. He frowned, pulling it free.
There was no name on the front, no indication of where it had come from. The seal was already broken.
Curiosity pulled him forward, though something deeper told him not to open it. But he did.
Inside, a single line of text stared back at him, printed in sharp, black ink:
"We've been watching you."