Darian slouched in his seat, his head resting on the desk as his thoughts wandered back to the events in the alley the night before. The blood. The cold steel. The lifeless stares of those he'd killed. He felt no remorse for their deaths—they were trying to kill him first, after all—but a lingering discomfort twisted inside him. It was his first time taking a life, and even though he'd told himself it was necessary, the weight of the act refused to leave him.
Still, his mind kept circling back to the bigger question: who had sent them? Someone wanted him dead, but why? He wasn't powerful enough to be a threat to anyone significant, at least not yet. Could it have something to do with his bloodline? Or perhaps his growing reputation as a promising tamer? The unknowns clawed at his mind like shadows that wouldn't recede. And then there was the other mystery gnawing at him: the Descendants. Their existence felt like a distant dream, yet he knew they were real. Too many questions. Too few answers.
A sigh escaped his lips, barely audible over the monotone drone of his homeroom teacher, Lyra Vandell.
"Darian," her voice suddenly cut through the fog in his head, sharp and pointed, "are you sleeping in my class?"
He jerked his head up, meeting her piercing gaze. "No, ma'am," he replied, his tone neutral but firm.
Lyra's expression softened instantly, almost to the point of embarrassment. "O-okay. Just stay focused," she stammered, quickly turning back to the lesson.
Darian noticed the glances exchanged among the boys in the class. Envy practically oozed from their eyes. Lyra Vandell was notorious for being one of the strictest and most intimidating instructors in the academy, but for some inexplicable reason, she treated him differently. Darian didn't care much for their jealousy. He had far bigger problems than the petty rivalries of his classmates.
Still, his gaze wandered across the room, searching. Zara's seat was empty. Again. She'd been missing from class for days now, and it was unlike her. Zara was one of the few students who took her studies seriously, almost obsessively. Darian didn't consider himself close to her, but her absence left a strange void. He pushed the thought aside, deciding he already had enough mysteries to solve without adding another.
---
As the final bell rang, Darian wasted no time leaving the classroom. He made his way through the bustling academy grounds, ignoring the chatter and laughter around him. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of autumn leaves, but it did little to soothe his restless mind.
His apartment was a modest one, a five-minute walk from the academy. Like many students who could afford it, Darian had opted out of the overcrowded dormitories. For 1,000 beast coins a month, he'd secured a comfortable, if unremarkable, space in a mid-tier building.
The walk felt unusually long today. A nagging feeling of unease trailed him, as though unseen eyes were watching his every move. He glanced over his shoulder, but the streets behind him were empty, save for a few students heading in the opposite direction.
Shrugging off the sensation, he climbed the stairs to the fifth floor and unlocked his door. As always, he paused before entering, letting the silence of the hallway envelop him. Old habits died hard. Back in his dormitory days, he'd been bullied relentlessly, and entering his room without caution often led to unpleasant surprises.
When he finally stepped inside, he flipped on the light and closed the door behind him. The familiar scent of his apartment greeted him—a mix of aged wood and faint spices from the food he'd cooked the night before. It wasn't much, but it was his. The small parlor led to a compact kitchen, a modest bedroom, and a bathroom. It even had a tiny balcony overlooking the academy grounds.
After tossing his bag onto the couch, Darian headed straight for his bedroom. He fell face-first onto the bed, his body sinking into the soft mattress. For a moment, the world seemed still. But then, a jolt of awareness shot through him.
He sat upright, his senses on high alert. Something was wrong. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it—a presence hovering just above the building. It wasn't human, that much he was sure of. But as quickly as it came, the presence vanished, leaving behind an eerie stillness.
"Just my imagination," he muttered, though he didn't believe his own words. Shaking off the unease, he headed to the bathroom for a long, hot shower. The steam wrapped around him like a cocoon, momentarily washing away his tension.
But his peace was short-lived.
When he stepped out, toweling off his hair, he froze. A figure sat in the corner of his room, cloaked in silver with a black mask obscuring its face.
Darian's instincts kicked in. In one swift motion, he grabbed the dagger from his bedside table, his body coiled like a spring. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, his voice cold and unyielding.
The figure didn't move. Instead, it twirled a knife lazily between its fingers. "Relax," it said, the voice unmistakably feminine. "I'm not here to fight."
Darian's grip on the dagger tightened. The voice was eerily familiar, but he couldn't place it. "If you're not here to fight, then why the hell are you in my room?"
The figure chuckled softly. "Impressive. You've improved more than I expected."
Before Darian could respond, the figure flicked its wrist, and a knife sailed past him, embedding itself in the wall behind him. It wasn't aimed at him—that much was clear—but the precision of the throw was unsettling.
"You're not going to attack me," the figure continued, standing slowly. "Not when you're this curious."
It stepped closer, and for a moment, Darian considered striking first. But something about the way it moved, the way it spoke, held him back. The voice, muffled though it was, tugged at his memory.
Finally, the figure reached up, pulling off the mask. The silver cloak fell away, revealing a face Darian knew all too well.
"Zara?"