She left the garden behind, entering the silent corridors where oil torches crackled with a flickering light. The hallway curved, and as she rounded a corner, she glimpsed an ancient stained glass window that let through a ray of colored sunlight, painting the floor with irregular shapes. She paused for a second to contemplate them, trying to recompose her calm.
"At last, I've found you."
The echo of that voice broke through the hallway's silence. Lucy turned and recognized the figure of Elena approaching with quick, graceful steps. The slender silhouette of the vice president stopped next to Lucy, whose pupils still traveled through the chromatic hues on the floor. The newcomer frowned, concerned by Lucy's expression.
"I didn't see you after the presentation. I told you to wait for me outside. But I knew you wouldn't go far."
Lucy swallowed hard before responding. She needed to organize her thoughts, which still seemed to be wandering in the bench beneath the cherry blossoms. She tried not to avert her gaze as she recalled the awkward moment with the dark-skinned young man.
"Sorry... I just needed some air."
Her voice faltered at the end, enough for Elena to tilt her head with concern. Lucy's eyes focused on the veteran's light uniform, so different from the darker clothing worn by everyone else.
"You never told me you were the vice president of the council. It caught me completely off guard."
"I get enough attention just because my uniform is a different color. Besides, you'd probably act even shyer if you knew."
"Maybe," Lucy admitted, recalling the fleeting images of the president and Deputy Headmistress Morgana. "The two people with you were... peculiar."
"You have no idea. The worst of the two is the president. And I have to put up with him every day."
"I'm surprised someone like him is president. He doesn't seem very responsible."
"He isn't..." Elena pressed her palm to her forehead. A sigh escaped her lips. "This academy isn't like others. Here, the president isn't chosen for being the most studious or exemplary. You'll understand eventually. Anyway, don't waste your time on Steven. If there's someone you should be wary of, it's Deputy Headmistress Morgana."
"I still can't believe that woman is a teacher."
"You're not the only one. Luckily, she only teaches combat classes, so if you haven't enrolled, you won't have to deal with her much. Just make sure to avoid her classes. She's made several students faint. Her methods are brutal."
Lucy's face paled for a moment. Any lingering thoughts of signing up for combat classes vanished like dust in the wind.
The two girls continued walking through the vast corridor, though Elena's gaze lingered behind, toward the garden. She turned to Lucy with a mischievous smile on her face.
"Changing the subject... Are you not going to tell me anything about the boy who approached you in the garden?"
"What?!" Lucy exclaimed, though not loudly. "You saw that?"
Lucy felt her cheeks flush again. She tried to describe him casually, as if he were just another one of the many students wandering the academy. Elena raised her eyebrows, a slight smile forming. Her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief.
"If you'd like, I can tell you who the dark-skinned boy is..."
"You know him?"
Lucy answered immediately, but as soon as she did, she forced herself to lower her gaze, hearing Elena's soft laugh beside her.
"His name is Alan Weaver, and before you ask, he's a year older than you."
"A year older?" Lucy blinked. "Isn't he also a new student?"
Elena nodded, deepening the confusion.
"You see, Alan comes from a fairly prestigious noble family. He obtained his guardian a year ago and trained privately with tutors at home. No one knows why, but he decided to enroll in the academy."
Lucy now understood why the young man seemed older despite supposedly being her age. Elena crossed her arms beneath her chest, leaning slightly toward her companion. Her tone carried a teasing sweetness.
"You might have some competition, my dear."
Heat rose up Lucy's neck, coloring her face the same hue as her right eye. Her hands trembled briefly.
"No, it's not what you think. I just... It's just..." She searched for words amidst her rising anxiety. "It's the first time a boy has approached me and hasn't run away when he saw my eyes. Usually, they leave with some excuse or tense up. He was the only one who looked at me directly without backing away."
Elena let out a soft, good-natured laugh, as though enjoying a shared secret.
"Well, then I wish you the best of luck." She raised a thumb in approval, signaling her support for Lucy.
"I already told you it's not like that!" Lucy protested.
The young girl tried to maintain her dignity, adjusting her bag on her shoulder and attempting to regain her composure.
After a tour around the academy, they headed toward the first-year dormitories. The lower-class dorms were simple, at least. They were clean and well-maintained but lacked sophisticated furniture or wall decorations. The building's interior was painted beige and had stairs leading to the upper floors, with hallways lined with rooms on each level.
Elena and Lucy walked through the corridors, searching for their rooms. Well, in reality, Elena was only there to accompany Lucy. She looked at the numbers on the doors one by one until finally finding the one the concierge had indicated.
—Room 675…
Lucy tried to find a place to insert a key, but no matter how much she searched, she couldn't find anything. Seeing her confusion, Elena stepped closer.
—You have to place your palm on the circle in the middle. When you do, it will react to your anima, and the door will open on its own.
Lucy recalled how they had previously taken a sample of her anima, storing it in a strange orb, very similar to the one used during the bonding ceremony.
Following her friend's instructions, Lucy placed her hand on the circle with slight hesitation. As soon as she felt a faint tingling sensation, the door responded immediately. The wood parted with a dull click.
Lucy had always found anima reactions fascinating and the many ways it could be used. Each person's anima was like their unique identity—something impossible to replicate. She was always curious about who had made such discoveries, but no matter how many questions she asked, she never got answers.
She thought that since Director Larry had written his own book about anima, he might know something about it. Or perhaps she could find something in the academy's library.
She set her questions aside and stepped into the room with Elena. It wasn't very luxurious, but it was cozy. On the right was a wardrobe, and on the left, a decently sized bathroom with a shower and sink. The bed, directly ahead, had white sheets and a neatly folded blanket. Her few belongings rested atop the mattress. A narrow window let in some light, and when Lucy opened it, the chilly morning breeze enveloped her, clearing her mind. From there, she could see a garden where some students practiced fencing. Others rehearsed magical movements, tracing lines in the air with their hands.
—Do you like it?
Elena leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and a faint smile on her lips. She watched Lucy, who inhaled deeply, marveling at the simplicity of the place.
—It's… cozy.
—I'm glad. —Elena watched as Lucy flopped onto the bed, unconcerned about the suitcase already there; she was clearly exhausted from the journey.— By the way, your uniform is in the wardrobe, so make sure to put it on before you go.
—Alright… —Lucy replied, her voice muffled by the pillow.
—I've got to get ready for my fencing class. See you later.
The door closed with a soft thud, and the echo of Elena's footsteps faded down the hallway. Lucy closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the cool air on her face. When she looked again, Elena was gone. With a bit of reluctance, she got up and opened the wooden wardrobe doors, revealing the neatly arranged garments inside.
Hanging carefully was the uniform she'd be wearing daily at the Binder Academy: a high-collared blouse with golden trim on the cuffs, a black jacket embroidered with the academy's crest on the chest, and a black pleated skirt with subtle white details. White stockings and shoes with golden buckles completed the outfit.
Lucy removed the garments carefully, laying them on the bed. The fabric felt soft and pleasant against her fingers.
She took off the clothes she had arrived in and, as she slid her arms into the sleeves and buttoned up the jacket, she felt quite nervous. The skirt rustled slightly as she adjusted it around her waist, and the cape rested lightly over her back. She glanced at herself in the mirror leaning against the wall. Her previously tense lips curved into a nervous smile.
There was still plenty of time before classes started, and she'd already eaten, so she had time to do the thing she loved second-most after reading: writing.
Since she was a child, Lucy had always loved reading. She enjoyed absorbing the words of all kinds of books; the longer, the better. Her favorite genres were fantasy and mystery, though she also liked romance stories quite a bit. However, she got so nervous reading them that, in some cases, she couldn't even finish. She often imagined herself in the protagonist's shoes, which only made her blush.
Her passion for reading made her want to write her own story—one of fantasy, filled with charismatic characters, a bit of mystery, and, if she could manage it, some romance. Though that part seemed far too difficult for her. She had made the protagonist almost identical to herself. Almost, because she didn't have mismatched eyes. At times, she even felt envious of her own character. The character had plenty of friends, and people didn't shy away from her when they saw her face.
Perhaps life would have treated her much better if she had been born… normal. Like everyone else.
She pushed those thoughts aside. Sitting down in her chair, she grabbed her bag and pulled out a bound notebook that contained the rest of the story she'd written so far. It was simple, but to her, it was worth more than a chest full of gold coins. She opened her pencil case and unzipped it, pulling out a pen and a small bottle of ink. She flipped through the notebook's pages until she found one that was nearly blank; it was the start of a new chapter, but all it had was the title, adorned with a few runes she had designed herself:
"Chapter 7: I'm Here"
She closed her eyes, trying to remember the reason behind that title. The last thing she recalled was writing the protagonist's lament after her father's death. Their enemy had found her and her friends and now wanted to silence them for good. Her father, who had always supported her, was gone, and all she had left was her grandmother, who tried her best to console her. But it was futile.
She imagined herself in a similar situation. What would she do? How would she feel? Would she be sad? Confused? She needed to live her protagonist's story as if it were her own.
After a few seconds, she knew exactly what to write, even though she still didn't remember the meaning behind the title. She grasped the pen firmly and began tracing the words, letting the ideas flow freely in her mind. Pico settled beside her, watching intently as she wrote.
Chapter 7: I'm Here
My grandmother's voice rose from downstairs, her words trying to pierce the closed door, inviting me to dinner. I wasn't hungry at all. Any bite of food would instantly be thrown up. My stomach was still churning. I couldn't stop thinking about my father's body, lying in the middle of the street, blood pooling on the pavement. The contrast between the dirty snow and that deep red formed an image I couldn't erase.
There was an emptiness inside me that I couldn't seem to fill, no matter how hard I tried. I still couldn't believe it was real. My father had died before my eyes, and to make things worse… It was all my fault. My curiosity, my inability to leave things alone, had cost my father his life.
My grandmother found me the night before, crying in the middle of the street. My father's lifeless body, his eyes glazed over and his face spattered with his own blood, lay before me as I knelt on the frozen pavement, unable to comprehend what I was seeing. It must have been about ten minutes before my grandmother arrived. Plenty of time for the murderer to escape without me even seeing them. Several neighbors came closer. I heard some of them murmuring about the curse of Notreville.
Notreville… Everything had only gotten worse since we moved here. My father insisted we come after my mother's death, convinced it would help us move on. Lies. He couldn't stop dwelling on what had happened. He couldn't leave things unresolved. He needed to unravel the mystery behind the village's many deaths.
Why did we have to come to this cursed place? Why couldn't we have stayed in Xavina? We could have stayed there; I would still have my group of friends, and… my father would still be alive.
No.
No, I couldn't blame my father entirely for bringing us here. The real reason he was dead was me. For poking my nose where it didn't belong. I'd always had a habit of doing that, but this time it hadn't gone as I expected. I don't know why I didn't think it through. We were facing something capable of tearing us apart in an instant. It was obvious there would be casualties. The fact that Tom only ended up hospitalized was sheer luck. It could have been so much worse. Like what happened to my father.
Trying to attend school that morning felt impossible. The thought of my classmates showing pity was unbearable. They'd all look at me with sympathy, murmuring condolences and saying they "understood how hard it must be." No, they didn't. They didn't understand what it was like to lose two people so important to you in such a short time.
Lost in thought, I heard the door creak behind me. My grandmother entered cautiously, as if even her steps might disturb me. The moonlight filtering through the window outlined her figure. I remained seated on the cold floor, my back against the wall, absorbed in the stars' flickering in the sky. My reflection in the glass showed a hollow face, devoid of tears.
I glanced at her sideways, not bothering to turn fully. She had done everything she could to comfort me, yet it still didn't make me feel any better. I doubted anyone could manage that right now.
She approached the table where the plate of chicken and potatoes rested, all covered in peas. The food was cold. It had been cold for hours.
"Shana, dear. You haven't eaten all day. If you keep this up, you're going to get sick."
The last thing I wanted was to make my grandmother feel bad. She was already doing so much to try and console me. It hadn't been long since she'd lost her own daughter. This had to be incredibly hard for her.
I slowly turned to face her, meeting her sad expression, which was on the verge of tears. I couldn't cry anymore. My throat burned with the memory of my earlier sobbing, already spent.
"I'm sorry," I murmured, my voice hoarse from lack of water. "My stomach hurts a lot, so I haven't felt hungry."
A tremor ran through my legs as I tried to shift positions. My grandmother nodded, though concern remained evident in her eyes. She knew my words would only worry her more, but she didn't push me further.
"I'm going to buy a few things. Do you want me to bring you something?"
Her voice was laced with a desire to help as her hand reached for the plate, tracing its edge with trembling fingers. She wanted to ease my pain with small gestures, even if it was just by offering candy.
"No, thank you… I'm fine."
My dry, monotone voice didn't help. She nodded again, carefully picked up the plate, and stared at it for a moment. Then she left, attempting a smile, but my eyes had already returned to the window, to the moonlight illuminating the empty streets. The door closed slowly behind her, and the creak of the wood echoed my solitude.
I realized I still hadn't contacted my friends. I suppose they knew what had happened and thought it best to leave me alone. Deep down, I appreciated it. Right now, I didn't feel like talking to anyone.
Tom was still in the hospital, wounded by that creature lurking in the shadows—the same presence that had likely killed my father. If he didn't wake up, we'd never know what happened.
I guessed no one would want to continue the investigation after what had occurred. We'd already considered dropping it after Tom was hospitalized, but now it was clearer than ever. Things were becoming too dangerous, and it wasn't something a group of high school kids could handle. If we kept going, we'd all end up dead.
Anyone with common sense would abandon the idea of uncovering the mystery of Notreville, the disappearances of villagers, and my mother's death. My father had wanted to find the truth, and look where that had led him. If he had only told me what was going on, I would never have agreed to come with him.
I didn't know what to do now…
I struggled to my feet. My legs felt like leaden logs. My clothes clung to my skin, sticky with the invisible crust of cold sweat and dried tears. I hadn't changed since the night before.
I needed fresh air. If I stayed in the room another second, I would go crazy. My armpits reeked of stale sweat. The last time I had showered was yesterday morning, but I didn't have the energy to clean myself.
I grabbed a white jacket from the wardrobe without thinking and buttoned it with stiff hands. I headed for the door. With my grandmother out of the house, the silence was profound. I descended the stairs, running my fingers along the banister, numbed by the lack of feeling in them. Before stepping outside, I looked toward the living room.
Normally, I'd find my father there, reading the newspaper or taking his pre-dinner nap while my grandmother cooked. But I'd never see that scene again.
Stepping outside, the night air brushed against my face. The key turned in the lock with a click. I knew my grandmother always carried her keys, so she wouldn't find it strange that the door was locked.
I wandered through the empty streets of Notreville. The streetlights flickered, and faint lights glowed through curtains in some houses. Silence stretched out, broken only by the sound of my footsteps on the damp ground. Somewhere in the shadows lurked the monster that had taken my father's life.
No, forget it. I don't want to have anything to do with that anymore.
As if by fate, I found myself standing before a house. The house where it all began. Edward Graves' house.
My heart clenched as I stared at its broken windows, coated in grime and cobwebs. That house had been the reason my friends and I decided to investigate the mystery. It looked the same as the day we first entered it. We didn't even find anything, just a clue that led us to the forest. If it weren't for that house, none of this would be happening.
I kept walking, leaving the cursed dwelling behind. Each step brought me closer to the bridge I crossed daily on my way to the academy.
It was there that I met Mark. That first morning in Notreville, when he soaked me by accident. And then I was late, too. How ironic life is: an innocent encounter that plunged us into a nightmare.
I leaned on the railing, looking down at the water. The river appeared dark, reflecting the trembling glow of the moon. I wished all my pain could flow away with that current. Rain began to fall, soaking my face and disheveling my hair.
"What if I jumped…?"
The question escaped my lips unbidden. The echo sank into the night. The thought felt as absurd as it was tempting: to jump, disappear into the icy waters, to ignore a future now shapeless and hopeless. My heart beat unevenly, and the freezing air cut my face. Tears that had refused to fall earlier now welled up in my eyes. My throat muscles tensed. Memories of my mother, my father, Tom lying helpless in a hospital bed, and my grandmother… Could I let them go? Could I abandon the one person still waiting for me at home, the only family I had left?
A distant sound—a bird's call or a dog's howl—broke the silence. I kept staring at the river, my knuckles white as I gripped the railing. I began climbing it, my eyes fixed on the sky. Maybe this was for the best…
I wasn't thinking about anything…
I just jump...
Lucy paused mid-curve, the quill hovering tensely above the parchment. The words she had written felt foreign, even to her. The lingering scent of fresh ink enveloped her, while the dark, worn wood of her desk supported her notebook, marred with the faint scars of erasures. A half-empty inkwell hinted that she'd better purchase more later that afternoon—she'd only brought two extra bottles with her.
She reread the last few lines she had written, noting the harshness with which she had treated her protagonist. She couldn't understand why she had done it; it wasn't even what she'd originally planned. Lucy exhaled heavily, preparing to rewrite the page. Just as she was about to do so, her gaze flicked toward the clock on the table: 4:10.
Time had slipped away while she was writing. It always happened that way. There were about twenty minutes left before the afternoon practice sessions began. Even so, her hand itched to continue.
Her eyes turned to Pico, perched atop a pile of ink-stained papers. The guardian remained motionless, ears perked toward the halted quill. His black eyes didn't blink, fixed intently on the words Lucy's hand had left behind. Outside, the hurried footsteps of a student echoed down the hallway, tapping against the wooden floor.
"Shall we go, Pico?"
The small rodent tilted his head, then climbed nimbly up Lucy's arm, settling on her shoulder. She slid the notebook into her coarse fabric bag, along with her other class supplies. Carefully adjusting the straps, she exhaled, as though releasing into that last unfinished page all the thoughts she hadn't yet expressed.
A cluster of youthful voices filled the corridor. When Lucy opened the door, a breeze from the open windows brushed against her face. Suddenly, another door opened nearby, and when she turned, she found herself face-to-face with the dark-haired boy from the garden. His soft features twisted into surprise as he recognized her. This time, he was wearing the academy's black uniform. Beside him stood a serene-looking capybara, its front paws planted firmly on the ground as if waiting for a signal to move. Lucy hadn't noticed the creature earlier, but now she understood it must be the boy's guardian.
Neither of them spoke. The boy offered her a faint smile, a gesture of gentle warmth that peeked through his surprise. Lucy felt her heart leap into her throat, making it impossible to utter anything coherent.
"You're the girl from before... What a coincidence that we're…"
His tone was as surprised as it was amused. Instinctively, Lucy raised her hand and shut the door behind her with a sharp thud. Once inside, she leaned her back against the wood, Pico startled by the sudden movement. Her heart pounded in her chest. She couldn't fathom why she was so unsettled by something so trivial.
This can't be happening... she thought. She felt the rough texture of the bag against her palm, the pressure of the notebook inside, and the hammering of her heartbeat echoing in her ears. Among a thousand students, across five buildings, and dozens of rooms in each hallway? No matter how much she thought about it, it seemed almost impossible for something like this to happen.
She took a deep breath, listening to the footsteps of other students passing by in the hallway. Time was ticking, and she was still there, trapped behind the door. She had to calm down; she needed to get to class on time.
Lucy waited until the footsteps and whispers in the hallway faded, cautious. She peeked through the crack in the door, confirming the boy was no longer there. A rushed sense of relief swept over her, followed by the realization that she, too, would be late if she didn't hurry. Only ten minutes remained before class began.