Nero burst through the door, his eyes imdiately locking onto the scene before him—rek’s fingers grazing Felicity’s bareback. For a heartbeat, everything froze. Then his fury ignited.
His eyes flared red, flas erupting around his clenched fist as he dashed forward in a blur. His burning knuckles hovered just inches from rek’s face.
"How dare you take advantage of her?!" he roared, the tendons in his neck bulging as his handso features twisted into unrecognizable rage.
Gasps followed. Carla and the other students, alard by his shout, crowded at the entrance. But Tevin was quicker. He stepped forward and shut the door, his expression dark and unreadable.
Then ca Felicity’s voice. Calm. Controlled. But beneath that stillness was a bitter cold that swept through the room.
"...What are you doing?"
Nero stiffened. His eyes flicked to the sar of black balm in rek’s hand—then to the gashes across Felicity’s back. Realization washed over him as he noticed two of the four wounds had already been treated.
He turned away, jaw clenched tight, his anger now tangled with confusion and sothing deeper—hurt.
"Why would you let a stranger touch you like that?" he demanded, voice cracking. "Can’t you see he’s taking advantage of you?"
His finger stabbed the air toward rek, his eyes never leaving Felicity’s.
rek raised a brow, unmoved. The sheer absurdity of Nero’s accusation—especially after he’d gifted him a rare and powerful item just hours ago—would’ve been laughable if not for how serious the young man looked.
Felicity didn’t flinch. "It’s not what you think. If he didn’t help ..." Her voice trembled for a second. "I wouldn’t live much longer."
Her vulnerability struck Nero like a blade to the chest. That tone—he’d never heard it directed at anyone else. Never at him.
They had known each other for years. Middle school, high school... he had always been there, always protecting her. And now, so stranger swoops in—and she’s baring her back and trust?
"Then let soone else do it," Nero said, almost pleading now.
rek chuckled. Not out of amusent. It was colder, sharper.
Nero’s fists clenched tighter, flas crackling louder.
Without another word, rek scooped a small portion of the balm and gently placed it in Felicity’s palm.
"Thank you," she said softly, her voice almost reverent. And in that mont, sothing in her shifted. Her perception of rek, his presence, his restraint, his calm, solidified. Others would have quickly asked for the gauntlet and showed their strength.
She had always seen Nero as a loyal friend. Overprotective, yes, but dependable, almost like the brother she never had. But she had never realized that Nero’s devotion was tinged with sothing possessive. Sothing more than friendship.
As rek walked out of the room. The female students parted like mist before him, their eyes wide with distrust, even fear.
He paused and turned back toward the kitchen. "You better co out and clear my na," he called. "Before the rest of them start whispering that I’m so kind of pervert."
"Tsk." Tevin clicked his tongue in irritation. "Should we even care? They change sides faster than the wind. You saved their lives, and this is how they repay you."
Several students flinched at his words. Even Nero looked stunned.
"What are you saying?" Nero asked, voice low.
Tevin’s tone, usually bright and cheerful, was now ice cold. "I’m saying you should’ve thought twice before running your mouth and slandering a capable teammate."
The silence that followed was crushing. No one had ever heard Tevin speak like that, not Felicity, not even Nero.
It was clear—whether Tevin had faced this kind of betrayal before, or he simply respected rek, he wouldn’t let it slide.
Nero bowed his head, sha washing over his features. "I’m... sorry. I was wrong."
rek gave a faint smile, saying nothing more. He found a quiet corner, away from their eyes, and sat down. He looked like he was dozing, but his thoughts were wide awake.
Eventually, Felicity called Carla to help apply the rest of the balm. Sleep fell gradually over the group, heavy and silent.
Later, rek stirred.
Rising from the desk where he’d rested, he saw Felicity standing by the door, silhouetted in the faint light. Her baseball cap still cast a shadow over her eyes.
"I’m going sowhere," he said quietly.
She turned slightly. "This late?"
"Not outside," rek replied as he stretched.
Then, without warning, a sound like cracking glass split the air. A rift—like a mirror shattered into spirals—opened before him. From within, an ominous crimson glow spilled into the room.
rek took a step forward.
"How’s your wound?" he asked, his voice deep, low.
"Gone," Felicity replied.
He nodded once, then vanished into the rift. His undead followed behind in silence, and the crack sealed shut as though it had never been there.
....
rek stood once more before the warped wooden door of Morrow’s End, the crooked sign above creaking faintly despite the stillness of the night.
He pushed the door open, and the familiar bell chid, a sound that seed to ripple through the dimly lit chamber like a breath held too long.
Inside, ti felt suspended. The scent of old paper, burnt lavender, and sothing tallic hung in the air. Veyra sat behind the polished obsidian counter, legs crossed elegantly, a leather-bound to in hand. Small, silver-rimd glasses perched delicately on the bridge of her nose, catching the faint amber light of the floating lanterns.
At the sound of the bell, she glanced up. Her eyes t his with practiced calm, and a small, knowing smile tugged at her lips.
"Back so soon?" Her voice spilled into the space like velvet—smooth, and warm.
rek stepped toward the counter, his dark coat trailing behind him like smoke. He paused, casting a brief glance toward the plush lounge chairs set before the dying hearth.
"Can I sit there?" he asked, nodding toward them.
Veyra’s smile widened slightly, as if amused by the formality. "You may."
He moved without another word, settling into the leather chair. It gave slightly under his weight, groaning softly like an old friend. His undead, silent sentinels in armor—remained stationed by the entrance.
"I’ve never seen another custor in this place," rek said after a mont, his voice low but curious. "Why is that?"
Veyra didn’t answer right away. She closed her book with a gentle snap and removed her glasses, cleaning them slowly with a silk cloth. Her silence lingered just long enough to tease his patience.
Then she smiled again, serene, enigmatic.
"This place isn’t ant for just anyone," she said finally.
He raised an eyebrow, but before he could press further, she changed the subject with practiced grace.
"You’re doing well," she noted, her gaze drifting toward the four armored wraiths. "A General-grade soul and four common-grade souls... impressive progress."
rek’s eyes followed hers to his armoured companions. The faint aura of each wraith shimred subtly, their forms still and loyal.
"I still owe you for two of them," he admitted, his tone neutral.
Veyra let out a soft, lilting laugh, a sound like bells chiming underwater. Sweet, but laced with sothing ancient and unspoken.
"And your ti," she said, her voice growing softer, more deliberate, "is ticking."
She gestured toward the hourglass on the shelf beside her—its sand shimring like powdered gold. With each grain that fell, the weight of his debt seed to grow heavier.
Then she leaned back slightly, eyes half-lidded as she studied him.
"You’re a lowblood," she said matter-of-factly, "but your soul... would be priceless."
rek stiffened, brows furrowing. "Lowblood? What’s that supposed to an?"
Veyra turned to him fully now, setting the glasses aside and lacing her fingers together as she rested her elbows on the counter.
"Lowbloods are beings below Stage 1," Veyra said calmly, her voice like frost over glass. "Your world is on the cusp of transformation. Once the process begins, a new hierarchy will erge—Stage 1 are Highbloods, Stage 2 are Purebloods, Stage 3 are Truebloods. Each is a higher stage of evolution."
rek squinted, trying to grasp her words. "I don’t understand. Are you saying... there are other worlds? With people already in these higher stages?"
Veyra gave a soft, elegant nod, as if she were stating sothing as common as the turning of seasons. "Of course. Many worlds. Your kind has rely been slumbering, stagnant. But your world is about to awaken—and not gently."
Her fingers trailed to the edge of the counter, tapping lightly. "In one year’s ti, your planet will cross a threshold. The transformation will freeze the skies and silence the soil. A great frost will fall across every continent, every sea. Only those who can endure, those who adapt—will survive to see the next age."
rek felt the words claw into him, cold and final.
"Ice age... in one year?"
Veyra’s expression remained untouched, like an immortal painting that had seen too many ends and too few beginnings.
"Yes. The ice will not be natural—it is not of wind or season. It is the consequence of ascension. A test... or a purge."
rek stared at her, throat dry. His undead stirred faintly behind him, their presence offering no comfort.
He knew her well enough to recognize she wasn’t bluffing. She wasn’t toying with him. She was warning him.
"But why tell this?" he asked, voice low. "Why ?"
Veyra tilted her head slightly, and for the first ti, there was sothing almost human in her gaze. Almost.
"Because you’re already straying from the path of the ordinary. You’re shaping souls, commanding the dead. Whether you want to or not, you’re stepping into a ga played by beings far beyond your current understanding. You deserve to know what’s coming."
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