The morning air drifted through the empty hallways, carrying the scent of rain and the distant echo of scattered voices. Aisha barely noticed it.
A single drop slid down her cheek—cold as a deadly whisper—stained red by the bleeding stained glass. Her gaze lifted instinctively.
The image stole her breath away.
There, framed in the tinted glass, a blood-red moon floated over a shadowed landscape. It was identical to the one in her dreams, the same one that haunted her every night with its crimson glow.
A shiver ran down her spine.
For a moment, she felt the weight of a burning gaze on her neck—intense and golden—as if someone, or something, was watching her.
"They're just dreams... Nothing but dreams."
She shook her head and quickened her pace.
That's when she turned the corner—and collided with someone.
The impact made her stagger, but before she could fall, firm hands caught her.
—Sorry —a deep voice murmured.
Aisha looked up, and the air around her seemed to thicken.
The stranger's eyes were dark, unfathomable, and yet… something about them felt familiar.
Her heart skipped a beat.
—You… —she whispered before she could stop herself.
On his left wrist, a scar shaped like three circles shimmered beneath his slipped-up sleeve. The young man frowned. A golden gleam flashed through his dark pupils before he crouched down, moving with the smoothness of a predator retrieving its prey.
—Are you alright? —he asked, handing her a notebook.
Aisha took it, but as she did, a loose page slid to the floor, opened on a sketch of a wolf. Not a regular drawing, but a silhouette built from words repeated over and over: Sanathiel.
The young man fixed his gaze on the page. His lips curled into a chilling smile.
—Do you like fairy tales, Aisha? —he said calmly. —Wolves always bite at the end.
A cold tremor climbed her spine.
—What…?
He leaned a little closer, the edge of his voice brushing against her skin.
"The dreams of the red moon are poisonous loans, little thief. And the wolf… smells the blood of those who steal borrowed memories."
The air seemed to drain of oxygen. Aisha stood frozen, her pulse pounding in her ears. But when she blinked, he was already walking away down the hallway—as if his presence had been nothing more than a passing shadow.
"Who the hell is he?"
Hours later, in the classroom, Aisha was trying to focus on the lesson, but her mind was still trapped in the morning's encounter.
When the teacher called the roll, his voice broke the silence.
—Mr. Rasen, you'll be working with Miss Aisha.
The whole room seemed to hold its breath.
Aisha looked up.He was already watching her.
There was something in the way he looked at her, in the way he settled into the seat next to hers, that put her on edge. His presence was suffocating, his posture relaxed—but laced with caution, like a predator measuring its prey.
Aisha gripped her pen and began to write.
"Sanathiel."
Without realizing it, she had traced the name over and over in her notebook.
Rasen tilted his head, his expression unreadable.
—Your hand is shaking —he said in a casual tone, though his eyes shimmered with something deeper.
Aisha jerked the pen away.
—It's not.
Rasen smiled—but it wasn't an ordinary smile. It was a test, a silent game in which she had no idea what role she was playing.
Later, the hallways were nearly empty when Aisha stepped into the bathroom. The lights flickered. The sound of dripping water echoed irregularly from the faucets. She stared at her reflection. Her pupils were dilated, her breathing uneven.
"It's not real..."
But then, a figure appeared at the doorway.
Aisha turned on her heels.
Rasen was there. Motionless.
Rainwater dripped from his black hair and dark jacket, yet his wide eyes didn't blink.
—What are you? —Aisha demanded, clutching the notebook to her chest.
Rasen pointed to the wolf drawing on the open page.
—The same as you —he replied calmly. —A mistake someone wants to erase.
Thunder rolled outside.
For an instant, her reflection in the mirror shattered into a thousand shards. Within the fragments, shadows with burning eyes twisted, clawing at the glass from a place beyond this world. Twisting with elongated claws. Aisha took a step back, her heart pounding in her chest.
The sound of water changed.
The dripping grew thicker, heavier. Black.
Aisha swallowed hard.
Rasen stepped closer.
—We'll meet again soon, Aisha.
And then, as if reality itself had flickered, he vanished.The rain washed away his words—but not the symbol burned into the air in violet smoke: "S.S.V."
Before disappearing, Rasen had raised his left hand in a near-ritual gesture. Beneath the soaked sleeve, the three-circle scar pulsed with a violet glow—like cursed clockwork gears syncing with the floating letters.
Aisha stood there, the notebook trembling in her hands.
"The notebook in her hands felt like a tombstone. Each heartbeat echoed a warning through her veins, yet her fingers clung to the paper like a poisoned lifeline."
But the worst part was… that somehow,a part of her wanted to know more.