The halls of St. Viktoria Akademie whispered with quiet history.
Once a Benedictine convent centuries ago, the academy had since transformed into one of Germany's most elite schools for girls. Perched on a forested hill outside Freiburg, it was cloistered from the modern world by wrought-iron gates, heavy stone walls, and the thick canopy of the Black Forest. To attend St. Viktoria was not simply a matter of education—it was a birthright. The daughters of aristocrats, diplomats, and old money families walked these halls like it was their inherited kingdom.
And yet, despite the prestige, the school always felt slightly... off. The kind of place that remembered things. Portraits of severe-looking women in dark dresses lined the walls. Narrow windows let in reluctant shafts of light, casting long shadows across polished floors that never seemed to lose the scent of cold stone and beeswax. The silence here wasn't peaceful—it was restrained.
Katharina von Eisenhart moved through it like someone who belonged.
Her steps echoed, soft and controlled, as she passed the assembly hall, her shoes tapping a rhythm as precise as a metronome. Her uniform was immaculate: navy wool blazer, gold crest stitched with fine thread, a white blouse with a subtle ruffle at the collar, and a pleated skirt that never wrinkled. Her posture was effortless, but perfect. A legacy of her upbringing.
The Eisenhart name still carried weight. Though not as ancient as some of the other families, theirs had been respected—and feared—since the days of the German Empire. Katharina was the kind of girl who didn't need to demand respect; it was simply given.
She paused by one of the stained-glass windows, looking down at the courtyard. Marble statues of saints and martyrs stood in silent vigil, weathered by time and rain. Girls in neat uniforms moved about below, chatting or hurrying to their next lessons. Somewhere in the distance, the church bell chimed the end of the seventh period.
"Katha!"
The voice, bright and unmistakable, echoed from behind.
Katharina turned as her younger sister, Monika von Eisenhart, bounded toward her. One year her junior, Monika shared the same icy blonde hair and sharp cheekbones, but her spirit was far more alive. There was a glint of mischief in her pale blue eyes, and a touch of chaos in the way her shirt was always half-untucked.
"You were going to ditch me again," Monika said, mock-offended. "Cruel older sister behavior."
"I assumed you'd be gossiping in the conservatory with Isolde again."
"Ugh, Isolde talks like a forty-year-old," Monika said, sticking out her tongue. "Also, I was gossiping. But that's not the point."
Trailing behind was a girl with an entirely different energy. Henriette von Eltz towered over most of their class, her presence as loud as her voice. She had the kind of build that seemed more suited to a rugby field than a private school corridor—broad shoulders, strong legs, and arms that didn't quite fit the sleeves of her blazer. A faint scar cut across her brow, and her tie was perpetually loose.
"Hey, what's this?" Henriette grinned. "An Eisenhart reunion without me? How scandalous."
"You're always late," Katharina said coolly.
"You try fitting into this damn blazer," Henriette replied, tugging at the tight fabric. "The school's idea of tailoring is clearly 'made for twigs.'"
Katharina allowed herself a soft smile.
The three of them moved together down the main hall, a space that always smelled faintly of old books and lavender polish. Brass light fixtures flickered above their heads. They passed a few younger students, all walking quietly, carefully, the way girls from old families are trained to do from birth.
"Did you hear about Herr von Riedel?" Monika asked suddenly.
Katharina glanced sideways. "What about him?"
"He blanked out during class today," Monika said. "Like, completely froze. Just stared at the wall. Didn't say a word for two whole minutes."
Henriette snorted. "You sure it wasn't just him recovering from how dumb our class is?"
"No, really," Monika said. "Even Clara noticed. He looked sick. Sweating through his vest and everything."
Katharina frowned. "He seemed fine last week. He teaches fencing, doesn't he?"
"Yeah. Which makes it weirder," Henriette said. "He's ex-Bundeswehr. Guy once broke a saber on Renata's blade and didn't even blink."
The conversation stuck in Katharina's mind like a sliver. It wasn't just about von Riedel. There had been murmurs—vague reports, buried headlines, voices lowered to whispers. Something about a strange illness sweeping through parts of the country. Two days ago, it was barely a headline. Then yesterday, the school barred all outside visits and canceled a field trip to Berlin.
It was spreading fast.
Stranger still, the ones getting sick all seemed to be men. Or at least... only men so far. Nobody seemed to know why.
The administration hadn't addressed it directly. The teachers acted normal, the prefects insisted everything was fine, and yet, there was a tautness in the air—like the walls themselves were listening.
The school began to quiet as classes ended. A soft hum of voices, the scrape of chairs, the rustling of bags. The three girls wandered toward the courtyard, Monika bouncing a small apple she'd stolen from the lunch tray earlier. Henriette was recounting some fight she nearly got into with a girl from House Reichenbach over locker space.
Then a noise stopped them in their tracks.
A deep, wet cough.
It echoed from the stairwell. Too loud. Too raw.
The girls turned.
From around the corner, a figure appeared—stumbling, slow.
It was Herr von Riedel.
At first, he looked like himself—barely. Shirt damp with sweat, tie hanging loose, eyes unfocused. His lips were moving, but no words came. His hands trembled at his sides.
"Professor?" Monika called gently.
He didn't respond.
Katharina felt a chill run up her spine. Something was wrong with his movements—not just exhaustion. His limbs jerked like a marionette with tangled strings. He took one step forward, then another, but his knees buckled mid-step, and he dropped to one side, gripping the railing to keep from falling.
Henriette stepped in front of the Eisenhart sisters, shoulders tensing. "Sir, are you alright?"
He raised his head.
His eyes were bloodshot—fully red. The veins had burst. His mouth hung open, and he let out a low, animalistic sound.
Then he collapsed.
Face-first onto the marble floor.
Silence.
For one long, horrible moment, the only sound was the faint wheeze of his breathing. Then it stopped.
Katharina's breath caught in her throat. Monika reached out, but Henriette grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.
Then—
He moved.
A violent, inhuman twitch. His back arched off the floor, and a crack echoed through the hall as his neck jerked to the side unnaturally. He rose on hands and knees, snarling, the sound tearing from his throat like something feral.
"Run," Katharina whispered.
They did.
They turned and ran through the corridor, their footsteps pounding against the stone as Herr von Riedel—no longer Herr von Riedel—lurched after them with broken, erratic speed.
Outside, the sky had turned overcast. The air smelled strange—metallic, like ozone after a storm.
Somewhere in the distance, an emergency siren began to wail.
It wouldn't be the last.