Chapter Text
The air hung heavy with humidity, each breath thick and damp, the faint drizzle and midnight air doing little to cool the suffocating heat. Rain gathered in her hair and trickled down her neck as Yuu stepped out of the auto-repair shop, the metal door clattering shut behind her. She rolled her shoulder with a hiss through her teeth—the joint still tender from wrenching it back into place—and tucked a crumpled wad of damp cash into her sweatshirt pocket, the bills sticking together from sweat and rain.
The streetlights in front of the shop were long dead, their glass covers cracked and half-swallowed by rust. Nobody had bothered to fix them, and nobody wanted to. The darkness suited the owner—and most of the customers, too.
Yuu wiped the rain from her face with the back of her sleeve. The movement tugged at the bruise blossoming along her cheekbone, a sharp sting reminding her it would be black and purple by morning. She wasn’t sure if there was enough concealer left in the tube back home to hide it.
A low sigh slipped from her lips as the last of her adrenaline faded, leaving behind a hollow fatigue that seemed to seep into her bones. Her boots splashed lightly against the slick pavement as she turned down the street, passing puddles that mirrored the dull glow of faraway lights. Tires hissed on wet asphalt now and then, each passing car splashing through puddles and throwing up sprays of water before melting back into the night.
Under one of the few working lamps—its light a weak amber haze—an old man slept against the brick wall of a shuttered building. His clothes hung loose and torn, layers stiff with dirt and rain. A battered hat lay upside down beside him, a scattering of coins gleaming faintly in the dim light.
Yuu slowed her steps. Careful not to wake him, she slipped a five-dollar bill from her pocket and tucked it into the hat. “Night, Stump,” she murmured, her voice soft as the rain. No one ever used his real name—if he even remembered it himself. To the people of the city, he was just Stump: short, stocky, and rooted to that same stretch of sidewalk like part of the concrete itself.
Yuu turned toward the street, scanning both directions. The road stretched out under a shroud of darkness, slick with rain and glimmering faintly under the occasional flicker of a faraway streetlight. The air was unnervingly still—no hum of engines, no chatter from late-night drunks—just the soft hiss of drizzle against pavement.
When she was sure no cars were coming, she stepped off the curb, her boots splashing through shallow puddles. It was about a thirty-minute walk home—longer now with her shoulder throbbing and her legs leaden. If she’d left the cage an hour earlier, she could’ve caught the last bus, but the city transit shut down at midnight sharp. Out here, after that, you were on your own.
She made it halfway across before she heard it—an odd, rhythmic clop, clop, clop, echoing faintly through the night. It didn’t sound like an engine or tires. It sounded old—metal on stone, deliberate and slow, growing louder with each beat.
Yuu frowned, turning her head. Through the mist and rain, two shapes emerged from the far end of the street—black as the night and moving fast. Horses. Their hooves struck the asphalt with an almost deafening force, steam rising from their nostrils, eyes burning like coals. Behind them, a dark carriage rattled in tow, its lacquered surface glinting wetly under the meager light. It looked like something pulled straight from a funeral procession—a hearse from another century.
Her pulse spiked, but her body lagged behind. The adrenaline from earlier had burned out, leaving her sluggish, heavy. She tried to move—tried to dive for the curb—but pain shot through her shoulder, and her legs refused to cooperate.
The last thing she saw was a flash of hooves and the gleam of a rain-slick wheel before the world went white with impact.
When Yuu came to, all there was was darkness. It pressed against her from every side—thick, suffocating, absolute. She couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or shut. The air was stale, heavy with the faint scent of dust and something metallic.
She tried to move and immediately hit her forehead against something solid above her. Pain bloomed sharp and immediate. She grunted, hand shooting up to cradle the sore spot—and froze.
Her skin brushed against fabric she didn’t recognize. The material was soft, almost silky, not the rough weave of her old sweatshirt. The sleeves hung loose around her arms, whispering as she moved—like she was wearing some kind of robe. A faint coolness seeped through the cloth, clean and almost luxurious against her skin.
Her pulse quickened. Where the hell was she?
A noise rattled somewhere in front of her—metal scraping, hinges groaning. It sounded like someone was trying to pry something open from the outside. Yuu held her breath.
Then came a muffled voice—low, raspy, and oddly cheerful. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀(I'd better hurry up and find that uniform before someone spots me…)”
She heard a grunt, followed by another scrape of metal and wood. The voice grew more strained. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀... 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Urg… this lid weighs a ton! Try this on for size! Mya-ha!)”
The world exploded in light. A sharp crack split the air, and a burst of blue fire erupted around her, casting eerie shadows against the walls. Yuu flinched, throwing her arms over her face as a rush of heat washed over her. The solid cover above her groaned, then flew off with a violent clang that echoed through the chamber.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀... (Now to grab the goods…)”
Blinking against the sudden glare, Yuu struggled to sit up. Her surroundings came into focus—a vast, circular chamber. Pillars of black stone lined the perimeter, each one fitted with a sconce that burned with an unearthly green flame. Between them, tall windows arched up to meet a domed ceiling, their glass tinted and fractured, letting in no real light.
Suspended from the center was a chandelier of wrought iron and crystal, its beads catching the ghostly green glow and scattering it like shards of emerald across the floor. Round white gems and crystals hung in heavy drapes from the ceiling medallion, their ends brushing against the tops of floating coffins—yes, floating—that hovered lazily in the air.
At the heart of the room stood a massive, ornate mirror. It hovered above a fountain that bubbled with water so clear it shimmered green under the flames, rippling with soft, impossible light.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀?! 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀! (What?! You ain’t supposed to be awake!)”
The voice snapped her out of her daze. Yuu turned toward it, her eyes locking on the creature standing before her.
It looked like a cat—sort of. Gray fur matted in places, a white patch on its chest, but what really drew her attention were the flames. Electric-blue fire flickered from its ears, curling and sparking like living energy. Its eyes glowed the same impossible blue, sharp and self-assured. Around its neck was a tattered, black-and-white striped bowtie, the ends frayed and uneven. Its tail split near the tip, forking like a devil’s pitchfork.
“A cat?” she muttered under her breath.
The creature’s ears flattened. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀? 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀? 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀? (Huh? What’re you saying? Are you dumb or something?)” it snapped, its voice dripping with irritation. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Now, I—Grim, sorcerer extraordinaire—demand that you, human, gimme your uniform! And make it snappy!)”
Yuu blinked, uncomprehending. The sounds coming from the cat’s mouth didn’t register as words—or any language she knew. She shook her head, trying to clear it. Cats didn’t talk. Cats didn’t have blue flames for ears.
Her thoughts spun in a frantic blur, each one slipping through her grasp before she could make sense of it. Logic clawed for a foothold and found none. Maybe she’d hit her head harder than she thought. Maybe she was still lying in the street somewhere, rain soaking through her clothes while her brain misfired behind her skull.
She’d hallucinated before. Once after a bad concussion that left her seeing colors that didn’t exist, hearing voices that weren’t there. But this felt… real. Too real. The air had weight. The heat of the blue flames pressed through the thin robe she wore, and the smell of smoke and something faintly sweet—like burnt sugar—hung thick in the air.
The cat—she was pretty sure it was a cat—watched her with narrowed eyes, tail swishing in irritation. Its paw tapped against the ground in a steady rhythm, each strike punctuated by a hiss of blue flame that licked the air and vanished in motes of light. The glow painted the floor in shifting patterns, reflections dancing across her skin.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀?!(Oi! Are you listening?!)” the creature barked, its voice cracking through the still air. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(If you don’t hand over your uniform, you’re gonna regret it!)”
Its words dripped with arrogance, the corners of its mouth curling in a smug grin as blue fire flared around its body—brief, hot bursts that hissed before vanishing into curls of smoke. Maybe it was trying to threaten her.
“Um… I’m sorry, cat,” Yuu said, voice tentative as she took a cautious step forward. Her legs trembled, muscles aching as she climbed out of the coffin, trying not to make any sudden movements that might set the thing off. The stone floor echoed slightly against her boots–ones that were not her own, but black with golden soles. “I don’t understand anything you’re saying.”
The cat huffed, clearly irritated, its fur bristling with static. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀? 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(What language are you even speaking? Quit acting dumb and gimme it already!)”
Before Yuu could respond, it lunged—fast, a gray blur streaked with blue flame. Her eyes widened, instincts kicking in just in time for her to sidestep, the motion sending a sharp jolt through her sore shoulder. The pain was familiar, grounding. She’d fought through worse in the cage—broken ribs, split lips, dislocated joints. Taking down a cat, even one that breathed fire, wouldn’t be hard. But she didn’t want to fight it. If she had somehow offended it, wasn’t that her fault?
Her thoughts shattered when the creature let out a feral yowl. Blue fire erupted from its fur, licking the air and surging toward her in a wave. The heat cracked like gunfire. Yuu cursed under her breath, turning on her heel and sprinting across the chamber. The flames chased after her, painting the walls in ghostly blue. She may not want to harm the creature, but that didn’t mean she would allow it to burn her to a crisp.
She darted past rows of long, ornate benches she hadn’t noticed before—dark wood polished to a shine, carved with unfamiliar designs. As she ran, she realized the room wasn’t as circular as she’d first thought. The space stretched into a long, cathedral-like hall, where the benches lined either side, tiered like a courtroom or a church.
Yuu threw her weight against the massive double doors at the end of the room, and they swung open with a heavy groan that echoed down the hall.
The air outside hit her like a shock—cool, sharp, smelling faintly of rain and moss. She stumbled out onto a stone walkway suspended high above the ground. The railing was low, slick with mist, and when she leaned over it, her stomach dropped. Far below, a courtyard stretched out like a painting—lush and green, threaded with ivy and marble fountains. Above that, towers rose like dark sentinels into the clouds, their pointed roofs gleaming purple under the moonlight. The whole place looked like a castle stitched together from shadows and dreams.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Oi! Come back here! Stop running!)”
The voice tore through the quiet, closer now—followed by a gout of blue flame that seared past her shoulder and splashed harmlessly against the stone. Yuu ducked, teeth clenched, and took off again. The creature’s annoyed yowl echoed behind her, its paws pounding, firelight flashing off the walls.
Yuu clicked her tongue at the fact that the creature hadn’t given up chase and darted through corridor after corridor, each turn leading her deeper into the strange fortress. The halls shifted in style the farther she went—arched ceilings, flickering sconces, heavy wooden doors that gave way to rooms filled not with royal furniture, but desks, chalkboards, and shelves cluttered with glass vials and parchment. It looked more like a school than a castle—one built by someone who couldn’t decide which century to live in.
At last, she burst through another door and stumbled into what could only be a library.
Her breath caught. The ceiling soared so high it seemed to vanish into shadow. Mezzanines wrapped around the upper levels like rings, lined with iron railings and rows upon rows of shelves. Giant chandeliers hung low from the rafters, forged from blackened metal and dripping with chains and crystals. Each one burned with green fire that cast the entire room in an eerie glow. Smaller lamps flickered along the wooden pillars, their light pooling like melted emeralds on the floor.
Books floated lazily through the air—hundreds of them—turning their own pages, drifting from shelf to shelf as if moved by invisible hands. A few hovered in midair, waiting patiently for a place to land. Yuu stopped just inside the doorway, chest heaving, the smell of old paper filling her lungs.
“A… library,” Yuu muttered, her voice barely carrying over the echoing vastness of the space. Her gaze swept across the towering shelves and the green flames flickering along the chandeliers above.
Then came the rush of heat. Blue fire burst into being behind her, flooding the space with color and movement. Shadows leapt across the bookshelves, and for one heart-stopping moment, Yuu thought the flames would lick the parchment, devour the shelves, and send the whole place up in smoke. But just as quickly as it came, the blaze shrank back into itself—leaving the faint scent of singed air and the smug voice that started to irritate her more and more.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Foolish human!)” the creature sneered. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀?(Did you really think you could slip away from me?) ”
Yuu turned to face it. The cat stood near one of the tables, tail lashing, blue flames curling around his paws like serpents. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(Now,)” he continued, holding out one paw expectantly, “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀--(unless you wanna get burned to a crisp, take off that—)”
A sharp crack split the air.
It wasn’t thunder. It was the sound of something fast—leather, snapping through the air—and it struck the creature square across the back with a violent hiss. The cat yowled, twisting in shock and pain as a black whip coiled around its small body, pinning its legs together. The flames sputtered out.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀?!(That hurt! What gives?!)” Grim shouted, wriggling against the restraint.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(Consider it tough love,)” came a smooth voice from behind Yuu.
She spun around.
A man stood a few paces away, tall and lean, his shadow long against the emerald light. A mask shaped like a raven’s beak concealed half his face, its surface glossy black, the eyes above it gleaming gold through the dimness. Black, wavy, hair fell just past his ears—pointed ears, she realized, only half-hidden beneath the strands. A tall top hat rested on his head at a crooked angle, somehow dignified despite the chaos around him.
His coat—long, tailored, and the color of storm clouds—was embroidered with dark blue thread and trimmed with curling feathers at the collar. Beneath the coat, a crisp suit hugged his frame, completed by black gloves tipped with golden claw-rings that gleamed when he flexed his fingers.
Yuu blinked. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a story book—a magician, maybe? And like the cat, he spoke that same unfamiliar language, smooth and sharp, each word carrying an old-world rhythm that made her head ache trying to follow.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(Ah,)” he said, his tone softening as his gaze fell upon her. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀.(I’ve found you at last. Splendid.)” His golden eyes narrowed slightly, studying her like one might inspect a peculiar artifact. “𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀? 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(I trust you’re one of this year’s new students? My, were you ever eager to make your debut.)”
His brows drew together, the faintest frown creasing his otherwise composed expression. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀? 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(And bringing a poorly trained familiar with you? That is a clear violation of the school’s rules.)”
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(As if I’d serve some lowly human!)” the cat snapped, thrashing in the whip’s grasp. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Now lemme go!)”
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(Yes, yes,)” the man replied absently, his tone laced with polite boredom. He tugged the whip free with a flick of his wrist and, in one fluid motion, scooped the squirming creature up by the scruff of its neck. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(Rebellious familiars always say that.)” He tucked the cat neatly under his arm and gave his head an absent pat, as if scolding a mischievous pet. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀?(Do be quiet for a bit, won’t you?)”
A shimmer of light rippled in the air and a silvery ribbon appeared out of nowhere, wrapping itself neatly around the creature’s muzzle. His muffled protests came out as angry, garbled noises.
Yuu stared, unable to move. The man’s words continued, but they were meaningless to her, smooth syllables that rolled together like water slipping over stone. She caught none of it.
He sighed, exasperated but not unkind. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀?(Dear me. Of all the students I’ve dealt with, you’re the first with temerity enough to open your own gate and step through it. Does the concept of patience elude you entirely?)” His tone was half amusement, half reprimand. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀.(No matter. Orientation has already begun. Let us return to the Mirror Chamber.)”
He turned to leave, coat sweeping behind him in a rustle of fabric and feathers. For a moment, Yuu just stood there, the silence closing in like fog. Then, hesitantly—
“Um…” she began, her voice starting to shake with how out of place she felt in this strange world. “I don’t… I don’t understand anything you’re saying.”
The man paused mid-step. Slowly, he turned, head tilting slightly to one side, golden eyes gleaming through the shadow of his mask.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂?(Oh?)” he asked, voice thoughtful. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀? 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(What was that? I believe I misheard you.)”
“I—do you speak English?” Yuu managed, furrowing her brow as she tried to piece together some kind of communication. “Where am I? What is this place?”
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(Curious,)” the masked man murmured, his voice a silken hum muffled slightly by the black beak of his mask. He leaned down, close enough for Yuu to see the faint reflection of herself in those gold-glowing eyes, like candlelight trapped in glass. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀....(I’ve never met a student who didn’t speak the common tongue. Although…)” His gaze roamed her face, analytical and sharp. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(You speak in a language I don’t recognize.)”
“Yeah, man, I still don’t know what you’re saying,” Yuu sighed, running a hand through her hair before shrugging helplessly.
The man straightened, tapping a gloved finger against his chin. His posture carried the exaggerated drama of a stage actor, movements fluid but deliberate. Then, with a spark of recognition, his head lifted. He strode off with the sweep of his feathered coat, disappearing between two tall bookshelves. The sound of his boots echoed against the polished marble floor.
He reappeared a moment later, holding a parchment so old it looked ready to crumble. A map. He spread it open on a nearby table, the paper whispering as he smoothed it flat. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀--𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀'𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(We are here—Sage’s Island,)” he said slowly, his gloved finger tapping a small blot near the corner of the map. Then he pointed at Yuu, then to the parchment again, trailing his finger along the strange continents and their foreign words.
Yuu frowned, leaning over to look. None of the shapes matched anything she knew—not even vaguely. No North America, no Europe, no comforting outline of a world she could pretend to recognize. The names were written in curling, otherworldly script that her brain refused to interpret.
“Maybe he’s asking where I’m from,” she muttered under her breath, before looking up and the man and shaking her head. “I don’t recognize any of these places.”
The man’s expression fell. He folded the map with an impatient flick of his wrist and let it vanish in a swirl of black feathers. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(How strange,)” he muttered, almost to himself. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀...(Well, this will be much more difficult than I thought…)” He sighed, then pointed to himself, speaking slowly and clearly. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(My name is Dire Crowley.)”
He fished a small rectangle from his pocket—a sleek badge of polished silver—and held it up for her to see. It shimmered with faint magic, the letters beside his picture rearranging themselves, glowing faintly before solidifying into this world’s language.
“Dire Crowley,” he repeated, tapping the badge, then pointing back to himself.
“Crowley,” she repeated, nodding. He smiled beneath his mask, evidently pleased.
She patted her pockets out of instinct, searching for her own wallet or phone, but her heart sank as her hands brushed nothing but fabric. The realization hit her like a bucket of ice water—everything she’d owned, everything she was, was gone. Even her clothes weren’t her own.
Her fingers brushed over smooth embroidery at her sleeve, and she looked down. The robes she wore were fine, almost ceremonial—black with gold-thread filigree curling at the hems and cuffs. The inner lining was a deep violet that shimmered faintly with movement. Beneath it, she wore black slacks and a crisp, collared shirt with matching gold embroidery at the collarbones. Only her undergarments felt like her own.
“I—I don’t have my ID,” she said, looking up helplessly. Crowley tucked his own badge away with an airy flick of his wrist, then waited expectantly for her to respond.
After a moment, she sighed, pointed at herself, and said, “Yuu.”
“Yuu?” he repeated, his accent curling strangely around the word. Then his tone brightened. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀—𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(Splendid! Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way—you’ve a student orientation to attend! We can worry about this little language barrier later.)” He waved his arm dramatically, feathers rustling. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, Yuu, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Come now, Yuu, make haste!)”
Reluctantly, she followed. For all the bizarre posturing, he was the only person—or creature—who had even tried to communicate with her.
“Excuse me,” Yuu called, and he turned slightly, one golden eye peering over his shoulder. “Where am I?” she asked, gesturing vaguely to the gothic halls around them as they exited the library and soon the courtyard in the middle of this castle.
He blinked, then seemed to understand. With a flick of his fingers, the old map reappeared in a gust of black feathers and faint, shimmering dust. By now, Yuu wasn’t even surprised.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(The timespace teleportation must have addled your memories,)” Crowley said, his tone dripping with exaggerated pity. “𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(I suppose it’s possible it interfered with your grasp of the common tongue as well.)” He puffed out his chest. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(But fear not! My magnanimity knows no bounds!)”
He circled his hand dramatically over the entire map. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 Twisted Wonderland.(We are in Twisted Wonderland.)” He tapped the corner again. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 Sage's Island.(This is Sage’s Island.)” Then, tapping the ornate castle sketched at the top of the map, he gestured to the stone walls around them. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀—Night Raven College!(And here we stand—Night Raven College!)”
Yuu nodded slowly. The names meant nothing to her, but it was something to hold onto. A place. A name. A foothold in this strange world.
Crowley clasped his hands behind his back, posture impeccable. “𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(I serve as Headmage, entrusted by the Chairman himself,)” he said proudly, puffing up his chest again.
Yuu blinked at him, blank-faced. He sighed, feathers ruffling in irritation. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀... 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(Come, come. The Dark Mirror will no doubt illuminate your… predicament. Follow me, if you would.)”
As they walked back through the endless corridors of the castle, Yuu trailed behind Crowley like a lost shadow. Every step echoed against the cold stone floor, each footfall swallowed by the vastness of the place. omewhere far off, she thought she heard a bell toll—a hollow, distant sound that seemed to underline just how far from home she really was.
When they reached the tall, familiar doors of the room where she’d first awoken, Yuu could already hear voices drifting from inside. Dozens of them—young, lively, and loud. The contrast made her stomach twist. She hesitated on the threshold as Crowley pushed open the doors, and a wave of sound hit her like static.
The chamber was filled with people—teenagers, probably, if their youthful faces were any clue. All of them dressed in robes similar to hers, the same gold-threaded hems and dark, flowing fabric. For a moment, she wondered if they’d notice she didn’t belong. The thought of speaking—or trying to—made her throat tighten.
What would she even say? Every word she knew meant nothing here. The language of this world rolled off tongues like strange music—fluid, melodic, and utterly incomprehensible. It made her feel small, as if she’d been dropped into a dream she couldn’t wake from, surrounded by people she could never understand.
At the front of the room stood six figures who seemed to command attention, each distinct in posture and presence. And floating beside them—a tablet, humming faintly with blue light. For a fleeting, irrational second, she wondered if she’d stumbled into a cult.
She caught the end of a sentence spoken by one of the boys—a round-eyed figure with red eyes and pale hair peeking from under his hood. His tone was light, full of innocence. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀?(Maybe he had a tummyache?)”
Crowley scoffed. “𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(I most certainly did not!)”
A short, redheaded boy, nearby. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(Ah, speak of the devil,)” he said as Crowley strode down the aisle, feathers and coat tails flaring behind him. Yuu followed silently in his wake, feeling the eyes of every student in the room track her as she moved. Their gazes prickled at her skin.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀,(If you must know,)” Crowley huffed, resting his gloved hands on his hips, “𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(I was retrieving the new student who failed to appear for orientation.)” He spun dramatically on his heel as they reached the far end of the chamber, stopping before the massive mirror that dominated the wall.
He turned to Yuu, gesturing her forward. “Yuu,” he said—the familiar word sounding strange on his otherwise foreign speech—then motioned toward the mirror. His tone made it clear enough. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(Step up to the Dark Mirror.)”
The cat under his arm squirmed and hissed, but Yuu barely noticed. Her feet carried her forward, slow and uncertain, until she stood before the mirror’s towering frame.
The surface wasn’t glass—it was darker than that, more like liquid shadow, deep enough that it might swallow her whole if she stepped too close. As she stared, her reflection blurred, then vanished entirely. Out of the void emerged a mask—white porcelain, expressionless save for the delicate black filigree curling around its hollow eyes.
The mask spoke, its voice deep and resonant, echoing in the hollow of her chest. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(State your name.)”
Yuu blinked, glancing back at Crowley.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(Name,)” he repeated, then he pointed to himself, “Dire Crowley 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(Dire Crowley is my name.)” Yuu’s eyes widened slightly in understanding, “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 name 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 Yuu(Your name is Yuu.)”
She turned back to face the mirror, “I’m Yuu…”
The mask’s head inclined. “Yuu,” it repeated, the sound reverberating through the chamber. Then its tone shifted, growing colder. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀... 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(The nature of your soul is… unclear to me.)”
Crowley frowned, stepping closer. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀?(What did you just say?)”
“𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(I sense no magic within this one,)” the mirror intoned. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(Soundless. Colorless. Shapeless. Utterly vacant. Therefore, no dorm would be appropriate.)”
Whispers rippled through the crowd like a tide. Yuu’s heart pounded as she turned, scanning the faces around her—none of them familiar, all of them speaking in a language she couldn’t grasp. Their eyes darted toward her, curious, judgmental, almost pitying. She felt like a ghost that had wandered into the world of the living.
What does that mean? she wanted to ask. What’s happening? But her voice wouldn’t be heard. Even if she spoke, they wouldn’t understand her. She could only stand there, mute and alone, while confusion and unease knotted tighter in her chest.
If only this were a fight. If only pain came in the shape of a fist she could dodge, a strike she could return. In the ring, she could speak without words, tell and command respect in the language of impact and breath. But this silence, this confusion—it left her unarmed.
Crowley’s voice cut through the murmurs, sharp and indignant. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀?(Are you suggesting the black carriage went to receive a person who cannot even use magic?)” His tone rose in disbelief. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(That is absurd! The selection process has not erred once in a century of existence!)” He pressed a gloved hand to his chin, pacing in agitation. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀...(How could this have happened…)”
From beside the man, the cat wriggled free of his grip with a violent twist, landing on the floor in a puff of displaced dust.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Me!)” it shouted, voice sharp and petulant, “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Let me have this student’s seat!)”
The man’s voice cracked like thunder. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Not so fast, you hyperactive tanuki!)” he shouted, trying to grab hold of the runaway cat.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Unlike that human, I can actually use magic!)” the cat grinned, puffing up its chest with smug self-importance. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(So let me be a student here! Look, I’ll show you! My spells’re the cat’s meow!)”
As the cat drew in a deep, rumbling breath, its chest expanding like a bellows, the shorter red-haired boy’s voice cut through the tension.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Everyone, get down!)”
A roar split the air. Blue fire burst from the creature’s jaws, flooding the room in a blinding wave of heat and light. The flames licked across the stone walls, crawling up tapestries and scattering the shadows that once clung to the ceiling beams. Students screamed, chairs screeched against the floor, and in the chaos, the boy with crimson eyes let out a startled shout—his robes had caught fire.
He flailed, swatting desperately at the growing blaze consuming his sleeve, his panicked voice drowned beneath the cacophony of terrified students stampeding for the door. The once-orderly room devolved into pandemonium.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Someone catch that blasted animal before it sets the entire school ablaze!)” Headmage Crowley bellowed, his gaze snapped toward a small group of five students who and one floating tablet, unlike the others, hadn’t fled.
One of them—a tall boy with tanned skin and golden lion ears—let out an unimpressed scoff, crossing his arms lazily. He looked more irritated than alarmed, murmuring something to the student beside him, a slender boy with meticulously applied eyeliner and a faintly smug expression—so pretty in face that Yuu almost mistook him for a girl at first glance.
A third student, pale-haired and bespectacled, stepped forward with an unnervingly serene smile. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 Crowley(Allow me to handle this, Headmage Crowley,)” he said smoothly, voice dripping with rehearsed politeness. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(If none of you are up to the task of catching a small animal, I will accept the responsibility.)”
Meanwhile, the red-eyed boy was still half on fire. His shouts were growing more frantic as the flames crept higher.
Yuu cursed under her breath, ignoring the ongoing commotion and darting toward him. The air stank of smoke and scorched fabric. “Hold still!” she barked, grabbing at his sleeve, but he jerked away, eyes wide and confused. The language barrier.
She clicked her tongue in irritation and tugged hard on his robe, motioning for him to take it off. “Take it off before it burns you!” she repeated, more forcefully. This time, he seemed to understand. He stumbled out of the garment, and together they stamped it out underfoot until the last of the flames hissed and died.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Ah, thank goodness!)” The boy exhaled a shaky laugh, beaming at her as though he hadn’t just been seconds from becoming a torch. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Thank you!)”
“Uh, your… welcome?” Yuu replied uncertainly, praying that was a ‘thank you’ and not some elaborate insult with a smile attached.
When she turned back toward the rest of the room, the chaos had only worsened. The cat—a sleek gray creature with glowing eyes—was darting across the floor, blue fire trailing in its wake. Two of the boys were in hot pursuit, shouting spells that fizzled or missed entirely as the creature bounded toward her.
Yuu tensed. As the cat lunged in her direction, she sidestepped and thrust out her foot. The creature sprang to avoid it—but Yuu’s hand shot out, quick as a whip, and she caught it by the tail. The cat yowled indignantly, twisting in her grip, its flames flickering with its fury.
“Sorry, sorry...” she muttered, wincing as it thrashed. “You’ve caused enough trouble already.”
The red-haired boy raised what looked like a black pen, his eyes glinting. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Off with your head!)” he shouted dramatically.
In an instant, a heart-shaped collar—half white, half black—snapped around the cat’s neck with a metallic click. The creature froze, its flames sputtering out.
Yuu released it carefully, watching as the cat pawed furiously at the collar. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀?!(What are you doing?!)” it shrieked, voice sharp and indignant.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀-𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(The Queen of Hearts, Rule Twenty-Three,)” the red-haired boy recited coolly, his voice precise and unwavering—as if delivering a verdict rather than a warning. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(One must never bring a cat to a formal affair. Your very presence here is a violation of order. You will vacate these premises immediately.)”
The gray creature bristled, its fur standing on end. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(But I ain’t a cat, either!)” it yowled, tail lashing in defiance. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Don’t you try ’n collar me! I’ll burn it right off!)” It drew in a sharp breath, chest puffing, flames flickering faintly in its throat—but nothing came. Its eyes widened in confusion. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀...? 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀? 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Huh…? What gives? My fire ain’t workin’!)”
A ripple of whispers passed through the remaining students, their nervous laughter echoing faintly against the soot-streaked walls. The smell of smoke still clung to the air, mingled with the sharp tang of scorched fabric and fear.
Crowley’s gloved hands came together in a sharp clap, the sound ringing through the room like a gavel striking wood. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(Enough already!)” he declared, “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(Mr. Rosehearts, please escort this creature off campus and have your vice housewarden guide the freshmen to their dorms.)”He turned, addressing the others—the remaining five students and the hovering tablet—with a flourish of his hand. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂!(The same goes for the rest of the Housewardens. Escort your students back to your dorms at once!)”
The group dispersed in a flurry of movement, students obediently filing after their respective leaders. The boy with scarlet hair didn’t bother with delicacy—he lifted the gray creature by the scruff of its neck, the cat yowling in protest as its paws flailed uselessly. His expression was one of strict disapproval, the very picture of regal authority even as he stomped out of the ruined classroom.
Yuu couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pity. The creature looked small now—diminished without its flames, its defiance reduced to hissing complaints. For all its bluster, it seemed more frightened than fierce.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀.Vanrouge,(Mr. Vanrouge,)” Crowley called out, his tone softening slightly as the last few students lingered near the doorway.
A diminutive figure stepped forward, and Yuu blinked. For a moment, she thought a child had wandered in by mistake. The boy was slight, with ink-black hair trimmed into sharp, angled bangs streaked with magenta highlights. His eyes were a deep, gleaming red, their vertical pupils flicking toward her like a cat’s. Despite his youthful appearance, there was something distinctly ancient about the way he carried himself—a lazy grace paired with an oddly knowing smile that revealed a pair of small fangs.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀?(How may I assist, Headmage?)” he asked in a sing-song tone, his voice smooth but edged with mischief.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀—𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀—𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(After escorting your students—since it seems Mr. Draconia is not present—come back to the Mirror Room,)” Crowley said.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(Of course,)” the boy replied lightly. His crimson gaze lingered on Yuu for a moment, curious but unreadable, before he turned and drifted toward the exit, his footsteps soundless on the charred floorboards.
Once the last of the students were gone, silence settled over the room like dust after a storm. The faint crackle of dying embers echoed from where the flames had licked the walls. Crowley exhaled a long, weary sigh and adjusted his mask.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, Yuu,(Well, Yuu,)” he began, his tone suddenly solemn, “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(this is a most unfortunate turn of events.)”
Yuu couldn’t understand his words, but he seemed to be disappointed in something. Perhaps disappointed with the efficiency of getting the cat out of the room? She just wondered when she was to go home–if she was even able to go home.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(I’m afraid you will not be attending Night Raven College after all.)”
He started toward the tall mirror at the center of the room, the surface shimmering faintly like rippling water. Yuu followed, her reflection wavering beside his.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(We cannot admit a student with no magical ability into a magical academy,)” Crowley continued, his voice echoing softly in the vast, empty hall. “𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(Which, I suppose, is good for you. The Dark Mirror will see you safely home.)”
Crowley gestured toward one of the ornate coffins lining the circular chamber, the motion oddly gentle. Yuu hesitated, glancing between him and the coffin. The air here felt heavy—too still, as if the shadows themselves were holding their breath. Everything about this place reeked of the unnatural: the echo of her footsteps, the way the walls seemed to absorb sound, even the faint scent of incense and dust. She swallowed, hoping—praying—that whatever ritual Crowley was about to perform would send her home.
With cautious steps, she climbed into the coffin. The interior was surprisingly cool, the fabric beneath her fingertips soft and silken like old velvet. She leaned back slightly, eyes never leaving the Headmage as he stepped toward the mirror at the center of the room.
“𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀(Visualize the place from whence you came,)” Crowley intoned, his voice echoing faintly off the high walls. He glanced over his shoulder at Yuu before turning back to the mirror. “𝄂𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄀!(O, Dark Mirror! Return this soul to where it belongs!)”
The chamber fell utterly silent. The mirror’s surface rippled like disturbed water, then stilled. A faint image shimmered into view—the pale, expressionless mask with hollow eyes.
Crowley straightened, feathers rustling, and awkwardly cleared his throat. “𝄂𝄀𝄂-𝄂𝄀𝄂𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀... 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(L-let us, er… try this again.)” His tone wavered, the confidence slipping from his voice. “𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀—(O, Dark Mirror! Return this soul—)”
“𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(There is no such place,)” the mirror interrupted.
Though she didn’t understand the language, Yuu felt the shift in the air—a creeping cold that slithered down her spine, as if something in her very core had gone still.
“𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀?(What?)” Crowley stammered, his mask tilting slightly toward the mirror.
“𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(There is no place in this world where this soul belongs,)” the mirror replied, its voice smooth and distant, almost pitying. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(None.)”
Crowley froze. For a moment, he said nothing, his feathered shoulders rising and falling in slow disbelief. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀...(How can this be…)” he muttered, voice faint as he lowered his gaze to his gloved hands. “𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀?(A soul without a place?)” He began pacing, murmuring under his breath before gesturing for Yuu to step closer.
Not understanding, Yuu climbed out of the coffin and approached hesitantly. The change in his demeanor unsettled her—gone was the blustering confidence, replaced by a troubled silence.
He tapped his chin, then with a dramatic flourish produced a scroll-like map from within his cloak. The parchment unfurled with a papery snap, covered in swirling inked continents and names written in ornate script. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀?(What land do you hail from?)” he asked, holding it up for her to see. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀—𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀?(Surely you recognize it here? Perhaps you merely missed it before—or misunderstood me?)”
Yuu frowned, scanning the unfamiliar names again. None of them stirred even the faintest recognition. She shook her head, gently pushing the map away. “I don’t recognize any of these places,” she said quietly.
Crowley’s posture slumped, a sigh escaping him. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀...(Impossible…)” he murmured. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(Simply impossible.)”
Before she could respond, a familiar voice floated through the chamber. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀—𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(My, my—such heavy energy.)”
Yuu flinched, spinning around, fist instinctively raising. The boy from before—Vanrouge, she recalled—had appeared soundlessly, as if he’d simply materialized from the shadows. His smile was warm and teasing, but his presence was oddly ethereal, his red eyes gleaming like embers.
“𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀,(Sorry, sorry,)” he said with a light chuckle, raising his hands in mock surrender. “𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(I did not mean to startle.)”
Crowley exhaled, visibly relieved at the interruption. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀. Vanrouge, 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(Mr. Vanrouge, excellent timing.)” He turned to Yuu expectantly, gesturing for her to speak.
“Uh… can you—do you understand me?” she asked hopefully, voice trembling slightly. “Please say you do.”
Vanrouge’s eyes widened in mild surprise, head tilting. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀?(Oh?)”
Crowley addressed him quickly. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀? 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(Do you recognize his language? He does not seem to speak the common tongue. Nor is the mirror able to find the land they hail from, meaning I am unable to send him home.)”
The two conversed fluidly, their words washing over Yuu like water she couldn’t grasp. They spoke about her, not to her—voices measured and clinical, as if she were some oddity under glass.
Vanrouge’s expression softened as he turned back to Crowley. “𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(I do recognize it,)” he said thoughtfully, “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀—𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(but it is old—it was considered archaic even when I was a child. It was never formally taught.)” His gaze flicked toward Yuu, eyes glimmering with faint curiosity. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(Still, I may be able to find some textbooks written in that tongue. Perhaps they’ll help us understand. I imagine he is as confused as we are.)”
“𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀...(I see…)” Crowley murmured, his voice low and uncertain.
Vanrouge hesitated before speaking again. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀? 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(What will you do with the child, then? He is not assigned a dorm. Diasomnia would be more than happy to provide shelter for him, if you permit it.)”
Crowley hummed thoughtfully, tapping a clawed fingertip against the beak of his mask. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀...(As an educator, I am loathe to expel a young person without a cent to their name, or any means of contacting their guardian…)” His voice grew quieter as he muttered to himself, “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂(Truly, my grace knows no bounds.)” Then, with a sudden snap of his fingers, he straightened. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀. Vanrouge! 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀!(Ah! No need for that, Mr. Vanrouge! I have just the place for this young man!)”
Vanrouge chuckled lightly, his ruby eyes flicking toward Yuu. “𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(I will see what I can find,)” he said, his voice as smooth as velvet. With a casual wave and a faint shimmer of magic, he vanished—disappearing in a blink, as though he had simply melted into the air.
Yuu blinked in astonishment, staring at the empty space he had occupied moments before.
Crowley cleared his throat to reclaim her attention. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀! 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀—𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(Now then! There is a vacant building on campus—oh, never mind me explaining to you,)” he said, motioning for her to follow. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(Come along.)”
Yuu trailed after him as they exited the grand hall, the echo of their footsteps swallowed by the quiet expanse of the academy grounds. The moon hung low, silver light rippling across dark cobblestones slick with mist. The campus seemed endless—winding paths, looming towers, and arches that reached for the stars.
As they walked, Crowley exclaimed the same phrases over and over into the night. “𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(I am so kind,)” he said once, then again, “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀... 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀!(Such profound kindness in my heart… Truly, I am a gracious man!)”
After what felt like an eternity, they reached a corner of the campus shrouded in shadow. A rusted iron gate loomed before them, its hinges shrieking as Crowley pushed it open. Beyond it stood a building that looked as though it had been forgotten by time.
The old dormitory leaned slightly, its roof sagging beneath the weight of age. Cracked windows reflected the faint glow of the moon, and the surrounding trees stood dead and brittle, their bare branches clawing at the air like skeletal hands. The air smelled of rust and damp earth.
“Ramshackle Dorm!” Crowley announced dramatically, spreading his arms as if unveiling a grand palace. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀!(Out of the kindness of my heart, I have decided to let you stay here!)”
Yuu stared. The dorm looked one strong wind away from collapsing.
Still, she followed him up the worn stone steps. The door creaked like an old beast as she pushed it open, the sound echoing through the empty halls. A cloud of dust billowed up, making her cough and wave a hand in front of her face.
Inside, the air was stale. Straight ahead from the main entrance hall, was what she assumed to be an old lounge. The lounge was a graveyard of forgotten furniture—broken wooden chairs, torn and moth-eaten couches, and portraits hung crooked on peeling wallpaper. The colors had long since faded, replaced with the dull brown of rot and dust. Cobwebs stretched like ghostly lace from corner to corner.
“𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀(This should keep the elements at bay, for the time being,)” Crowley said, surveying the room with forced optimism. His voice echoed faintly, as if even the walls disapproved.
Yuu watched him warily. Was this where he planned to leave her? An abandoned shell of a dorm, tucked far from anyone else? Maybe he’d return once he found a way to send her home. Or maybe this was just his way of setting her aside, out of sight and out of mind. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor would this be her first time in a rundown building like this.
“𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀!(I will be back with some food!)” he declared cheerfully. “𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀—𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀!(I can’t just leave you to starve—oh, how wonderful and kind am I!)”
He turned on his heel to leave, but Yuu took a step forward instinctively. He stopped, pivoting back with a wag of his finger.
“𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀. Stay 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀!(Stay here, please. Stay. I feel like Divus!)” he said, chuckling softly to himself.
He pointed at her, then to the dorm, then to the floor, as if teaching a pet a command.
It took her a second, but realization dawned—he wanted her to remain here. That was fine, she supposed. The place was enormous; surely she could find one room decent enough to sleep in. Besides… she’d never had a space to herself before. Her old foster home had always been crowded, noisy. For once, she could breathe.
If she had made it home that night instead of being struck by that carriage… she would have had to face her foster siblings’ constant nagging and questions. Maybe this was better—at least for now.
Crowley paused at the threshold, tapping his chin. “𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀... 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀. 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀, 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀𝄂𝄀𝄀 𝄂𝄀𝄀!(Hm… I suppose I will have to find you some extra clothes. I can’t have you wandering around in ceremonial robes forever. Oh, how truly benevolent am I!)” he laughed, disappearing into the night.
The echo of his footsteps faded until only silence remained.
Yuu exhaled, finally taking in the full scope of the dorm. The ceilings were pocked with holes, exposing the dark rafters and even glimpses of the second and third floors. The air smelled of mildew and stale wood. There were many doors in the lounge, as well as stairs lining the wall leading to the second floor. One of which, was leading to another open area of the dorm.
She carefully shrugged off her ceremonial robe, folding it neatly and placing it on a less-dusty section of a broken coffee table. Then, curiosity leading her, she ventured down the hall.
Each step made the floor groan under her weight. The boards were soft in places, brittle in others. The flickering lights overhead struggled to stay on, buzzing faintly as she passed. She peeked through each doorway—it seemed to be bedrooms, most were in ruins, their furniture half-collapsed, the air thick with dust.
But one room, across the steps, seemed less forsaken than the rest. The bed still stood intact, though its headboard was chipped and split. The sheets, surprisingly, were whole—musty but free of holes. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.
Yuu smiled faintly to herself. Maybe she could clean it up—find a broom or rag, make it livable. She’d done more with less before. All this dorm needed was a little bit of elbow grease.
Stepping back into the hall, she caught sight of the cracked windows. Outside, rain had begun to fall—soft at first, then steadier, a muted rhythm against the glass. The sound filled the silence, soothing but lonely.
She pressed a hand to the windowpane, watching droplets race down the glass. It hit her then—the exhaustion, the fear, the quiet ache in her chest. She wasn’t home. Not even in the same world.
Magic was real here. The people, the creatures, the unknown language—it was all real. And she was utterly, impossibly alone.
Her breath fogged the glass as she looked up. Her parents used to tell her, If the world ever feels too big, look up at the night sky. No matter how far you go, we’ll be right there too, under the same stars.
But as she stared past the clouds, she realized she didn’t recognize a single star. No North Star, no Big Dipper, no Orion’s Belt—only strange constellations glittering faintly in a foreign sky.
It was beautiful.
And it made her feel more lost and alone than ever.