I was looking outside the class window, staring at a pair of birds flirting with each other on the tree.
Oui. Really? Flirting in broad daylight? What a bold move. Then again, what bird would think a human would stare at them while they were making out. Except for me, that is.
A familiar sound rang in my ears.
Ding Dong.
[School Finished]
Our English teacher, perhaps feeling unusually generous, dismissed us the moment the bell rang.
"Alright, students. Since today is the first day, I'll let you all go home earlier." She smiled warmly and exited.
Earlier? The school bell already rang.
I grunted, shaking my head with a sigh.
Wasting no time, I packed my things and took a slight detour to the water station before heading toward Iz's new classroom, just next door.
[Classroom 2-A]
"Here it is." I peeked inside and spotted Iz, deeply focused, scribbling in her logbook.
The perfect chance.
I slid the door open with the stealth of a rogue and slipped inside. Iz was so absorbed in writing that even the apocalypse wouldn't break her concentration. I used to scare her like this all the time. It was fun. Though her screams could probably break glass, so it was a double-edged sword.
Gently, I set my bag down and sat across from her. I poked her right between the brows.
"Stop frowning. Uncle Georgie will wither if he sees a line between your eyebrows."
Uncle Georgie. Her family's beautician. I had never met him, but he sounded like a man who worshipped collagen and cucumbers.
Iz immediately covered her face. "Ah, sorry, Lil. Give me a minute. I'm almost done with the logbook."
I leaned forward. "It's your first day, and they already have you doing the class logbook? This is only second year, not fourth year, when existential dread kicks in and we all start decomposing in our chairs."
Iz chuckled.
"Unlike yours, my homeroom teacher only introduced herself and vanished like smoke. The rest of the teachers went on and on about their school days. I swear, my ears nearly dropped off."
"Our homeroom's pretty strict. She lectured us on everything—rules, exams, attire—and gave us homework. The other teachers were kinder. Just gave a quiz on first-year topics." Iz rubbed her head like it was physically painful.
"Oui. You sure got some sadistic teachers, huh? The difference between our classes is like heaven and hell." I stretched and yawned.
"Stop yawning. You're making me sleepy," Iz complained while drinking from her water bottle.
"All right. I'll stop, dear." I flashed her a hand heart.
She choked on her water. "Gosh, who are you role-playing this time?"
"Some poor soul trying to win their crush's heart."
Iz crossed her arms. "Do you know why it's called a crush?"
"Because the crush will crush the other person's heart?" I cautiously backed off, just in case she tried to strangle me.
"Bingo. Now stop the act."
I rested my head on her desk. "Fine. You can be such a bore sometimes."
"Thank you," she said flatly and resumed writing.
I pouted and fiddled with her bottle until a memory resurfaced.
"Hey, Iz. Did you see a pair of birds on that tree there?" I pointed at the tree next to our building.
"Nope. Why?"
"They were making out. HAHAAHA!"
Iz stared at me with a face so blank it could stop time.
"Fine, fine. I'll shut up. Sheesh!"
A few minutes later, she finished the logbook, packed up, and cleaned her desk. She stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder.
"I'll bring the logbook to the teacher's office. Don't do anything while I'm gone, okay?"
"Mmm..."
And just like that, she left.
Silence fell.
I leaned back in the chair and sighed. "It's so quiet..."
The classroom was a tomb. Four sterile white walls, an untouched blackboard, neatly aligned desks—nothing like the chaotic jungle of our old room. No scuff marks, no missing panels, no broken fans. Too clean. It felt... wrong.
Bzz...
A fly buzzed in like a drunk gatecrasher. I watched it spiral around, bumping into windows, desks, air. It was oddly entertaining. If someone saw me now, they'd probably question my mental state. I didn't care.
But the buzzing didn't stop. Coupled with the heat, it became a lullaby from hell.
My body felt heavy. My eyelids drooped. I fought it—tried to keep my head up. Failed.
And slipped into unconsciousness.
I awoke to blood.
A battlefield, drenched in it. Corpses littered the land, twisted and broken. The stench of death was thick.
I froze. No sky. No sun. Just void.
What is this place?
My breathing quickened, panic rising. But then, my mother's voice echoed in my mind—Calm yourself. Always breathe.
I forced myself to inhale, exhale. Gradually, clarity returned.
No way out. No exits. Just an endless sea of the dead.
And then—I saw her.
The woman from my morning dream.
Alive. And armed.
She wielded a colossal scythe with a chained dagger attached to the end. A custom-made weapon—fit for short and mid-range slaughter. It was elegant and terrifying.
She danced across the battlefield, her scythe slicing through waves of armored men from every era imaginable. Her movements were art, graceful and efficient. If not for the carnage, she might've passed for a ballerina.
I stood frozen, watching her from a distance. I couldn't see her expression—only bodies falling like dominoes in her wake.
Curious, I moved. Crawled silently to another vantage point.
There were only a few enemies left.
And then, I saw her face.
Eyes serene. A smile that didn't match the destruction she unleashed. She was beautiful. Terrifyingly so.
My instincts screamed at me to run.
But I stepped forward.
Something pulled me toward her. A force, a connection I couldn't explain.
I panicked. Reached for a dagger from a corpse and stabbed my palm.
The pain grounded me. Reminded me that I was still me. I bit my lip to muffle the scream.
Near me lay a medic. I rummaged through his first-aid kit and treated the wound. Relief washed over me.
But too soon.
She stood before me.
Towering.
Her scythe was painted in blood.
She looked down at me, expressionless.
My heart pounded as she raised her weapon.
I closed my eyes.
Whoosh!
And that was the last thing I heard.