The smell hit me before anything else. Clinics always had that same weird scent of bleach and fake mint mixed with regret. It burned the back of my throat as my eyes fluttered open, greeted by blinding white lights fixed to the ceiling. I squinted, blinking slowly as my vision adjusted, the faint hum of medical equipment filling my ears.
Then it all came crashing back. The match, the noise, the energy. The way everything went red and loud and then… nothing. I tried sitting upon and noticed something tugging tightly around my waist.
Wrapped snugly beneath my ribs were thick bandages. I braced myself and poked at it gently, but all I got was a dull twinge. No pain, no soreness, not even the dull reminder of a bruise. If anything, I actually felt… good. Freakishly good. I could feel a quiet buzz in my muscles, pulsing slowly but constantly. Whatever they'd hooked me up to, it was working a little too well.
"That was fast."
I turned my head. Ms. Flores sat in the
corner of the room half-hidden behind a curtain. A clipboard rested in her hands as she flipped through pages, occasionally scribbling something on it. Her cigarette sat between her lips, the smoke drifting slowly upward.
Was that even allowed?
"Welcome back to the land of the living,"
she said, her eyes still fixed on the clipboard. "How much do you remember?"
I leaned back against the bed. "I remember a fight. I remember Tyson out cold on the floor. I also remember aura-farming for ten seconds, and I'm pretty sure we won the CVC after that."
"Is that right?" she said.
I glanced at her. "Yeah, but I dunno. Maybe it was just another epic dream."
She finally looked up, a slow smirk on her
face. "Congratulations Darmian, you did great."
I snickered, stretching my arms. "Well that's one way to wake up. I guess you were right about me then."
"I usually am," she replied. "You could say I've got a good eye for talent."
I chuckled, then hesitated. "You were
right about Kingsreed too. Tyson cheated."
Her pen stopped.
"He was on the same stuff Ashmoore used," I continued. "But he took smaller doses for a long time. Just enough to enhance him without seeming obvious."
"I wish I could say I'm surprised, but I'm not. The committee concluded it was unlikely that Ashmoore acted alone, so we interviewed each of them. They admitted
Kingsreed were in on it, so we moved forward to try to get a sample of Tyson's
blood to run tests. His chaperone refused. Said something about him needing to be awake and give consent," she said.
"And you left him alone?" I asked.
"Of course not. I asked another member to stay outside his room and take him for testing the second he steps outside. We're getting those tests one way or another."
I looked outside the window from my bed
trying to picture Tyson and his chaperone escaping from their window. "I wonder why Kingsreed have a thing for cheating."
"Sometimes, the pressure of success can
push people into doing crazy things," Ms. Flores said flipping through another page. "Back when the CVC started, they dominated for decades. It was rare to see them not in the finals. But like all dynasties, they eventually began to drop off. Each generation of students now more desperate than the last. But it wasn't just them. Lots of schools that were considered powerhouses in the early decades couldn't maintain their edge. The pressure pushed some to push past their limits, and some made it while others… well, it wasn't pretty."
"That's harsh."
"The CVC was always harsh from the
beginning. We're vampires. Power is everything. It's what kept us alive for
centuries and it's what will keep us alive in the future. Those without it won't survive, and that's the purpose of the CVC: to hone both mental and physical power. Being dishonorable by cheating is weakness. Something we can't allow."
I whistled. "Damn, I didn't know you knew
so much about the CVC."
"I was a student once, you know. Besides,
you don't get to be a member of the Sentinel Committee without basic knowledge of the competition," she said.
"Well, it's a good thing I beat Tyson then," I said flexing my arm.
"About that," Ms. Flores said staring at
the clipboard for a moment, brows slowly drawing together. "You said he was on the drug right?"
I met her gaze.
"So how did you beat him?"
I laughed nervously. "Simple strategy
actually. Wore him down until he got tired. He hit pretty hard, but I lasted longer."
"That still doesn't explain it," she said,her expression still the same.
I shrugged. "That's all I've got. Honestly."
She studied me for a while, eyes sharp and thoughtful. I held my breath hoping she wouldn't ask any more questions. Even I had no idea what happened back then. One moment, I was about to pass out, the next I was handling Tyson like he was a kid. The memory of the surge I'd felt flashed through my mind. My skin tingled just thinking about it. But I couldn't tell her that. Not yet.
"… Interesting," she muttered, more to
herself than me, leaning back in her chair.
I pretended not to hear. "So," I said, clearing my throat, "where's everyone?"
"They're at the Clover," she replied. "Getting dressed for the award ceremony. They wanted to stay, but I sent them ahead. Figured you'd be out for at least six hours." She glanced at me again. "Tyson won't wake up for another six either."
I blinked. "How long was I out?"
"Two hours, thirty minutes."
Before I could respond, the door slid open
and a doctor stepped in, a stocky man with wire-rimmed glasses and a tired smile. He checked my vitals with quick, practiced motions, then scribbled something on his pad.
"Well," he remarked, "I've seen students
walk out of here tired and partly broken. You, Mr. Darmian, look like you could run another final today. Your healing factor is the fastest I've seen in a quite some time. Very impressive."
I laughed it off like it was nothing. "Thanks
doc."
"Congratulations on your win. You're
cleared," he said, frowning at the cigarette in Ms. Flores' hand.
We left not long after, and the moment we
stepped outside, a small crowd formed around me. Some students were leaving the
campus in clusters when someone recognized me. Then another, and another. Hands clawed my back, arms pulled me into brief hugs, fist bumps landed against my
knuckles with their voices overlapping excitedly.
"Bro that fight was sick!"
"Congrats man!"
"Crescent's champ!"
I barely had time to breathe.
"Enjoying the attention?" Ms. Flores asked with a lazy grin while she watched.
I smiled, still trying to wrap my head
around it. "I think I could get used to this."
She chuckled as we headed towards the car park. "Careful. Fame's addictive."
***************
By the time we reached the hotel, the sky
had started to soften. The harsh glare of the afternoon sun dulled into a warm amber glow, stretching long across the driveway as the car rolled to a stop. I checked my phone for the time: 4:38PM.
Ms. Flores stepped out first, fishing
something out of her jacket pocket. She turned and held out a slim white card
between two fingers.
"Go to the tailor's shop on the thirteenth
floor," she said. "Pick up your suit."
I stared at the card. Then at her. "My suit? I thought we were wearing our uniforms."
She scoffed. "It's the award ceremony of
the Continental Vampire Competition. You're not going there looking like you just came back from training."
"It's worked for me so far," I said.
She raised an eyebrow. "Have some class
for once."
I grabbed the card before she could pull it back. "You paid?"
"Not me, your principal," she replied. "Ceremony starts at seven-thirty. Be in the
lobby thirty minutes before then." With that, she walked toward the elevators, cigarette already back between her lips.
I watched her go for a second, then
glanced at the card again before heading in the opposite direction.
The tailor's shop sat tucked away near the
west wing of the hotel, the entrance marked by soft golden lighting and a simple clover sign etched into dark wood. The moment I stepped inside, I knew this wasn't some ordinary clothing store.
The air smelled faintly of polished leather
and fresh fabric, jazz playing softly in the background. Rows upon rows of suits lined up the walls. Some on mannequins, others reserved separately hanging neatly in their own spaces. The range of suits was incredible. Tuxedos in deep black and charcoals, midnight blues that looked almost liquid under the lights, greys so smooth they seemed unreal. Some
shimmered subtly when I moved, others absorbed the light entirely. There were a few people in the shop, checking out the suits while attendants stood close by.
"Good evening sir," a voice said.
I turned to see a lady standing behind the
counter, her hair pulled back neatly, eyes sharp but friendly. She looked me over professionally, then smiled. "Are you looking for a suit to wear tonight?"
I held up the card Ms. Flores gave me.
"Actually, I was told it's been paid for already. I'm just here to pick it up."
Her smile widened slightly as she took the
card, checking the name. "Alright sir, let me confirm that," she said, clicking on her desktop. Five minutes later, she nodded slowly. "Right this way Mr. Darmian."
She led me past another aisle deeper into the shop where the light was dimmer. The
racks here were more spaced out, with fewer pieces on display. She took one down and
laid it on a table.
"This one is yours," she said unzipping
the garment bag slowly.
I couldn't believe my eyes. The suit was
black, but not the flat, lifeless kind I was used to seeing. This black had depth. It was alive, sleek and smooth, with a quality that made every other tux in the shop look second grade.
"Holy sh—" I stopped myself. "This is
mine?"
"Of course," the saleslady said. "It's part
of our Midnight Series collection. Hand-stitched and custom-fitted just for you. I trust it will serve you well."
Serve me well? This thing looked like the
kind of suit that could convince people I owned a yacht. I ran my fingers down the fabric, the material cool and impossibly soft.
"Yeah," I muttered, unable to hide my
excitement. "Yeah, this'll do."
She chuckled softly. "Enjoy your evening, sir."
I practically floated out of the shop, the
garment bag slung over my shoulder.
Back in my room, I tossed the bag onto the bed and just stared at it for a while. I wanted to tear it open right there, but the clock read 5:06PM. The ceremony wasn't until 7:30, so I had to be patient. Patience was not my strong suit.
Still, I forced myself to take a shower first, scrubbing away the smell of antiseptic and sweat. 20 minutes later, my hair was damp and my skin red from the hot water, but I felt
refreshed and buzzing with excitement. I used the rest of the time to watch TV but my mind wasn't really in it. My eyes kept darting back and forth between the clock and the garment bag. Finally, about an hour and thirty minutes later, I pulled the suit free.
It was even more stunning laid out fully
on my bed. The trousers were slim, but not tight, and the shirt was a crisp white that nearly blinded me when I held it up. I slipped into it, piece by piece, careful not to wrinkle anything. When I buttoned the shirt and put on the trousers, I caught my reflection in the mirror.
"Oh…" I whispered, almost laughing at
myself. "Oh this is dangerous."
The jacket slid over my shoulders, hugging my frame without squeezing. The sleeves stopped exactly where they should,
showing just enough white cuff. I tried on the tie that came with it, then immediately ripped it off. Too formal. Instead, I left the top button of the shirt undone, adjusted the jacket again and tilted my head at the mirror.
"This guy definitely belongs on a
magazine cover," I said to myself grinning.
After admiring myself for way too long, I
finally grabbed my phone and wallet, shoved them into my pocket and headed downstairs.
Henry and Scott arrived just as I stepped into the lobby. I barely had time to blink before Scott was already clapping a hand
down hard on my shoulder.
"There he is," he said, smiling from ear
to ear.
Henry followed immediately, ruffling my
hair with zero regard for how long I spent fixing it. "O wise Darmian, where would we be without you?" he said sarcastically.
"Hey!" I protested, swatting his hand
away. "This took effort."
"Looking good, boy," Scott said stepping
back to look me over. "Even though we look kinda stiff."
Henry snorted. "Speak for yourself, I look
dashing."
Their suits were black too, tailored sharp
and neat. Scott's jacket fit him a little too well, and I could tell he wasn't going to hold back with his poses for pictures. Henry's was more understated, clean and elegant in a way that somehow suited (see what I did ther) him better than I expected.
Scott tugged on his cufflinks and
straightened his tie. "I think I'll audition for the next James Bond movie after this. Tell me I don't look the part."
"You don't look the part," Marcus said from behind us. "More like Bond's lame-ass
sidekick who gets killed in the first ten minutes."
Henry barked a laugh while Scott faked a
yawn. Marcus joined us, grin wide, suit crisp, eyes already full of trouble. He gave me a light shove. "You were cutting it close out there."
"Hey, it wouldn't be entertaining if I didn't," I chuckled.
They crowded in closer, inspecting
themselves on the reflective surfaces of the lobby.
Henry exhaled slowly. "I don't think I've
ever worn something this expensive."
Scott nodded. "I'm afraid to sit and
wrinkle this beauty."
Marcus smirked. "Well, I'm afraid Scott's
going to start talking in his Scottish accent... again."
"I already am," Scott sneered. "You just
can't hear it yet."
I was about to join in when Zoë and Laura
walked in. They both wore black dresses, but that was where the similarity ended. Zoë's dress was sleek and simple, a midnight curve that clung to her frame before flowing down past her knees. Her hair was pinned back one side, the other falling in soft waves, and the faint shimmer of her earrings catching light as she moved.
Laura's dress was much louder, bolder
even. A satin-black gown with a slit running up high up her thigh, catching just enough attention to make heads turn without even trying. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in loose curls, and her eyes practically glowed with the kind of energy only she could pull off.
The boys straightened automatically. I
forgot how to, until Scott nudged me.
"Close your mouth dude," he whispered.
"You're embarrassing us."
"Not bad huh?" Laura teased as they
approached. "You guys cleaned up nicely for once."
Henry whistled. "You guys don't look too
shabby either. Just try not to steal the spotlight from us."
Zoë rolled her eyes, though her smile was warm as she turned to me. "You okay?
That was a rough fight out there."
"Yeah," I said quickly, forcing myself to
focus. "I'm good. More than good."
"Congratulations," Laura said, her smile softer than usual. "Seriously. You were great today."
I nodded, trying not to blush. "Thanks. You both look… wow."
Marcus cleared his throat. "Understatement of the year."
The doors opened again and Mackenzie and Ms. Flores stepped in together.
Mackenzie also wore black, but not the
kind that screamed for attention. Her dress was smooth and fitted, majestic without being flashy and sharp in a way that mirrored her usual composed demeanor.
Ms. Flores on the other hand was pure
presence. Her velvet dress clung to her frame effortlessly, absorbing light and
then giving it back in soft waves as she walked. It fit her perfectly, accentuating her shape without ever looking forced. She looked stunning, and from the faint smirk on her lips, she was entirely aware of it.
Scott recovered first. "Okay," he began, "So, this is like officially the best dressed group in the building."
I nodded in agreement. "We might actually scare people."
Mackenzie laughed before her gaze settled on me. "Nice work Darmian."
"Thanks," I replied. "You look great."
She tilted her head slightly. "You don't look too bad yourself."
Scott was about to remark when Mackenzie shot him a look.
Ms. Flores finally spoke, her voice light
and amused. "I'm glad you're all excited," she said looking at each of us. "I'm proud of you. All of you."
Laura crossed her arms, though she was still smiling. "I'm still annoyed you didn't tell us about the committee stuff."
Ms. Flores replied calmly, "Tomorrow.
Tonight is for celebration."
Zoë sighed. "Fine. But you've got a lot of
explaining to do."
"Definitely," Ms. Flores replied. "Just not before champagne."
We piled into the limo, laughter and excitement on our faces as Ms. Flores drove
off to Frostville.
***************
Frostville's auditorium barely resembled a
school hall anymore. What had once been rows of rigid seats and a simple stage had been transformed into an ultra-modern event center. The ground floor was
completely cleared and refitted with circular tables dressed in linen. Glass panels, new metal rails, and polished stone had replaced the old walls, reflecting gold and blue hues across the room. The stage dominated the far end of the hall, now much wider and elevated, framed by massive digital screens
that pulsed the CVC emblem. The Frostville music club tuned their instruments to the side, the soft hum of strings filling the air.
Above it all rose a second level. A wide
balcony wrapped around the auditorium, held by marble columns. The railing,
trimmed with thin lines of light, cast shadows across the walls. As soon as I
spotted the Queen and other dignitaries already seated up there and schmoozing, I knew it was reserved for VIP guests.
Students were everywhere, dressed in suits, gowns, and fabrics that shone effortlessly. And it didn't take long for some to notice us.
"Hey, that's Darmian!"
"Crescent's here!"
Hands clapped my shoulders, a few students I barely recognized gave me quick daps, others did same to Henry, Laura, Scott, Mackenzie, and Zoë while offering their congratulations. It was surreal for all
of us.
Scott inhaled deeply, adjusted his tie and
cracked his knuckles. "All right gents. This is my cue."
"Cue for what?" I asked, already having an idea of the answer.
"To cash in," he said solemnly. "A historic night like this is pretty rare. Someone has to keep our reputation with the ladies intact. If I don't come back with at least one phone number, I've failed."
"Wouldn't be the first time," Henry muttered.
Scott ignored him and disappeared into the crowd with alarming confidence.
A few minutes later, the lights dimmed
slightly and a hush rippled through the hall and the Queen came down and stepped onto the stage to begin the ceremony.
"Students, teachers, invited guests and
representatives of our colleges gathered here tonight," she began, voice steady
and regal. "This evening is yours. Tonight we celebrate not only the victories, but the friendships, the lessons, and the growth this tournament has given you. I hope you'll enjoy the festivities, the performances and above all, the spirit of unity that binds us together."
Applause followed after which the Frostville principal began a review of the tournament's mental and physical stages. That lasted about 15 minutes and then, the music club's half-hour performance began.
While the performance was going on, I
drifted toward the food section which had rows of long food tables, silver platters stacked with dishes and hors d'oeuvres I couldn't pronounce, as well as glass bowls
holding different drinks. I took a cup and poured myself a glass of punch, sipping slowly as the sweetness clung to my tongue.
"After a match like that, I didn't think I'd
find you hiding by refreshments."
I turned to see Wilson approaching looking me over. "Congrats man," he said
offering his hand. "You earned that win."
"Thanks dude," I replied. Then, unable to
resist, I added, "So glasses, how many trophies does Crescent College have now?"
Wilson burst out laughing. "One," he said chuckling. "Just one."
"Good answer," I said grinning.
We talked for a bit about the finals and about how insane the week had been. Eventually, Wilson glanced toward his team
gathering near the stage.
"I've got to head over for a group photo,"
he said. Then, lowering his voice slightly he continued, "I didn't think you were serious back then in the bathroom. But I'm glad Tyson didn't win. Really."
"Me too," I admitted.
"Guess I'll be seeing you around, Darmian. I won't be forgetting that name in a while," he said coyly, waving as he left.
I was still waving back when Scott reappeared at my side out of nowhere, poking at my ribs. "Now's your chance."
I blinked at him. "What?"
He sighed, putting his arms around my
shoulder. "Ask Zoë to dance with you."
I nearly choked on my punch. "What? No.
Absolutely not. Never happening."
"Oh come on," he said. "You literally just won the CVC."
"That makes it worse!"
"Darmian," he said dramatically. "It wouldn't be fair if I charm all the ladies myself and leave you out here in the cold. I just can't do that."
"Gee thanks," I said rolling my eyes. "I'm
fine."
Soon enough we spotted Zoë standing close to the literary booth. Scott turned and looked at me excitedly, while I stared at him. I rushed to close his mouth, but I was too late. "Zoë!"
She turned, saw us, and walked over. My
heart dropped.
"What's up," she said smiling.
Scott rubbed his hands together just as
Marcus passed by. "Perfect timing. I just remembered I need Marcus for something very important. Literally life-or-death."
"Wait, what—" Marcus began, confused, but Scott was already dragging him away.
I silently cursed him.
"What was that about?" she asked watching them leave.
"No idea," I said, before clearing my throat and adding, "Uh… would you like to dance?"
Her brows rose slightly, a flicker of
surprise. "Yeah I do, but I don't really know how to."
"No problem," I said quickly. "I've got some experience."
Her eyes lit with curiosity as I led her
onto the dance floor. I placed her hands on my shoulders and wrapped mine around her waist after explaining the basics. "It really isn't that hard. It's all about movement."
"Never tagged you as the dancing type.
Where did you learn it?" she asked.
"The orphanage," I said as we began to
move. At first it was awkward, with my shoes scuffing the floor and her steps a little uncertain. But gradually, we found rhythm.
"The nuns used to teach us sometimes," I
continued. "Just for fun. They'd play classical music or something faster when
we were bored or sad. Said it helped us forget things for a while."
"Did it feel good?" she asked.
"It did. But it wasn't really about it being good or not," I said. "It was about not thinking. Just letting the world fade out for a few minutes."
Her grip tightened slightly. "That sounds
nice."
"It was."
We did a half turn slowly, just as the
music became softer.
"You really had us worried during the
fight. What really happened?"
I exhaled. "Tyson was on the same drug Ashmoore used. He was much stronger than I was even before we began."
"And you still won."
"Barely." I almost told her about what I felt, but stopped myself just in time. "But I'm okay now."
She looked relieved. "I'm glad."
After a moment, I asked, "Do you forgive
yourself now?"
She nodded. "Yeah, I'm just happy my efforts in the semis were enough afterall."
I laughed, quietly. "So you were upset for
nothing."
"We all were I guess," she said smiling
sheepishly. We danced in silence after that as the song shifted, much slower now. My heart, on other hand, sped up. It didn't help knowing she could hear it, but we just…stayed there. Looking at each other. Breathing in sync.
Then—
"Darmian."
Ms. Flores' voice cut through the haze. She stood at the staircase, beckoning me over subtly.
I met Zoë's eyes again. "Rain check?"
She nodded, her hand slipping from my
shoulders as the music went on, while I walked towards Ms. Flores. She was
waiting at the foot of the staircase leading up to the balcony, arms folded, posture straight and eyes fixed on me. I slowed my steps, already irritated.
"You couldn't wait five more minutes?" I
said frowning. "This better be important."
Her lips twitched, not quite a smile. "You'll
survive. And yes, it's important." She leaned in, lowering her voice. "Her Majesty wants to see you."
I stopped walking. "… Wait, what?" I asked, just to be sure I wasn't hallucinating.
Ms. Flores nodded, already turning toward the stairs. "You heard me. Try not to look like you're about to faint."
As we started up, she added casually, "Relax. Kiss her ring before you speak, be polite, don't joke, and for the love of all things ancient, do not call her 'Your Royal Whatever'."
That last part didn't help my nerves.
Each step felt like climbing up a skyscraper. The music from below softened as we climbed, replaced by quieter conversations and the occasional laughter of rich people. The balcony level was calmer, just clusters of well-dressed figures seated at polished tables, watching the celebration
below.
When we reached the top, heads turned. A few guests recognized me immediately. Some whispered, some nodded, while others smiled openly and said congratulations as Ms. Flores guided me forward. Then I saw her.
She sat near the railing, posture relaxed
yet unmistakably commanding, dressed in deep crimson that contrasted sharply with her pale complexion. Up close she looked even more intimidating. More powerful. She was talking with a lady seated next to her, who later excused herself as we approached. The moment my eyes met hers, something twisted in my gut.
Ms. Flores stopped beside her and cleared her throat. "Your Majesty, may I present Darmian of Crescent College." Then
with a grin that was far too amused for the situation, added, "He's been very eager to meet you."
My head snapped toward her, but it was too late. The Queen's lips curved faintly as she watched me curiously, extending
her hand. I got on one knee and took it carefully. The contact sent a quiet
jolt inside me and my vision blurred.
Please. I need you. All of you. It's the
last thing I'll ever ask.
And if we refuse?
Regrettable. But I cannot force you against your wishes.
The voices pressed on from everywhere at once, cold and resolute, echoing in my head over and over.
"Darmian."
Ms. Flores' voice jolted me back to my senses. I blinked sharply, the balcony snapping back into focus. I was still gripping the Queen's hand.
"I—sorry," I said kissing her ring quickly.
I laughed nervously, rubbing the back of my neck. "I spaced out. I guess I'm just…a
bit overwhelmed your majesty."
She studied me closely, her eyes never
leaving mine. "Please, Darmian, call me Roxanne. And you too, Flores. You know
I hate when you make me sound so formal."
Ms. Flores let out a cheeky laugh while I
shot her a look. "Sorry, Roxanne. I just wanted to tease him a little.
"Anyways," Ms. Roxanne continued, "You
fought very well today. It's been while since I've watched such an interesting final. Well done."
"Thanks Ms. Roxanne. I was just doing my job," I replied.
Her expression tightened briefly. "Then allow me to apologize for the circumstances. Ashmoore should never have been allowed
to interfere the way they did."
"What about Kingsreed? Tyson was also on the same stuff," I said.
Ms. Roxanne sighed. "Well, we finally managed to convince Tyson's chaperone to allow his blood get tested. The test results came in as inconclusive. The only real accusation against them is Ashmoore's claim that they helped them. However, their isn't much evidence to support that, but it will be looked into by the collegiate board.
"Thanks. Really appreciate that," I said,
nodding, but I wasn't thrilled it seemed like Kingsreed would get away with what they did.
"As recompense," she continued, "You and your teammates will be offered internships with the Continental Agency this fall."
That caught me completely offguard.
Internships were usually only for year 20s and 21s. "Seriously?" I asked in disbelief.
She smiled. "That's right."
I bowed my head slightly. "Thank you. Really."
She leaned back in her chair. "Well, I'm guessing you might have some other questions you'd like to ask."
I hesitated, then decided there was no
point in pretending I didn't. "You know, I don't really understand why you only appear publicly once a decade. I mean, I get the explanation but I don't think it's a good one"
Ms. Roxanne took a sip of her wine, seemingly lost in thought. "The Continental
workload alone is enough to drown most people. Add collegiate affairs to that,
and…" She shook her head. "I've been gone for a week, and I already have mountains of paperwork waiting."
"Still," I said carefully, "Most students
barely know you, and yet you shape their lives in ways they'll never see. Heck, I didn't even know what you looked like four days ago. Maybe sharing the burden would help. Get some assistants, maybe try taking a lesser role, and try visiting the colleges once in a while. It doesn't have to be all at once, something like a tour each year makes sense."
For a long moment she said nothing. Then
she nodded slowly. "You're right. Although, I have to admit after centuries of doing this mostly by myself, I'm still a bit skeptical."
"It can't be helped," I said, "But just like a friend once told me, small steps go a long way…or something like that."
She smiled again, softer this time. "You've
got quite the student Flores. Very interesting."
"Don't praise him too much," Ms. Flores
said, checking her phone. "His head gets inflated easily."
I squinted at her while Ms. Roxanne
laughed.
"I look forward to seeing you again, Darmian," she said, inclining her head.
"Me too," I said, waving as Ms. Flores
guided me away. I glanced back one last time to see her watching me.
As we climbed down the stairs, I let out a
long sigh, slowing my breath.
"You alright?" Ms. Flores asked, raising
her eyebrows.
"I'm fine. That was…intense," I said
slowly, my head still spinning.
When we got to the ground floor, Ms. Flores chuckled, shaking her head. "Wonder what took him so long."
I turned my head in her direction, and that
was when I saw him. He leaned casually against one of the marble columns near
the edge of the hall, hands in his pockets, looking way too relaxed for someone who had been missing the entire tournament.
I stopped short. "You've got to be kidding
me."
Mr. Sebastian looked up and broke into a
wide grin as we approached. "Ah, there he is. The man of the hour!"
"Where the hell have you been?" I asked,
staring at him. "You vanished before we even left!"
He placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. "No compliments first? No, 'Hey, Mr. Sebastian, you're looking pretty good'?"
I scoffed. "I'm pretty sure you got plenty of
compliments from the waiters during your vacation in Ibiza while we were out here
bleeding."
He laughed, deep and easy. "I wish. Sun,
sand and drinks with tiny umbrellas doesn't sound too bad actually. Unfortunately—"
his eyes flicked briefly to Ms. Flores, "—I was busy handling something important."
She met his look without blinking. He
sighed theatrically and reached into his coat pockets. "Since I'm apparently on trial, I suppose I should present my evidence." He pulled something out and held it up.
It was an orb. Roughly the size of a
tennis ball, and perfectly smooth. The surface was pale gray, which seemed dull
rather than reflective.
I frowned. "What's that?"
Without answering, he passed it to Ms.
Flores. She weighed it in her palm for a moment, then turned and placed it in my hands. I felt the cold the instant my fingers closed around it.
"This is yours now," she said.
I looked at her, then Mr. Sebastian and
back at her again. "Mine how?"
"Think of it like a keepsake," she replied
calmly. "Something to remember the tournament by."
"So…it's a souvenir?" I asked.
"Yes."
I waited for the joke, but it didn't come.
Her expression was serious. "Don't let it out of your sight. Ever."
I laughed uneasily. "You're kidding."
She wasn't. Mr. Sebastian shrugged beside her once I stared at him. "Don't look at me, I'm just the delivery guy. Ask your teacher."
I sighed, slipping it carefully into my
pocket. "All right, all right. I'll babysit your oversized marble."
"Not mine," she corrected. "Yours."
"Sure," I said snarkily.
"Good. Now go. The play is about to start," she said shooing me away.
I walked back toward the table where
Henry, Scott, Zoë, Marcus and Mackenzie were seated as the lights in the hall dimmed, and the curtain at the front of the stage began to rise.
The Frostville drama club took the stage
and began their performance shortly after. The play was about the role of the vampires
in North America during the Cold War. Secret alliances, forced compromises and
choices that history remembered only in small details. It was solemn and heavy, but unbelievably entertaining. By the time the curtain fell nearly forty minutes later, the hall was quiet, the applause slow at first, then rising into something deep and respectful. It really was a brilliant drama.
When the stage cleared, the screens
behind changed. Award Presentation appeared in tall gleaming letters. I rubbed my hands excitedly as the Frostville principal once again stepped onto the stage
with some other officials holding the plaques about to be presented. It was almost time.
Jessica Monroe from Kingsreed and Wilson were called first, sharing the best performer award for the mental aspect, finishing with perfect scores. Both of them rose from their tables to warm applause as they received the award. I winked at Wilson as he walked past our table while he grinned
at me.
"Best performer, round of thirty-two. Henry Shackleford!"
He froze for half a second before we
shoved him out of his chair. Laughing, he jogged to the stage, shaking hands as he went. He accepted the reward with a toothy grin, posed for pictures, and returned while we took turns holding his award.
Round of sixteen went to Frostville's Albert Caret and Annie Tweed for their tug-of-war performance. Quarterfinals went to
Diego Cortez from Noctis for his pole vaulting. Semifinals to Kingsreed's Zack Lowe and Greg Fern for their 1600m run.
And then…
"Best performer in the finals, Darmian!"
I rose smoothly, walking towards the stage
as everyone began chanting my name with
wild applause. I received the award, shook the principal and took some pictures. The plaque was spectacular. It was made out of glass and had my name engraved boldly alongside the date, the opponent school and the CVC emblem. After I had taken enough pictures, I stood aside, waiting for the main event.
"And finally! The winners of the 68th
edition of the Continental Vampire Competition, Crescent College!!"
Another round of applause began as Zoë, Marcus, Henry, Mackenzie and Scott all stepped onto the stage. Ms. Flores and Mr.
Sebastian also appeared out of nowhere standing beside us.
"Hey!" Scott whispered. "When did he get
here?"
"Not now Scott, just smile and wave," Mr.
Sebastian whispered back as the camera flashed from all angles.
The Queen joined us on the stage just as the trophy was wheeled out. God, it was beautiful. It was pure gold, tall and flawless with a surface polished to perfection. Its edges were soft and instantly captivated everyone's attention. The trophy was a real work of art. And it was ours.
Ms. Roxanne shook each of us before
facing Henry and offering him the microphone. He took it…then immediately
pressed it into my palm.
"You've got this," he said, proudly.
My breath caught as I stepped forward, the weight of the moment pressing down on
my chest. "Hey…everyone," I said breathlessly, then paused to steady myself. "I want to thank everyone here. Every college and every student because none of this happens without us pushing each other to be better."
The crowd quieted.
"This week, this tournament really, has
been one of the best weeks of my life. Not just because we won, but because each one of us was crazy enough to show up and give everything we had. And if I'm being honest, most of you guys had a lot to give.
A few people nodded, while others laughed softly.
I glanced back at my team. "I know not
everyone leaves with a trophy or an award. But something I learned, even though it was hard to accept, was that competition is never just about winning. It's about effort, risk, fun and everything in between. I couldn't have done this without my team. Their hard work and sacrifice are what made this possible. It's what carried us all the way to the end, and I can proudly say now: this trophy belongs to Crescent College!"
The crowd roared, but I fixed my gaze on
the cameras recording me. "Somewhere out there, or even right here in this hall there might be a vampire kid who isn't sure if himself. Who thinks getting to this level is
impossible. But if you're dedicated enough, if you're stubborn enough, you can
achieve something great. Never doubt your abilities."
I grinned. "Just do it."
Laughter rippled through the hall,
followed by a standing ovation as we closed in around our trophy together, hands overlapping as we lifted it high. The cheers were deafening, filling my ears until it was all I could hear.
"CRESCENT! CRESCENT! CRESCENT!"
In that moment, nothing mattered anymore. The orb in my pocket, the voices in my head, the future waiting beyond this
night. There was only the trophy above us. And the noise. And the tears and smiles plastered on our faces as confetti sprayed everywhere, lights flashing and music overwhelming us.
Just this once, this night was ours.