Headmaster Faruq cradled the unconscious child in his arms as they made their way to the infirmary. The female students couldn't help but steal glances at him, their whispers and murmurs trailing in their wake. As they passed, their eyes lingered on him, drawn to the enigmatic presence that seemed to surround him like an aura.
He towered over the others, his tall, athletic build evident even under his formal attire. His eyes, a piercing grey, seemed to hold a hint of the ethereal – the whites had a milky film, like a veil of frost, yet his pupils still shone through, faint and haunting, like embers of a dying flame and that of a dead being. A chain-like tattoo sprawled across his skin, the detailed design weaving a narrative of its own. His sharp jawline and chiseled features seemed carved from granite, accentuated by a subtle stubble that added a hint of ruggedness. His full lips curved into a gentle, enigmatic smile, and his dark hair was styled in a way that framed his face, drawing attention to his striking features. Despite him being of a surreal age, his features retained a youthful allure, a paradoxical blend of wisdom and vitality that made him both captivating and unnerving.
As they arrived at the infirmary, the unconscious boy slowly regained consciousness, though he remained weak. His body felt scorching hot, and his head throbbed with pain, prompting soft groans as he placed his left hand on his forehead, indicating the source of his discomfort. Headmaster Faruq quickened his pace, gently laying the boy on the clinic bed to receive treatment.
"You'll be just fine," he reassured the child, his voice soothing as he patted his forehead.
With a nod, he gestured to the teacher standing beside him, instructing her to escort the other children to their dormitory, as school hours had ended and classes would be postponed.
As the teacher led the way, the children followed her to the dormitory, a designated space where they would keep their belongings and live during their time at the academy. With school hours over, students of all shapes and sizes poured out, rushing towards their dorms. Some lingered in corners, chatting with friends, while others went straight to their rooms, lost in thought.
The academy, on the surface, resembled an ordinary school: lecture hours, age-based classes, and boarding houses for students and staff. However, it was far from ordinary. The students here were unlike any others – they were cursed children, burdened with inflictions that brought them pain and posed a threat to the world around them. This academy was their sanctuary, a place where they could learn to control their curses and live in a safe, constrained environment.
As they arrived at their dorm, the boys were greeted by a cacophony of sounds and a pungent aroma that hung heavy in the air. Some male students were already lounging around, having returned from school earlier, and the room reeked of sweat and masculinity. Belongings and properties were scattered haphazardly everywhere, with clothes strewn about, books piled high, and personal items cluttering every available surface. The students were noisy, roaming around with abandon, tossing things carelessly, and engaging in loud conversations that added to the din. The sight was overwhelming, a chaotic mess that seemed to assault the senses.
The boy who had controlled his curse earlier without a restrainer let out a heavy sigh, his face twisted in a mixture of disgust and depression. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the disarray and the raucous atmosphere, and it was clear he wasn't prepared for this kind of life. The reality of his situation was far worse than his expectations, and the weight of it all seemed to bear down on him.
Anon, on the other hand, stood quietly, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the room. Despite his furtive nature, it seemed as though he was prepared for the worst, his demeanor a mask that hid his true feelings. He spotted an empty bunk bed at the far end of the large room, tucked away in a corner, and made his way towards it with purpose, ignoring the commotion around him. He gestured to the teacher, who had helped carry their belongings, to drop them off near his new spot, his movements economical and precise.As he navigated through the room, avoiding eye contact, the male students watched him with interest.
"Hey nerd," one of them jeered, his voice dripping with mockery. Another student pushed him roughly as he tried to reach his desired bunk, and the others erupted into laughter, their scorn and ridicule hanging in the air. Anon didn't flinch, unfazed by their insolence. He was accustomed to being belittled by his peers, especially the males, who seemed to take pleasure in mocking those they deemed weaker.
Meanwhile, the other child turned to the teacher, his face etched with frustration and pain. His eyes pleaded for help, his expression a silent scream for respite from the hellish environment. The teacher's response was unexpected – a gentle smile accompanied by the enigmatic words, "Face the darkness." Her tone was calm, almost soothing, but the words themselves sent a shiver down the spine.
As he entered the room, he was met with a collective indifference. The students were too engrossed in their own conversations, laughter, and roughhousing to bother with a new face, and this lack of attention was a welcome relief to him. He had intended to join Anon at his bunk, to perhaps find some solace in the quiet, reserved boy's company, but another student caught his eye, signaling him to come over instead.
The student, with a mop of messy hair and a wide, toothy grin, bounced up and down on his bed, his eyes fixed intently on him. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm. The kid's response was monosyllabic, his voice laced with a mixture of disgust and frustration. "Faustin," he muttered, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for an escape route.
The student's grin never wavered, his interest in Faustin seemingly piqued. "And what's your curse?" he asked, his voice filled with a morbid curiosity. Faustin didn't respond, his gaze drifting around the room instead, taking in the cluttered bunks, the scattered belongings, and the rowdy students. His face remained twisted in disgust, as if the very surroundings were repulsive to him. The student's eyes lingered on Faustin, awaiting a response that never came.
Faustin dragged his box of belongings to the bunk Enid had signaled him to join, the worn-out wheels scraping against the floor as he struggled to maneuver it into place. Enid opened the large cupboard alongside the bunk, its creaky door swinging open to reveal a cluttered space filled with books, clothes, and miscellaneous items. Faustin awkwardly stuffed the box into the cupboard, trying not to unpack the contents. He was too exhausted, frustrated, and disappointed to muster the energy to organize his belongings. The weight of his situation was bearing down on him, and every little task felt like a monumental challenge.
As he struggled to fit the box in, Faustin turned to Enid and asked, "And what's your name?" Enid's grin still plastered on his face, replied, "I'm Enid." Faustin's gaze locked onto Enid's, his eyes burning with intensity. "Alright, Enid, what's the plan?" he asked, his tone serious and laced with a hint of desperation. He was counting on Enid to provide some sort of lifeline, some way to escape the chaos that had engulfed his life.
Enid's expression turned quizzical, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What plan?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement. Faustin's response was deadpan, his voice low and even. "The escape plan, of course. How does one get out of here?" Enid's face contorted in laughter, tears streaming down his cheeks as he doubled over, holding his stomach in mock agony. "There is no escape plan," he jeered, still chuckling. "We've come to stay," he concluded, his laughter abruptly replaced by a somber tone that sent a chill down Faustin's spine.
Faustin's demeanor plummeted, his frustration and despair intensifying at Enid's response. His eyes seemed to cloud over, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he felt the weight of his situation crushing him. He had been holding onto the hope that there might be a way out, some secret passage or hidden door that would allow him to escape the hellhole he found himself in. But Enid's words dashed those hopes, leaving him feeling lost and helpless.