"You'll see soon, for now, let's eat," Nova said, his voice still somber.
"I have no money to eat," Bishie complained,
Will, still glued to the screen of his phone, didn't even look up as he interjected, "You don't eat the money; you eat the food."
"Will, shut up," Nova said, not unkindly. He pressed a button with his finger, the action a seamless extension of his will. "Bring us the usuals and an extra dish of pho."
Bishie, emboldened by Nova's nonchalant attitude, asked, "The lady was telling me you have a lot of funding, but where and what do you get it from?" He pointed to Gala as she snarled at him.
The question hung in the air, thick and heavy, like a cloud of unspoken tension. A sudden, profound silence fell over the table, just as it had on the way to the restaurant. The only sounds were the blaring, synthesized chimes from Ruby and Will's phones, a jarring, almost violent interruption to the stillness.
Nova sighed, a sound of weary resignation. He set his chopsticks down with a gentle click. "Let's talk about something else. My friends were telling me you think the Hu race is the greatest race?"
Bishie's face lit up, his earlier bravado returning. "The one and only," he answered rapidly, a wide smile spreading across his face.
Nova's irritation bled through his relaxed demeanor. "You know there are more races than just us Hu's, right?"
"No, there's only one race, and that's Hu. Anything else is just demons trying to trick us by changing their forms," Bishie grew slightly louder, his voice ringing with the conviction of a well-taught lesson.
"Alright, what makes you think that?" Nova asked, his tone deceptively calm.
"Well, my aunt and uncle said so," Bishie replied, the simple, honest answer revealing the foundation of his belief.
"Uh huh," was all Nova said in response.
By the time those two words left Nova's mouth, two waiters stood in front of the booth. Nine meals were waiting to be served, an impossible feat in the small space. Like meerkats, all the mages tilted their heads up and stared in the direction of the food.
As the waiters served the eight mages, Bishie tugged on Nova's cloak, his voice a low, urgent whisper. "I know I already asked, but seriously, who are you guys?"
Nova, who had been adoring his food, decided to answer Bishie's question. "If you must know, we are just eight students with a lot of money to burn. Our mission is to go out and eat at all the restaurants in the institution!"
The rest of the sect students nodded along, staring at Bishie, their gazes a collective, unsettling weight. Bishie felt a palpable sense of wickedness in the air, a chilling undercurrent beneath their calm exteriors. It was a mask of deception so expertly crafted it almost felt real. He had never felt anything so profoundly unsettling before.
He wanted to get away from the students, the eerie strangeness of this entire situation stretching his suspicions thin. Before he could even command his body to move, the silent war between his mind and his physical form was already in full swing. He tried to stand, to sprint from the table, to do anything, but he didn't even manage to leave his seat, an invisible pressure holding him down. "My body," he whispered to himself, the words a desperate, barely audible plea catching in his throat.
He started to waver, his vision blurring, jumping in and out of consciousness. With every blink, his head swayed back and forth, a helpless, pendulum-like motion. He kept periodically jolting himself awake, fighting the creeping darkness, until he finally passed out and hit the table. The sharp clatter of his head against the wood was a stark, final punctuation to the silence.
Bishie woke up to the heavy, comforting scent of old paper and wood. He was in a vast room, its walls completely lined with books from the floor to the high ceiling. "A library?" he mumbled, his head throbbing with a dull ache. He was lying on a large, polished wooden table, and when he tried to move, he felt that twine held him down, his wrists and ankles pulled taut to each corner of the table.
A door in front of him opened, and a boy in a green cloak walked out, a sterile white clipboard held loosely in his hand. He flipped through some pages and read, "Male, Bishie Kook, Scholar of Runes, 12 years old. Is that information correct?"
Bishie's heart hammered at his chest, trying to break free. I can barely see, and how did they know that?
The boy walked closer. Bishie recognized him as Ian.
Ian, as if hearing his thoughts, looked up from the clipboard with a knowing smile. "I can read minds, that's how I know. And thank you for confirming."
Ian cut the binds by the knots, freeing Bishie.
As any mentally stable 12 year old would do, he immediately started screaming and ran for his life, making a break for the door Ian had come through.
But he didn't get far. In fact, he didn't really get anywhere. It was like an invisible force held him down, a silent, unyielding hand pressing against his back. Just then, a woman in a light grey cloak stepped into the room, her hand slightly away from her body as if telling him to stop.
A soft smile appeared on her face, "This won't help, but calm down." Bishie obviously didn't calm down and struggled against the force.
The woman in the cloak spoke once more, her voice as soft as her smile. "My name is Wisdom, and I know you're scared, but we need your help, Bishie."
Bishie's eyes were wide with terror. He looked from face to face, trying to find a flicker of recognition, a hint of kindness. "Who are you people?" he choked out, his voice hoarse. "What do you want from me?"
Nova, who had been standing at the behind Bishie stepped into sight.
His usual laid-back demeanor was gone, replaced by a serious, almost malicious expression that sent a shiver down Bishie's spine. "We're not here to hurt you, Bishie. We're here because we need your assistance."
"That's what all the bad guys say!" Bishie's struggling intensified. "Let me go! I'll tell the authorities!"
Wisdom let out a small, almost imperceptible snicker, but before Bishie could even notice her faltering composure, she quickly composed herself, her face returning to its serene mask.
Wisdom walked closer to the table, her steps silent on the wooden floor. "Bishie, please listen." She paused, letting the words sink in. "Our friend, his name was Nikola, he's dead now, and you're someone who could help bring him back."
Bishie's mind reeled. "This is exactly what my aunt and uncle told me about. They said demon trickery was ingrained in this school's history! Trans-Dims don't belong in this world!"
Wisdom sighed, her gaze hardened, not with anger but with a profound, almost ancient sorrow. "That belief… it's a seed planted by fear, nurtured by isolation. It's an easy truth to cling to when the world feels too big, too different."
Wisdom continued, "You're a kid; you don't understand much of anything, so I'll keep this short and sweet before I pop you like a balloon." She pushed him to the ceiling and held him there without the intent to put him down anytime soon.
"You have a unique ability, Bishie," Ian interjected, gesturing to the clipboard in his hand. "Your innate ability to learn runes so quickly is not to be overlooked."
Bishie, "I don't believe you! You're the demons! You're trying to trick me!"
"We are not demons, Bishie. We are just like you. Students of Grimsnow, just like you've been for the past three months."
"Do students always kidnap each other?" Bishie asked sarcastically, staring at everyone from the ceiling with an annoyed smile.
"We were chosen, too, but we came willingly and didn't ask so many damn questions." She gestured to the others peering in through the door frame, "That's Ruby, and next to her is Will. Then there's Sam and Ourania. And you already know Maram, Ian, Gala, and Nova." The mages all gave a small nod or a gentle smile.
Nova stepped forward again, leaning himself against the table. "Wisdom, put him down." She obliged, setting the boy on the table. "Bishie, listen to me. You're not leaving this place until you help us, so the sooner you can assist us, the sooner you'll go back to student life." The rest of the mages entered the room, surrounding the table.
"Why me?"
Ian looked at him with a stoic gaze. "You're a scholar, Bishie, and clearly nobody else here is."
Bishie slowly stopped struggling, his eyes darting between the faces of the mages. Knowing that they won't let him go, Bishie complied with a sigh, "What do I have to do."