Asher's scars burned. "I knew I haven't been overseeing things,you've been watching me?" rage flaring.
"What do you want with me!" The prefect grabbed Asher's wrist, pulling up his sleeve to reveal the glowing scars. "I've seen these marks before." His eyes widened, half-scared, half-awed.
Asher yanked free, covering his arm, heart pounding. "that's none of ur business!"
The prefect pulled out a photo, its details hidden in the dim light, but it hit Asher like a punch. "How did you get that?" he demanded, voice shaking.
The prefect's lips twitched, a sly smile.
"Jumpy, Rook? Meet me at midnight, observatory. These walls can't keep secrets."
He softened, a hand on Asher's shoulder. "I'm not the enemy."
He slipped out, the badge's glint lingering like a threat.
The tiles stilled. The clock ticked on. Asher's scars burned, the photo's mystery searing his mind.
The courtyard buzzed with students, the sundial's shadow stretching like a gaping mouth.
Prefects handed out watches, their Chronothite cores humming like angry bees.
A prefect's voice carried over the crowd: "These watches use Chronothite to limit your powers, keeping them stable so you don't hurt anyone or yourself.
You try to use them,wait and see what happens next" Asher's watch clamped onto his wrist, cold and heavy, dulling his rewind power but making his scars burn hotter, like they were fighting the restraint.
The photo's mystery gnawed at him, a secret he couldn't share.
Rowan appeared, his watch gleaming, pocket watch ticking too loud. "Leashed like dogs, huh, Rook?" His grin was strained, eyes flicking to the sundial as if it stared back.
Asher leaned close, voice low.
"A prefect cornered me in the bathroom. He wants me to meet him at midnight."
Rowan's grin vanished, his hand gripping Asher's arm, hard enough to bruise. "That's bullshit, Rook. Your not going,are you?
What's his name?" Asher froze, realizing he didn't know.
Rowan pressed, voice sharp."He's trouble. You go, you're done. From what I know the academy eats people who dig too deep."
Asher pulled free, scars burning under the watch. "He knows something, Rowan. I need answers." His voice shook, the photo's weight heavy.
Rowan stepped closer, eyes dark. "People vanish, Asher. Don't be stupid."
He pointed to the sundial, its shadow like teeth. "That thing's hungry."
Asher's heart pounded, the photo and eleven names flashing in his mind. "You don't know him," he said, but Rowan's fear shook him.
Rowan's grip softened, his grin weak.
"Who's gonna save your butt in Hale's class if you disappear, Rook?"
Asher forced a laugh, tension easing. "You'd just cheat off someone else work." Rowan snorted. "Damn right."
But his watch ticked louder, and the sundial's shadow seemed to follow as they walked away.
Later in the night, the academy was quiet and peaceful, the sounds of crickets were the only thing heard,everyone was fast asleep.
Asher jolted awake, a scream caught in his throat, the nightmare's echoes fading—eleven shadows bleeding into darkness, their names burned into his mind.
His scars glowed white, casting jagged light across the dorm's walls, the hum of Chronothite buzzing like a distant storm.
Rowan slept across the room, his pocket watch ticking faintly, unaware.
Asher sat up, heart pounding, the prefect's photo searing his thoughts.
He traced his scars, their heat urging him toward answers, toward something bigger than the academy's lies.
He slipped on his jacket, the letter's words—Midnight. Observatory—pulling him like a tide,he sat on his bed as he gazed to the outside,still deciding if he should go to the observatory or lay back and force himself back to sleep.
Outside, the night was thick, the observatory's spires black against a starless sky.
Asher stood near its entrance, the cold biting his skin, scars pulsing under his sleeve.
The hum grew louder, like whispers trapped in the walls.
He pushed open the heavy door, the creak echoing like a warning. Inside, shadows danced across telescopes and star charts, the air heavy with dust and something older, something alive.
A figure stepped from the darkness—cloaked in dark blue, the prefect's Ouroboros badge glinting like a predator's eye.
A girl stood beside him, her pale eyes catching the moonlight, unsettling and cold. Asher bristled, fists clenching. "You said alone."
The prefect raised a hand, voice calm but urgent. "We're safe here, Rook. I'm Morgan."
He gestured to a hidden panel behind a bookshelf, revealing a secret room lit by a single flickering bulb.
Shelves lined the walls, stuffed with dusty books and forbidden files. Asher hesitated, the girl's stare making his scars itch, but Morgan's nod was steady, almost kind.
"Come on. You want answers, don't you?"
Asher followed, heart racing, the promise of truth outweighing his doubt.
The room felt too small, the hum louder, like it came from the walls themselves.
Morgan pulled out a photo—eleven people, their faces blurred, erased from history. "I found this in the academy's secret library," he said, voice low, eyes haunted.
"Whatever is happening now, the academy, the time cancer it all started with them—the Eleven.
They were the first, and they're gone."
Asher's head ached, a faint pain sparking as he stared at the photo.
"What's this got to do with me?" His voice was sharp, but his scars burned, urging him to listen.
Morgan pointed to one figure, scars like Asher's etched on their arm.
A sharper pain stabbed Asher's brain, a memory he couldn't grasp, like a door slamming shut.
He traced his scars, another jolt making him flinch, but he kept his face steady, hiding the discomfort. "Who is he?" he asked, voice tight.
"No name," Morgan said, his tone heavy with something like pity.
"But nobody has scars like yours, Rook.
They're different, dangerous and If the academy should find out, you're gone." He leaned closer, eyes earnest. "I want to help you and you to help me."
Asher's eyes narrowed, doubt creeping in.
"Why? And if you want me to help you, I need to know I can trust you.You are going to be honest with me and tell me how you got that photo you showed me, earlier today?"
Morgan hesitated, glancing at the girl.
She spoke, her voice soft but firm. "Tell him the truth, Morgan."
He exhaled, shoulders slumping. "My power digs into memories, prints them like a camera, I can manipulate them,but only for a short period of time.
I saw someone you care about, Rook, someone deep in your head. I made that photo to get your attention."
Asher's chest tightened, a sting of betrayal cutting deep. "You messed with my mind? I thought I could trust you." He stepped back, ready to leave, scars burning hotter.
Morgan's voice stopped him, raw and broken. "You are not the only one who came here searching, Rook, I came for my sister, the only family I have.
She was strong, stronger than me, but she never made it out.
The academy says she was culled, but there's no record of her—not even as erased,I've searched.
I hear her voice sometimes, calling me, leading me to secrets." His hands shook, eyes distant.
"She brought me here, to this room, to that photo of the Eleven,she helped me find you.
There's something bigger going on, something the academy's hiding."
Morgan raised his hand, and an image formed in the air—a glowing gate, pulsing with unnatural light, its edges jagged like a wound in the world.
Asher stared, pain stabbing his head again, his scars glowing brighter, as if answering the gate's call.
He stumbled, the girl catching his arm, her touch cold but steady. "You're different, Rook," Morgan said, voice urgent. "Your scars—they're tied to this, to the Eleven, to whatever the academy's protecting."
Asher's heart raced, the pain fading but leaving a spark of hope.
Morgan's words, his sister's story, the gate—it all felt like a path to answers, to understanding why his scars burned, why he felt like he didn't belong.
"Help me," he said, voice barely a whisper, the weight of trust settling in his chest. "I need to know what I am, I've always had a bad feeling about this scars,I want to get rid of them."
Morgan nodded, a flicker of relief in his eyes.
"We'll figure it out, Rook. Together." The girl's pale eyes softened, almost human.
Asher felt it then—a surge of hope, like the truth was close, like Morgan could unravel the mystery of his scars and the Eleven.
A noise echoed, sharp and wrong, like footsteps dragging through time. Morgan tensed, his badge glinting.
"Someone's here. Go, now!" The girl grabbed Asher's arm, pulling him toward the door. "Tomorrow, midnight," Morgan hissed. "Don't tell anyone."
The girl escorted Asher out, her silence heavy but protective.
As they slipped through the observatory's shadows, Asher's mind raced. Morgan's story, the gate, the Eleven—it all pointed to something bigger, something that could explain his scars, his purpose.
For the first time, he felt like answers were within reach, like he wasn't alone in this cursed place.
He sneaked back to his dorm, scars still warm, and slept with a fragile hope blooming in his chest, dreaming of a truth that could set him free.
The next morning, the cafeteria was quiet, the clocks frozen at 11:00, their hands trembling like they knew what was coming.
The intercom crackled, a voice cold and flat:
"Prefect Morgan was found dead at the clocktower, hanged in the night." A gasp rippled through the room, trays clattering. "A warning was carved beside him: It listens before it eats."
The hum of Chronothite surged, loud as a scream, and the air turned heavy, like the academy itself was watching.
Asher's scars burned, his hope collapsing like ash. Morgan's face, his promise of answers, flashed in his mind, now silenced by a death that felt too deliberate, too cruel.
Fear gripped the students, whispers spreading like wildfire, the carved warning echoing in Asher's head, a chilling promise of something lurking, listening, waiting to strike.