Lira pushed open the heavy wooden door to the academy's clinic, the faint creak echoing in the quiet hallway.
The air hit her like a wave, sharp with the clean sting of antiseptic mixed with the earthy tang of dried herbs—rosemary, thyme, and something sweeter, maybe chamomile.
The small room felt warm, almost cozy, despite its stark purpose. Shelves lined the stone walls, crammed with glass bottles of colored liquids, rolls of bandages, and neatly labeled jars glinting under the soft glow of brass lamps that hung from the ceiling.
A narrow bed sat in one corner, its white sheets crisp, while a wooden bench pressed against the opposite wall, worn smooth by years of nervous students.
At the center, an elderly woman named Nina was tending to a young girl, no older than twelve, whose knee was swollen and bruised, a purple patch blooming under her pale skin.
Nina's hands moved gently, dabbing a creamy salve onto the injury, her voice murmuring soft reassurances as the girl winced.
Lira lingered near the door, her head pounding with a dull, relentless ache, as if the vision from the greenhouse was still clawing at her skull.
Nina glanced up, catching Lira's gaze.
Her eyes were kind but sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses, her white hair pulled into a tight bun that gleamed like silver in the lamplight. "I'll be with you in a moment, dear," she said, her voice warm, like a grandmother soothing a frightened child.
She handed the girl a lollipop from a jar on her desk. "Off you go now. Keep that knee clean."
The girl nodded, limping out with a shy smile, the door swinging shut behind her.
Nina turned to Lira, wiping her hands on a cloth tucked into her apron.
"Come here, child. What's wrong?" Her tone was gentle but firm, inviting no nonsense.
Lira stepped forward, her boots scuffing the stone floor. "My head hurts," she said, "Really bad."
Nina gestured to the bench. "Sit." She moved closer, her cool hand pressing against Lira's forehead, her touch light but steady, like she was feeling for more than just fever.
"What happened to make it hurt this much?"
"It started when I was watering plants in the greenhouse," she lied, her voice low.
"Maybe I'm just stressed."
Nina's eyes narrowed slightly, but her smile didn't waver.
She reached for a small key-like device hanging from a chain around her neck, its surface etched with faint Ouroboros carvings that seemed to shimmer in the light.
She took Lira's wrist, her fingers gentle but firm, and unlocked the Chrono watch strapped to it.
A soft click echoed, and a wave of relief washed over Lira, the pain in her head easing like a tight knot loosening.
"It's helping," Lira said, surprised, her voice softer now. "But it's not all gone."
Nina nodded, turning to a shelf and pulling out a small vial containing a single white pill.
"Take this with water from the dispenser over there," she said, pointing to a metal machine in the corner, its spout dripping slowly. "It'll fix you up soon."
Lira walked to the dispenser, her steps slow, the cold water splashing into a tin cup.
She swallowed the pill, the bitter taste lingering as the water cooled her throat.
She returned to the bench, sitting heavily.
"Was it the watch causing the headache?" she asked, glancing at the Chrono watch, its face now dark.
Nina shook her head, setting the key device down.
"No, child. The watch is safe unless you use Chrono powers. It would've done worse than a headache if you had."
"I didn't use any powers," Lira said quickly, her voice firm, almost defensive.
Nina's smile grew, her eyes twinkling with a knowing glint. "But you had a vision, didn't you?"
Lira froze, her breath catching like a fishhook in her chest. "How… how did you know?"
Nina leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, as if the walls might overhear.
"When I touched your forehead, I saw it. A flash of what you saw—black fire, a figure, strange writing. I have time-cancer too, Lira.
Been here 50 years, stayed to help students like you who carry its weight."
Lira's heart raced, her hands gripping the bench's edge. "You saw Darel in the vision.
Can I trust him?" Her voice was urgent, almost pleading, the question burning since her argument with him in the greenhouse.
Nina's expression softened, but her eyes were thoughtful, distant. "I didn't see enough of him to say. Just glimpses—his face, his voice. But let me tell you a story."
She sat across from Lira, folding her hands in her lap. "There was a boy, let's use A, with two friends, B and C. It's a stupid story, but listen.
When A tripped over a rock, C laughed and teased him, but B helped him up, dusted him off, and checked if he was okay.
When A needed food or a favor, C made jokes, but B always gave what he could, no questions asked.
B said kind things about A, while C's words were playful, sometimes sharp. A trusted B more, felt closer to him, but he still laughed with C.
Then, one day, A was in big trouble—shamed in front of everyone, his secrets spilled for the world to judge.
He needed a friend to stand by him. C stayed, faced the crowd with him.
B slipped away, hid in the mob, and whispered against A with the others."
Lira shook her head, her brow furrowing. "That's not how it works in real life. Friends don't just turn like that."
Nina's smile widened, her eyes crinkling.
"Real life isn't always the truth, child. Sometimes the friend who seems quiet, loyal, is in the background for a reason. And sometimes, the enemy is closer than you think—right by your side, smiling."
Lira leaned forward, her voice tight. "So, can I trust Darel or not?"
Nina's gaze was steady, unyielding.
"That's for you to decide, Lira. Trust your own heart, but keep your eyes open." She stood, turning to tidy her desk, leaving Lira staring at the flickering lamplight, her mind spinning with doubt and fear.
The clinic felt smaller now, the walls pressing in, the air heavy with the weight of Nina's words.
Theo's dorm was a cluttered cave tucked at the end of a dim hallway, its door scratched and faded from years of use.
Inside, the walls were plastered with star charts and hand-drawn Chronothite diagrams, their lines curling like the Ouroboros symbol that haunted the academy.
Books teetered in messy stacks on a wooden desk, their spines cracked from heavy use, while an unmade bed sat shoved against a small window, its rumpled blankets spilling onto the floor.
The air carried the musty scent of old paper mixed with a faint trace of sandalwood incense, a stick burned down to ash in a clay holder.
The window let in slants of gray light from the quadrangle, where the clocktower's shadow loomed, its ticking faint but ever-present, like a heartbeat in the walls.
Theo locked the door with a soft click, his bruised lip twitching as he crossed to his wardrobe.
His glasses slipped down his nose, and he pushed them up with a shaky hand, his swollen eyes darting nervously.
He rummaged through a coat pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper, its edges worn and creased, but he didn't hand it to them.
Theo paced the small room, his boots scuffing the worn rug, his voice low and urgent.
"Last night, I got jumped by some year 4 seniors. They beat me up—left these bruises—and locked me in a cupboard in the observatory.
Asher nodded, his scars itching under his sleeve. "That noise was you?"
"Yeah," Theo said, pausing to adjust his glasses. "I hid and saw you with Elara. Thought you guys were, you know, together or something."
Rowan burst into laughter, the sound sharp in the cramped space. Asher groaned, his face flushing. "Seriously, man? That's what you thought?"
Theo waved a hand, his voice rushing on.
"Forget that. I heard Morgan's voice after, talking to no one, like he was in a trance. I thought maybe you and Elara did something to him, he was going somewhere,like something ,I couldn't see was directing him, I followed him, curious, keeping to the shadows.
He went to the clocktower, stopped there like he was waiting for someone.
Not long after, it appeared…
I could barely tell or see if it was a human or not.
It was all shadow and Its presence filled the atmosphere.I could feel it.
Rowan leaned forward, his grin gone. "You mean its Aura."
Theo nodded, his face pale. "Exactly.
Even my chrono-watch could feel it,to tell you how heavy it was—made it beep like crazy.
But when I looked at Morgan, he didn't even flinch, like he'd seen it before. They were talking—well, Morgan was, the thing just… stood there.
Then I saw Morgan he was making something behind his back—three small flat squares, glowing faintly, like they were made of Chronothite.
His hands were bleeding,I think. The shadow noticed it, and it got angry and that was when It ripped out one of Morgan's eyes, threw him to the ground like he was nothing."
Asher's stomach churned, his voice barely a whisper. "What happened next?"
Theo's hands shook as he continued.
"Morgan didn't fight back.
Still on the ground, he used his powers to write a message, carving it into the air. It got the shadow thing madder, it tried to grab the note, but Morgan made it disappear, all of a sudden the note was in front of me.
Morgan turned to me. It got me so scared, I thought I was going to die next but he said something, he called your name.
Just when I didn't expect it.
It killed him—fast, brutal.
It levitated his body to the top of the clocktower, using the bell ropes to wrap his neck to keep him hanging.
And it wrote that message on the wall in his blood: It listens before it eats."
Asher's eyes widened, his heart racing.
"How did you get away from that thing?"
Theo sank onto a chair, his voice trembling. "I was hiding, crying, thinking I was next. Its aura got stronger, I felt like it could see me, even in the dark. But it left after Morgan was dead."
Rowan pointed to the note in his hand. "So, what's this note about? what does it say?"
Theo's gaze locked on the paper, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I know I saw Morgan make it, right before he died. It's got to mean something—something he didn't want that shadow to have."
"What do you mean?" Asher asked,like a curious whisper.
Theo then opened the note and showed it to them
Bold and straightforward, looking into their eyes, he said...
"It's blank"
The room grew quiet, the blank note lying heavy in his hands, its emptiness a puzzle wrapped in fear.
The clocktower's ticking echoed faintly through the window, a reminder that time was running out.