The halls were quieter in the afternoon—too quiet. Dust floated lazily through shafts of sunlight streaming in from the high windows. The sound of distant chatter faded with every step Aira took. Her shoes clicked softly against the marble floor, steady and unhurried, like she carried her own world detached from everyone else's.
She had just left the library, arms weighed down with books, her expression unreadable. Her figure cast a long shadow across the polished floor, a shadow that felt heavier than the body carrying it.
Then came the whistle.
Low. Mocking. The kind of sound that dripped with intent. Her grip on the books didn't tighten, her pace didn't falter—but her shoulders stiffened.
Footsteps followed. Heavy. Uninvited. They closed the distance until the air itself felt suffocated.
"Where you headed, pretty?" one boy sneered, brushing against her shoulder.
Another chuckled, fingers snagging a strand of her hair and twirling it. "Soft… like a doll."
Aira stopped. The sound of her footsteps died, leaving only the buzzing silence.
Her hand twitched slightly, and for a fleeting second, her vision blurred—not with weakness, but with memories. Chains clinking. Darkness pressing in. A scream echoing against damp walls. A hand grabbing, pulling, hurting.
Her breathing slowed, each inhale sharp, controlled.
Then she turned.
Her books slid from her arms and hit the ground with a dull thud. Her voice broke the silence—cold, calm, final.
"Don't touch me."
The boys laughed. It was short-lived. Because then they saw her eyes.
Those eyes—dead, hollow, drenched in something they couldn't name. Trauma deeper than rage. Pain that had eaten past fear.
The laughter choked in their throats.
Too late.
In one swift movement, Aira's elbow snapped backward into the jaw of the boy closest to her. The crack echoed down the empty corridor, and he collapsed with a strangled groan.
Another lunged, hands outstretched, but she twisted, grabbed his wrist, and yanked him forward into her knee. His breath left him in a broken gasp.
A third tried to seize her from behind. She spun, her coat sweeping like a blade, and her foot connected with his stomach so hard he stumbled back, choking.
Every motion was brutal precision. No wasted movement. No hesitation. Her body didn't fight like someone defending themselves. It fought like someone who had learned survival in the dark. Someone who had been broken—and rebuilt herself into a weapon.
The corridor filled with the sound of fists meeting flesh, gasps, and cries. Until—silence.
Three boys sprawled across the floor, groaning, clutching their broken pride.
And Aira… bent down slowly, calmly, to gather her fallen books. Her knuckles were raw, her breath steady, her expression unchanged. It was as if nothing had happened.
From a distance, the seven had been watching.
Valentina's lips parted, her usual confidence cracking. "Holy… she just—"
Kai, still wide-eyed, muttered, "Did you see her eyes? That wasn't anger. That was war."
Bianca swallowed hard, forcing her voice to sound steady. "I've seen fights before. But she… she fought like she's lived through things we can't even imagine."
Rei's gaze lingered, quiet and sharp. "Her scars aren't just on her arms. They're buried everywhere inside her."
Ivy whispered, almost afraid to speak, "That girl is dangerous."
Damian leaned forward, his tone low but fascinated. "And yet… I want to know what made her that way."
Zane didn't move. His eyes followed her every motion as she tucked her books under her arm, brushed invisible dust from her sleeve, and walked away as if she hadn't just torn through three boys.
His voice was quiet, but it carried. "Fire bows to her. No wonder she doesn't flinch."
The others turned to him, startled by his words.
Bianca smirked nervously. "Wait… are you actually interested in someone?"
Ivy whispered to herself, half-teasing, half-serious. "This is new."
Zane didn't look at them. His eyes stayed on Aira's back as she disappeared around the corner. "She's not someone. She's silence with a scream buried inside."
The seven said nothing more. The storm had passed, but its shadow remained.
That Night – Aira's Apartment
The room was dim, shadows swallowing the corners. Aira sat by the window, knees to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around herself. The glass was cold against her forehead. The city outside glittered, but its light never reached her.
Her eyes slipped shut.
And then the memories came.
Chains clattering against stone. The slap of flesh against skin. Sana's mocking laugh in the dark. Her father's voice spitting venom. Her brother's face twisted in disgust. Liam's gaze, cold as knives. Elena's still, unconscious form on the floor. The damp basement. The suffocating dark. The bruises. The blood. The silence that screamed.
Her body trembled, her chest tightening until her breaths came sharp and shallow. She pressed her palms to her temples, trying to silence the echoes.
"Do I even deserve peace?" she whispered into the dark.
Her own voice sounded foreign. Hollow. Fragile.
She startled awake later, gasping, drenched in sweat. Her hands shook as she touched the scars etched across her arms. Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her—empty eyes, lifeless face, a girl sculpted from wounds.
"Friendship?" she said coldly to her reflection. "That word is too soft. I'm made of scars now."
Meanwhile – Scattered Across the Campus
In Kai and Valentina's private suite, Valentina twisted her ring nervously. "I can't stop thinking about her. That power… it was terrifying."
Kai lay back, staring at the ceiling. "She's hiding something massive. And it's not just pain. It's… something that could break anyone else."
On the rooftop flat, Bianca leaned against the railing, the night air brushing her face. "She's not normal. She's the kind of girl who's seen hell and lived to tell it."
Rei's eyes stayed on the stars. "She fought like she wasn't scared of pain—like she'd already died once."
In Damian and Ivy's mansion dorm, Ivy's arms were crossed, her brows furrowed. "Her aura… it scares people. But I want to peel back her layers."
Damian's gaze was steady. "Or get burned trying."
And in Zane's penthouse, the boy stood with a glass in hand, the city stretching endlessly before him. His reflection in the glass looked as unreadable as ever.
"She doesn't want to be saved," he whispered. "But maybe… maybe she deserves someone who won't ask her to explain."
Outside, the stars shone quietly. And far away, in her room, Aira sat beneath the same sky-alone. Broken. But undefeated.