The sky was a sharp, clear blue—almost insolent in its clarity. I would've preferred a veil of mist, a layer of gray to filter the light, to dull that brutal brightness that made everything too vivid. Humans like to believe the sun signals a good day. They blind themselves. The sun isn't an omen—it exposes. It reveals. It forces you to look. And I've never liked being seen.
We crossed the gate at 7:30 a.m. Not early, not really late—just on time, as planned.
Hemera walked between us. Her posture was straight, controlled. Chin slightly raised, she moved with a grace far too natural for this place. She smiled—just enough to be noticed, not enough to seem arrogant.
Humans would say she glows. Technically, they wouldn't be wrong.
To her left, Hypnos. Jacket open, tie askew, gaze half-lost in a world only he could see. His bag hung off one shoulder, barely hanging on with every step. He walked with the slowness of someone who dreams while awake.
To her right, me. Silent. Steady. Forgettable—if not for the feeling I left in my wake: a chill, barely perceptible, but enough to stir instinctive discomfort.
"We're today's main event," Hemera murmured.
Hypnos blinked, then shrugged.
"They sense without understanding. It's always like that."
I didn't answer. I've never liked being seen.
We all wore the standard uniform: white shirt, burgundy tie or ribbon for Hemera, navy blue jacket, navy trousers for us, pleated white skirt with navy trim and thigh-high socks for Hemera. And yet, one glance was enough to know uniformity stopped there.
I felt them before they even looked up.
The conversations died out in waves, like someone slowly turning down the volume of the entire courtyard.
Hemera walked in front, golden hair radiating under the sunlight, each step deliberate, as if responding to a choreography only she could hear. Students stared at her with that mix of awe and unease reserved for artwork too perfect to be real.
Some boys instinctively straightened up, unaware. Others looked away, guilty for having dared to stare.
"Who is she…?"
"She looks like an actress."
"No, like some foreign model or something."
Voices were muffled, unsure. No one dared speak loud.
Hypnos followed, a step aside, his pale blue hair messy, his lilac gaze lost in an inner dream. He looked at no one—yet still drew eyes.
"Is he wearing contacts?"
"No, it's natural…"
"Are you sure?"
And then me. Skin too pale, almost translucent under the light. White hair tied back but loose across my forehead—strands falling, a visual barrier. A refusal of the world. My red eyes met a student's gaze. He looked away so fast he dropped his bag. He didn't bother picking it up.
"They look like they're from a manga or something…"
The words "not human" hovered on everyone's lips. None said it aloud.
Conversations slowed. Voices dropped a tone, as if an invisible weight had landed in the middle of the courtyard. Whispers replaced laughter. Stares tried to be discreet—but failed.
It wasn't just curiosity. It was something else. A mix of attraction and discomfort, an instinctual tension even they didn't understand. A chill that wasn't physical.
A monitor, clearly briefed beforehand, came to meet us. His shirt was wrinkled, poorly tucked. A dried coffee stain marked his right sleeve. He spoke a few polite words, carefully avoided our eyes, then turned to guide us through the buildings.
He coughed once, then started speaking again, faster. His footsteps echoed in the hallway, as if trying to drown out ours. Stairs, hallways, artificial light. The smell of disinfectant and baked dust. Everything here screamed of human effort to appear alive.
Class 2-A. Top floor. The windows were wide open—as if to let in air… or to make up for something else.
Without a word, Hypnos went straight to the back of the room, where the light was strongest, where you could dream while looking far away. He picked the seat by the window, the one facing the courtyard, then dropped his bag to the floor carelessly. I took the seat to his right. Out of habit. Out of balance.
Hemera sat in front of me. Back straight, legs crossed elegantly, hands resting on the desk. A flawless posture—almost academic.
Gradually, the other students arrived. Some slowed at the door, like something was holding them back.
A boy let out a quiet "Yo!" without addressing anyone. A girl paused, blinked, then went to sit on the far end of the room.
Others froze when they saw us, uncertainty flickering in their gaze—as if their minds were trying to name what they felt and failed. One tried a joke, under his breath. A few muffled laughs answered—but it all died the moment Hemera slowly turned her head toward him. She said nothing. She didn't need to. We were there. Present. Silent. And that silence was enough.
At exactly 7:45, the bell rang. A metallic vibration—too sharp, too human. A new school year had begun.
I felt nothing in particular. No expectations. No excitement. Just the same tired mechanism they repeat year after year, hoping that this time, something will be different. Humans always ask the same questions. Chase the same illusions. And endlessly repeat the same mistakes.
We don't take part in that loop. We observe it. We pass through it, again and again, like shadows frozen in a theater pretending to be alive.
But this time… I didn't know what would change. Only that something would.
The classroom's silence was unstable, balanced on the tightrope of a first day. Students came in scattered groups, hesitant. Some glanced at us, then quickly looked away, as if they'd glimpsed a strange beast. Others forced a casual tone, voices too loud to be honest.
"I think they're new, right?"
"Did you see them on the class lists?"
"That guy in the back… can't tell if he's hot or terrifying."
Whispers, sighs, eyes that didn't dare stare but couldn't look anywhere else either.
Hypnos was already settled, gaze lost in the tree branches visible through the window. He traced invisible circles on the desk, like writing something only he could read.
Hemera had her legs crossed, hands joined on the desk, back perfectly straight. Even still, she seemed to move—like suspended light.
And me, I was there. Present. Not quite sitting. Not quite there either.
One girl slowed as she entered. Her eyes passed over the three of us. Then, for no clear reason, she turned around and picked a seat—far, far away.
They avoided us. Out of caution. Out of instinct.
Even those pretending not to notice gave themselves away: a tension in their shoulders, hesitation in their hands, a silence too sharp when they neared our tables.
It wasn't fear. Not yet. But it wasn't nothing either.
The hallway still echoed. Footsteps of other students. Laughter, too loud. And behind it, something else. A shift in the air. A change approaching. Something sliding toward us, not yet through the door.
I didn't know what it was. But I felt it. That fragile moment, just before a presence enters and reshapes the room without a single word.
A suspended heartbeat. An invisible crack in the rhythm of things.
Hypnos sighed slowly, never looking away from the window.
"It's coming," he said. "What's meant to happen."
I didn't answer. Because I knew he was right.
And that morning, without knowing it yet, we stood at the edge of something.
Something—or someone—was about to break the surface.