The morning sun hangs lazily over the school gates as Greca, dressed sharply in her new uniform, steps onto the sprawling campus of Ashwood High for the very first time. Her polished shoes click against the pavement, a subtle contrast to the nervous whispers of other first-years gathering around. At her side walks Daemon—her childhood friend, tall and sharp-eyed, carrying himself with a relaxed confidence that makes him stand out instantly among the sea of students.
While Greca hides her nerves beneath a composed, almost cold exterior, Daemon's easy grin and teasing remarks keep her from overthinking.
With Greca and Daemon walking toward their classroom :
Greca adjusted the strap of her bag, her polished shoes tapping lightly against the gleaming floor of Ashwood High's main building. Around her, students rushed past in noisy clusters, laughter echoing through the wide hallways. She kept her expression calm, her usual mask of composure in place.
At her side,
"Remember when you tried to climb my Father's peach tree and ripped your dress?" Daemon said suddenly.
Greca blinked, startled by the memory. "That was years ago."
"Mm-hm. But you cried for exactly thirty seconds before you stuffed peaches into your pockets like a thief. You looked ridiculous." His laugh was soft but teasing.
For a moment, the cool edge on her lips faltered, replaced by the faintest smile. "And who was it that fell out of the same tree five minutes later?"
Daemon winced dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Traitor. I was trying to rescue you."
The memory lingered between them, sweet and unspoken, softening the nerves of the first day. Greca let out a small breath, her shoulders relaxing as the classroom door loomed closer. High school had officially begun, and with Daemon by her side, maybe—just maybe—it wouldn't be as overwhelming as it seemed.
Classroom door swung open. Laughter and chatter filled the room as groups of students huddled together, already swapping names, stories, and first-day impressions. Some leaned across desks, excitedly talking about middle school friends or rumors they'd heard about Ashwood High.
Greca stepped inside, her expression calm as always. Daemon followed right behind her, hands tucked in his pockets, a faint grin tugging at his lips as he glanced around the buzzing classroom.
The two slipped past the groups, weaving quietly through the crowded rows. At the very back, near the wide window where sunlight spilled lazily across the desks, they found two empty seats. Greca placed her bag neatly beside her chair and sat with practiced grace, while Daemon dropped into his seat in his usual relaxed manner, leaning back as though he owned the spot.
From their vantage point, the whole classroom unfolded before them—students laughing, chatting, and building connections that would shape the rest of their year. Yet in the last row by the window, Greca and Daemon sat quietly, a pair untouched by the chaos, watching the start of high school life unfold from the edges.
Daemon glanced at her, his voice lower now. "It's kind of nice, isn't it? Just us, like always."
Greca turned her gaze toward the window, the sunlight warming her cheek, and allowed herself the smallest nod. High school might be loud and overwhelming for others, but for her, sitting there with Daemon beside her, it felt just a little easier.
Greca rested her chin lightly against her hand, listening as Daemon launched into another memory from their childhood. He was halfway through describing the time they'd tried to sneak into the kitchens at midnight when a sudden burst of shouting cut through the hum of the classroom.
Both of them glanced toward the front.
Two boys stood over another student, their voices loud and mocking. The smaller boy sat slumped in his seat, clutching his notebook tightly while the pair loomed above him. One of the bullies snatched the notebook from his hands and flipped through it carelessly, laughing at the doodles inside before tossing it across the desk.
The rest of the class barely reacted—some glanced over with mild curiosity, but most quickly returned to their conversations, not wanting to get involved. The laughter from the front clashed sharply against the cheerful buzz that had filled the room only moments before.
Greca's eyes narrowed slightly, her calm expression hardening as she observed the scene. Daemon leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk, a smirk playing at his lips though his eyes were sharp.
"Well," he muttered under his breath, "that didn't take long. Day one and we already have villains."
Greca tilted her head toward him, her tone cool but laced with quiet annoyance. "Typical. Some people never grow past playground games."
Daemon arched a brow, his grin widening just a little. "Want me to step in?"
For a moment, Greca said nothing, her gaze still fixed on the boy being cornered. Then, slowly, she looked away, returning her eyes to the window as though she hadn't seen anything at all.
Daemon chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Always the ice queen." But the spark in his eyes suggested he wouldn't stay seated for long if things escalated.
Suddenly, the air in the classroom shifted.
The chatter dulled, not from silence, but from the sudden pull of attention as someone stepped through the doorway. A tall boy, his stride confident yet unhurried, walked into the room. His uniform was crisp, his posture straight, and his sharp features carried a kind of presence that made people look twice without even knowing why.
He didn't speak right away. Instead, his gaze swept over the scene at the front—two boys towering over the smaller one, who sat frozen, his face red with humiliation. With a calmness that contrasted the chaos, the newcomer moved closer, his eyes cold and steady.
"Are you done?" His voice cut cleanly through the laughter of the bullies.
The two troublemakers froze, glancing at each other, their earlier bravado faltering under the weight of his presence. There was no shouting, no dramatic threats—just the certainty in his tone that made their actions look childish.
The boy bent slightly, picking up the notebook that had been tossed aside, brushing off the dust as if it were something valuable. He set it gently back in front of its owner. "Hold onto it," he said to the smaller boy, his voice softer now.
The bullied student blinked, startled, then nodded quickly.
The classroom had gone quieter, students watching from the corners of their eyes while pretending to continue their chatter. The bullies muttered something under their breath and backed off, shuffling toward their seats.
From the last row, Daemon let out a low whistle, leaning closer to Greca. "Now that," he murmured, "was dramatic. Think we've just met the class's main character."
Greca, still resting her chin on her hand, allowed her gaze to linger on the newcomer for a moment longer. There was something undeniably striking about him—not just his looks, but the way he carried himself, like someone who didn't need to prove a thing.
Then, with her usual composure, she turned back toward the window, as if nothing had happened. "Or maybe just another storm waiting to happen."