Chapter 4: Blood
Kael gagged. His stomach lurched violently, with the sour burn of bile rising into his throat. He stumbled back on the wall as his hand pressed against his lips, fighting the instinct to vomit.
('When did this happen?') his mind screamed.
Is there an assassin nearby?
Did they kill her the moment she left the room?
Was the traitor among the servants... or in this very boutique?
Before he knew it, his body doubled over. Dry heaves echoed through the narrow alleyway. Yet no help dared to come on his way.
His vision blurred, sweat dripped into his eyes. He squeezed them shut, but Mary's shredded body clung to the back of his eyelids.
And then… a voice.
At first it was vague, distant, like someone whispering through walls.
"Ka… el…"
His heart froze and he dared to not open his eyes.
"…Hey… Kae…l"
Until the voice sharpened, nearer, louder, until it boomed against his ears.
"KAEL!"
Kael jolted awake and his body lurched forward on the couch.
He gasped, sucking in air as if he had been drowning. His chest rose, breathing and shaking uncontrollably. His skin was filled with sweat and his wide eyes darted about in confusion until they landed on the boutique's familiar ceiling.
Was it all a dream?
He gazes around him where he finds the velvet curtains, polished floor and Mary who was looking at him.
She was leaning close to him with her brow furrowed in concern. All in one piece, wearing that same school uniform.
"Y-you're alive?!" Kael blurted as his voice began to crack.
Mary merely blinked, tilting her head in confusion. "Alive? What are you saying?" She shook her head. "It looks like you had a nightmare, are you alright?"
('It looks like it was all a dream') Kael comforted himself. ('What kind of dream is that? Dreaming about someone's brutal death... Am I crazy?')
Mary's cold hand pressed against his forehead, causing Kael to be slightly surprised. He shivered at the touch of hers, though he find it gentle, he also finds their skinship tickled down his skin. At that moment, breath slowed and the frantic storm within him calmed down at her presence.
He noticed he was still holding the book he was reading a while ago, with the cover hidden with parchment paper.
Perhaps he was drained and fell asleep while reading this book, Kael assumed to himself.
"I guess I had a cruel nightmare" he muttered, trying to laugh, forcing it through trembling lips. "Hahaha… haha… ha…"
But the sound rang hollow. He could tell his shoulders still quivering, as fear remained in his chest.
A glance at the wall clock: 4:00 p.m.
If he remembered correctly, he arrived here at 1:00 pm. Which mean he had slept for three hours.
Now, the boutique bustled faintly with life. A receptionist was stationed at the desk. Guards lingered outside the window. Reality seemed firmly in place again.
Kael rubbed his eyes, whispering under his breath, as if to anchor himself, "That's right… it was just a dream."
Mary's smile returned upon seeing his expression easen. She ruffled his hair lightly, a gesture that would have been playful, had his nerves not still been raw.
"It's almost nightfall," she spoke. "We should head back to the dorm."
****
Heading back to the men's dorm, Kael pushed open the creaking door of Room 32.
He slipped inside and quickly tucked the book onto his shelf, hiding it among dusty volumes. With a heavy sigh, he grabbed a damp towel and pressed it against his face.
"Phew..."
Finally Kael could feel he can breathe. Finally he could feel he was safe here.
Not so long after, the door swung open again.
A young man with bright green hair entered, the room .
Allen Morthew
Kael's assigned roommate. A genius in swordsmanship, and the son of a bishop.
Though calling him just a genius is an understatement...
Kael didn't mean to downplay his talent in swordsmanship. Allen's practical exam on that subject commonly plays along top 2 or top 3... It was an amazing feat to achieve against the sea of prodigies. He was nicknamed as the silver and bronze collector for a reason, but it's a story for later.
Truly with him as his room mate, Kael felt safe.
Horray to the random instructor that assigned them together.
Without a word, Allen raised a silver canister and pressed down.
Pshhh—
The air filled at once with the cloying sting of perfume.
Kael winced as he almost choked on the strong scent. That's when he recalled Allen's weird obsession.
This guy despised dust, detested uncleanliness, and drowned every corner of their room in suffocating fragrance. One can call him annoyingly 'cleanfreak'. But thanks to him, their room remained spotless for 2 years.
Their gazes met for a brief moment.
Normally, only silence stretched between them like a wall. After all, conversation between the two was rare, and when it happened, Kael had always been the one to break it out of necessity. Either to ask him something, offer him a meal, or tell him anything necessary.
But tonight was different.
Allen crossed the invisible line between their room. He extended a small box of detergent as he spoke.
"Clean your clothes with this." He gestured at the back of Kael's uniform.
Confused, Kael peeled off the suit of his uniform. His breath hitched as he noticed the smeared across the fabric's pale surface was a dark stain.
It was so obvious as their uniform was white after all.
A thin streak of blood.
"Yikes… where did I get this" he muttered nervously, spritzing the detergent onto it. He rubbed at the spot, trying his best to remove it.
Halfway through, Kael froze.
His hand hovered, knuckles trembled slightly as whisper of a thought crawled back into his mind.
"…Was it really just a dream?"
****
In the depths of the alleyway where moonlight could not reach, a lone figure emerged.
He paused, adjusted the tilt of his pointed hat, and let his crimson eyes gleam faintly in the dark.
His gaze fell upon the blood trails, pools of red stained through, lightened up by the lantern he was holding so tight.
He could see a young woman's body, wearing a uniform that he could decipher from 'Floridel Academy'. Yet the face was butchered up into pieces that he could no longer differentiate who.
Slipping off a white glove, he pressed two fingers into the crimson pool, lifted them, and brought the taste to his tounge.
"Still warm..."
A sly grin curved across his face.
Then, with a casual flick of his hand, blue fire burst into life. The flame crawled along the stones, devouring every trace of red until only ashes remained still.
The man then straightened up, brushing the dust off from his coat as his chuckle slipped into the night.
"It seems…" he whispered, the brim of his hat. "…another witch's night has begun."