Lyra sat across the table, watching Vane with increasing confusion.
He laughed and smiled and occasionally mumbled to himself as though he were in a particularly fun conversation.
Except he wasn't talking to anyone.
She tilted her head. "Um... are you okay?"
Vane blinked, snapping out of whatever mental back-and-forth he was having with Oscar. "Yeah. Fine. Totally fi—" His eyes drifted past her halfway through the sentence.
Kiren Redvel pushed his chair back and stood, blood-stained uniform and all.
"I need the restroom," he told the instructor, who waved him off without so much as a glance.
As Kiren walked toward the exit, he paused — just long enough to catch Vane's gaze. A silent message:
Follow me.
Vane straightened. "I'll... also go to the restroom," he said, waving vaguely at Lyra before she could question him further. "Water, you know. Hydration. Biology... don't ask."
He slipped out the dining hall doors, the noise fading behind him as he stepped into the quiet corridor. His footsteps echoed softly as he scanned the hall.
Then he rounded a corner — and found him.
Kiren was leaned against the wall, breathing steady, silver hair pulled into a messy bun that was doing a terrible job of containing it. Strands escaped down the sides of his face and along the back of his neck. His medieval-style uniform clung to him like it lost a fight with his physique — stretched tight across broad shoulders and muscular arms.
Well, muscular arm since the stump where his right hand was meant to be was still bleeding faintly.
Vane jabbed a finger at it. "That must hurt."
Kiren snorted — actually snorted — and in seconds, the bleeding stopped and Kiren regrew a hand in seconds, skin stitching over muscle in a smooth ripple of regeneration.
"Not anymore," he said, flexing the new fingers.
Vane let out a low whistle. "Werewolf healing. High-tier. Nice."
Kiren stared at him, genuinely surprised. "You... knew?"
"Yeah." Vane shrugged. "You smell like wet dog and danger."
Kiren couldn't help laughing at that — a short, rough sound.
For a moment, the hallway fell quiet, tension lingering like static.
Then Kiren's expression shifted, turning serious.
"I didn't call you here to show off my powers," he said quietly. "I have a problem." His amber, wolfish eyes hardened. "And the moment I stepped into that hall, your aura hit me like a wall. You're the strongest person in that room. The instructor included. Pretty 'high-tier' as you would say."
Vane lifted a brow. "You sensed that?"
"Everyone sensed it," Kiren said. "Most of them just mistook it for the leftover energy in that Minotaurs hand. But I didn't."
He reached behind him and unslung a small sack Vane hadn't noticed — heavy, worn, tied tightly with a leather cord.
Kiren loosened it.
Soft light spilled out.
Beast cores. Dozens of them. High-grade, from creatures people shouldn't be fighting on their first week at school.
Kiren shook the bag lightly — clank clank — the sound of expensive crystals hitting each other.
"I'll give you all of these," Kiren said. "If you help me. I don't trust anyone else to survive what I'm dealing with. And I'm not in the business of getting my mates killed."
Vane stared at the bag.
The money wasn't tempting.
He didn't particularly have anything he wanted to buy. And he was confident he could kill anything this wolf could so he has no need for the cores.
But the mystery behind this werewolf — one strong enough to fight mythical-tier hybrids, yet desperate enough to ask a stranger for help — that tugged at Vane's curiosity.
Kiren lowered the bag. "So? Will you—"
"No."
Kiren froze. "...No?"
Vane locked eyes with him, voice flat and unwavering.
"I made a promise. No trouble. No fights. No 'incidents.' I'm actually trying to graduate this time."
Kiren looked like Vane had just spoken in a whole different language.
Vane exhaled sharply, crossing his arms. "So your cores, your mystery, your wounded pride — all of it? Not enough. I'm not breaking my promise."
Kiren opened his mouth to argue—
But Vane had already turned away.
---
Vane slipped back into the dining hall just as the instructor was droning on about dorm curfews. The room felt louder somehow, brighter, almost jarringly normal after the quiet tension of the hallway.
Lyra leaned forward immediately, eyes wide.
"You're back! Are you okay? You left so suddenly—"
Vane winced. The memory of his excuse — water, hydration, biology — hit him like a brick.
"Yeah..." he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "About that. Sorry. That was a terrible excuse."
She blinked, surprised at his honesty.
"It's fine," she said softly. "I was just worried. You went with him..." she says tilting her head slightly towards Kiren. "I think he's a few mages short of a squad."
Vane leaned closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear.
"It's all resolved now. Nothing for you to worry about."
That wasn't entirely true — or maybe it was. Vane couldn't tell yet.
But he forced a reassuring smile anyway.
Oscar's voice hummed in his mind, suspiciously quiet.
["Resolved? Really?"]
Vane kicked him mentally. Not now.
He straightened in his seat, trying to act like the past five minutes never happened— like he hadn't just declined a werewolf's blood-soaked request minutes ago.
Lyra watched him for another heartbeat, then relaxed.
"Okay. If you say so."
Vane nodded, pretending that was the end of it.
It wasn't.
---
Back in the hallway
The dim corridor was silent again, still carrying the faint scent of iron and beast blood.
Kiren stood alone now, the sack of beast cores hanging loosely at his side. He wasn't slumped anymore — his posture had shifted, shoulders straight, expression unreadable.
Slowly, a smile curved across his lips. Not friendly.
Not hopeful.
Predatory.
He stared in the direction Vane had gone, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
"He will make quite an interesting prey," Kiren murmured.
His tongue swept over one of his sharp canines, savoring a taste only he understood.
"Very interesting indeed."
---