The pile of bodies squirmed, groaning in unison with muffled sounds of pain, "ugh," "ahh," "mmngh", like a badly tuned choir of human misery.
"I don't know who did it... but well done," I murmured, a low chuckle slipping past my lips, entertained by the tragicomic sight.
As tempting as the scene was, my stomach growled in protest. I turned toward the cafeteria entrance. Priorities were priorities. I needed food, and with any luck, I'd find out who was behind that free show.
The inside of the cafeteria caught me off guard. It was surprisingly full for this time of night. Normally, during the small hours, the place was nearly deserted, with just a few night owls scattered between tables and counters. But now, about half the seats were taken—and not just by descendants.
There were squires. Trainees. People who technically weren't even supposed to be here. This was a space reserved for descendants, rarely crossed by anyone else.
Something was seriously off. Most people weren't even sitting. They stood shoulder to shoulder in a tight circle, focused on something, or someone,right at the center. Luckily, there was a gap among them: a natural corridor pointing straight toward the entrance. The reason was obvious.
'That's where the eleven got thrown.' I traced the path with my eyes, the dents on the floor, overturned chairs, and the remains of a tray still spinning lazily from the momentum, and then I saw him.
At the center of the circle, relaxed and commanding all at once, stood a boy.
Short black hair, so dark it seemed to swallow the light, with red-tipped ends that looked like they were pulsing under the cafeteria's cold fluorescents. The cut was unusual: the lower half of his head had been shaved close, forming a clean, aggressive outline, while the top was intentionally chaotic, rebellious strands jutting out as if they'd fought through a thousand battles and never met a comb.
'Every time I look at him, he looks more feral', I thought, sighing quietly at the deliberate mess that was his hair. It wasn't neglect,it was a statement.
His back was to me, but his presence filled the room. The crowd around him seemed to instinctively keep a distance, as if staying too close to something wild might end badly. His shoulders were relaxed, almost lazy, but his hands… his hands told a different story. The nails were long, slightly curved and sharp, more claw than human. There was a tension in them, held tight beneath the surface.
A thin white veil clung to his body. Smoky, weak, and uneven. As if every particle resented being there. At times, the veil would flicker with a faint reddish glow, pulsing like embers suffocated by wind. Unstable, raw, and above all, flawed.
I felt all eyes shift toward me the moment I raised my voice: "You really never change, picking fights with anyone who breathes!" I said, tone dancing between mock disdain and playful provocation, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
Heads turned in near-perfect unison, like synchronized gears clicking into motion. A few squires exchanged glances. One of the younger kids even ducked behind a taller friend. The name that was about to leave my lips was well-known, and feared, by more than a few.
"It's been a while, Oswin!"
He began to turn. Not fast, but deliberately. Every movement measured, like a predator catching the scent of prey. When his face finally came into view, his golden eyes gleamed with intensity.
But before he could say anything, my gaze shifted to the figure standing just beside him.
"Gloria, thanks for the heads-up. Would've been quite the mess without him."
She stood firm, though the fatigue showed in the soft shadows beneath her eyes, the same shade as his. Her black hair was pulled into a messy bun.
"Alexander…" she replied, voice calm, but laced with something hidden. Nerves. Relief. Maybe even a hint of guilt. "It was the right thing to do."
A brief silence settled over the room. Oswin now stood fully facing me.
"I knew my nose wasn't wrong. I smelled wet dog the moment you walked in."
Oswin's voice was low and drawn out, laced with that mocking edge only he could make sound genuinely threatening. A crooked smile crept across his face, more teeth than lips. His canines, just a little too long, gleamed under the lights. A caged beast in the body of a boy.
I folded my arms and met his gaze head-on. Not an inch of ground given.
"And I knew there was a rabid chihuahua nearby when I saw eleven flies buzzing around."
The words landed like a velvet slap. A ripple of stifled laughter spread through the crowd. In the back of the cafeteria, a tray clattered to the floor, dropped by a servant who'd completely forgotten what he was doing. The squires widened their eyes. A younger descendant turned to his friend and whispered, stunned:
"Is he out of his mind?"
Oswin raised an eyebrow, rage cracking through his expression. For me, it was amusing, he probably wasn't used to being provoked by anyone his age. That ego of his had gone unchallenged for too long.
"You've always had that mouth, huh?" he stepped forward, the white aura flickering around him like a dying lightbulb. "Thought that beating in the forest would've taught you something."
I matched his steps. "Oh, it did teach something. But, you know what they say, animals have short memories, right?"
The crowd around us pulled back half a step. Silverware hit plates. Servants struggled to keep their composure, already whispering among themselves. A cafeteria supervisor appeared on the mezzanine above, hands tense on the railing, eyes sharp.
"And, if I remember correctly..." I went on, "...you were the one who got your ass handed to you."
Another step. The distance between us had almost vanished.
"What beating?" he growled. "If it weren't for Nikolas, you'd be dog food."
"Really?" I leaned in slightly, looking up at him. "Because if it weren't for Nikolas, you wouldn't even have your voice anymore. Ever again."
I braced myself. There'd be no interruption this time. If he wanted it, he was getting it.
Oswin stepped in, final now, shoulders low, fingers curled like claws.
"Well... Nikolas isn't here!" he shouted, his voice booming like thunder from a too-young god. And then he lunged.
"Then pray he shows up!" I shouted back, charging in.
And then—
"ENOUGH!"
Gloria's voice cut through the air like lightning. The entire cafeteria froze.
Sharp. Piercing. Impossible to ignore. It echoed across the stained glass, bounced off the mezzanine, and probably rattled the dorms on the upper floors.
At that exact moment, a wall of wind erupted between Oswin and me, separating us with brutal force, as if the cafeteria itself had ripped us apart. It wasn't a shove. It was a solid barrier that hurled us backward like rag dolls.
"WHAT THE—!" I yelled, slamming into the entry wall.
"SHIT!" Oswin snarled as he was flung into the side of a long table. Chairs screeched and toppled like dominoes. A full plate of spaghetti launched into the air and landed square in the lap of a distracted squire, who let out a scandalized shriek.
But Gloria's magic didn't stop at keeping us apart: after the impact, it detonated outward in a gust of wind that sent everything flying.
Screams and the scraping of furniture tore through the cafeteria, now a storm of chaos. The more terrified ones vanished from sight, crawling under tables, tables that, thanks to bad luck and proximity to the blast, went airborne along with those crouched beneath them, eyes wide with panic. One of the older servants stumbled backward, dropping a tray. The sound of shattering glass rang out like alarm bells.
At the center of the storm, Gloria still stood.
Unmoving.
Small hands clutched the pendant at her neck, a green gem now glowing with a furious light as if it had a soul. Her eyes were shut. Her pinned-up hair trembled in the residual wind that swirled around her. It was like every breath in the room had been pulled toward her.
Her legs... were shaking.
And then, with the same reckless wind that had burst forth, they gave out.
She collapsed to her knees. The gem's glow began to dim as the wall of air dissolved into mist. Gloria gasped for breath, chest heaving. Her hands still gripped the pendant so tightly her fingers looked like claws. A drop of sweat slid from her brow to her chin, then fell to the ground.
And then... silence.
A crushing, heavy silence. The kind that made the whole building seem like it had stopped breathing. The kind of silence even the floors above could feel. The only sound was the faint clink of a spoon that rolled from somewhere in the chaos and spun to a stop.
That's when the footsteps began.
Still far off, but getting closer.
"The guards!" shouted one of the boys by the first-floor window. "Run! The guards are coming!"
"DAMN IT!" yelled the squire still drenched in red sauce, more upset about his food than his pride. He leapt up. "Didn't even get to enjoy my meal!" He bolted, kicking a chair aside as he went.
In a matter of seconds, the stampede began.
Descendants, squires, trainees, a few nosy onlookers, even some of the younger servants, all scattered into the side corridors. People shoved past each other, dropping bags, slipping on cutlery scattered across the floor. The echo of footsteps, yells, and doors slamming ricocheted through the whole building, blending with the approaching rumble of authoritative voices climbing the stairs.
But I was already moving.
I'd heard the guards' steps and shouting long before the boy at the window had. It was obvious things were about to go sideways, and I needed a way out. I slipped quickly behind the cafeteria's main door, and the moment I saw the crowd start to stir, I did the only sensible thing anyone could've done:
I started climbing the stairs, quietly. Not running, but not slow either. Light on my feet, one hand on the railing to keep from making noise. The goal was simple: vanish before the grown-ups figured out who did what.
Downstairs, the chaos raged on.
"Gloria! Wasn't Nikolas enough last time? Now you too?!" Oswin groaned loudly, still trying to stand, one hand pressed against his ribs. "I was just about to finish—"
"Finish?"
The voice wasn't deep, but it carried a quiet authority, laced with simmering annoyance.
Kyle appeared from the back entrance. Tall, with short dark hair, and that look that screamed "I am not in the mood."
Oswin froze. Swallowed hard. And shut up.
"Sir Kyle!" shouted another guard entering through the main doors. "We found eleven injured descendants outside!" He paused, catching his breath. "Minor slash wounds."
Oswin broke into a cold sweat. Literally.
Two more guards trailed behind Kyle. One of them already had a clipboard in hand, jotting down notes. The older servants exhaled audibly, like people who'd been waiting all day for someone, anyone, to finally impose order.
"How about one of you explains what exactly happened here?" Kyle glanced around. He didn't raise his voice, but the weight of it filled the room.
As for me?
I was already halfway up the staircase, unnoticed. The panicked crowd gave me the perfect cover. I kept going. One floor, then another. The voices faded with every step, but the heat of the mess below still clung to my back.
Upstairs, the air was cooler. Quieter. Afternoon light streamed in through the windows, casting long shadows across the corridor.
Perfect. Now I just had to stay out of sight... at least until things cooled off. I sighed and made my way to the end of the hallway, where I knew there was a small room no one ever used, most had forgotten it even existed.
✦ ✦ ✦
Half an hour had passed since I holed up in the upper floors, and I still hadn't moved from the room, wrapped in dusk. I hadn't lit a candle, nor conjured any magic light. Sometimes, the dark is more comforting than the light, especially when you're trying to escape blame for a mess you were... involved in purely by accident. Yes, accident. Absolute and indisputable.
My original plan was to hide out for twenty minutes, long enough for tempers to settle. But out of caution, and maybe a little cowardice, I'll admit, I stretched that to forty-five. You never know when Kyle decides to come back with forgiveness in his eyes and cuffs in his hands.
By the time I finally crept down the wood-paneled stone staircase, the cafeteria looked, at first glance, restored. The floor had been scrubbed, the tables realigned with near-military precision, the chairs perfectly spaced. The first two floors still smelled strongly of vinegar, used to wash away the wreckage, and carried a humid breeze, the lingering trace of Gloria's magic. But beyond that, the rest of the building seemed untouched.
The soft sweep of brooms, the clink of gathered silverware, and the quiet hum of servants filled the air with a subtle symphony of fatigue. They muttered under their breath, and some just sighed, their complaints folded deep into their own souls.
I made my way to the counter, doing my best to stay invisible.
"Young master Alexander, I must say, I'm sincerely relieved to see you in one piece," came a familiar voice, words drawn out in that sarcastic tone only he could deliver with such gentleness.
It was Flint, the cafeteria's night servant, a middle-aged man with smile lines around his eyes and a wit sharper than a butcher's knife. He had become something of a fixture in my life there. And for some reason, he always seemed awake, even when everyone else had long since collapsed from exhaustion.
"Good thing Kyle and the others didn't catch you," he added with a sly grin.
"Good thing indeed," I replied, slumping into the seat in front of the counter. "If they had, I'd be starving right now. And that would've been a real punishment."
Flint snorted, crossing his arms. "Is there any greater punishment than going hungry after the storm you lot just stirred up? Especially when the servants haven't had dinner yet... all thanks to the benevolence of young masters who decided to 'remodel' the cafeteria with flying tables and wild magic."
"For the record..." I raised a finger, trying to keep a straight face. "I didn't start the mess." My eyes locked onto Flint's. "Much less finish it."
"But you were in it." One gray eyebrow arched.
"I was there... for mere moments. One minute." I gestured with my fingers. "Better yet, no more than thirty seconds!"
"Thirty seconds that did more damage than the five minutes young master Oswin spent throwing those eleven kids out the front door."
"Let's be clear, the real destruction came from Gloria. I was merely... an eyewitness."
"But you provoked Oswin first, didn't you?"
"That wasn't provocation! That was a genuine compliment. He is stubborn. Like a well-trained goat."
Flint narrowed his eyes. "Stubborn like a goat...?"
"With pedigree, of course," I added quickly. "A noble goat. Smart. Majestic. And above all, angry and dangerous."
Flint didn't answer right away. He just gave me that long, weary, slightly cynical look of his, the kind only someone who's heard too many excuses from kids with too much magic and too little sense can master.
"All right, all right!" I raised both hands in surrender. "It was an inconvenient truth, one of those no one wants to hear. Happy now?"
"Not in the least," he replied, with a barely stifled laugh.
I sighed in defeat. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry for stoking the fire. I admit it. I will never win an argument with you, Flint."
He smiled, satisfied, and snapped his fingers. "Now that's music to the ears of an old servant."
Riding the moment, I leaned across the counter like a conspirator about to share a secret. "So... now that peace has been restored, what do you say about dinner?"
"Don't you mean... breakfast?" Flint said, nodding toward the wall clock. It was an odd thing, antique, with drawings of the sun and moon alternating in a cycle. The small silver moon was right at the center of the dial.
Fifteen to four in the morning.
"The sun hasn't risen yet, so technically it's still dinner time," I declared, unwavering.
"And what would you like with your dinner, oh nocturnal one? Scarlet lemon juice with midnight orange and passion fruit again?"
"And lime, sweetened with honey. Don't forget."
"Of course, of course," he said, already heading toward the kitchen. "Lime and honey. Sweet as the young master likes it, so he can keep daydreaming when he should be sleeping."
Flint disappeared through the swinging doors, and soon the clatter of pans echoed from the kitchen.
Left alone in the empty hall, I began to feel the weight of exhaustion settle over me. Maybe I had overdone those "thirty seconds." But how could I help it? Oswin really did get on my nerves just by existing.