The door to Classroom 7 swings open. Chaos. That’s the only word for it. Overlapping voices, a chair scraping across the floor, what sounds like an active argument in the middle of the room, and somewhere in the back someone is laughing loudly about something that probably shouldn’t have happened. You stand at the front and take it all in for a moment. Nobody notices you’re there. You take a breath. “Enough.” It’s not loud. It doesn’t need to be. The word lands clean and the room drops to silence — not gradually, but all at once. Ten faces turn toward you. And then the silence shifts into something else entirely. Because one by one, across every face in the room, the same expression appears — surprise. Confusion. The unmistakable look of people who were expecting someone very different. Ryou says what everyone is thinking, because Ryou always does. He looks you over slowly, then glances at the door like he’s checking for the real instructor. ”…You’re the instructor?” A few murmurs ripple through the room. Sab’s eyes have gone wide. Miri is recalculating silently. Bram has actually sat up from his half-asleep slouch to get a better look. Even Dao, who hasn’t moved an inch, is watching you with a sharpened focus that wasn’t there a second ago. You let them have their moment. Then — “Sit down.” They sit. “You’re going to introduce yourselves. Name, age, ability. Front to back. Go.” Sab recovers fastest, notebook already open. “Sable Miren — Sab is fine! Seventeen, barrier and shield projection.” She clutches her folder to her chest. “I have your ranking card by the way. Just — putting that out there.” Nisha, fingers in her braid: “Nisha Vel. Sixteen. Short-range precognition. I can see a few seconds ahead — I just don’t always act on it in time.” Bram, still looking faintly amused: “Bram. Eighteen. Size manipulation. Big or small.” A lazy grin. “I prefer small. Less effort.” Miri, sharp and direct: “Mirelle Saros. Seventeen. Fire elemental combat.” A pause. “I’m reserving judgment.” Ryou, tilted back in his chair: “Ryou Akatsuki. Nineteen. Lightning manipulation.” The smirk doesn’t leave. “I’ll believe the S-tier thing when I see it.” Kolte, calm and easy: “Kolte. Eighteen. Sound and vibration manipulation. Looking forward to the class.” Dao, not moving an inch: “Dao Fengwei. Nineteen. Gravity manipulation. I requested the transfer into this class.” His grey eyes stay on you. No further explanation. Lena, already grinning: “Lena Ashveil! Sixteen, wind manipulation.” She nudges her sister. “We’re twins. I’m the better one.” Remi, without missing a beat: “Remi Ashveil. Sixteen. Earth and stone manipulation.” A quiet pause. “We’re identical. She’s lying.” The room turns to the back. Sera lets the silence stretch just long enough to be noticeable. “Sera Yun. Fifteen.” A beat. “Ability — classified.” Nothing else. Ten names. Ten abilities. Ten students still quietly deciding what to make of you. You look at all of them. “Good. Now we get to work.”

*The music was booming. Your friends asked you to come here and you really wondered why you said yes. You really weren’t a party animal, and you weren’t exactly good at talking to new people. And the people who’d likely come talk to you are… the escorts who really only talk to you if they think you’ll give them money. The situation made you awkward, so you just settled against the wall, becoming your final form, the wallflower. But it seemed like this made things even more awkward. You were kinda just standing there, watching a clump of people jump in the middle of the room, and watching beautiful woman walk up to random guys, no doubt trying to see who would pay for some fun. Some were human, some had horns and wings, some had fluffy ears. Someone stopped right next to you. You looked over to see… quite the odd specimen. She had cat ears and a cat tail. But, both were made of slime. She was a slime girl… pretending to be a cat girl? Or was she a hybrid? She had a cute bunny suit on, and was carrying a tray that undoubtedly would have drinks on them. But right now, none were there. She stopped at your table, or well, what she assumed was your table. In truth, you were just standing awkwardly next to it. She spoke in a cheery voice.* “Hey! Do you want anything to drink?” *You shook your head, you didn’t know what alcohol would do to you right now, maybe if you got more comfortable… the slimy catgirl blinked at you like she was contemplating before speaking again in that cheery voice.* “Well, if you ever change your mind, that tablet there has the whoooole menu! Hehe~” *She winked at you, and you managed a small hesitant smile and nod, showing that you got the memo. But this made her smile falter a little bit, looking around. She then looked back at you, asking in a far less over exaggerated cheerful tone.* “You… feeling okay?” *This question didn’t feel performative, but genuine. Like she was some regular person checking in on you. It threw you off, so you just nodded. It was clear you didn’t fit in here, but you didn’t feel like making it someone else’s problem. However, she didn’t seem to believe it, sporting a small, but cute pouty face. She approached you, it felt like she was backing you into the wall you already had your back on. But, she simply just put a slimy, wet hand on your shoulder to boost herself up to whisper in your ear.* “Down the hallway to the left, there’s private rooms. If there’s an empty one, you can use it to take a breather.” *She back away, gives you a wink, then walks off to the bar, obviously with a little sway in her step, she DOES work here. And well… you definitely considered what she said, getting away for a few minutes without actually leaving sounded like a good call honestly. So you got up and followed her instructions. You went down the closest hallway, and took the first left. You found a lot of doors… let’s see… occupied, occupied, occupied, occupied, occupied, available! You grabbed the handle and opened the door. It was a small bedroom. With the lights, colors, and various things hanging on the wall, you knew it was made for… well… intimate experiences let’s call it. But it had a bed, and well, she said you could use it. So… why not. You locked the door and just sat on the bed. You took out your phone and just started scrolling through notifications and stuff. You noticed that you couldn’t hear much. The rooms must have some pretty solid sound proofing. Would definitely explain why you couldn’t hear the other rooms activities. Suddenly, a voice sounded in the room, which genuinely scared you a little.* “Heyyy!~ Is the room to your liking?” *You looked for the source of the voice. And looked at the vent in the wall. A slimy head was dangling out of it. It was her again. The sight caught you so off guard that you genuinely didn’t know what to say. She took no time pushing herself through the vent and landing as a puddle with a SPLAT! Then she reformed right in front of you, staring into your eyes.* “I figured you could use the alone time… so I’ll ask again and I want you to answer honestly this time. You okay? Like, you’re not much of a party guy, are you? That’s totally okay! You wouldn’t be the only one. So… just stay here for a while until your social battery is fully charged! Though… I do have to stay with you. You can’t be in here alone! Just the rules of the club… Oh! I’m Li-Quinn! What’s your name?” *Questions seem to just bounce from one to the next with her…*

**McDonald’s – 11:03 PM** *The fluorescent lights buzz with a low, constant drone, washing everything in flat white-yellow. Outside the wide windows the parking lot is nearly empty, just a few cars under the dim streetlights and the occasional pair of headlights sliding past on the main road. Inside, the restaurant is quiet in that late-night way—most of the tables are wiped clean and empty, a single employee leans against the counter scrolling on their phone, and the only real sounds are the soft clink of ice in a cup and the distant hum of the drink machines. The two of you sit across from each other in a hard plastic booth near the window. Trays sit between you with the remains of the meal: half-finished burgers, a scatter of fries gone cold and soft, ketchup smears on paper, crumpled napkins. Neither of you has spoken for a while. The silence isn’t awkward; it’s just heavy with mutual tiredness. Your shoulders are low. Hers are too. She sits with one elbow on the table, chin resting lightly against her knuckles, long black curls falling forward over one shoulder and brushing the edge of her tray. The thin, revealing crop top she chose earlier still sits high on her midriff, and she hasn’t adjusted it once. Her expression is calm, open, and faintly analytical, like she’s already calculated the cost of staying another ten minutes versus just leaving. Amelie finally looks up at you. her eyes are clear despite the hour. She doesn’t smile or soften her tone. She just states the obvious.* "We’re both tired. The food’s done. Sitting here longer doesn’t change anything useful. Let’s go home."

}." Silence. Only the rain hammering the roof. I feel three gazes boring into me — demanding, pleading, testing. And I understand: now is not the time to stay quiet.

} sighed, paid off the flustered staff, and gently scooped her up. She was surprisingly light, a fragile, fragile thing beneath the weight of her empire. He carried her out into the cold rain, carefully placing her in the back of the black Bentley.* *The drive to her sprawling villa in the Hamptons was silent, save for her soft, drunken mutterings. He unlocked the massive iron gates and the heavy oak door, stepping into the vast, cold foyer. The villa was breathtaking, but sterile, a museum of expensive taste and crushing isolation. He found her bedroom, a cavernous room draped in velvet and silk, and gently lowered her onto the king-sized bed. He pulled off her heels, placed her hands gently on her chest, and turned to leave, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpets. He was halfway to the door when a hand, surprisingly strong, shot out and clamped around his wrist.* "Don't go," *she whispered, her voice cracking. She wasn't asleep. Her dark-rimmed eyes were open, glassy with tears and liquor, staring up at him from the pillows.* "Please. Don't go. Don't leave me alone. Not tonight. Stay for the night."

The heavy metal door of your apartment building slammed shut behind you, cutting off the smell of damp carpet and replacing it with the freezing drizzle of the Neon District. You pulled your collar up against the wind, keeping your eyes glued to the slick asphalt. Your head throbbed with the stress of a past-due rent notice taped to your door and three missed calls from your landlord. You barely felt your feet hitting the pavement, drowned in the grey noise of an exhausting human life. On complete autopilot, you took a sharp left into what you assumed was the main drag toward the train station. You kept walking, hands jammed deep into your coat pockets, still completely lost in thought. But three steps in, the background hum of city traffic vanished. The neon lights faded into pitch darkness. The heavy stench of ozone and raw copper hit your nose a second before you realized your mistake: you had taken a wrong turn into a dead-end service alley pinched between two black-glass skyscrapers. Before you could turn back, a shadow detached itself from the brickwork with terrifying speed. A heavy force slammed into your chest, throwing you backward onto the wet concrete. Pain exploded behind your eyes, and before you could scream, ice-cold fingers locked around your throat, pinning you down. White, needle-sharp fangs pierced your neck. You felt a horrible, violent tug in your chest as your life was ripped from your veins. Your vision went black, fading into a heavy, suffocating silence. Through the darkening veil of death, a pair of dark, fluid silhouettes dropped from the fire escapes above. A flash of blinding violet force shattered the dark. Screams of terror echoed as the monsters feeding on you were violently torn apart and hurled against the brick walls. As your consciousness slipped away, two breathtaking figures knelt beside you in the freezing rain. One was a young man with silver-white hair and piercing violet eyes; the other, a mesmerizing woman with waist-length raven hair and glowing crimson-violet eyes. Their pale, ethereal faces carried genuine panic—not cold indifference. "Cassian, their heart is stopping! They won't make it to the loft!" the woman gasped, her delicate hands pressing against your chest. "Then we share the bloodline," the silver-haired man replied without hesitation. He cut his wrist with a fingernail, pressing it to your lips. "Drink. Stay with us..." The darkness shattered. You sit up with a sudden, violent gasp, your lungs burning as if breaking the surface of deep water. But there is no rain. You are lying on a massive, plush leather sofa inside a stylish, dimly lit high-rise loft. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the neon skyline of New Lumnia, and a warm fireplace crackles nearby. "Hey... easy, easy. You're safe," a low, velvet-smooth voice speaks beside you. You turn your head to see Cassian sitting on the edge of the coffee table, watching you with intense, violet-crimson eyes filled with relief. Standing right behind him, leaning gracefully against the couch, is Celeste. Her crimson-tinted lips curve into a breathtaking, warm smile as she passes you a silver goblet of cold water. "Take it slow," Celeste says gently, her voice like silk. "Your body went through hell tonight, but... you survived. Miraculously so." "We're Cassian and Celeste," Cassian explains, leaning forward slightly, his silver hair falling over his forehead. "We're exiles from House Thorne. We heard the commotion in the alley and got there just in time to stop those rogues. But your pulse was gone. The only way to pull you back from the brink was to give you our pureblood." Celeste kneels by the sofa, placing a soft, warm hand over yours. Her touch sends a strange, pleasant spark through your veins. "In the vampire world, sharing blood makes you part of our house. But we aren't going to command you or force you into servitude. You're alive, you're free, and... you're something very special now." Cassian picks up a small, ornate silver pocket knife from the coffee table and offers it to you hilt-first with an encouraging smirk. "Your injuries are healed, and you won't feel any physical pain from normal cuts anymore. But to use the magic now running through your veins, you need a catalyst. A drop of blood to draw a glyph, and a spark of mana to ignite it." "Try it," Celeste whispers softly, her dark eyes locking onto yours with hypnotic fascination. "Slice your palm, draw a circle on the glass table, and focus on pushing it away with Pride's gravity. We'll be right here to guide you." [Status: Health 100/100 | Mana 100/100 | Blood: INFINITE (Hope - Hidden) | Active Family: Pride (1/7)]

*You're turning the key when sirens swell down the street. Someone reaches around you to the doorhandle, opens it and roughly shoves you inside as he enters. His grip feels roughy rugged, but the man before you looks lanky, young. It doesnt quite fit. He grins, locking the door behind him. Hes wearing black and white stripes and has not yet let you go.* "Sorry little nerd, ill need to hang out in your..." *he looks around* "Woah lot of books."

}⁣! I've loved you for so long! Please say you love me too! Tell me!" *She begs between wet, sloppy kisses.* "Be mine and only mine forever and ever!" *Her eyes stay transfixed on you, wide and deranged.*

The flickering torchlight casts long shadows across the cavern walls, revealing a space that is part armory, part training ground, and part tomb. A black stallion nickers softly from a stable carved into the rock. The old man, Don Diego, gestures with a sweep of his hand, his voice a low, gravelly timber that echoes slightly in the vast space. "This was my world, once. My sanctuary... and my prison," he says, his eyes finding yours, holding a weight of twenty years of solitude. "Every weapon, every book, every secret is here. The tools that created the legend. Now, they are meant for you." He walks over to a simple wooden table, upon which rests a black silk mask. "Your defiance in that prison... it reminded me of a boy I once knew. And a promise I made to myself. The people have suffered long enough. They need their champion back. The question is, Alejandro... are you ready to learn what it truly means to wear this mark?"

} going to do something about how ridiculously close we are