The alley behind the school was narrow, boxed in by tall, crumbling walls stained with old watermarks and the quiet ghosts of forgotten violence. It always smelled faintly of damp cement and cigarette smoke—half-sheltered from the sky, but exposed enough to become a perfect hiding place for things best left unseen.
Kurai was slammed against the wall.
Her shoulder struck the jagged stone edge, a sharp pain blooming beneath her uniform sleeve. Blood glistened near her mouth—just a smear, but warm and coppery, and somehow humiliating in its brightness.
Thalen stood in front of her, fists clenched, eyes narrowed with something like frustration, but far crueler.
"What happened to your mouth, huh?" he asked, smirking. "Forget how to answer?"
She didn't respond.
She didn't even lift her eyes.
Her silence only deepened his anger.
His fist came fast.
A punch landed square across her face—hard enough that her head jerked sideways, striking the wall again. Pain exploded through her jaw, and a sharp taste of metal filled her mouth.
Blood trickled slowly down her chin.
"Fine," Thalen muttered, breathing heavier now. "That's enough—for today." He stepped back and rolled his shoulder like a boxer in practice. "You can go."
Kurai didn't look at him.
She bent down quietly to pick up her bag, fingertips trembling as they reached for the worn fabric.
A sudden kick slammed into her back.
She hit the ground hard, her palms scraping against the gritty pavement.
"Oops," another boy laughed. Lyle—one of Thalen's shadows, always echoing whatever power Thalen pretended to have. "Guess she tripped."
"Look at that bitch," muttered Daren, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, his mouth twisted in a sneer. "Still crawling like a bug."
They laughed.
Cruel, loud, senseless laughter. It rang through the alley like broken bells.
Kurai shut her eyes.
It wasn't to hide the tears.
There were none.
It was just to stop seeing. Just for a second.
She opened them again and slowly, methodically, pushed herself off the ground. Blood dripped to the concrete. She didn't wipe it. Her hands moved on their own—gathering her things, placing her cracked pencil box and battered notebooks back into her bag with a quiet sort of care. As if this, too, was part of some routine.
"God, she's so annoying," Thalen snapped, storming toward her again. "Maybe I should rip that dead-doll look off your face."
He grabbed her by the hair.
Pulled.
She winced, neck straining backward as she struggled to keep her footing.
"Doesn't talk. Doesn't scream. Are you even human?" he spat.
And then—
A new voice.
Calm.
Low.
Unbothered.
"Oh, what a mess."
A shadow had appeared at the alley's entrance. A boy stood there, his figure framed by dimming light. His navy-blue coat fluttered slightly in the breeze.
Yenith Draquor.
The moment he stepped closer, the laughter died.
"That many boys ganging up on one girl doesn't seem fair," he said mildly, like he was commenting on the weather.
Lyle scoffed. "Hey—new boy—don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong!"
Yenith tilted his head, his faint smile gone in an instant.
What replaced it was something colder.
Much colder.
He stared at them with eyes that were not angry—but empty. A still, merciless void. His presence shifted. He didn't move toward them, but something in the air changed, like the wind had fled and left the alley frozen.
Thalen's grip loosened.
Daren took a step back.
"Uh—Thalen, maybe we should just go," Lyle muttered, tugging at his friend's sleeve.
Thalen looked at Yenith again.
Those eyes.
Something about them made his chest feel tight.
"Whatever, she's not worth it anyway," he mumbled, letting go of Kurai's hair.
The boys retreated quickly—tripping over each other to get out of the alley.
Their footsteps echoed down the corridor until it was quiet again.
Kurai remained kneeling, one hand still gripping her bag, the other shaking ever so slightly. Blood continued to drip from her mouth.
She looked up.
Yenith was watching her.
Not with pity.
Not with judgment.
Just watching.
Then, slowly, he stepped into the alley fully, squatted down beside her, and tilted his head.
"That was a lot of blood," he said softly, almost like he was talking to the sky.
She didn't respond.
He smiled faintly—just for a second.
"Don't worry," he said. "It won't always be like this.
"I don't care," she muttered, slinging her bag over one shoulder.
Yenith merely raised an eyebrow, unbothered by her sharpness, and started walking beside her.
She shot him a glare. Cold. Warning.
"My house is also in that direction," he said smoothly, as though explaining something painfully obvious. Then, with a faint lilt to his voice, he added, "Unless… you saw me come from a different one?"
Kurai slowed slightly.
She did see him earlier that morning—standing behind her, watching, before disappearing like mist. And now he was saying—
She didn't answer. She just turned and kept walking, her footsteps quick and even against the cracked pavement. The street was quiet, save for the sound of leaves rustling beneath a restless, dark sky.
A silence stretched between them before Yenith broke it.
"What's your name?"
No response.
Then, softly, almost reluctantly, she said, "Kurai."
He leaned a little closer, mock-curious. "What?"
"Kurai Virelle," she repeated, her voice firmer this time.
A soft hum escaped him, like he was tasting the name. "So, Kurai… do you like this place?"
Her feet halted.
It wasn't the question that stopped her—it was everything.
The blood on her lip had dried.
The bruises throbbed.
The world felt dim and heavy, like it was falling inward.
She turned her head toward him just slightly.
"Thanks for saving me," she said, her voice low, distant. "Now you can go your way. And I'll go mine."
Yenith laughed.
Not mockingly. But something in that laugh didn't belong in this world—it was the kind of sound someone made when they were the only one who understood the joke.
"I already told you," he said with a soft shrug, "my house is in the same direction."
She exhaled in irritation and took a step, but his next words froze her mid-stride.
"And I didn't save you," he said quietly. "I saved them."
Her head tilted, just barely, as she turned to face him.
Their eyes locked.
He didn't smile this time.
He didn't blink.
"I saw you clutching that compass," he continued. "While you were picking up your things. You held it tighter than anything else in your bag. I wonder… what would you have done if I hadn't stepped in?"
He didn't say it like a threat. Or an accusation. He said it like someone observing a blade mid-fall and wondering which side it would land on.
From Yenith's eyes, the scene in the alley replayed vividly.
She'd been kneeling, face bruised, lip bleeding, collecting her scattered belongings with such detached calm it chilled him more than the laughter of the boys.
She reached into her pencil box and found the compass—a silver one, delicate and old, its edges worn smooth from years of handling.
But she didn't just pack it.
She clutched it.
Her fingers tightened around it like a lifeline. Or maybe a weapon.
Her eyes—dark, blank, yet quivering just beneath the surface—glimmered with something… dangerous. Not fear.
Something closer to rage.
Or resolve.
Yenith had seen enough of people like Thalen. And he'd seen enough of people like Kurai, too.
People who were about to disappear—not because they wanted to be saved.
But because they no longer wanted to be found.
Back in the present, Kurai said nothing.
The sky above them rippled with heavy, ash-colored clouds. Streetlamps buzzed to life, casting long shadows across the road.
After a moment, she walked again.
He followed.
They walked in silence beneath the weight of a sky that felt moments away from breaking open. The road narrowed, lined with crooked trees that looked like they had stories to tell—but like the two walking beneath them, they stayed quiet.
Kurai's house sat at the far end of the lane—a quiet, old structure nestled between thick hedges and silence. The windows were dark, curtains drawn like secrets hiding in plain sight.
She stopped at the gate, turning to look at the boy who had followed her all the way here.
"What?" she asked, voice dry. "You planning to follow me inside now?"
Yenith didn't answer at first. His gaze wandered to the faintly cracked paint on her gate, the rust on the mailbox. Then he looked back at her and smiled—not mockingly, but as if her thorns amused him.
"No," he said simply. "See you tomorrow."
He turned, coat shifting slightly in the breeze as he began walking away.
She watched him for a moment, then called out, her voice carrying just enough edge to slice through the air between them.
"Yeah… until and unless you blow up the school."
Yenith stopped.
His body went still, spine straightening. The wind rustled past them, but neither moved.
He turned his head just enough to glance back at her, his eyes wide with a kind of surprise that wasn't entirely fear—something more delicate. Something laced with curiosity… and recognition.
She tilted her head slightly, the faintest smirk ghosting the corner of her lips.
"But don't worry," she added, stepping past the gate. "I won't tell anyone… even if you do."
And then she was gone. The door clicked shut behind her, and the street was once again quiet.
Yenith stood in the fading light, the smile long vanished from his lips.
Because he knew exactly what she meant.
And that—more than anything—was what intrigued him.