The air buzzed with the collective low roar of students surging toward the main building. They moved in chattering streams, their uniforms a sea of navy and white. Laughter and excited gossip about summer breaks floated through the morning air.
​Standing slightly apart from the main flow was a tight-knit squad of five, seeing each other for the first time since June.
​"I went to a famous beach overseas! I still have my tan! Look!" Blonde pigtails bounced as the girl, Vana, thrust her forearm forward. She giggled, her eyes sparkling like seawater. Her friends leaned in with a collective "ooh." She swiped her phone from her vest pocket and showed the photos from her trip.
​"Whoa! That's dope!" said a boy, Gerald, his hair falling into his eyes.
​"You're so lucky! I only had a few boring city trips," chimed in another girl, Sia, pulling her brand-new brown leather bag higher on her shoulder. Her tone was carefully dissatisfied.
​Gerald laughed, tapping his finger against his chin. "Your vacation wasn't bad, Sia. What I really want to know is who got the worst of it?" Amusement sharpened his eyes. "Any bets?"
​The group's attention snapped to him. Another boy, Miggy, slapped his own forehead and grinned. "It's Carson, I'm 99.9% sure!" Laughter erupted, loud and easy.
​Vana's voice rose above the noise. "I bet he was stuck in his room doing his weird hobby the whole time." They all laughed again.
​Gerald opened his mouth to reply, but a solid impact against his shoulder sent him stumbling. He was about to complain when he saw the face and the eyes—and the strings of curses died on his tongue.
​"I'm sorry, Gerald! I was too preoccupied," the person said, clasping his hands together quickly.
​It was Anthony. Gerald could only nod, while the rest of the group openly gaped. Other students also looked on in awe of Anthony's appearance.
​Anthony was not the person they had left in spring. His stance was broader, and his shoulders set with a quiet confidence. His long black hair was swept back and tied in a neat bun with a silver cat clip. He was holding his phone, fingers flying over the screen.
​Vana called out to him. "Oh my! Carson, is that you? I nearly didn't recognize you!" She gave an awkward chuckle. Vana didn't expect Anthony to be this hot!
​But Anthony didn't spare her a glance. His focus remained glued to the phone screen. He was frantic, busy texting the only person who mattered: Aegir. He had only left the house minutes ago, but he couldn't stop worrying.
​'Ask Vin to send you food from his restaurant,' Anthony typed.
​Anthony's brows knitted when the message went unread. It was his tenth text. "Where did you go, Aegir?" Anthony whispered to himself. He quickly tried to dial Aegir's number, but the call went straight to voicemail. 
Anthony frowned.
​Gerald stepped forward, a smirk stretching across his face. "Sheesh, Carson! Still as weird as ever!" He wanted the attention redirected. When Anthony offered no response, Gerald prodded further. "Your looks changed, but you're still that nerd—"
​Gerald's voice caught in his throat. Anthony's cold, piercing glare met his eyes. Gerald found himself trembling, struggling to hold the stare. For the irritated Anthony, punching the guy out seemed like a viable idea now that he was frustrated.
​"Are you saying something, Gerald?"
​The words weren't an explicit threat, yet they landed like one. His voice was deadly serious. Before Anthony could say anything else, the phone vibrated against his palm. Almost in an instant, the intimidating presence vanished into excitement and worry. He picked up the phone.
​But the first sound from the other line surged a tide of uneasiness.
​”H-Hello... A...Anthony... “ Aegir’s voice was a trembling, broken thing, followed by a wet hiccup. He was breathing hard and heavy as if running away from something.
​In that moment, skipping school became a necessity. “What happened to you?” Anthony demanded, his tone sharp. Something told him that something was wrong.
​A resonant crack of thunder echoed across the area, causing hidden birds to shriek and scatter, as if mourning a tragedy no one wanted to hear. It made his blood boil for some reason. Hatred weigh more than the fear clawing itself towards his heart. 
Anthony immediately knew that Aegir needs him. If he found out someone hurt Aegir—they'll have to answer their own wretched grave. 
​
-
In the quiet room where Saint lay unconscious, Vin sat motionless, his face pale and etched with worry. Black veins pulsed across Saint's skin as he tossed and turned in a fitful fever, sweat matting his hair to his temples.
​Vin stood, pulling a small blade from his pocket. Without hesitation, he sliced a shallow line across his wrist. The old vampire had been clear...Saint needed the blood of someone he shared a deep bond with to anchor his sanity upon waking.
And Vin is the unfortunate sacrifice. Despite Anthony being this fool's best friend, Saint, before the raid loves to hang out with him. 
Yeah, too close that this now bloodsucker fool offered his body to him. 
​Vin winced. Though he had cut and healed his skin countless times since Saint’s transformation, the sting never truly faded. He pressed his bleeding wrist against Saint’s mouth, letting the crimson droplets coat the man’s lips. 
He'll make this fool pay once he's awake. He not only dried his blood but also made him worried sick. 
Despite his efforts, Saint’s condition remained unchanged. ​Vin cursed under his breath. 
Just as he turned to call for the "old fart" to intervene, Saint’s eyes snapped open. His irises were bloody red, too intense red unlike the usual new born vampires. 
Saint gasped for air, chest heaving as if he had just escaped a waking nightmare.
​Saint sat up abruptly, blinking as he processed his surroundings. He stared at his own pale fingers, clenching them into a fist to ground himself in reality. But the relief of being alive didn't last; a look of profound disturbance crossed his face, a shadow of whatever he had seen in the abyss of his sleep.
​His gaze snapped to Vin, who was already tearing up with relief. The dumb bunny looked so worn out, with dark bags under his eyes. Saint knew that perhaps he took care of him but he'll make it up to him later, but now there's much more important things to do. 
​”You dumb rabbit, there's no time to cry," Saint rasped, his voice urgent. "Tell Artemisia that Aegir is in danger. I don't know why I’m still alive, but I saw it in a dream—it's happening. Hurry!”
​Saint’s own brush with death paled in comparison to the vision he had just witnessed. He knew his best friend’s heart—Anthony was a romantic in the most terrifying sense. Saint had seen the aftermath in his mind. Anthony letting the world burn and showing no mercy to anyone, all because of what happened to Aegir. 
He doesn't want them to get hurt and he doesn't want to die again. It's all that damn Hale the fucker's fault! 
He'll never ever forgive him even if he dies. He even hopes he'll die soon. 
-