Alina's fingers twitched with temptation as she finished fluffing out Luna's fur. The little wolf pup was now dry, clean, and adorably puffy like a living, breathing gray cotton cloud.
Luna had returned to her usual grumpy self, but Alina could barely resist the urge to squeeze her and run off with her tucked under her arm. "I'm a teacher, not a thief," she whispered to herself with a tiny sigh.
After ensuring every child was dry, dressed, and comfortable, Alina gently herded them all back to the classroom. Today's lesson plan had been washed away along with the cafeteria flood, so she decided not to hold any more classes. Instead, she let them rest, draw, and chat quietly.
Sable curled up near the window with his notebook. Boo whispered silly theories about the principal to Rocky, who stared with his usual stone-faced seriousness.
Felix was playfully mimicking Alina's voice while sketching her portrait, though he'd given her an extra-long nose for some reason.
And Luna, still in her wolf form, refused to return to her human shape just yet. She stayed right by Alina's desk, pretending not to be attached… but never leaving her side.
Meanwhile, back in the tall, imposing office of the principal, Dante Nightshade sat at his desk but not alone.
Lucian was in his arms, his small frame pressed tightly against his father's chest. His little arms were looped around Dante's neck, his head resting on the curve of his shoulder as though it was the safest place in the world.
Dante didn't move much, but one of his large hands rested on Lucian's back, gently patting in a steady rhythm, as if trying to soothe away all the day's tension.
His expression, usually sharp and cold had softened considerably.
"You need to control your mouth," Dante said softly, though there was firmness in his tone. "You can't call someone dumb just because they make a mistake. Especially someone younger than you. That's not how leaders behave."
Lucian didn't argue. He simply nodded slowly and whispered, "Okay, Dad."
Dante gave his head a gentle rub, fingers brushing through his son's dark hair.
Outside, staff moved quietly past the door, whispering about the flood.
Dante's hand gently swept over Lucian's head, his long fingers pausing just above the small curve of the horn on the boy's head. "Your horn's grown a bit," he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself. His voice was low, calm.
Lucian shifted in his arms, his tiny brows pulling together. He looked up, resting his chin against his father's shoulder. "Really?" he asked with a flicker of interest, then turned his head to glance at the reflective glass cabinet nearby, trying to catch a glimpse of his own horn. His small hands clumsily reached out, but the angle made it hard to see anything.
So instead, he tilted his head up and stared at his father's horn—dark, long, sharply curved like some kind of battle-forged crown. "Will I grow big horns like yours?" he asked, voice curious and serious in the way only children could be when they were trying to match someone they admired.
Dante didn't reply right away. He looked down at his son—this small, bright-eyed child with wild dark hair and red eyes that reminded him too much of his younger self, except gentler. Lucian had no idea what his name carried in the world, no idea how many people bowed their heads just hearing the name Nightshade. He only wanted to know if he'd grow like his father, if he was good enough.
A smile, the kind that rarely appeared on Dante's face, broke through his sharp expression. Not cold. Not polite. But a real, warm smile that softened his features just enough to show that yes—this man who ruled with silence and power, also had a soul that bent for one person. "Of course," he said, brushing the boy's hair behind his ear. "One day they'll be even stronger than mine."
Lucian blinked at that, lips parting slightly as the words soaked in. Then he gave a firm nod like he'd made a promise to himself. A promise to grow. A promise to become.
He wrapped his arms tighter around Dante's neck, snuggling close again, and Dante allowed it.
**
Meanwhile, in the classroom D, Alina gently pressed her fingers to her temples, her mind spinning. The moment she turned to glance at Felix, he had already shifted again one second giggling at something in his book, the next flipping his hair like a moody prince, brows furrowed and lips sealed like he was holding some ancient grudge.
She sighed inwardly. How can someone that small have this many personalities in one morning?
Just then, Drake's voice pierced her thoughts. "Teacher!"
She turned to him immediately, her expression softening. "Yes, sweetheart?"
Drake crossed his arms and tilted his chin up like a bored little emperor. "We're getting bored! Can we go outside to play?"
Alina blinked. His tone was firm but his amber eyes carried the flicker of hope that only children had. She wanted to say yes. She really did. But—
"No," she said gently, her voice steady. "We can't go outside without the principal's permission."
Drake's lips wobbled. His shoulders slumped. "You're just like Miss Clara," he muttered, looking away. "She also never let us play. Can't you give us play time?"
The guilt hit her faster than she expected. Especially when she glanced around and saw Vlad Jr.'s crimson eyes lower with disappointment, Rocky's face turned to stone, literally and even Boo let out a quiet sigh that seemed too heavy for such a tiny chest.
Alina knelt beside Drake and placed her hand on his small arm. "I know it's boring to stay inside all day," she said with a soft smile. "But how about this–we play right here, in the classroom, until breakfast is ready?"
Drake's ears perked up slightly.
"We can play whatever you want story circle, shadow shapes, tail-tag, anything that keeps us together."
Drake looked at her suspiciously. "Even 'Monster Catcher'?"
"Even Monster Catcher," she chuckled.
The change was instant. The atmosphere brightened as if someone had switched on a magic lamp. Drake grinned widely and gave a thumbs-up.
Alina exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Back in her world, a situation like today would have meant emergency calls, tearful parents arriving, the school closing early. But here it was different. Danger wasn't unfamiliar. One of the staff had whispered something about an "attack" earlier. She didn't ask further. The word alone was enough to weigh her chest.
They were safe for now.