Avon tried to move, to wake up—but his limbs wouldn't answer. His body felt trapped. His eyes were closed. In the darkness, he saw something move—a shadow of a beast. Its growl rumbled.
Something heavy pressed on his chest. He felt like he was being crushed into the earth. He tried to open his eyes, but couldn't.
Yet he saw a wolf standing there in the corner. Giant, silent. Its eyes gleamed in the dark.
"It's time."
The voice hammered him down harder. He couldn't breathe. Then, through panic and fear, he forced every ounce of strength.
His body jerked.
He jolted awake with a gasp.
He looked around. The room was quiet. No wolf. No darkness. Just him sitting in his bed.
Was I just… paralyzed?
Avon crossed to the balcony. Dawn hung in a bruise between night and day.
It's been three days since that night.
The same dream. The same wolf.
What the hell is happening to me?
A breeze moved across the balcony. He closed his eyes and let it soak him with cold and comfort, against the sweat.
------------------------------------------------------------
Later,
The classroom buzzed with noise. Chairs scraped. Desks rattled. Laughter bounced from one corner to another.
Avon sat in the last row by the window, leaning back with his chin on his hand. His eyes were locked on the far mountains outside. He was lost in thoughts.
"Can we switch seats?" A voice from his right cut into his quiet.
Avon's teeth clenched.
"No," Avon said without looking back.
"Did you find anything new about… that?" she asked again.
"No." His eyes never left the window.
"Did you tell anyone else?" Her finger tapped lightly on his shoulder.
Avon turned back at last. His voice was flat. "No. I haven't told anyone. I haven't found anything new. And I won't switch seats. Are we good?"
She nodded, her gaze dropping to the books on her desk, with a disappointment in her face.
Trrrrr…
The bell rang. Avon grabbed his bag and slipped out through his usual spot at the window.
But then he stopped. His eyes caught on Rheia, standing by the desk with a desperate look on her face. She couldn't follow. She couldn't jump.
He waved his hand, signaling her to go around through the hallway and use the entrance.
"Wait…" He changed his mind.
"Foot on that grip. Then up." Avon extended his hand.
Rheia struggled, but with his help she pulled herself through. Her hand clung to his until she finally made it over the ledge.
"You climbed that bridge easily enough," Avon muttered under his breath.
I wonder when Arya will come back.
Both walked towards the gates of the Veymont High.
------------------------------------------------------------
The car's engine roared along the empty lakeside as Avon pulled over beside a vending machine.
"Which one?" he asked quietly.
"Mmm…" Rheia leaned closer to the glass, eyes tracing the rows of cans and bottles. She hummed softly, confused about which one to pick.
"When you decide, bring me the red one," he said, handing over some coins.
Without waiting for her answer, he turned and dropped onto a chair nearby.
Why is she so calm?
I'm burning inside… How do I even solve this?
Every moment, I'm waiting for an attack.
Avon leaned back in the chair, staring up at the sky. A moment later, Rheia handed him the drink, then sat down beside him. An awkward silence hung between them. They both sipped quietly, neither saying a word.
Avon pulled out his phone and scrolled through the feed.
A video caught his eye—an artform, some kind of dance. His chest tightened. The movements, the shape of it… they looked just like the shadow in his dream.
He glanced at the hashtags:
#demon
#demonworshipping
Avon tipped his can into the bin and stood. Without another word, he walked to his car.
"Let's go," he said as soon as he got on.
Rheia quickly dropped her can and hurried after him.
------------------------------------------------------------
Late night—
Tab after tab vanished from the screen—Wikipedia, obscure forums, onion sites buried in the net. Each closed window left another line scrawled in his notepad: fragments, scattered names, half-forgotten rituals.
He leaned back for a moment, rubbing his eyes, then bent forward again, pen scratching fast across the paper.
With a sigh, Avon tore his eyes from the monitor's glow. Took a glass and swallowed the first gulp. He pushed back his chair and made his way to the kitchen.
Should I tell him?
He may not even know anything… but still…
Why do I feel like I need to ask him?
Avon slipped his phone from his pocket and typed a short message:
"Can we meet at Lakeway? I have something."
He slid the phone back. It buzzed almost instantly in his hand.
"Okay."
Without another pause, Avon pulled on his jacket, swung onto the bike, and was already passing through the gates.
------------------------------------------------------------
The lake stretched quiet under the night, its surface black glass. On the bank, someone stood alone, a packet in hand, idly chewing. His movements steady as the night itself.
A footstep crunched over gravel behind him.
"I thought you wouldn't come" Avon's voice cut through the stillness.
The figure stopped chewing. A slow smile curved his lips, though he didn't turn around.
"Feels like it's been decades since you asked me for anything… nicely," Ethan said as he turned, "Avon".
Avon stood a few paces back, shoulders set, his gaze fixed on the dark stretch of water instead of the boy before him.
He didn't return the look.
"As you know, I put my dignity on that message," Avon said, his voice low and firm. "So let's keep this respectful—agree, or walk away."
"Agreed. So, what's the hunch?"
"First, you give me your word," Avon replied, stepping closer to the lakefront. "This is sensitive"
"I'm guessing this is something even you can't handle," Ethan said, turning his gaze out over the lake.
"Your word, Ethan." Avon's tone cut sharper.
"I give you my word," Ethan replied after a pause. "Whatever we say here stays off the record." He glanced sideways at Avon.
"By the way, I thought you came for this." Ethan took out a phone from his pocket.
Avon froze. It was his phone — the one he'd lost the other night. He slowly took it from Ethan's hand, their eyes locking.
"Mind telling me what happened?" Ethan asked.
"Okay," Avon sighed. "The RHI of Forest. The curse of Araenya. It's in my home."
"What?" Ethan frowned, confused.
"There's been an incident. You know that girl, Rheia. On that night She awakened the curse. The worst part is, it was to save me. She healed my broken right arm, als—"
"Let me be clear—whatever you're about to say, tell me Uncle Edward knows about this," Ethan cut him off.
"If he did, why the fuck would I come to you then?" Avon shot back.
A silence settled between them.
"How in the hell did your arm break in the first pla—?" Ethan started.
"Not relevant."
"Then hear me out. Whatever your plan is, you're going after death. Either you get killed by that shit, kill the whole town, or get killed by the council. However you slice it, I see your death in every case." Ethan let it all out in a single breath.
"You didn't underst—"
"No. Let me guess—you chose to kill the whole town," Ethan shut him up.
Avon exhaled sharply. "We can do this all night, Ethan. I called you because I need help."
"Don't tell me you fell for her."
"Okay—take it or shove it. Here's the thing. What I know now is, that fucking void won't come thousands of kilometers just to pick a single girl from nowhere. If that was the case, it would've been here long before you could even show your fucking ass in this night. There has to be a reason behind all this, and I'm going to find it—with or without your help." Avon stretched the whole thing out in one breath.
Avon sighed. A silence lingered around them like an unwelcome guest.
"Do you know why I cut things off with you?" Ethan began.
"I don't have RHI, so I can't be useful," Avon said flatly.
"It's true, and it's the first reason. The second is, I didn't want you walking into that void under the name of a Raidring and straight into death," Ethan's voice lowered. "All I could do was push you to your limits, invoke your emotions, force an awakening. And by last year… I was done with that too." He stopped.
"I know…" Avon looked away.
"Then you must know how I lost my brother, Reiner. I can't bear another one. So tell this to Edward and let him take it from here," Ethan said.
"You still don't get it," Avon shot back. "I don't care about that girl. What I care about is that the whole thing is chained to me. It all happened because I was hurt in the first place. If she hadn't healed me, I'd be as good as a fucking limb without an arm—my right arm. So this is something I have to take care of myself."
He paused, drawing a breath. "With all respect to Rein… I wanted to do the same thing he did. He stood and faced it—and now I am too."
"Avon, please try to get understand things. You may think you are in control, but there will be a moment, you will understand, that you weren't driving the whole thing. To me, you're asking permission to commit suicide."
"I guess I asked the wrong person. Thanks for coming," Avon said, turning back toward his bike.
Ethan's palm began to whistle as air coiled around it, a sharp wind blast forming in his clenched hand. His face twisted with frustration, and with a sudden release—
Boom!
The blast slammed into the lake, sending water erupting outward in waves that crashed back against the shore.
Avon didn't even look back.
------------------------------------------------------------
Days slipped by.
The exam hall sat in silence, the air heavy with the scratch of pens and the ticking clock. Rows of students bent over their papers, racing against time. Avon kept his head down, his writing steady.
Then—an unease stirred. A presence pressed at the edge of his awareness, sharp and watching.
Shawn.
His fingers were bound in plaster, broken and stiff, so another student scribbled for him. Yet Shawn's attention wasn't on the paper. His eyes were fixed on Avon—more precisely, on Avon's right arm.
Avon lowered his gaze and continued writing.
Trrring…
The bell rang. Chairs scraped back, papers shuffled, and the hall emptied in a wave. Shawn gathered his things in a rush and slipped toward the door.
"I thought you'd have left the country by now." The voice stopped him cold. Avon stood there, waiting for him.
Shawn stopped as someone frozen him.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know he'd do that to your arm…"
Shawn looked at his right arm. "but I think it's fine. Nothing really happened to you, look at you," Shawn said. His lips were trembling, he hadn't taken a breath, his whole body was trembling.
Thud!
Avon punched at the locker, through Shawn's shoulder.
Shawn closed his eyes.
"Here's the thing," Avon stepped closer, his voice flat. "You keep your mouth shut. Don't ever speak about that night again. Or I'll make sure you can't wipe your own ass. Got it?"
"Yeah… understood." Shawn's eyes stayed down, too afraid to meet Avon's.
Avon turned and walked toward the main doors, the tension still clinging to the air behind him.
His phone chimed. He pulled it from his pocket. A new message flashed on the screen. A quiet smile flickered across his lips.
I'm in.from Ethan.
Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he made his way toward the bike.