"Looks like rejection's contagious," he said with a flash of canines sharp enough to cut. "It's a good thing loners like us… stick together, am I right?"
Zev stared at him, still half-processing the words.
Out of all the people who could've spoken to him, it had to be this one.
Even crazier, he'd just dropped the most cursed line imaginable: "It's a good thing loners like us stick together."
'I'm so pathetic even a lunatic is calling me a loner,' Zev thought, crumbling inside. 'And the worst part is… he's not wrong.'
He snuck another glance. Dangerous mistake. The lethal face card was right there—close enough to study, whether he wanted to or not.
Those intense eyes, pale skin, and teeth that looked like they could open tin cans. Even his hair was unfair: white as chalk dust but somehow not ridiculous.
Zev swallowed hard and forced himself to look away. Nope. Not admiring him. Definitely not. That was how horror movies usually started.
"Great," the boy said, resting his chin on his palm with all the casual menace of a cat about to swat a glass off the table. "You're finally paying attention to me again."
Zev was confused. Again? And why was he speaking like they were old drinking buddies or something?
"I—" Zev started.
"Yeah, it's nice to meet you too. I'm Zach. Your roommate, by the way. House Scarlet on top~" He grinned, flashing a peace sign like this was some cheesy dating sim introduction.
Zev froze. "Uh? D–Did you just say roommate?!"
The realization hit him like truck-kun on steroids.
Yesterday evening, when he'd been "delivered" to the dormitories like fragile Amazon Prime, he'd been so out of it he assumed the other bunks in the room were empty.
He was the only one he saw, so obviously, he thought he was the only resident. But no. Apparently, one of those bunks came with this.
A ghost with a smile.
"Just as I thought," Zach said, smirk growing. "You're completely clueless. Couldn't even tell other people were in the room, huh?"
He gave an exaggerated shrug. "Then again, I'm not surprised. All you did yesterday was roll under the covers and cry—"
Smack.
Zev's palm clamped over his mouth before the words could finish. His whole body tensed, panic written across every nerve.
If his classmates heard that… If word spread that he'd spent his first night bawling like a toddler? His FCA social life would be over before it even started.
His shoulders shook as his mother's voice floated back like a poison echo:
"Kai wouldn't sulk like this. He would've already made five friends by now. Cheer up."
'Dammit. It's not like I didn't try,' Zev thought bitterly. 'They're the ones who…'
He didn't finish. Because that's when Zach's fingers closed around his wrist and pulled his hand away.
They were cold. Not normal cold, but corpse-cold. The kind that seeped straight into your bones. Goosebumps bloomed instantly up Zev's arm.
He jerked his head up.
Zach was still smiling, but the warmth was gone. What lingered instead was something darker.
"Careful," he said. "You could've seriously hurt me there. Be gentler next time."
Zev yanked his hand back and clutched it against his chest. His skin still crawled where the boy had touched him.
His stomach churned. 'Gross. What exactly is this guy? A vampire? No. Worse. Some new breed of nightmare?'
He didn't have time to dwell. The bell rang, slicing the tension in half.
The classroom door slid open.
And just like that, their first lecture at FCA began.
— ✚
Professor Thalassa Verge moved like the tide deciding which ships got to stay afloat.
She set a tablet on the podium, took off her shades, and shook out her ocean-dark hair streaked with moonlit white.
The projector, on auto-detect, snapped awake.
"Well, good morning, Class 1C. I'm Professor Thalassa Verge, designated instructor for MEM 101: Memory Echo."
Her electric-blue eyes skimmed the room. "First and foremost, you should know that this course is not a playground. It's a forge. You will either be sharpened like a blade or shattered like glass. There is no in-between."
Silence fell so hard it made a sound.
"In MEM 101, we deal with how human memories become nightmare triggers. Simple frame, three verbs."
She turned, picked up the marker and scribbled on the board:
Harvest. Embed. Fracture.
"Harvest: you find the dreamer's memory during the dive. A smell, a phrase, a hallway, a birthday cake. Memories are like grains of sand; they never run out.
Embed: you place it inside the dream frame so it fits. No seams. No 'glue' showing.
Fracture: you make into a weapon that hits where it hurts the most, without collapsing the dream."
A few students shifted. That sounded simple enough?
"You'll learn to spot surface cues, tag emotions, and prep safe dives. Week one is fundamentals. No flexing. No grandstanding. If you cause a scene, you'll be penalized. If you cry, we'll play it back during critique. Don't overthink it, character building is just as important as the boring aspects."
Zev's pen hovered. He actually wrote: Harvest. Embed. Fracture. (Legible. Miracles exist.)
"Oh, and two simple ethics for later," Thalassa continued. "One: early-stage dives do not rummage for trauma souvenirs. Two: you are not surgeons yet. Don't bother acting like it."
She tapped the board. "Now, here's the fun bit you didn't want: Assignment Zero."
A groan fluttered through the room.
"Relax, you normies. The assignment isn't due soon," she rolled her eyes. "But you're expected to visit the library archives and pick one case study from the Echo Index.
Your task: map the memory hook tree. What was harvested, how it was embedded, where it fractured. One page diagram, one page notes.
The deadline for submission will be communicated in due time. If you ever get lost, ask the archivists. Politely. Don't blame me for what happens if you don't."
Pens began moving. Even the overconfident ones.
Thalassa slid her shades back on. "Questions?"
Crickets.
"Good. Then one last housekeeping item." She scanned the room. "Class representative. Come forward and collect the modules."
Nothing. The whole class did their best impression of furniture.
Thalassa sighed. "Of course Nayomi didn't assign one. Always forgetful that one." She opened her mouth to point at someone at random—
—then a hand shot up like it was auditioning for the sky.
A boy stood.
Wild, silvery-dull hair tapered to black at the tips, styled too neatly for someone who called it "natural." One long earring hung like a tiny banner. His eyes were storm-grey and very sure of themselves.
"Aluminum Bergō, volunteering as temporary class rep," he announced. "From the Bergō line, Yvülus heritage. I've held nine leadership posts throughout middle school, including two student councils, three event chairs, and one crisis committee during a simulated portal outage. I intend to graduate in the top one percent and I'm uniquely qualified to—"
"Save it," Thalassa said, already turning toward the door. "If you can walk and carry things, you're qualified. Come."
Aluminum blinked, then smirked like that counted as victory. He straightened his earring and followed her out, posture screaming chosen.
Just like that, class 1C's first introductory lecture was over. Casualty count: 0.
The room exhaled.
Then—
"Lol bro gave us his LinkedIn."
The noise resurfaced immediately. Laughter broke out. Students resumed their rapid chatter, the words tumbling over one another.
"Hey, that wasn't so bad! My brother made it seem like every lecture was the end of the world."
"I know, right? But we shouldn't get complacent. She mentioned the first week is all about fundamentals. The real hell definitely starts next week."
"Hmm... Now that I think about it. That nerd said he's a Bergō. Like mirror Bergō? That family's reflection nightmares wrecked my cousin's cousin." (Ref: Human dreamers aren't the only ones that get traumatized by nightmares. Some Dreamweavers do too after watching the streams.)
"He's cute in a 'will report you to the teacher' kind of way."
"Top one percent? I just want to survive Friday."
"Why's Prof Thalassa kinda..."
Everyone turned and stared. Judgmentally.
Meanwhile, Zev thumbed his notes, weirdly proud he'd produced actual words. For a second, something like hope flickered.
Then his brain remembered: Doomweaver's Nightmare on Friday. Greatest fear. Placement on the line. His imprint: still… nothing.
The hope deflated.
Late bloomer, his family had said, while never once producing a late bloomer of their own. Another trait that made him so different from them.
He counted under his breath—one, A, two, B, three, C—trying to keep the panic from spilling into his hands.
Across the aisle, Zach's notebook sat open. Half-finished sketches. Something about them made the air colder. Zev looked away.
"Hey," Zach said, turning in his seat. "Snack shop raid? I'm so hungry I could eat a whole zebra. Or two smaller, morally sourced horses, maybe."
Go somewhere with this obvious lunatic? Hard pass. Minimal bonding. Maximum distance.
Zev forced a smile. "Um, go without me. I'm not really hungry."
Right on cue, his stomach let out a growl so dramatic it deserved a trailer.
Zach's brows lifted. The smile didn't move. "Oh yeah?"
"It… does that sometimes," Zev lied. "Medical condition. Very rare."
For a beat, Zach just watched him—really watched, like he was reading a temperature only he could see.
Then he shrugged. "Suit yourself."
He stood, slid his hands into his pockets, and sauntered out, humming like the main character in someone else's story.
Relief washed over Zev so hard he nearly melted through the chair. Roommate. Desk-mate. Walking red flag.
How was he supposed to avoid a person he lived within a five-foot radius of?
He pressed his thumbs together to stop the twitch, then started counting again—one, A, two, B—threading letters between numbers until his breath evened out.
Around him, classmates regrouped in small knots.
"Friday's sim… do they make you say your fear out loud?"
"No, but they'll know. They always know. My brother told me."
"My Imprint's dormant. Do you think they let Dormants survive the first week?"
"You heard Miss Nayomi. If your ESC is clean, maybe. Or you cry. Crying's a strategy."
"My cousin awakened during her sim. Scored an Awakening Pass. Cried for twenty minutes after."
"I don't care about any of that. I just want a nap right now."
Zev stared at his page and tried to picture himself not failing. It was… difficult.
And across the room, someone watched him with mismatched eyes—one pink, one green—biding their time, weighing approach angles, waiting for a moment that would feel like fate.
Zev's stomach answered first, lower and louder.
"Traitor," he whispered to it, and got up anyway.
No matter what, he'd make it to Friday and survive it. He'd start Assignment Zero. He'd pretend his hands weren't shaking.
He would absolutely not think about the boy with the corpse-cold touch who said they should stick together.
► — ✚
[ MEM 101: Assignment Zero ]
Issued by Prof. Thalassa Verge, FCA Faculty.
𖤐 Objective:
Select one case study from the Echo Index in the FCA Library archives.
𖤐 Task:
Map the Memory Hook Tree (Harvest → Embed → Fracture).
One page diagram.
One page notes.
▸ Tips:
1. Archivists can be sourpusses. Ask politely.
2. Don't plagiarize archived nightmares. The Council can smell recycled trauma.
3. "I forgot" is not a valid excuse. You will be harvested.
𖤐 Deadline:
Relax, but not completely. Or you will be harvested.