CAMPUS LIFE:
Chapter 1 – The Girl Who Smiled Too Bright
The morning sun spilled through the arched windows of Evershade College, catching the dust motes that drifted lazily above the courtyard. Laughter echoed from a group of students rushing toward class. In the middle of them, like a spark in daylight, walked Lyra Varelle—smiling, waving, cheeks lit with a warmth that could convince even the weary that life was simple.
Everyone loved Lyra.
She laughed at professors' dull jokes, shared snacks with strangers, organized charity plays, and always remembered birthdays. She was the kind of girl who turned silence into sunlight. Yet, inside, she felt like she was copying warmth from someone else's memory.
When she laughed, it never reached her heart.
When she smiled, something deep inside remained still—like a pond untouched by rain.
"Lyraaa!" Mira's voice broke her thoughts. Her best friend jogged toward her, messy hair tied in a ribbon. "You didn't sleep again, did you?"
Lyra blinked, realizing she had been staring at the clock tower for too long. "You caught me," she said with a laugh that felt practiced. "Midnight tea and sketching—my noble excuses."
Mira frowned. "You've been… pale lately. Eat something before class, okay?"
Lyra nodded and let Mira drag her toward the canteen. The smell of bread and coffee drifted through the hallways—but today, it felt different. The scent didn't comfort her; it made her throat ache, like thirst.
As they passed the notice board, whispers rose around them.
"New transfer student in Department of History," someone murmured.
"From the military academy," another added.
"Apparently he's… different."
Lyra paid no attention until the crowd parted near the steps.
He stood there—tall, still, carrying a sense of calm that didn't belong in noisy mornings. His uniform was unadorned, his expression unreadable. But what struck her wasn't his face. It was the faint trace of his scent—a clean, metallic sweetness that struck through the noise, slicing into her senses.
For a second, her chest tightened. Her pulse stumbled. The world sharpened in unbearable clarity.
Bread smelled burnt. Coffee turned bitter. Every heartbeat in the corridor drummed too loudly.
And that scent—his scent—pulled her closer like gravity.
He glanced up. Their eyes met.
Something flickered—recognition? Fear? She didn't know.
But for the first time in years, she felt something. A rush. A tremor. Hunger.
"Lyra?" Mira's voice sounded distant.
Lyra blinked, forcing a smile. "Sorry—just… dizzy."
She turned away, pressing her cold hands together. Beneath her perfect smile, panic trembled.
She didn't understand why the scent of one stranger could make her heart race—or why, in that heartbeat, her reflection in the glass door showed her eyes glinting faintly crimson.
Outside, the bell tolled for class, and Evershade College carried on as if nothing had changed.
But for Lyra Varelle, something ancient had stirred—something that had slept too long beneath borrowed sunlight.
Chapter 2 – The Scent of Hunger
The next morning arrived wrapped in mist. Dew clung to the old stone benches of Evershade College, and the campus bell hummed faintly through the fog. Lyra sat under the oak near the fountain, sketchbook open, pencil unmoving. Her page showed a pair of eyes—sharp, unreadable, framed by strands of silver-black hair.
She hadn't meant to draw him. Yet Aiden Vale's face had appeared beneath her hand, as if memory itself had guided her.
She tore the page carefully, folded it, and tucked it away.
Don't be ridiculous, she told herself. It's just a new student. Just… a scent.
But her stomach disagreed. Since yesterday, everything edible tasted like dust. Bread, fruit, even Mira's handmade chocolate muffins—nothing satisfied her. The only moment she'd felt alive was when that metallic sweetness filled the air near him.
"Lost again?" Mira's cheerful voice broke her thoughts. She plopped down beside Lyra, holding two cups of coffee.
Lyra smiled, though her lips felt heavy. "Always. What's the new gossip today?"
"The transfer student," Mira said instantly. "Apparently top of his class, military background, quiet, polite. Name's Aiden Vale."
Lyra's pencil slipped, smudging her sketch. "Vale?" she repeated. The name felt familiar, like something whispered in a half-forgotten dream.
Mira nodded. "He's joining our group project. Professor wants him integrated fast. Try not to scare him with your hyper energy, okay?"
Lyra laughed softly, though her heart beat unevenly. "Me? Terrifying?"
When they entered the classroom later, the air shifted again. Aiden sat by the window, sunlight sliding across his pale skin like water over glass. He looked up as she approached, eyes the color of storm clouds.
"Lyra Varelle?" he asked, voice calm, low.
She froze. "How do you—?"
"The professor mentioned your name," he interrupted gently, offering a faint, polite smile. "We'll be working together, I believe."
Lyra nodded, forcing her thoughts into order. Yet as she sat beside him, the scent returned—clean, sharp, intoxicating. The room blurred. Every pulse in her neck felt too loud, her breathing too shallow. She caught herself staring at the vein in his wrist where the sunlight hit, glowing faintly beneath his skin.
Her throat burned.
She bit her lip hard enough to taste iron, and strangely, it calmed her.
"You're pale," Aiden said quietly. "Do you need water?"
"No, just—" she swallowed, "just tired."
He studied her for a moment longer than politeness allowed, then nodded, turning back to his notes. But Lyra could feel it—the awareness between them, like an invisible thread tugging at her chest.
When the class ended, she escaped to the corridor, pressing a hand over her heart.
What's happening to me?
For a moment, the sunlight dimmed, and in the window glass, her reflection shimmered faintly crimson again—eyes that weren't hers staring back with quiet hunger.
And somewhere behind her, Aiden's voice murmured softly, as if to himself,
"So… it begins."
Chapter 3 – The Blood Dream
That night, Lyra couldn't sleep.
The air in her dormitory was too still, too heavy, as if the night itself were holding its breath. The moonlight spilled across the ceiling like silver water, and every shadow seemed to move when she blinked.
She sat up, her pulse fluttering. Mira was already asleep in the bed beside hers, snoring softly, unaware of the unease crawling beneath Lyra's skin. The silence pressed closer, and she could hear things she shouldn't—the hum of electricity behind the walls, the faint rhythm of Mira's heartbeat, the flutter of a moth outside the window.
Too loud. Too alive.
Lyra stood and opened the window. The night air hit her face, cool and damp. For a moment it helped. Then—she smelled it.
That same metallic sweetness from before.
Her vision blurred. The courtyard below shimmered, melting into something else: stone corridors lit by red torches, banners torn and fluttering in wind that smelled of rain and iron. The sound of distant footsteps echoed—boot heels against marble. And beneath it all, a voice whispered.
"Lyra."
She froze. The voice was soft, almost tender, threaded with sorrow.
"My little dawn…"
Her breath caught. She turned—but instead of her reflection in the glass, she saw a woman. Tall, draped in crimson silk, eyes like garnet fire. Her expression carried both pride and grief, as if she'd waited centuries to be seen.
"Who are you?" Lyra whispered.
The woman smiled sadly. "You have my eyes… though they've forgotten how to burn."
The room trembled. Lyra stumbled backward, clutching her head. The voice seemed to come from inside her veins now, pulsing with each heartbeat.
"They hid you among mortals to keep you safe. But blood remembers. It always remembers."
"Stop!" Lyra gasped. "This isn't real!"
The woman's image flickered, breaking apart like mist.
"Find the one who smells of silver rain. He will lead you home."
Then everything went dark.
Lyra woke on the floor, cold sweat plastering her hair to her face. Dawn light bled through the curtains, pale and thin. Her sketchbook lay open beside her—she didn't remember opening it. On the page, drawn in rough charcoal strokes, was the woman from her dream.
Her heart pounded.
Aiden's words from class echoed faintly in her memory—his quiet, too-knowing gaze, the way he'd said her name like it belonged to a story older than both of them.
Find the one who smells of silver rain.
Outside, the campus stirred awake. Students laughed, doors opened, the ordinary rhythm resumed.
But Lyra sat motionless, her fingers tracing the face she'd drawn, whispering to herself as if saying it might make it less impossible.
"Who am I really?"
Chapter 4 – The Silver Rain
Rain fell over Evershade like threads of glass.
By afternoon, the college courtyard shimmered with puddles reflecting the gray sky. Students hurried with umbrellas, laughing, complaining, alive in their own small worlds. But Lyra stood still beneath the veranda, watching the rain blur the distance into silver haze.
It was the scent again—the faint metallic sweetness. But now, mixed with rain, it became something gentler… almost comforting.
And she knew without looking that he was there.
Aiden Vale walked through the drizzle without an umbrella, water sliding over his dark hair and coat. He looked completely at ease in the cold, each step quiet, deliberate. When he noticed her staring, a faint smile touched his lips.
"You'll catch a cold," he said softly, stopping beside her.
"Maybe," Lyra replied. "But it's beautiful, isn't it? The rain."
Aiden glanced at the sky. "It's the same as it was yesterday." Then, after a pause, "But you're seeing it differently today."
His words startled her. She turned to face him, heart tightening. "You speak like you already know what's changed."
"Perhaps I do." His gaze lingered on her, steady and unreadable. "You didn't sleep last night, did you?"
Her throat tightened. "How—how could you possibly know that?"
He shrugged slightly, the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. "You have the look of someone who's seen too much in one dream."
Lyra's hands trembled. "You said my name yesterday like it wasn't new to you. Who are you, really?"
Aiden's smile faded. For a long moment, the rain was the only sound between them. Then he said quietly, "Someone who remembers what you were never meant to forget."
Her breath caught. "That doesn't make sense."
He looked out over the courtyard. "It will. Soon."
The words sent a chill through her. She almost stepped back, but curiosity rooted her to the spot. "Tell me, then. What am I supposed to remember?"
Aiden hesitated, as though weighing truth against danger. "If I told you now, you wouldn't believe me. But the dreams will come again. When they do, don't run from them."
Lyra frowned. "You talk like—like you've seen them too."
He met her gaze. "I have."
Something in his tone—soft, tired, unbearably honest—made her chest ache. She wanted to ask a hundred questions, but none made it past her lips. Instead, she whispered, "Who was the woman? The one in red?"
Aiden's eyes darkened. "Your blood will tell you," he murmured. Then, stepping away into the rain, he added, "And when it does… you'll need to decide if you want to be human at all."
Lyra stood frozen, watching as he walked across the courtyard, rain swirling around him like silver mist.
For the first time, the sound of rain wasn't calming—it pulsed with life, with a rhythm that matched the strange, awakening beat inside her chest.
And somewhere deep within her, the voice from the dream whispered again:
"The silver rain remembers you, my little dawn."
Chapter 5 – Crimson Glimpse
The annual Cultural Night at Evershade College was always a loud, glittering affair. Strings of lights wound around the fountain, music floated through the air, and laughter painted every corner. Lyra had helped organize it, of course—she always did. She stood by the refreshment table, smile flawless, laughter timed perfectly, as if she'd rehearsed every reaction.
But tonight, the lights seemed too bright. The sounds, too sharp.
Every heartbeat around her echoed like drumbeats inside her skull.
She tried to ignore it, focusing on the scent of roses from the garden. But beneath the perfume and food, another aroma crept in—iron and warmth. Someone nearby had nicked their finger cutting fruit. The faint trace of blood reached her like a whisper.
Instantly, her throat burned.
She took a sharp breath, gripping the edge of the table. The laughter around her blurred. The music slowed. Every sense narrowed to that single scent.
Her reflection in the punch bowl's surface rippled—and for a split second, she didn't see herself. The eyes staring back were crimson, glowing faintly like coals in water.
"Lyra?" Mira's voice cut through the fog. "Are you okay? You look—"
"I'm fine," Lyra interrupted, stepping back too quickly. "Just dizzy. Maybe the lights."
Mira frowned. "You should sit down."
But Lyra was already moving away, weaving through the crowd toward the garden, gasping as the cool night air hit her face. Her heart pounded, her breath ragged. She pressed her palms against her chest, desperate to steady the storm inside.
"Not now," she whispered. "Please… not here."
"Lyra."
She turned. Aiden stood at the edge of the pathway, his uniform jacket half undone, rain still clinging to his hair as if he'd just come from outside. He looked at her—no surprise in his eyes, only understanding.
"It's happening, isn't it?" he said softly.
Her lips trembled. "What's happening to me?"
He stepped closer, careful, as though approaching something fragile. "You're remembering what you are."
"I'm not—" she began, but stopped when a tear rolled down her cheek, warm and tinted faintly red. The sight froze her. She stared at her own trembling fingers, the metallic scent rising from them.
Aiden's voice was low, steady. "You need to breathe. Focus on me."
Lyra met his gaze, eyes wide, terrified. "Why do you smell like rain and—" she broke off, trembling. "It calms me."
He nodded slightly. "That's why I'm here."
For a moment, neither moved. The world narrowed to the sound of her uneven breathing and the soft patter of rain beginning again.
Then, suddenly—silence. The ache receded, leaving her weak but human again. Aiden caught her before she could fall.
She looked up at him, dazed, whispering, "What am I?"
Aiden's expression softened. "Something the world forgot to fear."
And as the music from the courtyard resumed faintly behind them, Lyra realized something terrifyingly beautiful:
She wasn't losing her mind.
She was losing her humanity.
Chapter 6 – Veins of Moonlight
The moon was high when Lyra woke, its light spilling across her dorm room in silver ribbons. Her mind felt foggy, her throat dry. The events of the Cultural Night replayed in flashes—the blood, the burning, Aiden's hands catching her before she fell.
She touched her cheek where the tear had fallen. No stain, no mark—yet she swore she could still feel its warmth, that strange blend of sorrow and hunger.
There was a soft knock at the door.
"Lyra?" Aiden's voice, low and steady.
Mira was asleep, so Lyra slipped quietly out and followed him down the empty corridor. He led her to the abandoned rooftop garden—her favorite spot, but tonight, it looked different. Candles flickered among the ivy, their flames steady against the wind.
"How did you—?" she began.
"You come here when you need silence," he said. "I thought it might help."
Lyra folded her arms, uneasy. "You know too much about me."
"I've had to," he said, glancing toward the city lights below. "Your world doesn't remember you, Lyra. But mine never forgot."
She frowned. "Your world?"
He turned, meeting her eyes. "Do you really think this hunger, this strength—this change—is random?"
The way he said it made her heart stutter. "Then tell me. What am I?"
Aiden hesitated, as though weighing the weight of truth. "You're not human," he said finally, "but you're not what they call a monster either. You are something ancient—born of a bloodline older than this kingdom itself."
Lyra laughed shakily. "You sound like a storybook."
He stepped closer. "Stories exist because truth survived in them."
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of rain again—his scent. It wrapped around her like calm. Her racing heart slowed.
"Close your eyes," he murmured. "Listen."
She obeyed. At first, she heard nothing but her own pulse. Then—another rhythm beneath it, slower, deeper, like the heartbeat of the earth itself. The night's noises grew sharper: the hum of street lamps, the whisper of wind through ivy, the faraway echo of wings.
When she opened her eyes, everything seemed brighter.
Too bright.
She could see the veins of the moonlight itself—silver threads running along the rooftop tiles, pulsing softly. She gasped. "Aiden—"
He caught her arm gently. "Focus. Don't lose control."
Her vision swam; every sound sang against her nerves. And then, suddenly, it stopped. Aiden's hand on hers grounded her again, his warmth steady against her skin.
"What… was that?" she whispered.
"Your senses awakening," he said. "You're feeling the world as it truly is."
Lyra looked up at him. "And you? What are you, Aiden Vale?"
He smiled faintly, eyes shadowed. "Someone who's walked too long in both worlds."
For a long moment, they stood beneath the moonlight—her reflection glowing faintly in his eyes, like two beings on the edge of something neither could name.