The projector flickered to life with a static hum, spilling pale white light across the half-empty lecture hall. The ceiling fans turned lazily, pushing around the thick, warm air of an early summer morning. Ethan slouched in the second row, chin resting on his knuckles, watching the dust dance in the beam of light like drifting constellations.Beside him, Seth had already surrendered — head tilted slightly, one hand covering his mouth in a failed attempt to look attentive.
Professor Fargrave's voice, dry and unwavering, rolled through the room like a slow tide."Immunity," he said, writing the word in careful block letters on the board. "Is not a wall. It is a dialogue. The body speaks to itself in codes, in signals, in recovery."
The word recovery lingered, echoing faintly in the air. Ethan blinked. Maybe it was just the acoustics of the hall — too large for the sparse crowd of half-awake students. But beside him, Seth shifted suddenly, straightening in his seat. His fingers twitched against the desk.
"You alright?" Ethan murmured without turning his head.
"Yeah," Seth said after a beat, voice quiet. "Just… felt like someone whispered right next to me."
Ethan's brow creased. "Someone?"
"Yeah. Said—" Seth paused. He wasn't sure if he'd really heard it. It was faint, like something in the air had shape for only a second. "Forget it. Probably lack of sleep."
Ethan tried to focus back on the slide — diagrams of antibodies, viral binding, microscopic worlds of chaos. But it was no use. His mind wasn't here. Not really. It was still somewhere in the mountains — in that final night, when the crimson sky had opened above them, when the fortress had erupted into blinding light and silence. He'd told himself that chapter was closed. Buried.
But lately, the nights had grown longer.
He glanced around the room. There was something unsettlingly new about being in a place so normal. The whisper of paper, the muted clicks of pens, the soft laughter from a group in the back. Ordinary life had weight again, and he wasn't sure how to carry it.
"Mr. Callahan," Fargrave's voice cut sharply through his thoughts.
Ethan snapped upright. "Yes, sir?"
Fargrave adjusted his glasses, his eyes unreadable. "Define immunological tolerance."
The room turned toward him. Ethan's brain scrambled for something that sounded academic. "It's the body's ability to… avoid attacking itself. Self-recognition and controlled response."
Fargrave nodded once. "Adequate." His gaze lingered a moment longer than usual — like he was looking through Ethan, not at him — before turning back to the board.
Seth exhaled softly, amused. "He likes you."
"Feels like he's dissecting me," Ethan muttered.
"Wouldn't be the first time someone did."
That almost earned a laugh. Almost.
Outside the tall windows, the afternoon sun blazed down on the courtyard, where leaves shimmered like molten glass. Students walked in pairs and clusters, chattering about exams and clubs and weekend plans. It was all painfully, beautifully normal — and maybe that's what made Ethan feel so distant.
Normalcy was a language he'd forgotten how to speak.
The lecture dragged on. Diagrams turned to data charts. Then, inexplicably, to something that didn't look like a biological model at all.
Ethan squinted. The projection showed a symbol — circular, with intersecting lines and mirrored runes that looked more like geometry than genetics.
"Now this," Fargrave said, tapping the slide pointer against the shape, "represents a proposed regenerative pattern from an alternative biological recovery framework — speculative research, of course. But some claim it could accelerate cellular repair."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
Seth's grip on the desk tightened. The shape on the screen pulsed faintly — or maybe it just seemed to. His vision tunneled. There was that whisper again — faint, broken syllables sliding beneath his consciousness.
"…blood… answers… root…"
He blinked hard. The lights seemed to flicker.
"—Seth?" Ethan's voice cut in, distant and muffled. "Hey, Seth. You good?"
Seth's throat was dry. "That… symbol." He pointed, his hand trembling slightly. "Where did he get that?"
Fargrave raised an eyebrow, almost smiling. "Ah. You're observant. This, Mr. Donovan, is from an archived botanical manuscript. A hybrid healing diagram discovered in an abandoned laboratory in Southern Veer Province. You'll hear more about it if you're selected for the exchange program."
The room perked up instantly.
"Exchange program?" someone asked.
"Yes," Fargrave said, his tone casual. "Our department is collaborating with Point Veert College this semester. A rare opportunity. Advanced study on regenerative biology and symbiotic flora."
Point Veert. The name rolled through Ethan's mind like a half-remembered echo.
Fargrave continued, "Selections will be announced by the end of the week. The chosen candidates will study a rare specimen — Scadoxus multiflorus, commonly known as the Blood Lily. A plant rumored to contain compounds capable of… unconventional recovery."
Blood Lily.
Ethan and Seth exchanged a glance.
The whispers in Seth's head surged — not words this time, just a low, layered hum, like dozens of voices beneath the floor.
When the lecture finally ended, Ethan waited for the shuffle of students to clear. Seth was still staring at the empty screen, his jaw clenched.
"You heard something again," Ethan said quietly.
Seth didn't deny it. "It's getting stronger. I think… whatever's happening isn't gone. It's just waiting."
Ethan picked up his bag. "Then we find out what it wants before it finds us again."
Outside, the sun was beginning to dip. The campus looked almost golden, shadows stretching long and soft. Students laughed and moved past them, the air thick with the scent of grass and the faint sweetness of blossoms.
Seth rubbed his temple. "You think this Point Veert thing's just a coincidence?"
Ethan gave a small, humorless smile. "Nothing ever is."
They walked down the stone path toward the main building. Every window glinted with fading light, and for a fleeting moment, Ethan caught a reflection — something behind them, a shape that didn't belong. It vanished as quickly as it appeared.
That night, as they sat in their dorm, the campus quiet except for the hum of distant lights, the email arrived.
Subject: Exchange Program: Shortlisted Candidates
Ethan clicked it open. Two names.
Ethan CallahanSeth Donovan
Seth leaned over his shoulder, eyes scanning the glowing screen. "Guess we're leaving again."
Ethan looked out the window — at the moon rising over the campus, round and white like an unblinking eye.
"Yeah," he said softly. "But this time… I think it's been waiting for us."
The hum of the computer deepened. For a heartbeat, the screen flickered — showing, impossibly, a frame of the same symbol Fargrave had projected in class. The circle. The runes. The faint pulse.
And from somewhere distant, beyond the walls of their world, a voice that was not human whispered:
"…Vertere Fortuna…"