"Dude... you're amazing!"
The voice burst out like teenage thunder, crackling with excitement. I turned instinctively and found myself face to face with a freckled kid, messy hair, and a look of awe like he'd just witnessed a historical event.
I didn't know him personally, but his reputation reached me long before his name. One of the loudest kids in the training center — and now, apparently, one of the most easily impressed too.
"I swear, at first, I thought you were nuts. Like, completely out of your mind! Jumping from the third floor? That's unheard of!"
"Huh?" I muttered, blinking slowly, still trying to wrap my head around whatever was happening.
But before I could recover from the shock, voices started popping up around me, closing in like quick footsteps on dry wood. A small swarm of boys was gathering around.
"He landed just like the heroes in the stories! That crouch at the end, with the cloak floating behind him... I saw it!"
"You talked to Beatriz for… like, seven minutes! SEVEN!" another one chimed in — scrawny, wide-eyed, and mouth agape like he was recounting a legend.
"And if Sir Kyle hadn't shown up, it could've gone past TEN."
"Seriously, managing to hold a conversation with that mechanized beauty for that long is no small feat."
That last line came from the boy who was still gripping my shoulders, arms as heavy as stone. I tried to wriggle away subtly, leaning forward, but he hung on like we were lifelong friends — or like I was a jacket hooked onto a human coat rack.
"Teach us!" shouted a fourth one, more excited than all the rest, spiky hair and oversized teeth that seemed to jump out every time he grinned. "No joke, how'd you pull it off? That look, that chill vibe… That's like… like… the Art of Romance, right?"
"The Art of Romance…" echoed another, this one quiet, eyes narrowed like he'd just uncovered a forbidden grimoire.
Before I could come up with a coherent answer — or escape — I was surrounded by five or six boys, orbiting me like satellites around a newly discovered planet. Each one louder and more thrilled than the last. I felt like a prize being paraded at a village fair.
"Lewis, we gotta introduce him to Damian!" said the spiky-haired one, bouncing like he couldn't handle his own excitement. "This guy's gotta join us!"
"Great idea!" answered the freckled kid — Lewis, apparently — tightening his grip around my shoulders with such gusto I nearly choked. "Damian should be at the super-secret hideout. Let's go!"
Before I could protest, he was already marching off with long, confident strides — and since he was taller and stronger than me, I was dragged along, partly airborne, partly sliding on my heels. The others' laughter jingled behind us like bells in an impromptu parade.
"Wait, wait!" I finally managed to yell, raising my voice and trying to plant my feet. "Who the hell are you guys?! And what do you want with me?"
They stopped. All at once. Staring like I'd just asked what color the sky was.
Lewis's smile stretched wide — mischievous and conspiratorial. "Why… we're the Club of the Hopelessly in Love!"
A chorus of desperate "shhh!" noises tried to smother the name.
"I mean…" He cleared his throat and winked. "We're just a group. A group with… strategic interests. And you, my friend, just passed the practical test."
'What kind of mess is this?' I sighed internally. Outwardly, my expression only worsened — which everyone noticed except Lewis, still giddy.
"Our mission is to pursue what we call passion! Love! That burning touch! The essence of chivalry! We fight against a society that represses the most basic instincts of a man! We are—"
"A bunch of horny boys going through puberty?" I cut in, deadpan, though trying not to laugh.
"Exactly! We—" He stopped, finally catching on. "HEY! Wait! NO! That's not it!"
Too late. The others were already cracking up.
"Look, nothing against you guys," I said, turning toward the library. "But maybe think of a better name. And a less embarrassing philosophy."
I started walking. "I've got a wolf pup, a sword, and a few thousand books waiting for me."
I thought I'd gotten away — until I heard Lewis yelling behind me: "Don't run from the truth! I saw it! You froze before talking to her, it's normal! That's how it starts! That's love!"
That last word echoed like thunder.
People stopped. Windows opened. Someone coughed in the distance.
'What the…?!' My mind locked up. My fist clenched instinctively, ready to spin around and—
Fortunately, his own friends took care of dragging him off. Two of them grabbed him by the arms and sprinted away, covering his mouth in the process.
One last kid stayed behind — the spiky-haired one from before.
"Alexander."
"I already said I'm not interested."
He didn't flinch. "Damian knows Level 1 magic."
My body froze. The words caught in my throat.
"Looks like you've been after that for days." His eyes bulged a bit when he saw me flinch. "Always digging through books about it."
My lips moved without sound. My hands started sweating.
"Well…" He paused dramatically, rubbing his chin. "Maybe I'm mistaken. Could be you're just a regular scholar…"
A muscle in my jaw twitched.
"…or someone who really wants to learn."
The silence stretched. The wind hissed between us.
My fingers clenched. I let out a raspy sigh.
"…Where exactly is this 'super-secret hideout'?"
✦ ✦ ✦
I followed the spiky-haired kid through the fortress's crooked alleyways, suspicious but intrigued. He hadn't said a single word since we left the square, and his jittery energy had shifted into something close to solemn — like we were now stepping on sacred ground.
The path was a maze: narrow staircases, dim hallways, half-open doors creaking in the wind, a child peeking out a window before being pulled back by some unseen mother. We cut through two seemingly abandoned buildings, always exiting through the back doors, as if we were being watched. Or escaping something.
I only furrowed my brow once we reached the café.
' Seriously? All this… just to come here?'
But the boy didn't slow down. Instead of going in the front, he veered to the side, slipping into an alley squeezed between the cafeteria's wall and the building next to it. There was a metal door there, old and half-covered by smoke puffing out of a rusty pipe. Clearly a service entrance.
We passed through. Kitchen, storage room, the smell of yeast and grease. No staff stopped us — maybe they were used to weirdos passing through. When we emerged out the back, we stepped into a dead-end alley.
The walls were draped with dark ivy and scribbled-over symbols in charcoal. At the end, an old lantern flickered in amber tones, like the light itself wasn't sure it wanted to stay. The ground was dry, but the air had a basement's dampness — heavy, suffocating. No sounds except the faint creak of a distant broken pipe.
I was about to ask what we were doing there, but the boy turned around, his eyes glowing like he'd been rehearsing this moment for weeks.
He raised one hand with ceremony, fingers spread. His voice came low but firm, and strange:
— "Veshtal, Draknir, Hjartasamr, Eldrik, Evigr, Forboðinn, Heilagr… Jark thir uns vorah... hjerte fel andra." —
The words dropped heavy, like ancient stones rolling through a forgotten cave. They had a weight, a vibration, like they resonated right down the spine.
My eyes narrowed.' Since when does this kid speak Jotundrim…?'
Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist with a steady grip. Then took a step — straight into the stone wall.
And pulled me with him.
My boots scraped against the stone floor, but before I could resist, my body slipped through the wall like it was made of solid mist.
Cold.
Damp.
That strange sensation — like diving into a frozen lake, without the shock of the water — just the density, the icy resistance.
And then… silence.
Except for a narrow corridor unfurling ahead, carved downward, with hand-hewn steps.
'Platonic, Carnal, Returned, Burning, Eternal, Forbidden, Devoted… all flowing in the same river. The heart that beats for another.' I mentally translated the words he'd spoken. And they… they matched this madness far too well.
'This group of love-struck weirdos... is more than it seems.' I refocused. Something wasn't right. 'What kind of ten- to twelve-year-old kids have a secret passage? And use runes to seal a hideout?'
The atmosphere shifted as we descended. The air grew drier, tinged with the scent of polished metal.
The only light came from small bluish runes etched into the walls — pulsing like enchanted heartbeats.
The stairs led us into an underground chamber.
It wasn't large, but it was tall. The vaulted ceiling gave it the feel of an old chapel. In the center, a round table, surrounded by completely mismatched chairs — like each had been stolen from a different room.
Carved into the stone floor, a raised emblem.
Two hearts intertwined, pierced by a broad-bladed sword. Between them, a single iron rose, its petals etched with rust marks.
I stood in silence for a long moment.
"…What. The hell. Is this."
The kid beamed, proud — like he'd just shown me the kingdom's greatest treasure.
"Welcome…" he said, stretching out his arms with theatrical flair. "To the Super Secret Hideout."