The academy bells tolled like funeral chimes.
Caius sat slouched at the edge of the sparring grounds, one arm bandaged, the other cradling a steaming meat bun. A leftover from Lunamiria, no doubt—blessed be the dreamy saint of charred breakfasts.
He took a bite. It was mostly ash.
"Delicious," he muttered flatly. "Tastes like regret and half-cooked forgiveness."
Around him, students trained with their usual pretense of seriousness—fireballs flared, swords clashed, gravity was bent and broken by hormonal teenagers who didn't understand the laws of magic or modesty.
And then came the trio.
The girls who had tried to kill him last month.
Each of them a walking war crime in uniform.
Serah Valtin — The Flamefang Heiress
Tall, arrogant, and flaming—literally. Her aura burned red-orange like a dying sun, and her fists always smelled faintly of roasted flesh. She once set his ribs on fire "accidentally" during a mock duel.
She approached him now, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Hey," she said.
Caius looked at her warily. "What's the radius of your kill-zone today? Just so I know where to sit."
Her eye twitched.
Nimue Glass — The Mirrorblade Duelist
The quiet one. Carried at least four concealed daggers and had the personality of a dead lake. Last time they'd sparred, she'd broken his knee with a smile.
She didn't speak. Just stared. Blinked. Then sat beside him.
He scooted slightly away. "Please don't kill me on a Wednesday. It's tradition."
No reaction. Still silent. She pulled out a small bento box and started eating.
He blinked. Was this normal? Was this a truce?
Or was he being marinated?
Velka Raine — The Starborn Arcanist
Too smart for anyone's safety. Her spells caused side effects like gravity inversion or spontaneous hair loss. During their last group project, she almost folded him into a different dimension "for science."
Today, she had books stacked higher than her head. She didn't even greet him—just dropped beside him, opened three grimoires at once, and muttered:
"Don't move. You're emitting stable field harmonics."
"…Thanks?"
Caius looked between them, confused.
Three girls. Three attempted murderers. All now casually sharing his bench like old classmates. There had been no apologies, no "we're sorry for nearly ending your circulatory system." Just this... strange, silent ceasefire.
He chewed the rest of the burnt bun.
"You're all sitting here," he said aloud. "Why?"
Serah crossed her arms tighter. "Because someone's going to challenge you again. And I want front-row seats."
Nimue just blinked once. Slowly.
Velka didn't even look up. "You emit emotional feedback when flustered. I'm collecting data."
He exhaled through his nose.
"...I miss monsters. At least they scream before trying to eat me."
And then—of course—the bells rang again.
Only this time, they rang wrong.
An extra tone. A dissonant one. The sound peeled back reality for a fraction of a second, and everyone on the field turned toward the sky.
A tear in the Vein shimmered there. Subtle. Barely visible. But Caius felt it—like a claw dragging down the back of his mind.
Void.
The one he'd taken into himself. The Vein that left no echo. No light.
A figure stepped from the tear.
Clad in pale bone-armor and wreathed in crimson haze.
"Caius of the Hollow Feast," it rasped.
The girls stood instantly, magic flaring.
Caius rose slowly, rolling his neck, a quiet sigh escaping his lips.
"Of course. A Thursday."