Chapter Eleven – Scarlet
The moment I stepped into the dining hall, I knew something was off.
Not the smell of food or the buzzing of hundreds of students talking over each other. That was all normal. What wasn't normal was the glowing text above my tray, spelling out my assigned seat:
Assigned: Alpha Table
Again.
I just stood there for a second, holding the tray like it might change if I blinked. But it didn't. Just like yesterday. And the day before. Every new student was supposed to sit with the Alphas at least once. It was tradition. To teach respect, hierarchy, submission.
But me? I was here every day.
Like they didn't know where else to put me. Or worse, like they wanted something to break.
A staff member approached gently. "Move along, please."
I didn't answer.
My grip tightened on the tray. I didn't think about it, didn't plan it—I just growled. A low, annoyed sound, but one that made the woman instantly stiffen and step back. A few people nearby looked over. I felt the heat rising in my cheeks.
I slammed the tray on the nearest empty table just to get the noise out of my system, then dragged my feet to the Alpha table and sat down without looking at any of them.
No one said anything.
The air at this table always felt different—too still. Like the rest of the room had sound and motion, and this space didn't get the memo.
I kept my eyes forward. I didn't want to see who was staring.
I already knew.
Damian sat directly across from me. I could feel the weight of his stare, even if I wasn't looking at him. He hadn't spoken to me since earlier that day. Since he gave me detention like I was some unruly kid.
Now, he was silent. But I could feel something about him had shifted.
My hands started shaking.
I thought it was nerves. Or anger. But the longer I sat there, the more I realized something was wrong. My skin burned. Not from embarrassment. It was like my whole body was overheating.
I took a deep breath, but it didn't help. My heart was racing. My uniform stuck to my skin. I felt dizzy.
Someone dropped a plate nearby, and I flinched.
I tried to stand up. My legs gave out. The tray fell off the table with a clatter, and I gripped the edge of the bench to stay upright.
Devon was up first. He crossed the space between us in a blink and caught me before I could fall. His arms were strong and steady, but I could barely feel them. Everything was too loud and too hot.
I couldn't talk. I couldn't move. My head hit his chest as my vision blurred.
From somewhere close, I heard voices.
"She's burning up," Devon said. His voice wasn't panicked, just focused.
Damian was next to him. "It's not magic," he said quietly.
Draven leaned in. "There's no spell on her. Not from this room. Not from anyone else."
Dexter added, "She's overheating from inside. Her pulse is out of control."
I barely heard the rest.
Devon adjusted me in his arms. "She needs to get out of here. Now."
The four of them moved as one. They didn't wait for permission. They didn't explain. Devon carried me like I weighed nothing, and the other three flanked him without a word.
The crowd parted.
No one questioned it.
Not students. Not staff. Not even the Headmaster.
They just watched.
And I let them take me.
Because I didn't have the strength to stop them.
Because somewhere deep down, I knew—
Something inside me was waking up.
By the time they reached the corridor leading to the infirmary, I was barely conscious. The heat had turned inward, my body humming like something inside me had been uncaged.
Then, without warning, I spoke.
Not in English.
Not even in a language I remembered knowing.
But in something ancient, something sharp.
"Skorion mirghon lentor."
The Alphas froze.
Devon stopped mid-step.
Damian's eyes snapped to mine. "Did she just—"
"Valyrian," Draven said, stunned.
"She's speaking High Valyrian," Dexter confirmed. "But she's not awake."
I muttered again, softer this time. "Zaldrīzo ānogar... lenton ēdruta."
They didn't know what it meant. But it meant something.
Because whatever this was... it wasn't a fever.
It was a calling.