Days passed in the same rhythm—dawn, same memories; night, same dreams. The only change was the color of the sky.
The morning air drifted in through the window. Avon stood before it, buttoning his shirt one clasp at a time. His eyes lingered on the Skaemarian Mountains and the vast green fields stretching toward the horizon.
He slipped the last button, straightened his collar, and brushed his hair back with his hand. With a quick turn, he grabbed the key from the table and stepped out of the room.
He walked toward the front yard and leaned against the hood of his car. Pulling out his phone, he began to scroll through it.
"Mom! We're leaving!" Arya shouted from the front door. Rheia followed her, and together they opened the car doors and stepped inside.
Avon's eyes were still fixed on his phone.
Hoooonk!
Arya slammed the horn.
Avon glanced back, slipped his phone into his pocket, and got into the car.
"We're already late," Arya said with a grin as he entered.
He didn't reply. His eyes caught Rheia in the back seat through the mirror.
"First day, huh? Which grade are you in?" Avon asked, glancing at her over his shoulder.
"Eleve—"
"She's in our class," Arya cut in before Rheia could answer. "Now go."
Vrmmmm…
The twin-turbo engine roared to life, rattling the air around them. The car rolled through the gates. Behind him, the house fell silent again.
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Rheia stood in front of the entrance of Veymont High.
Students moved in clusters toward the entrance, their voices mixing with the hum of the morning. The parking lot shimmered with rows of expensive cars.
For a moment, she felt out of place just standing there.
"I told you it's cool, isn't it?" Arya tapped Rheia's shoulder.
"Yeah…" Rheia murmured, her eyes drifting across the campus.
"So, first you'll have to check in at the administration office, then come to class." Before Arya could finish, she had already spotted a few friends and slipped into their circle, her laughter echoing down the hall.
Rheia watched them. The girls turned to look back—sharp, confident eyes meeting hers. She hesitated, unsure whether to smile or look away.
She chose neither. Turning instead, she started toward the entrance. From the steps, she glanced back once more.
Avon was walking along the paved road, calm and composed. The crowd parted around him—not hurriedly, not out of chaos, but naturally, as though space itself made way for him.
Rheia couldn't tell if it was fear… or respect.
She walked toward the office. A woman behind the desk looked up and greeted her.
"Morning. How may I help you?"
"Hai, I'm the new transfer here. I was told that—"
"Oh, Mr. Hawkbane's reference, right?" The woman interrupted, glancing up from a pile of files. "I'm Sila. And you are?"
"Rheia… Rheia Rowans," she replied softly.
Sila nodded and slid a sheet across the desk. "Fill this out with your academic and extracurricular details, alright?"
Rheia took the form and turned to leave, but the woman's voice stopped her.
"One more thing."
Rheia looked back.
"Don't take it wrong, dear," Sila said, her tone careful. "I haven't heard of any Rowans family. You're… an Eldrin, right? Mr. Hawkbane sent your recommendation."
Rheia hesitated. "…No. I'm a Demian."
The woman blinked. A pause—brief. Then her expression shifted; subtle, controlled, but unmistakable.
"I see."
Her tone flattened—still polite, but colder. "You can fill the form at the side tables outside."
Rheia nodded quietly and stepped out.
She began to fill it out.
Full Name,
DOB,
Address,
Eldrin/Demian,
RHI-type,
… … …
Thud!
A sound tore through the hallway, somewhere near the row of lockers. Students turned like a tide, moving toward it in a wave of noise and curiosity.
"Who's it gonna be today?"
"You in for a bet?"
"Hundred dollars…"
The whispers tangled and rose as they hurried down the corridor. Rheia paused, then followed them.
"Say that again, scum." Avon's hand gripped another student's collar, slamming him back against the locker.
Another boy lay on the floor nearby, blood running from his nose and lips.
"You're a fucking bastard!" the pinned boy spat, throwing a punch that caught Avon across the face.
Avon barely flinched. In one sharp motion, he shifted his stance and drove his fist into the boy's face—once, twice, three times—the same spot each time.
The boy's lips split; blood flooded his mouth and nose. Avon's jaw was quivering, and blood was dripping from his fist. He snapped it, scattering the blood to the floor.
His gaze shifted—drawn by something through the noise.
Rheia stood among the crowd, frozen. Avon's eyes locked onto hers—dark, cold, and sharp, like a predator fixing on its prey.
"Hawkbane! To the office—now!"
The teacher's voice broke the silence. The students scattered as he walked past them, calm again, as if nothing had happened.
Rheia stood still, her hands cold, unable to tell if it was the same calm boy she saw in the morning.
"New transfer?" Someone snatched the admission paper from her hand.
"Yeah…" Rheia replied quietly.
"I'm Jay." He scanned the sheet. "So… you're a Demian?"
"Yeah. I'm Rheia—it's good to meet you, Jay." But he only handed the form back without another word and walked away.
Rheia stood there for a moment, the noise of the hallway thinning around her. She could feel it—eyes on her from every direction, sharp and unspoken, cutting straight through her.
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The time passed like a blur of bells and voices.
Trrr…
The final bell rang.
Arya and Rheia walked side by side, talking about classes and teachers. Then Arya's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen—and stopped.
"That idiot got suspended again. A whole week."
"What?" Rheia blinked. "Who?"
"Avon," Arya sighed. "No wonder he didn't come to class."
"Is he, like… the fighting type or something? He seemed calm—quiet, most of the time."
"You have no idea," Arya muttered, sliding the phone into her pocket. "It's like there's someone else inside him. I can never tell what's really going on in his head."
Before Rheia could answer, Arya froze.
Outside the school gate, a crowd was gathering near the parking lot.
"Oh no, no, no…" she whispered. She already knew what was happening.
Avon was fighting again—this time in the parking lot.
They traded blows in rapid bursts—fists, kicks, the clash of bodies. Everything moved fast, like two Eldrin raiders locked in a duel.
Thwack!
Avon's kick landed clean, sending the boy skidding backward. He spun with another strike—crack—right across the boy's face.
Blood splattered the pavement.
"You haven't changed a bit," the boy spat, half-grinning, red dripping from his lip.
Whooosh!
Wind coiled in his open palm. With a snap of his arm, he hurled it forward.
The blast hit Avon head-on, throwing him into a signal post. The iron groaned under the impact. Avon's back arched, breath torn from his lungs in a rough growl.
He straightened, jaw tight, teeth grinding. Without a thought, he surged forward—fist cocked—rage rising with each step.
"Stop!"
Arya's voice cut through the noise.
Avon froze. His fist hung mid-air, trembling inches from the boy's face.
He lowered it—slowly.
"Ethan, I told you to come here to talk, not to fight." Arya stepped between them, glaring.
Ethan wiped blood from his mouth, eyes still locked on Avon. Avon didn't blink.
Arya touched Ethan's jaw, inspecting the bruise.
"I'm sorry," Ethan muttered.
"Come with me," Arya said quietly, grabbing his hand and turning toward Rheia.
Avon looked around—students circled them, phones raised, recording. His breath came sharp and uneven. Without a word, he turned and walked away, slamming the car door shut behind him.
"Rheia," Arya called out, "this is Ethan—my boyfriend."
"H-hi…" Rheia managed, her voice small.
"Ugh, that blood…" Arya sighed, disappointed. "Can you go with him—before he starts another fight?"
Before she could think, Rheia nodded and walked toward the car. She got in, the door closing with a soft click behind her.
Avon sat with his head lowered. He pressed the ignition, and the car started to move. Outside, phones still pointed at him—flashes of light chasing the car as it rolled away.
Neither of them spoke. A deliberate silence filled the space, deliberate yet uncomfortable.
Avon's anger showed in the way he shifted gears—short, sharp movements, like each one carried a thought he couldn't say.
The farther they drove, the smoother his hands became. The rage slowly sank beneath the surface.
He pulled over beside a vending machine.
Without a word, he stepped out and walked toward it. Rheia hesitated, then followed.
"Which one?" he asked quietly.
"What?"
"Which drink. What do you want from here?"
"Mmm…" Rheia leaned closer to the glass, eyes tracing the rows of cans and bottles. She hummed softly as she read the labels, her voice faint against the hum of the machine.
Avon sighed, lowering his eyes—a quiet trace of impatience crossing his face.
His lips curved slightly, somewhere between a smirk and surrender. He stayed like that for a moment, letting her decide.
Finally, he took a can and walked to the bench nearby. He leaned back and took a long sip. Avon drew another slow breath and exhaled.
"How was your first day?" he asked, voice low and even.
"It was good," Rheia replied, biting the edge of a snack bar.
"Good?"
"Yeah. Everything felt… nice. The school, the teachers, the other students…"
"I don't get what you mean by 'nice.'"
Rheia looked at him. Their eyes met.
"Are you interviewing me?" she said, half smiling.
"No. Just asking." Avon shrugged once.
"Yeah… as I said, they were nice."
"Let me give you some advice. Do you know what Veymont High is famous for?"
Rheia shook her head.
"Almost everyone there is Eldrin. You only got in because of my father's reference. So—don't tell anyone you're a Demian. Got it?"
"What if I already told…" Her voice trembled; fear hovered on her face.
Avon's gaze didn't waver. His voice stayed calm and steady. "You'll wish you hadn't."
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Rheia lay on her bed. The evening light spilled through the window—soft amber filling the room.
She scrolled through her phone. Notifications flooded their class group. A link was spreading across every chat.
She tapped it open.
A fight video.
A circle of boys.
His name buried under hashtags:
#no_RHI #loserbane
She watched in silence.
Thwack!
Thud!
Smack!
The sounds echoed beyond the screen—carried through the estate, seeping into her room.
She set the phone aside and walked to the window.
Outside, Avon was striking the training post—each blow shaking the wood, splinters breaking free. His fists were raw, breath sharp, teeth clenched.
The amber light caught his face. His eyes burned—bright and fierce. Just like the wolf she'd seen in her dream.