The first day of the winter semester.And Chase was already late.
He sprinted down the corridor, nearly colliding with a wall before catching himself with a muffled curse. The old school building was a labyrinth of identical hallways and wrong turns — and of course, he'd managed to get lost on day one. His breath misted in the cold air as he ran, shoes squeaking against the polished floor.
He skidded to a stop in front of the right door, took half a second to straighten his jacket, and pushed it open just as the bell rang.
Every head turned.
Chase froze for a beat, pretending he meant to make an entrance, before quietly slipping inside. His heart pounded like a war drum in his chest as he dropped his bag beside an empty desk and sat down, doing his best to look invisible.
The teacher — a middle-aged man with tired eyes and chalk dust on his sleeve — cleared his throat."Alright," he said, "as I was saying before the bell rang… we have a new student joining us today."
Of course.
"Chase, would you come up front and introduce yourself?"
Chase blinked. "Uh, sure."
He stood, nearly tripped over his own bag, caught himself on the corner of a desk, and laughed awkwardly. "Off to a great start," he muttered under his breath. Straightening his jacket, he walked up to the front of the class.
"Hey, everyone. My name's Chase Ashwalker. I'm seventeen, a transfer from California." He scratched the back of his neck, flashing a self-deprecating smile. "I'm… kind of a klutz, as you can probably tell. And I'm partially blind, so, uh… if you see me walk into a wall, just—pretend it didn't happen."
A few chuckles broke out around the room. The tension eased.
He slicked his hair back, trying to make himself look a little more put-together, though his bangs still refused to cooperate."I hope we'll get along for the rest of the year."
The teacher nodded. "Thank you, Chase. You may go back to your seat."
Chase carefully stepped around his bag this time, sat down, and pulled out his pencil case and a few loose sheets. His heart finally slowed. Maybe, just maybe, this school year wouldn't be so bad.
***
A man ties a red bandana over his eyes.He fastens a black leather coat, the high collar brushing against his jaw, and laces his boots until the leather creaks.The belt around his waist clicks into place.
Twin daggers rest in his hands — curved, balanced, deadly. Moonlight reflects along their edge, turning silver into scarlet.
Tonight, he hunts.
***
The wind that carried his footsteps fades into the following morning.Sunlight spills lazily through the classroom windows, washing everything in gold — almost too peaceful, too ordinary, compared to the blood-soaked night before.
Chase slumps at his desk, face buried in his arms. His hair sticks up in every direction, and there's a faint bruise under his eye — a souvenir from running into something that morning.
A tray clatters beside him."Rough night?"
Chase lifts his head, squinting at the newcomer. Messy blond hair, half-buttoned shirt, black hoodie under the school uniform. And that grin — the kind that says this guy's going to be a problem.
"Yeah," Chase mutters. "Didn't sleep much."
"Should've called," the boy says. "I could've sung you a lullaby. A cursed one."
Chase stares. "You're deranged."
"Thanks, I practice. I'm Kyle, by the way."
The teacher walks in, and the classroom quiets. But Kyle leans closer, lowering his voice just enough."Oh, by the way — if you hear on the news that someone found a severed hand behind the gym…"
"Kyle."
"What? I said if."
Chase exhales through his nose, fighting a smile. "You're unbelievable."
"Don't worry," Kyle whispers, "you'll get used to me. Or arrested with me. Whichever comes first."
Chase shakes his head, but for the first time that morning, he's smiling.
***
A phone rings.
A gloved hand picks it up.
"Yeah?"
A distorted voice answers. Calm, measured, synthetic."Good evening, Eyeless. You remember the village that burned last week?"
He pauses. "…Yeah. I was there."
"We've confirmed it wasn't a raid. Something else did that. The surviving locals called it the Wendigo. Classification: Class S-Aberration. You're to investigate and neutralize the target. Standard contract — higher pay than usual."
Eyeless leans back, silent for a moment."As long as the money's good."
"Then it's yours. Report when it's done."
The line clicks dead.
For a moment, only the hum of the wind answers. Then he exhales, stands, and starts to gear up.
The daggers gleam faintly in the dim light as he straps them to his sides. He tightens his gloves, adjusts the bandana over his eyes, and steps into the cold night air.
"Guess I'm hunting again," he mutters.
The door shuts behind him, swallowed by the dark.