"From now on, you are a slave to everyone in this school."
The frozen escape.
The Forbidden Forest surrounding Great Saint Bergliot Academy. 02:10 a.m.
Ahh…
The freezing blood was the only reason Reith could still run. The pain in the soles of his feet had gone numb, replaced by a piercing cold that stabbed straight to the bone marrow.
His breath came out as white vapor that shattered in the frozen air. A physical betrayal that revealed his presence in total darkness. Reith kept pushing his legs forward through thorn bushes that mercilessly tore at his skin. His white shirt was now nothing more than thin rags clinging to his violently trembling body.
Without shoes, every step on the frozen forest ground felt like treading on thousands of tiny knives.
Crack!
The sound of a branch snapping behind him made Reith's heart lurch. Flashlight beams swept through the trees behind him, piercing the thin mist like the eyes of bloodthirsty predators.
"He can't have gone far! Search until you find him!" The shout echoed, followed by the baying of dogs that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Reith dropped behind a massive oak tree, trying to steady his ragged breathing. His bluish fingers fumbled into his pocket to pull out a cracked-screen phone he had stolen from one of the basement guards. His stiff fingers could barely press the screen.
"Please… please… pick up, Rupert…" he whispered. His voice was hoarse from dust and icy air.
The signal bars at the top of the phone flickered pitifully. One bar. Only one bar.
He pressed the number he had memorized by heart. The only name that represented the outside world. The only person who might still care whether he lived or died.
Ring… Ring… Ring…
The sound of the connection felt like a slowing heartbeat. In the distance, the heavy sound of footsteps crunching through dry leaves grew closer. They were sweeping the forest in a circular formation. Reith was trapped.
"Hello?" A deep baritone voice answered at the other end. Calm, warm, and in stark contrast to the hell Reith was experiencing.
"Rupert…" Reith choked on a held-back sob. "Rupert, it's me. Help me… they… they're going to kill me, Rupert. Saint Bergliot… they're not human…"
"Reith? Where are you? Calm down, tell me where you are!" Rupert's voice sounded panicked.
"The forest… north side… I'm running toward the cliff…" Reith winced as he felt warm liquid flow down his temple. Fresh blood, the only thing that felt hot on his body right now. "Hurry, Rupert. I can't hold on much longer. The situation here…"
His sentence cut off.
A flashlight beam suddenly stopped right on the tree where he was hiding. The forest became eerily silent, as if the universe itself were holding its breath.
"Found you, little rat."
Reith looked up. Standing in front of him was not Marlow or his lackeys. The figure was much taller, wearing a long black cloak that blended into the night's darkness, holding an electric stun device that sparked bright blue light.
"Rupert! Rupert, don't hang up! THEY'RE HERE!!!"
Bzzzzt!
The phone was flung onto the falling snow. On the cracked screen, the call was still connected.
"Reith? Reith! Answer me! What's happening?! REITH!" Rupert's voice screamed desperately from the phone's speaker lying on the ground.
A heavy black boot crushed the phone until it shattered into pieces. Silencing Rupert's voice forever. The figure bent down, grabbed Reith's hair, and dragged his powerless body back toward the darkness of the academy building.
"Help me…"
"Stop right there, Vell," someone said, suddenly appearing from the shadows.
What… What's going to happen to me next?
*
In the heart of the dense, cold, and silent northern wilderness, the Great Saint Bergliot Academy stood like an ancient fortress guarded by eternal mist. This world's most prestigious private academy was not merely a place of learning; it was a factory for the elite, forging heirs to noble family names, technology magnates, legendary inventors and designers, and aristocrats into inseparable blood brothers.
Its towering grey stone walls, rising among giant trees, concealed a dark secret: an extreme hazing tradition that bound juniors to seniors, forming unshakeable groups that would one day control the world from the shadows. No one escaped unscathed. Solidarity here was paid for with profound darkness, filled with blood, sweat, and buried secrets.
Raventhas was the pitiful exception. As the only transfer student in his second year, he was treated like a fragile, worthless freshman. His slender frame and pale skin, contrasted with his jet-black hair, made him a prime target for the seniors.
Led by Decatur, the son of the most influential fashion designer, they tormented him relentlessly. Leather whips in the dark of night, ice-cold water poured over his body until his bones felt crushed, and taunts and insults gnawed at his soul.
All the teachers averted their gazes. The perpetrators had backgrounds that were too powerful: princes from resource-rich kingdoms, descendants of giant tech company owners, and children of conglomerates whose fathers' names alone could shake the world's stock markets.
Raventhas endured it all alone. His sharp emerald-green eyes held an smoldering fire. His breath hitched with every gust of the forest wind that seeped through the cracks in the academy's brickwork.
*
That night, in the damp basement that served as a secret hazing arena, Raventhas lay helpless on the cold stone floor. The air smelled of damp earth and sweat. The faint, flickering torchlight cast long, dancing shadows on the mossy walls, like bloodthirsty spirits.
He was half-naked. His expensive, newly bought uniform shirt was torn and hung loosely from his shoulders, revealing blue-purple bruises creeping across his chest and flat stomach. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly, each breath bringing a stabbing pain. His black hair, wet with sweat, clung to his forehead and cheeks, obscuring his handsome face with its slightly parted, full lips. His shimmering green eyes were moist with restrained tears.
All the seniors had left. Laughing, they abandoned him with the label "unselected trash." Not one of the elite groups had claimed him as their own. Despair crept in. It felt as cold as the stone beneath him.
The thick iron door creaked open with a vibrating sound, shattering the silence. Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed like a predator's heartbeat. A young man stepped inside: a classically handsome Caucasian figure with flawless pale skin. His silver hair shimmered softly in the torchlight like liquid silk, and his piercing ice-blue eyes held a sharp gaze full of dark secrets.
His tall, broad frame filled the doorway like a dark god. His ideal physique, honed by the academy's secret training and his noble blood, was accentuated by a tight black uniform that highlighted every muscle: the broad chest tense beneath the fabric, the muscular arms flexing as he moved, the narrow hips flowing into strong thighs.
He was the fiercest senior, undefeated in underground fights and corridor intrigues. No one dared challenge him. But tonight, his gaze was different.
Upon seeing Raventhas, something cracked behind his perfect mask of cruelty. He knelt slowly beside the victim. The knees of his trousers touched the cold floor. He leaned in close until his masculine scent, a blend of leather, sandalwood, and something wild filled the air.
His rough fingers, scarred from countless fights, touched Raventhas's cheek with surprising gentleness. The touch was warm, contrasting with the stone's chill. His thumb caressed the sharp jawline, tracing the curve of the sweaty neck.
Raventhas flinched. Instinct made his body tense reflexively, but he was too weak to resist. His eyes widened as he stared at the silver-haired man with a mix of fear and bewilderment.
"Am I the only one who can see your beauty, baby?" the man whispered softly, his voice low. His romantic tone dripped from each syllable like melting hot honey. His voice was low and vibrating, sending subtle shivers down Raventhas's spine.
Without waiting for an answer, his broad frame shifted, pinning Raventhas from above with perfect weight. Not crushing, but trapping. His wide chest pressed against the rapid rise and fall of Raventhas's chest.
His hard stomach rubbed against the victim's bare skin.
The man's hot breath swept over Raventhas's neck. His lips almost touched the sensitive skin there, making every hair stand on end. His right hand crept to Raventhas's waist, long fingers slipping under the torn shirt to touch the warm, bruised, and wounded skin. His touch was slow and exploratory, tracing the lines of tense abdominal muscles. His thumb made small circles over the hip bone, causing Raventhas to bite his lip to suppress a gasp.
"Look at this," Grosvenor murmured, his voice hoarse with admiration. His nose dragged along the line of Raventhas's neck, inhaling the scent of sweat and fear that was, strangely, intoxicating.
"Your skin is so smooth beneath these bruises. Your trembling lips seem to invite me. How could they not see it? This face of yours, baby... your shining green eyes, your flushed cheeks. You're like a hidden gem in the mud."
Raventhas's body reacted without permission. Heat spread from the points of contact. His heart pounded wildly against Grosvenor's chest.
Grosvenor's left hand rose to Raventhas's black hair, combing it back slowly to reveal his fully exposed face. His thumb brushed Raventhas's lower lip, pressing gently until it parted slightly.
Their breaths mingled in the impossibly close distance.
"You're mine now," Grosvenor breathed. His hips shifted, creating a subtle friction that made Raventhas jolt. An electric sensation shot from his stomach throughout his body. "No one, not Decatur or anyone else, may touch you again. I will keep you safe... but you must surrender yourself to me."
Raventhas bristled defensively. He couldn't possibly kneel and trust one of the "seniors" who suddenly acted this way. "I will never..."
"Say yes, baby. Let me feel the full tremor of this body of yours." He leaned closer. His lips brushed against Raventhas's ear. His teeth touched the earlobe with a sweet, light nip. His breath was scalding hot.
The hand on his waist now squeezed gently, pulling Raventhas's body closer. Their legs intertwined on the cold floor. The air felt thick with tension.
Every touch from Grosvenor was like a slow-burning fire. Romantic, yet filled with a possessive promise of both protection and entrapment.
Raventhas held his breath. His entire body trembled under the pressure. A strange fire ignited in his chest. Was this salvation... or a deeper trap?
Outside, the forest wind howled softly, singing the academy's never-ending secret song.