Somewhere nearby.
Mirael was sitting under a tree, wrapped in a blanket, with snacks and her most sacred secret: a laptop covered in stickers —"Sir KaYA", "Dark Academy", "Shipping means I'm alive."
Inside its files, she hid her most unpublishable novel, codenamed: "The Fang Problem: The Chronicles of Aya and Kaiden."
She whispered as she typed:
— He looked at her like he saw a void he was afraid to peer into. But she already lived there.
TAP-TAP-TAP — her fingers flew across the keys.
— Kaiden wanted to turn away, but couldn't. She was fire, and he was a vampire who already knew he'd burn... but still stepped closer.
Mirael paused, leaned over the edge of the hill... and spotted Aya, sitting alone, drawn into herself as if the world had suddenly become too big. Instantly, a new paragraph was born:
— She looked... broken. But even in that, there was something beautiful. Like a crack in a vase through which you could see the light inside.
She typed like a woman possessed.
— Kaiden wanted to hug her. But he knew that if he touched her, he'd explode. Her fire, his cold—too dangerous a combo. Too tempting. Too inevitable.
Mirael suddenly froze.
— Shit, if she ever finds this, I'm dead. If he finds it, I'm dead twice.
Still, she saved the file. Because a shipper lives as long as she writes.
Aya was sitting at the edge of a flowerbed, as if it was a lifeboat on a sinking Titanic. Her fingers clenched the strap of her backpack, her eyes flickering from the bushes to the path. Something weird could happen anywhere. It already had. She squinted suspiciously at an especially dense bush where the leaves were moving in a way that didn't seem quite right.
And then, right on cue, someone burst out of the bush.
Abrupt, noisy, like the bushes wanted to apologize but it was already too late.
Aya nearly yelped and stood up, but remembered just in time that she was supposed to be cool and unflappable, the very definition of "confidence." So she just stood—quickly—and stepped back. One step. Maybe two.
— Hi! — almost sang the girl who'd popped out of the greenery.
She was thin, with ink-purple hair down to her waist, a puffy skirt, and a sweatshirt that read Love Potion 99. Her eyes were an intense gray-green, sparkling like she knew every fan theory about Aya—even the ones that hadn't been invented yet.
Aya squinted:
— ...Were you following me?
— Oh, that's putting it a bit harshly, — the stranger flailed her arms, plopping down beside her like they were old friends. — I just happened to pass by. Saw you sitting here. And I thought, "There she is, poor thing, suffering... and her journey is already so hard, and there'll be so many obstacles between her and him..."
— Between who and who? — Aya blinked.
Mirael froze. Panic flickered on her face.
— I... uh... I'm Mirael! Hi! Harpy. Half-blood. Just please don't say you're afraid of birds, that would be a problem. I live in the sixth wing, room 603. We're all a little... well, unusual here. But you're fine, honestly. — She said it all in one breath, like she wanted to change the subject before a sentence could be passed.
Aya stared, one brow raised.
Mirael smiled nervously, desperate for a conversation shift.
— Oh, and by the way... if you and Kaiden were a couple, you'd be perfect together. He's cold ice, you're wild fire. It's a classic: enemies to lovers...
She trailed off. Her mouth was still open, as if the words had slipped out before her brain could stop them.
Aya didn't blink.
Then, slowly, with the expression of someone trying to decide if this was a hallucination:
— Did you just say... what I think you said?..
Mirael was already marching to her own funeral in her mind.
— Um... nothing? Hi again? Want some gum?..
She fished out a mint gum like it could erase everything she'd just said. Her hand shook. Her face was panic, barely masked by a practiced "oops-I-said-too-much-please-don't-kill-me" smile.
That's it. The end. The end of fanfics, the end of happy memories, the end of her insides if Kaiden found out. And if Aya realized Mirael wrote that chapter about "Harmony of Pain and Bites in the Humid Greenhouse," she'd be locked in a closet with golems and forgotten. Everything. Gone.
Aya watched in silence.
Not staring, exactly. Just with the look of someone trying to decide if they were talking to:
A) a fangirl,
B) someone a bit unhinged,
C) or just a person who handles awkwardness very, very poorly.
To be honest, Aya herself didn't really know what a "normal" introduction looked like. At her old schools, everything was... different. Some were afraid of her, some gossiped behind her back, some just acted as if she didn't exist. No one had ever just talked to her, like a person.
Even if it was weird.
And... a fanfic starring her and that masked psycho was, well, a diagnosis. But not aggression, right?
— ...Are you okay? — Aya asked carefully, with a slight squint.
Mirael giggled nervously, still holding out the gum like a charm against death.
— I... just get a little... carried away. With fandoms. And stories. And... visualizing potential. Between people. Even if they don't yet... you know... — She was speeding up, and if she spoke any faster she'd burst into flames from friction.
Aya took the gum. Slowly.
Popped it in her mouth.
Chewed.
Exhaled.
— Fine.
Mirael froze.
— F-fine..?
— Yeah. — Aya sat back down on the flowerbed. — You're officially weird. But compared to everything else I've seen here... you're currently the least insane thing.
Mirael didn't believe her at first. Then, she did. She almost bounced with joy, but held herself back—whether by willpower or what was left of her dignity, unclear.
— So... you're... not against it?
Aya shrugged, looking off into the distance.
— I'm not sure I'd know what "normal" looks like.
— Ooooh! — Mirael clapped her hands. — It's fate! I knew it! Well, I didn't know, but I suspected! This is all going in the record! Don't worry, I won't say anything else out loud. Maybe. Well, almost nothing.
Aya shot her a look.
— But if you say the word "bites" out loud again, I'll toss you off this flowerbed.
— Fair.
Mirael sat next to her. Not as clingy this time—just... human. Chatty, but just being there. Aya didn't even tense up.
But in her mind, one thought still circled:
...maybe this is how friendships begin?
Although, no. No need to jump ahead.
And definitely no need to ask about that greenhouse chapter.
— Okay, let's go? You haven't had lunch yet, right? — Mirael stood, dusted off her skirt.
Aya got up too. The gum helped her focus a little, but her stomach had already decided on rebellion.
The cafeteria was... normal. Almost. Except for a couple of statues that looked like altars, which students bowed to before grabbing a tray. Aya first thought it was some morning ritual, but quickly realized it was more like "prayer stands" for those who only ate consecrated bread and blessed jam.
The food smelled familiar—potatoes, bread, stewed vegetables. Some people's trays had odd boxes with foreign writing and runes, but mostly it was regular food.
— Well... not as scary as I expected, — Aya said, eyeing the serving line, careful not to look at the chicken labeled "Served without residual aura."
— Yeah, the food's fine, — Mirael said, grabbing a tray. — Just don't take anything that's behind glass or in gold trim. That's for those who think they're... closer to spirits.
— What do you mean?
— Their mentors told them to. Or priests. Or... long story. Just take potatoes. Always safe. Even at Raven.
Aya nodded, loaded up on mashed potatoes, bread, compote. Everything looked familiar—almost too familiar. But above the kitchen window hung a sign in two languages: one English, the other... definitely not of this world.
They found a quiet table in the corner. Good view of everyone else.
— So... — Aya reached for her compote. — Are you always this... uh, energetic?
— What do you mean?
— I mean... kind of hyper. Too in-the-know. You seem to know more about me than I do.
Mirael pretended not to understand, but her cheeks flushed.
— No, no. I'm just... observant. And curious. That's not a crime.
— Depends on the dosage.
— Hey. I don't always get involved in other people's... plotlines. I mean... lives. — She stumbled, took a big sip.
Aya squinted:
— You're not one of those people who write weird fanfics about classmates, are you?
Mirael nearly choked.
— Wh-what? No! Of course not! That's... That's private. I don't write... anything.
— Hmm.
— And even if I did, it'd be... purely artistic observation. Not because someone's always scowling and wears a mask. And clearly hiding something. And looks at you like he wants to bite you but holds back because you're in public. No reason to... imagine things.
— ...You just revealed everything you wanted to hide.
— No, those are general musings! Theoretical! Absolutely impractical! Never mind. Eat.
Aya smirked into her spoon. Clearly, life wouldn't be boring with this one.
— All right, theoretical writer. I'm still alive and haven't turned to smoke, so consider your attempt at friendship accepted.
Mirael pouted, then smiled again:
— And you're still sitting at my table. You have good instincts.
— Or I'm just too lazy to find another table.
— Doesn't matter! It's a win.
They'd barely started eating when someone... strange passed by. Strange even by "Welcome to the Academy, our students are godlike" standards.
Tall, very skinny, with long arms and a shuffling walk. At first glance, a guy about twenty in a knit cardigan, messy pale hair. But look closer—his skin seemed to glow from within, his eyes were milky-white like a deep-sea fish's, and his lips didn't move, even as he whispered words that were clearly audible.
— ...they say she burned the teacher...
— ...another problem child, just like the last one...
— ...Kaiden, they say, stared at her... for a long time...
— ...idiot, the new idiot...
The words slid under your skin, not aimed at anyone in particular, but soaking in all the same. Aya shuddered. Her spoon hovered over her tray.
— What's with the... radio?
— That's Shis, — Mirael whispered, glancing nervously after the strange creature. — They call him the Whisperer. Half-human, half-whirlwind. Or a shadow. Or something in between. He hears everything, sees everything, and whispers... to everyone. Don't believe a word, but if you hear him, know that someone already knows. He's like a living forum. Only without moderation.
— So that's where the rumors come from, — Aya muttered, putting her fork down.
— Worse. Sometimes he whispers not just what is, but what could be. Or what someone wants. And if your desires are too loud, they turn into reality... as a rumor.
Aya frowned, still watching the creature that had just whispered about her across the room without even opening its mouth.
— He whispers desires? — she asked, turning slowly to Mirael. — Like... if someone wants something badly enough, he spreads it?
— Well... — Mirael hesitated. — Sometimes. Maybe. Theoretically. Not my idea!
— And you're not talking about yourself right now?
— Me? No! What? Not about me at all! — Mirael nearly dropped her fork, looking horrified. — I'm silent! Like a fish! Always! Even when I shouldn't be!
Aya squinted.
— You're weird.
— It's not forbidden, — Mirael whispered. — Yet.
Aya rolled her eyes but picked up her fork.
— Well, if tomorrow everyone's convinced I drove Kaiden crazy with one look, you'll be the first I toss into the nearest volcano.
— Honestly? Considering how he looked at you in the corridor, that's not even a joke anymore. At times, it's a scientific fact. At times. — Mirael quickly bit her tongue. — I didn't write anything! I didn't whisper anything!
— Uh-huh.
— Swear on my manuscript. Even the draft.
They fell silent, not out of tension, but out of a weird, absurd harmony. One was called crazy for her past, the other feared for her fanfics. In a way, they made the perfect duo: one whispered the story, the other lived it.
And Shis, across the room, turned slightly. And maybe smiled—though he didn't have a mouth.
Mirael walked a bit ahead, but kept glancing back, as if checking Aya hadn't vanished or run away.
— You know... you held your own in Geography, — she said, voice laced with admiration, panic, and badly concealed hysteria.
— I answered, "That sounds like made-up sushi roll names."
— Yes! But... the way you said it! — Mirael flung her hands up as if conducting a storm. — Such confidence. Such delivery. That line would fit perfectly in a "Scheduled Enemies" fanfic.
— ...What?
— Nothing. I'm quiet.
— That's what you call quiet?
— I'm trying.
They passed a group of students; one glanced at Aya, snorted, whispered something to the girl beside him. She smirked.
Aya gave them a passing glance, said nothing. Mirael, on the other hand, seemed to soak in every word, pausing for a second.
— Uh... they're just... they're always like that. Don't mind them. They gossip about everyone. Yesterday, for example, there was a rumor the Metamorphosis professor had six wives and one brain among them all. Of course, just a rumor. I personally haven't met any of the wives...
— Yeah. It's obvious you never talk to anyone. — Aya nodded at the whispering students.
Mirael blushed to the roots of her inky-purple hair.
— I accidentally recorded a few things. Just for... historical accuracy. It's not fanfic, it's more like... a chronicle. A scientific perspective. All for objectivity.
— Uh-huh. And that's why you nearly called me "the fiery siren of chaos"?
— That was a slip! Just a random synonym!
Aya snorted, but didn't push her away. Instead, for the first time since she'd arrived, she smiled—just a little.
— All right, chronicler, lead on. But if you drop any more of your "footnote dramas," I'm confiscating your ink.
Mirael feigned a heart attack, then bounced along anyway—almost skipping, as if she'd already been forgiven.
And they walked together, for the first time not alone.
Evening crept in unnoticed. The campus was washed in a soft violet-gray light, as if someone had thrown a sheer veil over the sun. The air was fresh, a little damp, as if it had just rained—even though nobody had seen rain.
Aya sat on the dorm steps, cheek resting on her fist, staring at nothing. Mirael was beside her, legs folded, gripping a thermos of cocoa and pretending not to eavesdrop on her neighbor's inner monologue. In reality, she was listening intently, the next chapter already writing itself in her head.
— I'm really losing my mind, — Aya suddenly exhaled.
— Welcome to the club. We meet on Wednesdays, with cookies. — Mirael took a sip.
— No, I'm serious. — Aya looked up at the darkening sky, where something blinked and seemed to stir. — At first, I thought it was just... well, an unusual college. Like, discipline, strict rules, crazy prefects. Fine. But then—tails. Glowing eyes. Teachers who talk about sphinxes like it's just a type of nervous system. And you... with your "chronicles."
— Not mine. Just observations.
— Yeah. Just an observer who ships me with a vampire.
— Half-vampire. Or... a descendant of a garm. It's complicated.
— Don't make it worse. I'm already on the edge. — Aya sighed. — I miss home. My apartment. Ordinary things. Even... the internet.
Mirael froze. Looked up, as if she'd only just noticed the real person sitting in front of her—not a fic heroine.
— Wait... you didn't get the Wi-Fi password?
Aya turned her head slowly.
— There's Wi-Fi here..?
— Well... yeah? It's kind of weird, though. Sometimes it only works at night. Sometimes only by the north wall. Sometimes it... answers.
— It answers?
— Yup. Once it messaged me: "Hi Mirael. Too late for fanfics." I thought it was a teacher trolling me. Then the Wi-Fi got offended and left. Literally—the network vanished. Silence for a week.
— ...Even the internet here has a personality. Perfect.
Aya flopped onto her back and stared at the night sky. It didn't look familiar. There were stars she'd never seen in her city. The moon shone... from the wrong side.
— I just wanted something normal, — she said softly.
— Me too, — Mirael suddenly replied. — But then I thought... what if this "not normal" is what's actually mine? Just took a while to realize.
— Are you always this wise?
— No. Usually after three chapters, all hell breaks loose and I do something stupid.
Aya laughed—a tired, hoarse, but genuine sound. She still felt like an outsider. Still scared. But here was someone beside her—a little nuts, but honest. And maybe, for now, that was enough.
— Well, if you go crazy, I'll be president of your fan club, — Aya said.
— Too late. You already have a fan club. And I'm president, secretary, and the only member.
*Late night
.*
Aya's room was wrapped in silence. Only outside, past the closed window, it sounded as if someone was slowly circling the building—step... pause... step... pause...
The phone in her hand. Useless. Dead weight. Three days—no signal, no bars, not a single damn dot. No word from home. Like she'd been cut off from the world.
Like being buried alive.
She opened her gallery. A screenshot with her mom. Smiling. Her fingers clenched tighter.
— Come on... please...
The screen flickered.
Network: none → wR4vN_h3aRT connected.
Aya froze.
— What..?
The screen lit up with messages. Dozens.
20+ unread.
Mom, 3 days ago: Aya, are you okay? Please message us. We can't reach you.
Dad: No signal? Or did they block us?
Mom: Just send a dot... anything...
Mom: Aya, I'm getting worried.
Dad: Called the school, they said you're "adapting." What does that mean? Why can't you contact us?!
Mom: Aya, please...
Dad, yesterday: This isn't right. We're coming if we don't hear from you.
Mom, 2 hours ago: I can't take this. Please just write... Are you alive?..
Aya started typing in a frenzy:
I'm here. I... I'm okay. Sorry. No signal. Nothing worked. I... just didn't know how...
Her fingers slipped. Her heart hammered.
I was so scared. Don't leave. Don't abandon me. I can't do this without you.
She hit "send."
A moment and:
Mom: Thank God... you're with us...
Dad: No one's abandoning you, got it? Never. We just... didn't know how to reach you.
Mom: Honey... were you alone all this time? By yourself?..
Dad: You're my strongest girl.
Aya hugged the phone to her chest. Lips trembling. Throat tight.
— I love you... — she mouthed silently.
Then another notification.
System: Adaptation point established. Stability marker recognized. Connection to outside world allowed for 1 hour.
She stared at the message and laughed. Quietly. With a half-sob.
— One hour... Thank you, magical pain in the ass.
The Wi-Fi stayed on. For now.
Aya typed:
Tell me everything. Anything. I want to read. Listen. Laugh. I want to come back, even if it's only in my head.
She sat in the shadows, curled up like a child. And finally, her heart didn't feel empty. Even if just for an hour.