Parties and parties, and black envelopes?

The deafening clamor filled the air outside the school, bright smiles painted on youthful faces as if they illuminated the world. Laughter echoed melodiously, shattering the silence and breaking the midday stillness with bursts of joy. Horizon High School, a place perched at the peak of hope, was celebrating a festival that was not just about numbers and grades but about the long journey that had just been completed. A promotion that stood as a testament to effort and dreams.

Amidst the noise, a young man ran swiftly down the silent corridor, carrying a stack of food and books with an energetic pace. His black hair flowed, dense and dark, as if an eternal night covered his head. His steps were quick, rushing toward the Art Club room, as if the world outside could not contain his passion. However, when his eyes caught sight of a figure standing in front of him, he abruptly stopped, breathless, as if something deeper than time itself had caught him.

"I have told you not to run in the corridors," the janitor's voice was soft yet firm, a warning frequently heard, accompanied by a cloth in his hand and a modest uniform.

"Sorry, I am in a hurry... so sorry," the young man responded politely, his voice filled with regret, before he quickly dashed away, like the wind in a rush to leave.

The janitor sighed deeply, watching the young man's retreating figure as if carrying memories with every step he left behind.

Let me introduce myself. My name is Theodore Noir. This year is full of color, a year that feels both beautiful and heavy. Graduation day. I walked through the halls carrying a pile of food for the English Literature Club members, a party we had prepared with hopes and laughter. A final celebration marking the end of this journey.

My steps paused for a moment when my eyes met a girl standing before me. Petra Carolyn, with her brown hair flowing beautifully like ocean waves reflecting the sunset. Her pale blue eyes radiated an elegance difficult to describe. Like a living painting, she looked at me with an expression of discontent, her lips slightly pursed.

"Been a while, huh? Are you planning to make us wait any longer?" Her voice carried a tone full of sarcasm, like the cold breeze between the hanging dusk.

"Hey, this festival is so crowded, you know. From grade ten to twelve, all grades are gathered. Do you think, with that sea of people, it is that easy to just queue?" My voice rose slightly, filled with emphasis and a bit of pent-up frustration.

Petra only responded with a frown, her face concealed by the indifference she often showed me. Without saying more, she turned and walked into the Art Club room. I just shook my head and rolled my eyes, as if this was something ordinary that I had come to accept.

My steps led me inside the Art room, where eight familiar figures stood. They were friends, companions, and family in the same spirit.

Dante Leivein, with his ever-cheerful smile, was like sunlight that never failed to shine through gray skies. His presence brought joy to every corner of the room, making everything feel more alive.

Alexander Leivein, his more serious younger brother, always had a flat expression, as if carrying heavy thoughts. That seriousness ran deep in his every action, giving him an aura of mystery that was not easily read.

Hyday Angelina, a girl full of energy, moved as if her enthusiasm had no end. Every step she took ignited the spirit in everyone around her.

Feldard William, a man who was always reliable, stood like a solid rock in the middle of the waves. His strength was not visible from the outside, but it was felt when needed.

Saphta Maxwell, smart and creative, had ideas and thoughts that flowed with mesmerizing clarity, like light illuminating a dark path.

Vitra Belle, a sweet girl with a smile that always calmed. Though she was the only member from grade ten, her presence brought an irreplaceable balance.

Revika Elise, with a wisdom born from calmness, was like a source of tranquility, solving every confusion with profound understanding.

They all stood there, like stars complementing each other in the vast sky. And I, as part of them, felt like we were one story that would never fade.

A few moments passed in silence until finally, Vitra approached with light steps that seemed to carry carefree joy. Like a child who had found something delightful, she took a piece of bread from my hand, unwrapped it, and bit into it hungrily. "I am hungry, you know," she murmured. Her soft voice sounded a little spoiled but full of sincerity.

I could only chuckle softly at her light complaint, a laugh that lightened the mood. My eyes wandered around the room, searching, until I realized something that unsettled me. Something was missing.

"Nathan, where is he?" I asked curiously, hoping my voice would echo in their hearts, those who might have an answer.

Alexander, with his unchanged flat expression, answered shortly, "Don't know." His flat voice was like wind passing by without leaving a trace.

One by one, gazes turned to the empty spot, and everyone shook their heads without a word. Even Vitra, who was usually always with Nathan, could only shrug, her movement filled with her own confusion. "Don't know," she answered quickly, like the wind leaving without a trace.

Minutes passed in a silence full of hope, until finally the door opened, and Nathan appeared, his face adorned with a wide smile that seemed to reflect pure happiness. "Hello, everyone!" His voice echoed with uncontrollable joy, as if the world around him was smiling too.

We only responded to Nathan's greeting with simpler smiles, but I could not help but fix my gaze on something hanging around his neck, a necklace that did not seem to be an ordinary one.

"Nathan, you look so happy today. What's that around your neck? From a girl, maybe?" I teased him, my voice flowing with a question and a little mischief.

Nathan, with his unbroken smile, looked at me with a gaze full of mystery. There was something behind his smile that brought a sense of unease. "Of course, I'm very happy today. This necklace... I got it from Azazelle."

Dante, always full of energy, grinned mischievously. "Oh, so she's your girlfriend?" he asked, his voice teasing, full of clear curiosity.

Nathan's eyes drifted, staring into the distance, as if looking beyond a world we could not see. His smile grew wider, but this time, there was something chilling about it, as if behind his happiness was a darkness so deep. "No, she's a Demon," he replied with a calmness that was in stark contrast to the words that had just left his lips.

Instantly, the room fell silent. We all paused, reflecting, and could only nod slowly, because for us, hearing strange things from Nathan had become a routine that no longer shocked us. Since the beginning, Nathan had always said things that could not be grasped by logic, and our world, for some reason, always accepted those oddities in an unspoken way.

The small party in the club room continued, full of laughter and joy. Sweet cakes and delicious food were spread out on the table, every bite carrying sweet memories imprinted in this moment. The warm, cheerful atmosphere made time slow down, allowing us to enjoy our togetherness without burden.

However, in another corner of the school, a teacher sat at his desk, surrounded by stacks of letters and envelopes waiting to be opened. His hands moved slowly, inspecting each letter one by one, some from external sources, others from within. Until finally, his eyes caught sight of a black envelope. Worn out, as if it had traveled a long distance, with no sender's name attached.

Carefully, he opened the envelope. Inside was an aged piece of paper, but the red ink scrawled across it stood out vividly. The words were etched sharply, carrying a warning that could not be ignored:

"When humans chirp like birds, I will claim the buried promise."

The teacher raised an eyebrow, his expression neutral, but a slight tension flickered in his eyes. A quiet sigh escaped his lips before he carelessly tossed the letter aside. Perhaps this was just a prank, a meaningless game not worth his attention. But deep inside, a whisper of doubt remained.

Who would dare write such a letter?

Dismissing the thought, he returned to his work, carefully reviewing each document. Every now and then, his gaze flickered toward the stage where the students were performing. The bright lights illuminated their cheerful faces as they danced and sang, laughter and cheers filling the air, a celebration that should have been pure joy.

Yet, amidst the noise, something felt off. A subtle presence, an unexplainable whisper beneath the night air, a shadow lurking in the blind spots of awareness. The teacher ignored it, brushing it off as exhaustion creeping in.

As time passed, the festivities grew louder, the crowd more exuberant. But fatigue was catching up to him. He decided to return to his office for a short rest before continuing his work.

However, as soon as he laid eyes on his desk, his heartbeat momentarily stopped.

Among the piles of letters he had already examined, something that should not have been there had reappeared. A worn black envelope.

"Didn't I throw this away?" he muttered, his brows furrowing in confusion.

He stepped closer, his trembling fingers reaching for the envelope once more. Carefully, he opened it.

Inside was another aged piece of paper, but this time, the red ink looked fresh, as if it had just been written. The words were bold, cold, and seemed to seep directly into his soul.

"Give me ten nights, and I will grant you eternity."

For a moment, the room fell into silence, as if the world itself had held its breath. The teacher swallowed hard, sensing the air around him growing heavier.

Was this really a prank? Or was there something far more sinister hiding in the shadows?

He examined the letter carefully, his eyes tracing every stroke of the deep red ink. It was not just ordinary ink. The color and consistency were unsettling, almost resembling blood.

A sudden, loud bang on the door shattered the silence.

The abrupt noise sent a jolt through his body. He spun toward the entrance, now wide open.

Standing in the doorway was another teacher, his face deathly pale, sweat trickling down his temples. His breathing was ragged as if he had sprinted all the way there. His lips trembled before he finally spoke.

"Sir! This is bad!" he stammered in panic.

The teacher's heart dropped. His gaze sharpened, trying to decipher the urgency in his colleague's eyes.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice laced with both concern and curiosity.

Without another word, he rushed out, following his panicked colleague.

Their footsteps echoed down the hallway, drawing closer to the source of the commotion that had gathered so much attention.

A foul stench filled the air.

The closer they got to the boys' restroom, the more the stench thickened, seeping into their lungs and churning their stomachs.

Outside the restroom, a crowd of students and teachers had gathered, their faces frozen in horror and disbelief.

Whispers of fear filled the space, creating a suffocating atmosphere of dread.

And then he saw it.

A student lay motionless on the floor.

Blood pooled around the lifeless body, flowing like a crimson river of terror. The boy's eyes were wide open, frozen in an expression of shock, as if trying to convey something left unsaid. His chest was punctured, eight knives embedded in a calculated manner, forming a gruesome sight beyond comprehension.

Panic surged through the crowd. Teachers hurriedly tried to usher the students away, but fear was etched on their own faces.

And beside the lifeless body, there lay a black envelope.

The teacher swallowed hard, feeling the air grow even colder around him. With slightly trembling fingers, he picked up the envelope and carefully opened it.

Inside was yet another letter, written in the same thick, dark red ink, the same color as the blood now staining the floor.

"On the first night, I shall roll the dice. And when that moment comes, build me a pool of blood."

A chilling silence fell over the room.

His heartbeat pounded loudly, a grim acknowledgment that this was no mere coincidence.

Something, or someone, had begun a game.

A game that only he, and those ensnared within it, could understand.

And the most terrifying thought of all was…

This was only the beginning.

"The night does not judge, nor does it forgive. It merely watches as we become who we truly are. In its silence, it reveals the truths we hide, the fears we bury, and the desires we dare not speak. And when dawn finally comes, we are left to face what the darkness has made of us."