SEBASTIAN

The sun blazed mercilessly overhead, a tyrant in the cloudless sky. The heat was so intense I half-expected my skin to sizzle if the wind decided to rip my hood away. Still, I had my umbrella, though walking around with it felt awkward. Shira and Silas had none, and I couldn't help but feel out of place, shielding myself under its protection while they braved the oppressive weather unarmed.

We'd come here to meet with the other mages stationed in the area. Among them, to my surprise, was someone I'd seen almost every day without giving a second thought. The man lived just down the block from our house, the one with the fat orange cat and the shop that sold all manner of useless trinkets and gaudy souvenirs. All this time, I'd dismissed him as a quirky hippie with a penchant for cats and clutter. Instead, it turned out he was a mage—a Low-Class Mage, to be specific.

Undercover.

The thought was both amusing and disquieting.

"It's so hot today," Silas groaned, collapsing under the shade of a sprawling tree with me while Shira stayed behind to talk to one of the mages. He tugged at his sweat-drenched collar, his face flushed and miserable. "I've cast, like, three cooling spells already, and none of them are working."

"You okay?" I asked, watching as he fanned himself with his hand, his movements sluggish. A bead of sweat trailed down his neck, and he let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"To think we're out here killing ourselves in this heat and still not finding anything on Minerva (Vampire of ????)," he grumbled, muttering another incantation under his breath. A faint shimmer surrounded him as the spell took effect, and he exhaled in relief.

I couldn't help but snort. He turned to glare at me.

"It's unfair how you're not affected by this," he whined.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, sure. I mean, being a vampire with skin that burns like paper in sunlight? Definitely a blessing."

Silas pouted but didn't have a comeback. Before he could say more, we spotted Shira making her way toward us. Her expression was dark, her movements brisk and tense. She wiped sweat from her forehead with a flick of her hand, and I could feel the frustration radiating off her even before she reached us.

"Looks like we're not finding anything today either, huh?" Silas ventured, sitting up straighter as she approached.

She dropped down beside me with a tired sigh. "No. Erick—" she gestured toward the souvenir-selling mage—"said he caught wind of her about a year ago. But somehow, his report never made it to the higher-ups."

Silas frowned, leaning forward. "He did? He reported it? Then why didn't it go through?"

Shira shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "It was winter then, and the only way to send reports was through fire telegrams. Apparently, the system wasn't working at the time, and everything he tried to send out was… burned. Lost."

Silas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So why didn't he resend the report once he realized?"

"Because no one believed him," Shira replied, her tone bitter. "By the time he realized what had happened, it was months too late. And you know how Low-Class Mages are treated. His credibility was shot before he even opened his mouth."

I crossed my arms, scowling. "Prejudice. Even in matters like this?"

"It's always been that way," Silas said with a shrug, though there was a hardness in his voice. "Doesn't mean it's any less infuriating." He turned back to Shira. "But what else did he say?"

Shira hesitated for a moment, then looked at me. Her gaze was sharp, assessing.

"I believe what I'm about to tell you might be connected to how you were turned."

Those words made me sit up straighter. I blinked at her in surprise, my heart—or whatever semblance of a heart I still had—hammering in my chest. Being turned was a mystery I hadn't been able to unravel. There was a gaping hole in my memory, a void where the truth should've been. I hadn't even realized what I'd become until the pieces began falling into place, forcing me to confront the horrifying reality: I was a vampire.

"Erick suspects Minerva came here a year ago to… find herself a servant," Shira continued, her voice low. "Apparently, there were signs. Nothing public or widely reported, but he said that around November, a lot of teens were found unconscious in the area. It stopped abruptly in December."

"Wait," Silas cut in, his eyes wide. "You mean… like back then?" He turned to Shira, and the look that passed between them was one of shared recognition.

I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean? Back when?"

Shira bit her lip, tapping her arm as she seemed to weigh her words. Finally, she sighed and looked at Silas. "If you want, you can tell him how you first met Minerva."

My eyes darted to Silas, who looked startled for a moment. Then his shoulders slumped, and he let out a nervous laugh.

"Right. Well, back when I was younger—just got my mage license, actually—I had a… close call." He shifted uncomfortably, his expression clouding. "I was reckless. Thought I could handle going into the forest alone. Big mistake. Most of the creatures there would've been happy to rip me to shreds. I nearly got myself killed."

"And Minerva saved you?" I guessed, leaning forward.

He nodded. "Yeah. She appeared out of nowhere, like she'd just been… waiting. And do you know what she said to me?" His eyes met mine, his voice dropping to a whisper. "She said: 'No, you're not the one.'"

"That's… weird," I murmured, the words sending an odd shiver down my spine.

Silas laughed dryly. "Yeah, that's what I thought too. I didn't know it was her at the time. But now… hearing all this? It makes sense. She must've been searching for a servant back then too." His gaze turned to me. His face fell slightly as realization dawned on him. "And that might've been the same time you were…"

"Turned," I finished for him, the word heavy on my tongue. A silence settled over us, heavy and contemplative. Even Shira seemed lost in thought.

Finally, I broke the quiet. "If she's so powerful, why does she even need a servant? I thought Minerva was supposed to be strong."

Silas shrugged. "That's the real question, isn't it?" He stood, brushing dirt from his pants. "For now, though, can we find someplace where I'm not cooking alive?"

Shira snorted, shaking her head as she got to her feet. "Alright, whiner. Let's go."

—

It was Sunday morning, and the rain was relentless. A heavy curtain of water cascaded from the sky, drenching everything in sight. It couldn't have been more different from yesterday, when the sun had blazed down like a vengeful god, turning the air into a furnace. I had homework to finish—piles of it—but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't summon the will to start. Instead, I found myself slumped against the windowsill, forehead pressed to the cool glass, watching the rain batter the world beyond.

The sun was absent today, hidden behind thick, brooding clouds. That suited me just fine. With no sun to force me into layers, I lounged in loose pants and a simple shirt, relishing the freedom of not needing to layer up. There was something oddly comforting about rain. It shielded the world, muffled the noise, and cooled the air until it felt like a perfect excuse to do nothing at all.

Rainy days might just be my favorite kind of day.

I stayed there, sprawled against the windowsill, watching as the occasional car splashed through the street below, its tires kicking up arcs of water. My gaze followed the steady rhythm of the downpour, hypnotized by the way it blurred the edges of everything. Gray skies. Shimmering puddles. The faint smell of wet earth filtered through the crack in the window.

Then, something caught my eye. Someone was approaching from the distance, their figure partially obscured by a large umbrella. I straightened ever so slightly, squinting to make out more details. The umbrella was tilted, hiding their face, but there was something familiar about the way they moved—something that made my chest tighten.

I sniffed the air without thinking, as if I could somehow catch their scent through the rain-soaked breeze. And then it hit me.

Silas.

My heart gave a traitorous little jump, and I sat up straighter. As if on cue, the umbrella tilted, and Silas's face emerged from beneath it, damp hair curling slightly against his forehead. He looked up, spotted me in the window, and broke into a broad smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he raised a hand to wave at me with the kind of easy confidence that always left me flustered.

I waved back, though it came out awkward and hesitant. My hand trembled slightly, and I hated myself for it. Silas didn't seem to notice—or if he did, he didn't care. Instead, he pointed toward the front door of my house, his meaning clear. He wanted to visit.

I blinked, caught off guard. If he was planning to drop by, couldn't he have texted me first? But there was no time to dwell on it. I gave him a quick thumbs up, then scrambled off the windowsill and bolted out of my room, taking the stairs two at a time.

The house was blissfully empty today. My parents were at work, and my sister was at her girlfriend's place, which meant I had the run of the place. No awkward introductions. No nosy questions. Just me and Silas.

I opened the door to find him already standing there, his umbrella folded neatly at his side. He was dripping wet, but he didn't seem to care. His smile widened when he saw me.

"Hey," I said, stepping aside to let him in. "You didn't tell me you were coming."

Silas chuckled, brushing some water from his sleeves as he stepped into the entryway. "It was kind of a last-minute thing," he admitted. "I didn't even know this was your house until I saw you in the window."

I fought the urge to smile at that, biting down on the corners of my lips. "Really now. What were you doing out in this weather, anyway? It's pouring." I shut the door behind him, the sound of the rain muffled as soon as it clicked into place.

"Ah, you know how it is," Silas said, waving a hand vaguely. "Shira and I met up with Erick earlier to help him finish his report. We turned it in at the academy—hopefully it'll be enough to get him his Middle Class Mage license." He grinned, then looked around the house with casual curiosity. "Hope I'm not intruding. Looks like you've got the place to yourself."

I rolled my eyes, leading him toward the living room. "You're not intruding. I wasn't doing anything important, anyway."

We settled onto the sofa, Silas lounging as if he'd been here a hundred times before. He glanced around again, taking in the room with interest. "Nice place," he said, before his gaze flicked back to me. "So… have you done the economics homework yet?"

I groaned, already knowing where this was going. His grin grew wider, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"What's your point?" I shot back, crossing my arms and leaning against the cushions.

Silas just laughed, scratching the back of his head in that way he always did when he was trying to look innocent. His hair, already a little damp from the rain, stuck up in random places, one stubborn curl bouncing like a spring. It was distracting. Infuriatingly distracting. My fingers itched to reach out and smooth it down, but I forced myself to stay still.

Oblivious to my internal struggle, Silas launched into a recount of his day, his words spilling out in an easy, unhurried rhythm. He complained loudly about how boring it had been without me there to "annoy," and I couldn't help but smile at his theatrics.

"Really now," I said, amused.

"Yeah! I've told you before—if you've got nothing to do, just come with us. Don't be shy."

"I'm not shy," I shot back, rolling my eyes. "I just like sleeping."

Silas groaned dramatically, grabbing my shoulders and giving me a playful shake. "Hey! Don't make me regret fighting tooth and nail for you!"

I laughed, low and quiet, but my eyes kept drifting back to that stubborn curl of hair. It was ridiculous how much it bothered me. Before I could think better of it, my hand moved on its own, brushing over the top of his head to smooth it out.

Silas froze, startled, and let out a small noise in the back of his throat. My brain caught up a second too late, and I jerked my hand back as if I'd been burned. "Sorry," I stammered, heat rushing to my face. "Your hair was just… sticking up."

He blinked at me, then reached up to touch his head, smoothing his hair with a sheepish grin. "Oops. Thanks."

I pressed my lips into a thin line, mortified. What was I doing? Why couldn't I just keep my hands to myself? What if he thought I was weird? What if he figured out that I—

"Hey," Silas said, breaking the silence before my spiraling thoughts could swallow me whole.

I looked at him, my throat suddenly dry. "W-what?"

"Want to come by Zaudseth again?" Silas asked, his tone casual but laced with that ever-present undertone of mischief. "My mother already knows you're a servant vampire and told me to get you to a witch for a check-up."

"A check-up? We still need those?" I arched a brow, genuinely surprised. It wasn't like I'd ever heard of vampires queuing up at clinics.

"Yeah," Silas replied, shrugging. "Look, I might've finished my studies, but I'm not exactly a professional when it comes to dealing with vampires. Better to let someone who actually knows what they're doing take care of you."

He had a point. I hummed thoughtfully, nodding in agreement. "Alright, fine. But I think I'm pretty healthy."

Silas smirked at that, a knowing glint flashing in his eyes. "We'll see, hmm?" He reached out to ruffle my hair, his fingers threading briefly through the strands. The unexpected gesture pulled an involuntary sound from the back of my throat—a confused little noise that only made him laugh harder.

"Anyways," he continued, the amusement still dancing on his face, "it's so weird to see you like this. I can actually see you."

I frowned at him, my brow furrowing. "What's that supposed to mean?" I glanced down at myself. Black shirt. Black pants. Socks. Same as usual. What was wrong with my outfit?

Silas only chuckled, stepping closer as he placed a hand on my shoulder. "I mean, I can actually see your skin. You're usually swaddled in at least three layers. Like you're trying to ward off the apocalypse or something."

To prove his point, his hand slipped from my shoulder to my neck, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin there. A shiver shot down my spine, sharp and electric.

"I—" The words caught in my throat. My voice faltered as Silas's hand lingered. Then, as if he weren't already testing my limits, his touch traveled to the back of my head, his fingers sifting through my hair.

"All this time," he mused with a grin, "I thought you had short hair. Look at that—you've got a tail." He laughed, clearly oblivious to the way my entire body had gone rigid under his hand.

His fingers brushed the nape of my neck again, the light tickling sensation making my breath hitch. And just like that, my nails grew long—sharp like claws, a telltale sign of my embarrassment. I clenched my fists, trying to hide it, and shoved him back with as much composure as I could muster.

"Will you stop that?" I snapped, though the shake in my voice betrayed me.

"Oopsie, hehe," he teased, completely unapologetic. His grin widened, and I could feel his amusement radiating off him like sunlight.

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to calm the lingering heat there. My claws had already retracted, thankfully, but my skin still burned in a way I couldn't explain. Cold-blooded or not, my nape felt like it had been branded.

"Come on," Silas said, clearly unfazed by my flustered state. He gave my arm a little shake before standing up. "Let's head to Zaudseth and get your free check-up."

I nodded, though the movement felt stiff and awkward. My mind was still spinning, stuck on what had just happened. Was it real? Or had my touch-starved imagination decided to run wild? Either way, I followed him, my steps shaky and uncertain, still feeling the ghost of his touch on my skin.