The Boy Beneath a Dying Sky.

The road stretched endlessly, flanked on both sides by open fields thick with untamed greenery. The early morning mist still clung low to the ground, curling around Kurai's ankles like pale ghosts that refused to rise. She walked in silence, her head tilted downward, hands tucked into the pockets of her coat. The chill seeped into her skin, but she barely noticed. This path was routine, the same stretch she had walked for years. She knew every bend, every slope, every whisper the wind left behind.

Or so she thought.

Her eyes flicked lazily to the right—just a glance, nothing more—and yet something halted her steps.

A cluster of flowers.

She blinked. There, nestled in the cradle of tall grass, was a small patch of lilies. Not the wild, brash ones that bloomed carelessly near the ditches, but delicate, pale pink surprise lilies—Lycoris squamigera. Ethereal and hauntingly misplaced.

Kurai stared. She had never seen them here before. Not once.

Drawn by a quiet urgency she couldn't explain, she stepped off the road. Her shoes crushed dew-laden blades as she walked into the open field. The wind grew colder as she neared the flowers, tugging gently at the hem of her skirt, as if urging her to keep moving... or warning her to stop.

She knelt beside the lilies. Her fingers hovered for a moment before brushing over the petals—soft, fragile, trembling against her touch. A strange ache stirred in her chest. These flowers were said to symbolize renewal, rebirth, and second chances.

She pressed a petal between her fingers, felt its tender resistance, the way it could be so easily torn apart... and still carry such meaning. How strange.

Why were they here?

Why now?

Then—a gust of wind, sudden and strong, swept across the field. Kurai's hair whipped across her face, and she instinctively turned her gaze upward.

The sky had changed.

The morning light was gone.

Where brightness once glimmered, now hung a canopy of dark clouds, heavy and slow-moving like something alive. No birds. No sun. The world held its breath.

A strange pressure curled at the back of her neck. The sense of being watched.

She looked behind her.

And froze.

At the top of the slope above her, a boy stood perfectly still. His school uniform—the navy blue coat, pressed pants, and pale shirt—was unmistakable. It matched her own. The same emblem was stitched into his collar. The same uniform is worn by the students of Nuvion Academy.

But she didn't know him.

Or… did she?

His black hair fell over his forehead, slightly tousled, and his eyes—dark, endless, unreadable—were locked on her.

He wasn't smiling. Not quite.

But something curled at the corners of his lips. A flicker of amusement. Or recognition.

Or both.

Kurai's breath caught in her throat.

Then, without a word, the boy turned. And walked away.

Just like that.

Leaving her alone with the lilies, the cold wind, and the sky that no longer promised morning.

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The sky hadn't changed since morning.

It hung low and swollen with darkness, smeared in violent hues of grey and deep indigo. Clouds churned without thunder, and yet there was a pressure—like the atmosphere was waiting to collapse inward.

Inside the classroom, the students buzzed like insects, clustered around the windows, pointing and whispering.

"Looks like a damn storm's coming," someone said.

"No way, the weather app didn't say anything about this!"

"Maybe it's the eclipse?"

Kurai sat at the farthest bench, back against the wall, right next to the window. She wasn't looking outside. Not really. Her eyes skimmed the sky, but her focus was on the page before her—half-filled with scratched ink, erratic lines that weren't words but fragments of something lost.

Her hand moved mechanically, the pen digging into paper as if trying to carve meaning into it. Around her, voices blurred into noise. Laughter. Panic. Excitement. Confusion.

She didn't feel any of it.

And that was what unsettled her the most.

When did I stop feeling?

She didn't remember. Only that the world had begun to dull around the edges. Like a painting fading under the sun, she'd watched color and sound and meaning slip away until all that was left was a constant, unbearable stillness.

Maybe she'd feel something again—once the sky finally fell.

That thought almost brought a smile to her lips. Almost.

"Look at her," a voice sneered, sharp and too loud. "Creepy freak's watching everyone like a ghost."

Kurai's hand stilled.

Thalen.

She knew the voice before she saw him. He and his usual group were stalking down the aisle between desks, careless grins on their faces like hyenas scenting something weak.

Kurai didn't look up.

"Hey," Thalen said, standing right in front of her. "Get up."

He reached down and shook her arm, not violently, but with enough force to say: You don't get to ignore me.

"I said, get up. I still need to deal with you."

Still, Kurai didn't move. Her eyes flicked toward the window.

"What, cat got your tongue?" Thalen's voice dipped lower, mocking. "You had a lot to say yesterday. Complaining to the teacher about me like some pathetic snitch."

Then, suddenly, his hands shoved her back, hard. Her shoulder slammed into the cold wall.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" he barked.

This time, she did.

A single glance. Sharp. Cold. Hollow.

Thalen flinched.

Something about the way her eyes met his—utterly devoid of fear or interest—made the smirk falter on his face.

"Hey! Guys, grab her!" he snapped, stepping back with a growl.

But before his cronies could move, a murmur spread through the classroom.

"Shit—teacher's coming!"

The room shifted instantly. Students scrambled back to their seats like ants under threat. Papers shuffled, chairs scraped, and the window crowd dispersed in a heartbeat.

Thalen shot her one last look, his lips curled in a sneer.

"I'll deal with you after class," he hissed, then stalked back to his seat.

Kurai remained still, eyes drifting once more to the sky outside. The clouds were thicker now. Denser. She thought she saw something shifting in them.

But it might've just been the reflection of the room.

Might've been something else.

She lowered her gaze to the desk. Her notebook lay open, the last pen stroke frozen mid-curve.

A single sentence, written without her realizing it.

I hope it swallows us all.

The door opened with a gentle creak, and silence followed like a wave.

Miss Terien stepped in.

She was one of the few teachers —soft-spoken, patient, and not yet dulled by the bitterness that seemed to seep from every corner of the school. She always smiled, not with forced cheer, but with genuine light behind her eyes. Even now, with the sky casting eerie shadows over the classroom, she smiled.

"Good morning, everyone," she said, setting her books on the desk with practiced grace. "We have a new friend joining us today."

A boy stood quietly behind her.

Kurai's fingers froze mid-scratch across the notebook page. Her eyes shifted, slow and uncertain.

And there he was.

The same boy from the field of lilies. The one who stood under the trembling sky. The one who had looked at her as if she existed.

His school uniform was perfectly in order—white shirt crisp, navy jacket buttoned. His black hair framed his face softly, just brushing past his brows. But it was his eyes that drew her in again—dark, like an ocean that had forgotten how to reflect light.

"This is Yenith Draquor," Miss Terien continued, her voice kind and clear. "He'll be with us from today onward. Please treat him well."

There was a small wave of murmurs, some disinterested, some curious.

"Go ahead and sit at the second row, sixth seat," she added, pointing gently between the desks. "Right over there by the window."

Yenith gave a polite nod. "Thank you, miss," he said softly—his voice smooth, but distant, like sound echoing through fog.

As he passed down the aisle, Kurai kept her eyes lowered, though her heart thudded against her ribs. She could feel his presence like static. And just as he was beside her, he paused.

He turned slightly.

And smiled.

Not for the class. Not for the teacher.

For her.

Kurai blinked, caught off guard. Her fingers tightened around her pen.

Then the moment passed.

He turned and sat down, slipping seamlessly into the second row, sixth seat—exactly as told. Already, a few girls leaned in to whisper about how "cool" he looked, while the boys eyed him with a mix of suspicion and challenge.

Kurai lowered her gaze to her notebook. Her pen scratched again, slower this time. Her mind buzzed, restless.

She hadn't told anyone about the boy in the field.

She hadn't needed to.

Because now—he was here.

And somehow, she knew...

He hadn't just transferred.

He had arrived