EYES WIDE OPEN

The skies over Belgorov were shrouded in thick fog, swirling like sorrowful tidings carried from ages past. When the first bell of Saint Hiller tolled, its chime sounded different—heavier, as though it were waking something long asleep in the earth’s depths. The school was not merely stirred by human activity, but by older forces—a subtle vibration coursing through the stone walls, creeping into hidden corridors, whispering secrets to those attuned enough to hear them.

For the ordinary students, the day seemed perfectly normal. Classes on the schedule, breakfast in the grand dining hall, and stacks of notes waiting to be written. Yet for Brian, everything felt like a thin sheet of paper slowly tearing open, revealing something lurking just beyond reality’s veil.

That morning, Lucian stood at the threshold of Brian’s room, a leather bag slung over his shoulder. His face was serious, eyes glinting with a tension he could no longer conceal.

“I’ll be gone for a few days on a school mission with Tomas,” he said, his voice low as if wary of being overheard. “You’ll stay with Nika. And listen carefully: don’t go anywhere. Right now, no one openly supports you. Even Nika’s presence might not be enough if something happens.”

Brian merely nodded. There was something in Lucian’s voice like a door being shut. He knew his friend was hiding something big. But it wasn’t time yet to ask.

After Lucian left, the castle’s atmosphere shifted. Silence fell. An odd emptiness hung in the air, like the lingering space left behind by something too immense to be explained.

---

Night arrived. Brian sat staring out his bedroom window. Outside, the back courtyard was swallowed in a slowly swirling fog. The moonlight lay across it like spilled silver, yet it felt cold, almost hostile. The night’s chill bit deep into his bones, carrying a loneliness that felt utterly unnatural.

A soft knock shattered his thoughts. The sound was delicate, barely audible, yet it made Brian’s heart thump harder.

Yosef appeared. The man was more shadow than flesh, his white hair cascading over his shoulders, his eyes glowing faintly as though brimming with countless secrets unspoken.

“I believe James’s power has started merging with you,” he said without preamble.

Brian frowned, a sharp ache pulsing at his temples. “This power… it scares me. I feel like I’m becoming someone else.”

“It’s not ‘someone else.’ It’s your true self,” Yosef replied calmly. “This inheritance isn’t a choice. You simply have to learn to know it.”

Brian swallowed, feeling as though he were drowning. “What should I do?”

“Tomorrow night, there’s a training. You must attend.”

“What kind of training?” he pressed.

Yosef arched an eyebrow. “You’ll know when the time comes.”

Then he left, his steps utterly silent, as if the stone floor never felt his touch.

---

The following night, long after the school had seemingly fallen into slumber, Yosef knocked at Brian’s door again. There was no greeting. Only a tilt of his head.

They slipped through darkened corridors, descending endless stone steps. Each stair seemed colder than the last, damp air slapping Brian’s face like icy fog. When they finally reached a massive iron door etched with ancient symbols, Brian’s heart nearly stopped.

The chamber beyond the door was like nowhere else in Saint Hiller. Its walls were covered in glowing crimson runes, pulsing gently as if alive. The black stone floor glistened as though it were wet, swallowing any trace of light. The air held no temperature—too silent, too dense. It felt as if anything that breathed within this room did so for the last time.

In the center of the room, three figures waited:

Master Ravel—a tall man with a single eye, his staff radiating a heartbeat-like glow. His face was stern, his gaze piercing through whatever it fell upon.

Sister Karna—a woman draped in black veils, her face painted with blood-ink runes that seeped into the collar of her robes. Each movement made the ink ripple as if alive.

And Arkimedes—a terrifying creature, half human, half shadow, whose body constantly shifted form. One moment his face appeared human, the next it became a gaping black void. His voice echoed doubly, both resonant and hissing at once.

“Brian Nicole,” Ravel’s voice boomed, deep and weighty like the earth itself. “You come bearing the burden of blood, of promises, and of death. But beyond that—you carry potential.”

Brian stood frozen, his chest heaving. He didn’t yet know whether to feel honored or threatened.

That night’s training was to open the Second Sight—the ability to perceive the hidden layers of reality: energies, intentions, naked souls, and truths that refused to be seen. Ravel explained that the Second Sight was not merely a gift, but a curse. Once opened, the world could never look the same again.

Sister Karna guided him into a circle drawn in deep red sigils. The metallic tang of blood flooded his lungs.

“Don’t fight it,” Karna whispered. “Let the world show its true face.”

She began chanting, her voice trembling low, like chains rattling underwater. The air around the circle spun, conjuring red mist that floated like a blood-soaked fog.

Brian felt his skin tighten, searing hot and icy cold all at once. It was as if his face were being peeled away and replaced with something not flesh—but sight. Sight that could pierce through the world’s boundaries.

Then a flash of light struck his eyes. But it wasn’t merely light—it was memories, pain, screams. He saw faceless figures moving through him. Wailing voices echoed then vanished abruptly. Skinless faces stared at him with eyes slicked with blood. Glowing letters danced in the air in a language he couldn’t understand, yet somehow felt familiar—as if his blood had once read them.

Brian screamed. His cry split the silence. His body convulsed and collapsed onto the cold stone floor.

“He’s not ready!” Ravel barked.

“No,” said Arkimedes from the shadows, his dual voice vibrating. “He’s only just beginning to see.”

Brian lay sprawled, breath hitching. His eyes stared wide open at the dark ceiling, reflecting the red glow of swirling runes.

---

He awoke the next morning in his own bed. The sun was still low, casting pale orange light through the curtains. The world seemed normal. Birds singing, wind whispering, the sound of students’ footsteps echoing through the hallways.

Yet deep inside, Brian felt it wasn’t the same.

Since that night, everything had changed.

Walking through the school corridors, Brian began seeing things no one else did. The walls seemed to breathe. People’s footsteps left trails of faint light—some white, others blood-red. In one corridor’s corner, a tall shadow glanced at him before vanishing. No one else seemed to notice.

Milo von Ernst, a quiet, eccentric student, now appeared as if burning from within. Blue flames danced across his skin. Around his neck floated a ring of blood, like an invisible necklace unseen by ordinary eyes.

During recess, Milo approached him, eyes glimmering with unspoken truths. A thin smile tugged at his lips.

“You can see now, can’t you?” he whispered, his voice vibrating like a tense harp string. “But be careful. Not all the teachers stand on the side of truth.”

Brian tried to ask more, but Milo had already vanished, moving as swiftly as a shadow. All that lingered was the metallic scent of blood and wilting flowers that choked the air.

---

In Saint Hiller’s dim library, the smell of old wood filled the air. Dust floated in sunbeams piercing stained-glass windows. Bookshelves towered like silent walls, hiding secrets within their ancient spines.

Brian sat with Nika. The girl had been spending more time with him lately, as if unwilling to let him remain alone for too long. Her face was calm, but her gray eyes held a gathering storm.

“You’re searching for Silvester, aren’t you?” Nika asked quietly, flipping through a book’s yellowed pages.

Brian stared at her, startled. “How do you know that?”

“Everyone carrying the name Frankestein comes with the same question,” Nika replied, pulling a thick tome from a high shelf. “But not all of them are brave enough to seek the answer.”

“Frankestein? That’s not—”

“The name Nicole was given to you by your mother. But your blood… that’s another story.”

She opened an ancient book titled *The Black Ledger of Vanished Bloodlines*. Its brittle pages shivered as she turned them. On page seventy-three, Brian read a single name: **Silvester Alexander Frankestein**. Beneath it were written words that froze his blood:

> “Silvester vanished during the seventh sacrifice in the quest of Lord Archiemore Thompson. Yet his signs are not dead. He still writhes beneath the school—in the Sealed Room.”

“The Sealed Room?” Brian murmured, the words slamming open an iron door in his mind.

“It’s a place even the teachers don’t dare name,” Nika whispered, her voice soft as drifting fog. “It’s the heart of all Saint Hiller’s secrets. And if you intend to go there… you’ll never be the same again.”

Brian could only stare into Nika’s gray eyes, which seemed to reflect shadows of a future yet to come. Cold crept up his spine.

---

That night, Brian dreamed. He wandered through a labyrinth of light and shadows. Its walls were made of glowing symbols. Every step he took rang with metallic chimes, as if the ground itself were wrapped in invisible chains.

At the end of a long corridor, Silvester stood with his back to him.

But this time, slowly, Silvester turned.

His face was mangled, his skin torn down to bone. His eyes were twin black hollows, swirling with red vortexes like distant stars.

“Don’t trust your own blood,” Silvester said, his voice echoing as though two voices spoke in unison. “The traitor doesn’t come from outside. It comes from within.”

Brian awoke gasping for breath, cold sweat soaking his forehead. The silver pendant on his chest glowed red like burning embers. His heart hammered as if it would burst from his chest.

The next morning, he found a folded slip of paper slipped under his dormitory door. The message was brief, the letters slashed in black ink like fresh wounds:

> *If you wish to know the truth, come to the North Tower. Alone. Midnight.*

His hand trembled as he held the note. Every instinct screamed that it was a trap.

Yet a part of him… burned for answers.

Saint Hiller held countless secrets. But curiosity could be the key—or the end.

And Brian chose to step into the darkness.

Because sometimes, only by opening your eyes… do you truly begin to see.