Northern woke up with a start, the dull ache in his skull dragging his thoughts back to the night before. Flashes of his own rage came crashing down—his hands trembling, Emily's voice calling him, her stubborn grip around him when he had begged her to leave.
"Damn it," he muttered, sitting up. His fingers dug into his hair. "I lost control…"
The anger that followed was not directed at anyone but himself. He cursed again and swung his legs off the bed. The moment he tried to stand, his vision blurred. The floor tilted. He collapsed back onto the mattress, clutching his forehead. For a while, he simply sat there, waiting until the spinning dulled into something bearable.
Finally, with sluggish steps, he dragged himself to the bathroom. The cold splash of water across his face and over his head gave only brief relief. The pounding in his skull remained, a constant reminder of the power clawing at him from within. He gritted his teeth, staring at his reflection—dull red eyes, faint veins at the edges, a face that seemed not entirely his own.
Minutes later, he dressed for school, moving as if his body weighed thrice as much. The tie hung loosely at his collar, his shirt wrinkled. Every step from his room to the sitting room felt like a burden.
The scent of food reached him before he saw her. Emily was already there, standing by the dining table, her small hands carefully arranging the dishes. Her hair was tied neatly back, her uniform pressed. The sleeves of her blouse were long, covering what lay beneath, but Northern's chest tightened the moment his gaze lingered on her arms. He didn't need to see it—he remembered. His grip had left marks.
She turned, brightening instantly when she noticed him. "Master, you're awake. Come eat before it gets cold."
Her voice was gentle, steady, as though nothing had happened. But he could feel the faint sting in her tone, hidden beneath her calm. His jaw clenched. He wanted to say something, to apologize, to ask if she was alright. Instead, he walked toward the table with heavy steps and sat down.
Emily's eyes studied him carefully. His face was pale, his movements sluggish. The headache etched across his brow was impossible to hide.
"Master…" she asked softly, leaning closer. "Are you alright? You don't look well."
He didn't look at her. "It's nothing."
Then he picked up his chopsticks and began eating silently, each bite mechanical. Emily lowered her gaze, fingers tightening slightly at her side. She said no more, though her heart twisted seeing him this way.
She stood there, watching him eat and after he had finished eating, they left the house together. A carriage was stopped, and they stepped inside. Northern leaned back against the seat, eyes closed as if the world around him had ceased to matter. Emily sat across from him, her gaze flicking toward him again and again. She tried to be discreet, but the silence inside the carriage made every glance feel louder. Though Northern noticed, he gave no sign, choosing instead to remain still with his eyes shut.
They arrived at the academy not long after, both slipping quietly into their class. Morning lessons dragged on, and Northern hardly paid attention. His head still throbbed from the night before, and the words of the teacher passed through him like a river that refused to stop for a stone. When the bell finally rang for break, he spoke only once.
"Take me to the library," he said.
Emily rose immediately and guided him to the tall building that stood a little apart from the main hall. The scent of dust and old parchment greeted them inside. Northern walked between the shelves with no destination in mind, finally settling at a corner table where he sat in silence, eyes fixed somewhere far away. They stayed until the bell called them back to class.
When the final lecture ended, the other students filed out with chatter and noise, but Northern lingered in his seat. Emily turned to him, waiting, but his words came before she could ask.
"Go home first. There are things I need to take care of."
Her lips pressed together in hesitation. "...Then, please be careful."
She left reluctantly, glancing back more than once before finally disappearing beyond the door. Northern remained seated a moment longer, then rose to his feet. His steps carried him away from the classrooms, down the quieter paths of the academy grounds, until he reached a shaded corner behind one of the training yards.
They were there. The tall boys who had mocked him the day before.
Northern's steps carried him closer, each one firmer than the last. The sound of their voices grated against his ears, their careless laughter scraping across his nerves like iron on stone.
His hands curled into fists, and his breath slowed until it was nearly silent. A fire kindled in his chest—not the clean burn of anger, but a darker heat, something raw and vicious that clawed at his insides. He had promised himself he would not forget, that he would not let them walk free after what they had done.
'This is it,' he told himself. 'It's now or never.'
But then—his body stiffened. His mind betrayed him, dragging him back to last night. The memory slammed into him with the force of a blade.
The searing hunger, the want for blood. The helplessness when the power had surged past his control, tearing through him until he wasn't certain if he had been himself anymore. The faces blurred, the taste of iron on his tongue, the weight of something monstrous spreading through his veins.
His chest rose sharply as if he had been struck.
His nails bit into his palms, drawing half-moon cuts against his skin. For a moment, the desire to strike, to lash out, burned hotter than his restraint. But he forced his hands open and drew in a shaking breath.
"No," he muttered under his breath, so low it was almost voiceless.
He turned away, each step deliberate, dragging his fury back into the cage of his chest. His teeth ground together as he clenched his jaw, his body trembling with the effort of restraint. He did not look back at the boys. If he did, he wasn't sure he could still stop himself.
The path back home was long and silent. By the time he reached the familiar gate, his body felt heavy, as though the weight of his restraint had doubled with each step. He pushed open the door without a word and moved straight to his room.
Once inside, he shut the door and turned the key in the lock with a sharp click. But even that felt too fragile. His instincts screamed that it wasn't enough so he dragged his table across the floor, the wooden legs scraping against the ground, and jammed it firmly against the door. Only then did his shoulders ease slightly, though the unease still lingered like a shadow.
He stood in the quiet of his room, breathing hard. Then, slowly, he unbuttoned his academy uniform. Piece by piece, he stripped it away and folded it aside on the desk. His gaze lingered on it for a moment. 'Not this,' he thought. 'I won't ruin this.'
Barefoot now, clothed only in his undershirt and trousers, he sat on the edge of his bed. His hands rested on his knees. His heart hammered so loud it filled the silence.
This time, he would not run, he would not lose himself.
He closed his eyes, inhaling slowly, reaching for that current of power buried deep inside him. It stirred immediately, as if it had been waiting. A low pulse thrummed through his veins, cold yet burning at the same time. His breath caught. The air around him seemed to shift, heavy, oppressive.
He gritted his teeth, fighting against the swell. The energy writhed, eager to spill over, eager to consume. His vision blurred, dark edges curling at the corners. His fingers dug into his knees until his knuckles went white.
"Stay," he hissed to the power itself, as though commanding a wild beast.
But it fought him, surging harder, demanding release. His back arched, sweat dampening his brow. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, faster, louder, until he could hardly distinguish it from the thrumming force inside him.
Every nerve in his body screamed, every muscle taut. He could almost hear a whisper—a faint, mocking voice that wasn't his own. It tempted him, coaxed him.
'Let go. Just once more, please. Let me out.'
Northern's lips curled back in defiance, his face pale under the strain. His fists trembled violently, but he refused to yield.
"I…will…control you."