Chapter 3: Echoes and New Faces
The fluorescent lights of the Guild Hall cafeteria hummed, a stark contrast to the ethereal glow Jonathan had witnessed just hours before. He moved through the clamor of clanking trays and boisterous chatter, a phantom limb of his former self. The familiar ache in his gut was gone, replaced by a strange, cold energy that thrummed beneath his skin. He felt… sharper. The cacophony of voices, once a dull roar, now seemed to separate into individual conversations, each word distinct. He could hear Liam's sneering whispers about a failed test three tables away, and the subtle tremor in Ms. Evans' voice as she spoke to a colleague about her dwindling pension.
He found an empty seat at the far end, near the grimy window that overlooked the perpetually grey courtyard. His untouched tray sat before him, the Guild's standard-issue gruel steaming faintly. He didn't feel hungry. He didn't feel much of anything, beyond that pervasive cold.
A shadow fell over his table.
"Jonathan Havery."
The voice was Evelyn's, laced with a saccharine sweetness that made his teeth ache. He looked up, his eyes, once dull and desperate, now held a cool, unnerving stillness. Evelyn stood there, her jasmine perfume assaulting his senses, a forced smile plastered on her face. Her eyes, however, betrayed her. They darted over him, a flicker of genuine shock warring with her usual disdain. She had expected him to be dead. He could almost hear the numbers ticking in her mind: Expected outcome: 0. Actual outcome: 1.
"You're... looking well," she managed, her voice a little too high. "Arthur was quite worried when you didn't come home last night. We thought... well, never mind. Just glad you're alright."
Jonathan simply stared, offering no explanation, no apology. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, until Evelyn, unnerved by his uncharacteristic composure, finally huffed and walked away, her heels clicking a frantic rhythm against the linoleum.
He turned his gaze back to the window, the cold energy within him swirling. He was alive. And for the first time in a long time, the numbers in his head weren't about what he lacked, but about what he could now become.
Just then, a flash of vibrant pink caught his eye. A girl with hair the color of cherry blossoms, styled in playful, chaotic waves, laughed as she navigated the crowded tables. Lilith. She moved with an easy grace, a stark contrast to the stiff, self-conscious movements of most students. Her eyes, a startling shade of amethyst, sparkled with an almost mischievous intelligence as she exchanged banter with friends. She carried herself with an effortless confidence, a natural magnetism that drew glances, yet she seemed utterly oblivious to the attention.
Jonathan had seen her around. Everyone had. She was a top-ranker, a prodigy in Combat Arts, and generally considered untouchable by the likes of him. Yet, as she passed his table, her gaze, for a fleeting moment, met his. There was no judgment, no pity, just a brief, almost curious flicker of those amethyst eyes before she moved on, leaving behind a faint scent of wild berries.
He watched her go, a strange, unfamiliar sensation stirring within the coldness. He was no longer just a zero. He was something new. And somewhere, in the silent dark, Aethel smiled.