The day started with a loud creak.
Kalen raised his head from the pillow, half-dressed, his hair disheveled, still barely aware of what was happening. He wiped his face with his sleeve, blinked, and looked toward the door. It was wide open, as if struck by a hurricane.
A girl was standing in the doorway.
Her fiery red hair fell freely down her shoulders, reaching her waist. Its color seemed to scream of a living, bold, and dangerous flame. Her eyes were as scarlet as hot iron, and a whimsical spark danced within them. With her narrow face, sharp features, black bow on her head, and perfectly ironed red and black dress, she seemed to belong to a different league. Or perhaps a different dimension.
She froze. Silently. Just staring at him.
Kallen froze in response. He was wearing a shirt with the collar open, and he was barefoot, with a feverishly awake mind.
"Who the fuck are you?" he asked hoarsely, not moving.
"I..." The girl looked back at the sign on the door, then at him. "Is this the right room in the second south wing?"
- yes.
"Then why are you in it, you jerk?"
"Because I fucking live here," Kallen breathed, sitting down. "Who are you, anyway?"
She stepped inside slowly, her eyes moving around the room. Then they came back to him. The corners of her lips turned up.
"You're strange. I thought the room was empty. I was only put here temporarily, while my chambers were being renovated. So you're the resident?"
— Yeah. You bet. Like a monarch among the sheets.
She chuckled, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Name?"
"Kalen. Lionheart." He stood up. "And you?"
"Reina. Just Reina. Or not just." She tilted her head as if examining an exhibit. "They say you have the weakest Shadow in ten years. Sad."
"You'll be sorry if you don't shut your mouth," he said, stepping closer.
"Oh, you can bite back. That's more interesting."
She turned around and headed back to the door.
"I'll have another room assigned to me. I don't want to interfere with your tragedy. Although, to be honest, it would be fun to watch. If you change your mind, I'm in the Westgrave Building. Room 14."
The door closed.
Kallen remained standing. He took a few seconds to process everything that had happened.
"Fuck, of course..." he said, looking in the direction where Reina had just been. "Now the day has really started."
He stood there for a couple of seconds, feeling anger, surprise, and something like a slight adrenaline rush under his skin.
"A damn... red-haired disaster," he muttered, running a hand over his face.
Reina. She threw the name out like a challenge and left, leaving behind the scent of a light perfume and the feeling that a storm had entered the room, not a person. Kalen sat back on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. He was thinking about everything she had said. Especially what she had said about the Shadow.
"They say you have the weakest Shadow in ten years."
Great. Reputation grows like a fungus in the basement.
He clenched his fist and stared at his wrist, where a tattoo was hidden beneath the skin. Almost invisible. A simple pattern, with almost no pulsation. The mages called it a "gray Shadow." Not even black, not active. A dormant ashes. No defenses, no attacks. Just a potential form. And even that was questionable.
But sometimes... Sometimes she responded. In the dark. In dreams. Or when he was on the verge of anger, despair, or rage.
"Fuck you all," he breathed, collapsing onto the bed.
The ceiling was as indifferent as ever. The curtains stirred slightly in the breeze that seeped through the old window frame. A light rain began to fall outside.
Tomorrow is July 13.
Kalen hadn't celebrated his birthday since he was a child. And he certainly wasn't going to do it in this damn place. But something about today was different. It felt like something was hanging over him...
Kallen didn't know that two hours before his awakening, in one of the archive rooms of the Noxpir Academy, a senior curator had opened a closed student distribution map. And there, in old handwritten notes next to the name Kallen Lionheart, was written in black ink:
"Shadow. Abnormally weak. Under surveillance. Latent breakdown possible."
But more important was another line, added later, in a different, sharp handwriting:
"July 13 — possible awakening. Priority object. Do not interfere."
"Kalen," came a voice from behind the door. It was muffled, slightly irritated. "You have five minutes to get your breakfast. Then it's time to train."
He rolled over and looked in the direction of the voice. A neighbor. Some Arcanist snob, boasting about his "lightning bolts" and "signature moves."
"Fuck you and your breakfast..."
But he got up. Because his stomach was reminding him. Because training wasn't canceled. Because he couldn't give them an excuse to kick him out of the academy before he figured out what the hell was going on with his Shadow.
He pulled on his uniform shirt, forgetting to button the top two buttons, ran his hand through his tangled hair as if it could be considered a hairstyle, and went out into the hall.
And for a fraction of a second, he thought the walls were breathing. That the air had grown thicker. That something was watching him from behind, in his own room, in the corner where the shadows were particularly thick.
But he didn't turn around.
Just exhaled.
"Why did I come to this world?"