I don't belong here. And the universe agrees.
Sam almost comes to an abrupt halt, almost tripping up the old woman behind him.
"Watch where you're going, stupid fellow!" she snapped, swinging her abnormally pinkish bag at me.
'Sorry! I didn't mean—'
"You didn't mean," she snarled bitterly. "That's what they all say. No one ever means to knock over an old woman."
Sam's temper flared. 'WASTE OF BREATH!' he yelled. He opened his mouth to say something again, but she was already turning and stalked off, tossing another curse over her shoulder.
'Oh, hell,' he muttered. 'I really don't belong here.'
Sam didn't want to be here. What made him think this would be a good idea? He belonged back at his home, practicing sword fighting.
Sam despised math. It was the only subject that gave him nightmares. With his backpack hanging off his shoulder, Sam slouched into his classroom. He scanned the room, spotted the empty seat in the back corner, and made a beeline for it.
"Sam?" Mrs. Keetings looked up from her attendance sheet. "You're in the right place, are you? Advance Math, right?"
He hesitated. "Yeah. Unfortunately."
She smiled politely, not catching the edge in his voice. "Welcome. We're just getting started."
Sam dropped into the chair and muttered under his breath, "Could've been anywhere else right now."
The girl next to him glanced over. "You say something?"
He shook his head. "Nah."
Truth was, he didn't want to be here. He hadn't signed up for this. His principal had called his mom last week, said something about "potential" and "challenging coursework." Next thing he knew, he was enrolled in a class that made his stomach twist.
Mrs. Keetings started writing equations on the board. Sam started at them like they were written in another language. He probably knew more about how to catch a dragon than whatever she was mumbling about on the board. And just to be clear—he had never caught a dragon.
Never seen one. But compared to algebra? Dragon hunting felt almost doable.
"Why are you even in this class if you hate math?" the girl whispered again, half curious, half amused.
He sighed. "Because my principal think it'll build character. And my mom listens to anything that sounds like—I don't want my son to live a normal life."
She smirked. "Tough break."
"Really? Tell me about it," he said, rolling his eyes.
Sam had been trying not to stare. But the girl sitting next to him was beautiful. She was beautiful, yeah—but not in the soft princess kind of way. She was beautiful more like a blade: polished, precise and probably dangerous if you got too close. He was wondering if she was secretly training to become an assassin or just really hated math like him.
Mrs. Keetings turned around. "Let's start with something simple. Sam, want to take a stab at this one?" He looked up, caught off guard. "Uh… not really."
A few kids chuckled. Mrs. Keetings didn't.
"You'll get there," she said, turning back to the board. "We all start somewhere."
Sam leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. He was wasn't sure where he was starting, but he already knew he didn't want to finish here.
The rest of the period dragged on. Every tick of the clock felt like an eternity. Mrs. Keetings went on about quadratic equations and factorization, her chalk clicking against the board in a rhythm that made his head ache.
By the time bell rang, I'd already packed my bag. But before I could bolt, her voice cut through the chatter.
"Sam, could you stay for a moment?"
I froze halfway out of my chair. Around me, the room filled with the noise of backpacks zipping, sneakers squeaking, and laughter. I tried to blend into it, but she'd already locked eyes with me.
"Uh—yeah, sure."
The others filed out, one by one. A few glanced my way with a smug busted grin. Few tossed me pitying looks, like I'd just been sentenced to death. One guy even mouthed "Rip, bro."
The girl sitting next to me smirked. I gave her my I-swear-I'll-hunt-you-down glare and turned to face Mrs. Keetings.
The door clicked shut behind the last student, and suddenly the classroom felt too big. Too quiet for my liking. Mrs. Keetings didn't move right away. She stood at her desk, back turned towards me and flipping through papers that didn't really need flipping.
"You don't like math, do you?' she said finally, voice calm but low.
"Not really," I muttered. "Never did."
She nodded, still not turning. "And yet… you're here."
I shrugged, trying to sound casual. "Guess I didn't have much choice."
The lights above flickered. Just once — a short, sharp stutter.
Mrs. Keetings set the papers down. "You know, Sam," she said, "there's a strange thing about numbers."
I frowned. "What thing?"
"They never lie," she whispered. "But people do."
She turned then, and I swear , for half a second her eyes weren't brown. They were darker, too dark. Like the color had been sucked out of them.
I blinked, and they were normal again. Even without it I would've been nervous. But here I was, hallucinating. I said the only thing, which came in my mind. "Are you okay, Mrs. Keetings?"
She smiled. But it wasn't the kind of smile you give when you're okay.
"We've been looking for you, sweetheart," she said.
Okay, something was seriously wrong with my teacher.
"I've been waiting." She said softly.
"For what?"
"For you."
My grip tightened on my backpack strap. "What?" Thunder shook the building. Something cracked. Not in the walls, not in the air but in her. Like her voice split, layers folding over each other.
The smell hit first — iron and smoke. Then came the sound, a low rumble like distant thunder. Her shadow stretched across the floor, long and wrong, climbing up the walls.
"What's going on?" I said, stepping back.
The lights flickered again. Harder this time , and then they went out. Darkness swallowed the room. I didn't know what was going on. All I could think of was that the teachers must've found about the homework I have been copying of the internet and now they were going to punish me for it.
I heard her breathing or what used to be her breathing. Then came a tearing sound, like fabric being ripped. Only it was too close now. When the emergency lights flicked on, I saw her.
Or what she'd become.
She wasn't my teacher anymore. Her skin rippled, bones cracking beneath it. Her hands twisted, nails lengthening into claws that scraped the floor. Her jaw unhinged, teeth flashing in a grin that didn't belong on anything human. Shadows poured from her body like smoke, shaping themselves into a form that crouched low.
I stumbled back, my bag hitting the floor with a thud.
"Stay back!"
It didn't listen. It moved fast, faster than anything should. The air split around it, a blur of claws and black flame. I dove sideways, hitting the cold tiles. Behind me, the desk exploded. The thing crashed into the desk where I'd just been. Smoke curled from the wreckage.
It turned towards me, eyes like burning coals in the dark. I scrambled back. My breath caught. I could see my reflection in its teeth. Then another strange thing happened.
There was a bright dazzling light. A flash like lightening, but red. The air roared, heat rolling through the room in a wave that scorched the edge of my sleeve and left the walls trembling. The creature staggered back, snarling, as a figure stepped out of the blaze.
The man was tall, broad shouldered, and he was wearing a long dark coat that fluttered though there was no wind. The fire did not touch him; it parted around him. His face was shadowed, half-hidden beneath the glow of his aura. Crimson, pulsing and alive.
The creature snarled, circling him. The man raised a hand, fingers curling. A low hum filled the air — the sound of power gathering, dense and heavy. The temperature spiked and suddenly the room was alive with heat. The man's aura blazed brighter, flames coiling around his arm.
He spoke a single word I couldn't catch, and fire burst from his palm like a whip. It stuck the hound square in the chest, sending it crashing it into the wall. Black smoke hissed where flame met shadow, the air filling with the smell of burning ozone. The creature howled, the kind of sound that makes your skin crawl.
It lunged again. The man twisted in the air, fast and precise, leaving streaks of red fire in his wake. He wasn't fighting, it looked like he was dancing in the air. Every motion looked deliberate, like he'd fought this thing before.
He slammed his hand to the floor, and a ring of burning red flared beneath him. Surrounding him completely in it. The aura surged outward, drawing lines of light across the room.
The hound darted forward. The man thrust his arm out, and the air ignited. Flames coiled like serpents. Wrapped around the beast, dragging it to the ground. It thrashed, shadows peeling off in thick oily plumes. The man's eyes sharp and steady never wavered
"Back to the dark," he said. His voice was calm, but it carried weight.
The fire erupted, engulfing the hound. It screamed, a sound that wasn't meant for this world and then burst apart into ash and smoke.
Silence followed.
I stood there, shaking, the world tilting around me. Desks were half melted, papers fluttered like dead leaves. The smell of smoke and burnt metal filled the air.
The man didn't move for a long moment. His hand was still outstretched, faint wisps of flame licking his fingers before dying out. Then he turned toward me. His aura dimmed slowly, fading to embers.
For the first time, I saw his face. Sharp, tired, eyes like the edge of a storm.
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
"What…" I swallowed hard. "What was that?"
He glanced at the spot where the creature had burned away. "A shadow hound," he said quietly. "One of many."
I blinked. "Of… many?"
He didn't answer.
The light flickered again, and for a moment, he seemed less solid, like the heat had warped the air around him.
"Are you—" I hesitated, staring at the fading red glow around him. "What are you?"
He looked at me then, really looked, like he was trying to decide something.
"You shouldn't have been here," he said finally. "Not yet."
"Not yet? What the hell does that mean?"
He didn't reply.
He started walking toward the door, coat brushing the broken tiles. The air where he'd stood shimmered faintly, still carrying that trace of heat.
"Wait!" I shouted.
He paused.
"Who are you?"
He didn't turn around. For a second, I thought he might just vanish like smoke, but then he tilted his head slightly, as if he'd almost smiled.
And then, he was gone. Just gone.
The lights flickered once more, humming back to life. The room looked almost normal, except for the scorch marks, the cracked floor, and the faint trace of ash drifting through the air.
I stood there, alone, my heart still racing.
"Who the hell was he…"