The rest of the lesson passed in a blur or at least, that was how it felt to Zareth.
Professor Seraphine kept speaking at the front of the room, her voice calm and precise as she explained foundational channeling theory, bloodline response, and the relationship between core resonance and emotional control.
Normally, he would have listened.
Normally, he would have forced himself to.
But right now, normal was starting to crack.
Because every few minutes, he could still feel it.
That strange pulse inside his chest.
Not painful.
Not exactly.
Just there.
Like something had curled up behind his ribs and decided to stay.
Zareth kept his eyes on the board, but his focus had long since fractured.
The words written there core instability, inherited affinity, dormant circulation blurred in and out of meaning.
He could still feel the cold from earlier lingering faintly around his fingers.
And worse.
He couldn't stop thinking about the strand of darkness he had seen.
That thing around his finger.
That wasn't stress.
That wasn't lack of sleep.
That was real.
He knew it now.
And somehow, that made it worse,
because if it was real then so was the dream or at least part of it.
And if part of it was real, then what exactly had woken up inside him this morning.
Zareth's jaw tightened.
He hated not knowing.
He hated uncertainty.
But more than that he hated the feeling that something had already started changing inside him before he had any say in it.
A chair scraped lightly against the floor beside him.
He blinked and looked up.
Bea had turned slightly in her seat again, watching him from the corner of her eye.
Not obvious enough for anyone else to notice.
Just enough for him to catch it.
"You've been staring at the same line on the board for ten minutes," she whispered.
Zareth looked back toward the front.
"I'm listening."
"No, you're pretending to listen."
"That still counts."
"It really doesn't."
He almost said something back, but stopped.
Because Bea was still looking at him like she was trying to figure something out.
Not in an annoying way.
Not even in a suspicious way.
Just carefully.
Like she was comparing the person sitting behind her now to someone she used to know.
And maybe realizing they didn't match.
That thought made something uncomfortable settle in his chest.
So he looked away first.
Again.
That was getting irritating.
At the front of the room, Professor Seraphine placed a marker down and faced the class fully.
"Since half of you have already decided you're too gifted to pay attention," she said evenly, "we'll be ending early."
A few students straightened immediately.
Others looked relieved.
"Before lunch," she continued, "you'll be assigned to practical assessment groups. You'll receive your pairings by this afternoon."
A low wave of conversation immediately stirred through the room.
That got people's attention.
Practical groupings at Veyrith weren't casual.
Who you got paired with mattered.
A lot.
Compatibility, bloodline behavior, channel stability, combat potential everything got watched.
And in a place like this, being judged was practically part of the curriculum.
A boy near the center immediately groaned. "Please don't pair me with Arven."
"Please," someone else said, "you'd just drag him down."
"That's crazy. I'd carry him."
"Carry him where? Into failure?"
A few people laughed.
Zareth stayed quiet.
He didn't care who he got paired with.
Or at least, that was what he told himself.
In truth, he cared just enough to be annoyed by it.
He already knew how this place worked.
People with famous names got picked carefully.
People with talent got noticed.
People like him got treated like variables.
Useful if they performed well.
Forgettable if they didn't.
Seraphine's gaze moved across the room once more.
Then stopped.
On him.
Again.
Zareth felt it immediately.
That same sharp, measuring look.
Like she wasn't seeing a student.
Like she was waiting for a symptom.
For one long second, neither of them moved.
Then Seraphine looked away.
"Class dismissed."
The room exploded back into noise.
Chairs scraped.
Bags zipped.
Voices rose all at once.
The lesson was over, but the strange pressure in Zareth's chest hadn't gone anywhere.
If anything, it felt more awake now than before.
He reached for his bag and stood slowly, trying not to look as unsettled as he felt.
Bad idea.
The moment he straightened fully, a wave of dizziness hit him hard enough to blur his vision for half a second.
He caught the edge of the desk before he stumbled.
Bea noticed immediately.
"Hey."
"I'm fine."
"You look like you're about to collapse."
"Still fine."
She stood up fully now, turning to face him.
Up close, her expression was harder to ignore.
Concern sat there too naturally.
Like this wasn't the first time she'd looked at him like that.
That bothered him more than it should have.
"I'm serious," she said. "You've been acting weird all morning."
Zareth let out a short breath through his nose.
"That's a very broad statement."
"You know what I mean."
He did.
That was the problem.
Because if he told her the truth, it would sound insane.
Hey, sorry, I think I dreamed the apocalypse and now there might be some kind of living shadow inside my chest.
Yeah. Great conversation.
He adjusted the strap of his bag instead.
"Did we know each other before this year?"
The question came out more suddenly than he intended.
Bea blinked.
Then her expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
"You really don't remember," she said quietly.
There was no accusation in it.
Just something softer.
Something that almost sounded disappointed.
Zareth frowned.
"I remember pieces."
That wasn't exactly a lie.
There was something there.
A feeling.
A vague sense of familiarity that refused to fully become memory.
He just couldn't reach it.
Bea looked at him for a second longer, then gave a small nod.
"We did," she said.
That was all.
No details.
No explanation.
Just enough to make his chest feel tighter than before.
Before he could ask anything else, the pressure behind his ribs pulsed again.
Hard.
Zareth flinched.
His hand moved to his chest automatically.
Bea saw it.
"Zareth?"
"I said I'm fine."
This time, the words came out too quickly.
Too sharp.
Her expression shifted.
Not offended.
Just startled.
And immediately, he regretted it.
But before he could say anything the lights in the classroom flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then steadied.
No one else reacted.
Most students were already halfway out the door.
A few didn't even notice.
But Zareth did.
Because the temperature around him had dropped.
Not in the room.
Around him.
Just him.
The air near his skin suddenly felt colder.
Thinner.
Wrong.
His fingers twitched.
Then went still.
And for a split second the shadow beneath his feet moved.
It stretched out from under his shoes in a thin, black ripple.
Fast enough to vanish if someone blinked.
But not fast enough for him to miss it.
His breath caught.
No.
No, no no.
"Zareth?"
Bea's voice sounded farther away than it should have.
He looked down at his hand.
A dark line had appeared across the back of it.
Thin.
Faint.
Like a vein made of smoke just beneath the skin.
Then it disappeared.
Gone.
Like it had never been there.
His pulse slammed hard against his ribs.
He took a step back so fast the chair behind him scraped violently across the floor.
A few students near the door turned.
"What happened?"
"Nothing," Zareth said immediately.
Too fast.
Too tense.
Too obvious.
He grabbed his bag before Bea could stop him.
"I just forgot something."
"What?"
He was already moving.
"Nothing."
Then he walked out.
Too quickly to call casual.
Too slowly to call running.
But definitely fast enough to look suspicious.
The hallway felt too narrow.
Too bright.
Too full of people.
Zareth kept walking without really paying attention to where he was going.
His heartbeat refused to settle.
That line on his hand.
The cold.
The moving shadow.
This was getting worse.
Not better.
And the worst part was it wasn't random, it kept happening when his emotions spiked.
Fear.
Stress.
Frustration.
That thing inside him reacted to all of it.
Like it was listening.
Like it was feeding.
He turned down a quieter side corridor near the older wing of the building, where fewer students passed between classes.
The sound of voices faded slightly.
That helped.
A little.
Not enough.
Zareth stopped near a tall window overlooking the side courtyard and braced both hands against the ledge.
He forced himself to breathe slowly.
In.
Out.
Again.
His reflection stared back faintly from the glass.
Pale face.
Messy dark hair.
Gray eyes that looked more tired than they had this morning.
Still human.
Still him.
Mostly.
He stared at his right eye for a second too long.
That faint red he had seen earlier in
the mirror was it still there?
He leaned slightly closer.
Nothing.
Just gray.
Just exhaustion.
Just paranoia, maybe.
He exhaled.
Then the glass behind his reflection changed.
Not physically.
Not really.
But for one horrible second he didn't see the hallway behind him.
He saw the ruined city.
Crimson sky.
Collapsed buildings.
Smoke.
And standing behind him in the reflection that older version of himself still watching.
Zareth spun around so fast his shoulder hit the wall.
Nothing.
Empty hallway.
No one there.
No red eyes.
No older self.
Just silence.
He stared for several seconds, chest rising and falling too fast.
Then slowly turned back toward the window.
His reflection was normal again.
Only him.
Only now, his face looked a little paler.
His fingers curled into fists.
"I'm not doing this," he muttered.
But even he didn't believe it.
Because whether he accepted it or not.
Something was happening to him.
And it was no longer staying inside his dreams.
A slow clap echoed from the far end of the hallway.
Zareth's head snapped toward the sound.
Someone was leaning against the wall near the corridor arch,
half-hidden in the light and shadow.
Tall.
Uniform neat.
Silver hair.
Lucien.
Of course.
He looked completely unbothered.
Which somehow made his presence worse.
"Well," Lucien said lightly, lowering his hands, "that looked concerning."
Zareth stared at him.
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough."
"That's not an answer."
"It usually is."
Zareth almost walked away immediately.
Almost.
But something about Lucien's
expression stopped him.
Not amusement.
Not exactly.
Interest.
Sharp, quiet, and a little too focused
Like he had seen more than he should have.
Lucien straightened from the wall and took one step forward.
"Relax," he said. "If I were here to report you, I would've done it already."
Zareth's jaw tightened.
"Report me for what?"
Lucien tilted his head slightly.
That calm expression didn't change.
"That," he said.
Zareth went still.
The shadow at his feet twitched.
Just once.
Lucien's gaze dropped to it for half a second.
Then returned to his face.
And that was enough.
Enough to tell Zareth one very important thing.
He saw it.
He actually saw it.
For the first time all day Zareth realized he might not be the only one who knew something was wrong.
And somehow, that was worse than being alone with it.