Hooded nightmare

“You saw what?”

Toren’s voice cracked so loudly half the table turned to stare. He clutched the edge of the bench for balance, eyes wide, as if Lucien had just announced he’d been serenading banshees out in the woods. Blaze sputtered in irritation at the outburst, tiny flames licking Toren’s collar.

Lucien winced and hissed, “Keep your voice down—”

“Keep my—? Oh, I’m so sorry,” Toren whispered theatrically, leaning forward until his forehead nearly bumped Lucien’s. 

“But forgive me if I don’t know the appropriate decibel level for, ‘Oh, hey, I saw a hooded nightmare lurking outside my window last night.’ What do you expect me to do, nod politely and pass the jam?”

A faint smile tugged at Caelith’s mouth, though his eyes never lifted from the neat lines he was writing in his journal. “You are doing exactly what he expected. Loud dramatics. Wasted ink.”

“I’ll give you wasted—” Toren began, only to yelp when Blaze singed his ear.

“Describe it,” Darius cut in, his deep voice a steadying anchor. He set down his cup with a firm clink, dark eyes fixed on Lucien. His stag’s antlers glowed faintly even here in the dining hall, washing the edge of the table in pale silver. “Carefully.”

Lucien shifted uncomfortably under the weight of their attention. His spoon scraped against the untouched porridge bowl, the sound louder than it had any right to be. “I don’t know. Tall, cloaked, maybe. It didn’t move—it just stood there. Watching.”

“Through the gates?” Arian asked sharply.

Lucien nodded. “Yes.”

“And then?” Caelith prompted, still writing, though his pen slowed.

“Gone,” Lucien admitted. His voice faltered. “I blinked, and it was gone.”

Silence pressed down for a beat, broken only by the clatter of plates from other tables.

“Wonderful,” Toren muttered at last, sinking back against the bench. “Either we’re all being hunted by a shadow-demon or Lucien’s lack of sleep has reached new artistic heights. Personally, I’m rooting for sleep deprivation. Less murdery.”

“Both can be true,” Arian said dryly, though his pale eyes flicked toward Lucien with something that looked too much like worry to be mistaken for cruelty.

Lucien’s stomach knotted. He stared down at the porridge again, but his hand had gone still.

“Don’t,” Darius warned, turning a sharp glare on Arian.

“I wasn’t—” Arian began, but stopped, jaw tightening.

“This isn’t a joke,” Darius said firmly, glancing around at them all. “If someone was at the gates, we need to confirm it.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Toren demanded. “What, start a ‘Let’s Hunt Creepy Shadows’ club? Patrol shifts every night? Because if so, dibs on not volunteering. I’m delicate, you know.”

“You’ll come,” Darius said flatly.

Toren groaned and dropped his forehead onto the table with a thump. “Why do I even talk.”

---

They went that very night.

The air was colder than it had any right to be. The courtyard felt stretched thin under the weight of silence, the kind of silence that made every scuff of a boot echo like a shout. Lamplight flickered in long, wavering shadows across the cobblestones.

The gates stood at the far end, enormous things of blackened iron, their bars twisted into shapes that hinted at wings and runes if you looked too long. Beyond them, the road stretched into mist, swallowed by trees that whispered with every breath of wind.

Darius led, his stag casting a pale glow that pushed against the mist but didn’t dispel it. The antlers glittered like starlight, enough to show the path but not enough to banish shadows. 

Arian walked with his hand near the hilt of his blade, Sylveira padding beside him like liquid darkness, her eyes catching every flicker of light. 

Toren shuffled in the middle, muttering curses under his breath, Blaze perched on his shoulder and sparking nervously. Caelith’s journal was tucked away for once, his gaze sharp and unblinking.

Lucien stayed at the back. Fenris brushed against his leg with every step, golden eyes lifted to the mist ahead. The bond between them hummed steady, grounding him when his chest threatened to seize with every breath.

“You know,” Toren whispered, “if this turns out to be a groundskeeper out for a midnight stroll, I’m suing all of you for emotional damages.”

“Quiet,” Arian hissed.

“I am quiet,” Toren hissed back. “This is my whisper-voice. My actual whisper-voice. Blaze, tell them.”

Blaze gave a disgruntled pop of flame.

Lucien almost smiled despite himself. Almost.

They reached the gates.

Nothing.

The iron stood cold and silent, runes etched across it faintly glowing as they always had. The only sound was the night wind slipping between the bars.

Lucien’s throat tightened. “He was here. I swear he was—”

“Shh,” Caelith murmured, holding up a hand.

They froze.

And then they heard it.

Soft and distant. Barely there at first: the scrape of something against stone. A shift of weight. The unmistakable rhythm of footsteps in the mist.

Fenris stiffened. Sylveira’s hackles rose. Darius’s stag raised its head, antlers flaring brighter. Blaze hissed and retreated into Toren’s collar.

The mist stirred.

And then a shape emerged.

Tall and cloaked. Hood pulled low, face lost to shadow.

It stood just beyond the gates, exactly where Lucien had seen it before.

“There,” Lucien breathed, his voice almost breaking. “That’s him.”

The figure didn’t move closer. Didn’t retreat. Didn’t speak.

Just watched.

“Who are you?” Darius’s voice boomed across the courtyard, steady and commanding. “State your purpose.”

The figure tilted its head. Slowly. Too slowly.

Toren shivered visibly. “Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. I vote we all go back to bed.”

No answer came.

“Say something!” Toren demanded, his voice cracking under the weight of his own fear.

The figure raised a hand.

Lucien’s breath caught. “Don’t—”

Runes flared to life in the dirt beyond the gate, ancient and burning, curling upward like fire.

“Back!” Darius barked.

But the runes weren’t aimed at them.

They twisted skyward, flames unraveling into the night until words were branded against the sky itself—vast and searing, visible to the entire Academy.

HE IS OURS.

The world erupted.

Alarms blared from the towers, harsh and urgent. Doors slammed open. Students screamed, some running toward the safety of the dorms, others spilling into the courtyard to see. Teachers shouted orders, their voices cutting across one another.

Lucien couldn’t move. His gaze was locked on the burning words, seared into the heavens like a curse. His ears roared with the sound of his own heartbeat.

Fenris pressed against him hard, snarling low, dragging him back to himself.

And by the time he dared to glance back through the gates—

The figure was gone.

---

The Headmaster’s office was chaos.

Arguments rose like a storm—teachers snarling about ward failures, demanding more patrols, accusing one another of negligence. The air reeked of ink and candle wax and fear.

Lucien sat stiff on the edge of a bench, Fenris curled into his lap, golden eyes unblinking. He kept his head down, fighting the urge to vanish into the wood.

Arian stood guard-like beside him, one hand resting on Sylveira’s ruff, golden eyes narrowed at anyone who looked at Lucien too long. 

Darius answered the Headmaster’s questions with clipped, soldier-like precision. Toren, for once, kept his mouth shut, gaze flicking nervously between the shouting professors. 

Caelith sat utterly still, fingers tight on his closed journal, as though writing could no longer hold back the weight of what they’d witnessed.

Finally—

Bang.

Headmaster Rhoren slammed his hand down on the desk, the sound like thunder splitting the room. Silence fell at once.

The man stood tall, broad-shouldered, silver streaking his dark hair, his eyes alight with a fury that commanded instant obedience.

“This is no longer a question of mischief or sabotage,” he said, voice carrying like a war drum. “This is declaration. Our enemy has made himself known.”

His gaze swept the room. Landed—inevitably—on Lucien.

“And he has named his prize.”

Every eye followed.

Lucien felt their stares like knives. His skin crawled. His chest tightened until he couldn’t breathe.

He wanted to shrink. Hide. Deny it all.

But Fenris pressed closer, warm and solid against his trembling hands. The bond hummed through him, steady and insistent.

Not alone.

Lucien drew in a shuddering breath. Lifted his head. Met their eyes.

And for the first time, he didn’t look away.

But what can I even do?

•••