The morning started with a knot in her stomach. Not out of fear—more like a strange premonition, as if the day had already turned a corner and started making plans without her. Aya sat up in bed, staring at the edge of the blanket. The room was dim, filtered twilight seeping through the heavy curtains. Something clicked in the corner—probably the heater. Or not.
She pulled on the dark uniform like armor. The high-waisted pants with pockets were the only thing she genuinely liked—at least she had somewhere to hide her hands when she didn't know what to do. The short-collared shirt was a little tight, but it looked formal enough. The vest with the "Raven" insignia felt like someone else's patch on someone else's shoulder.
She stopped in front of the mirror. The cloth covering the glass had slipped again, like someone had moved it during the night. Or maybe it was just a draft. Just… a draft. Right?
Aya squinted and yanked the curtain aside in one motion. The reflection looked back at her with a hint of wariness, as if to say, "You ready for this shit?"
She shrugged.
— Well, not like we've got a choice, huh?
Her phone was silent, though the internet was working again. Her parents had sent a sticker with a cat and some hearts. Aya huffed. So they were still alive. Still believed she could handle this. Fine. Then she had to.
Leaving the room, she nearly walked straight into someone's back. Tall. Narrow. Unmistakably familiar.
Kaiden turned his head slightly, like he knew she'd be coming out at exactly this moment. His face held that same cold, overly calm expression. And the mask.
— Morning, — he said flatly. — You look again… like someone about to emotionally destroy a person in class.
Aya blinked, trying to figure out if he was joking or criticizing.
— And you look again like someone who alphabetizes moral offenses in a little notebook.
He snorted, barely audibly—as if it wasn't even an insult, just a statement of fact.
— First period's "Geography of Mythical Environments." Try not to cause a natural disaster before lunch.
— I'll consider it. No promises, — she replied, brushing past him.
She didn't see how he looked at her as she walked away. But the feeling of his gaze burning between her shoulder blades didn't leave her until the very end of the hallway.
Aya entered the classroom and immediately felt it—the air was denser than usual. The auditorium was different from the others; the ceiling vaulted high above like a planetarium dome, and the walls were covered with moving maps: they shimmered, pulsed, whispered. Somewhere in the west, the "Cursed Coast" flickered, and below, the zone of "Shards of the Ancient Dream" throbbed faintly.
She chose a seat close to the exit. Just in case she had to run.
Other students entered the room—some with pulsing patterns on their necks, some with eyes of different colors, some with ears that twitched slightly at sound. They all looked confident. Calm. As if to them, "High-Spirit Areals" was as basic as multiplication tables.
The teacher looked… strange. A man in a robe made of something that constantly shifted in color, as if the fabric moved independently of the wearer. He started without any introductions:
— The spaces where physical laws coexist with fragments of magical layers are called mythospheres. Who can explain the difference between a Bound and a Free mythosphere?
Silence. Then one hand went up. Then another. The answers came confidently.
Aya stayed silent. She stared at the map, where unfamiliar terms appeared: "Garudic Wind Pockets," "Memory Rifts in the Landscape," "Traces of the Exiled."
Her brain simply refused to process any of it.
The teacher walked by and suddenly stopped next to her.
— Aya Li? Are you with us?
She nodded. Uncertainly.
— Then just listen. This world has already started to touch you. You need to learn to feel where the line lies between what is known and what is forgotten. Don't be late—before that line disappears.
He moved on down the row.
Aya exhaled quietly. But someone behind her whispered:
— At least she didn't open her mouth.
No laughter. Just silence. Worse than laughter.
She sat up straighter and looked at the map. If someone had asked her to name the capital of France, she could have. But right now it felt like that knowledge belonged to another life. Here, countries didn't have capitals. They had wounds.
Break. The stone inner courtyard.
Aya left the lecture hall and immediately turned off the main path, away from the crowd. The lecture hadn't yet settled in her head, and the terms were still tumbling around in her mind like pebbles on a shore.
In the courtyard: the shadow of columns, slightly damp stone tiles, a few scattered students huddled on benches with books or just sitting with their eyes closed. The air was warm, but not stifling.
She chose an empty bench and sat, hands in pockets. It wasn't exactly bad. Her brain just refused to digest the concept of "fluid mythospheres" and "landscapes with memory." Especially before lunch.
— I knew where I'd find you, — came a familiar voice. She turned her head slightly.
Mirael appeared holding a paper bag that clearly contained pastries. Her skirt caught slightly on the stone, her hair tied in a messy knot, her face thoughtful.
— Want one? — she offered the bag. — It's something with cinnamon. Or aura. I didn't ask.
Aya took one. No comment.
— A tough lecture? — Mirael asked gently, sitting beside her.
— I'm not even sure it was a class. More like… a tour inside someone else's head, where everything pulses, whispers, and demands you memorize forty new terms.
— Yeah, that's the one. The first time's always like falling into a lake of knowledge. No warning. With a stone around your neck.
They sat in silence for a while. Around them, faint voices, footsteps on stone, rustling leaves. Someone passed by without paying them any attention. And that was… nice.
— It feels like, — said Aya, tearing off a piece of pastry, — like everyone else was born here. And I'm the one who showed up in the middle of a play without knowing what role I'm supposed to play.
Mirael nodded without arguing.
— We've all had that phase. Some just hide it behind their bloodlines, others behind false confidence. It's like… knowing the route but not understanding where it leads. You're not the only one.
— Sounds like an invitation to a club.
— Almost. Just no uniforms. But we've got tea. And people who don't pretend they know who you are.
Aya smirked, but barely.
— And who do they think I am?
— For now? The new girl. Potentially dangerous. But apparently, already interesting.
She looked at her, raising an eyebrow.
— Interesting?
— You didn't fold. Didn't vanish. And you're not pretending to be someone else. That's rare around here.
Aya rested her elbows on her knees. The pastry was almost gone. Her head was a little quieter. The tight cold in her chest had lessened.
— When's our next class?
— Fifteen minutes. Unless the spatial markers shift.
— Perfect, — Aya exhaled. — Just enough time to realize I've realized nothing.
Mirael snorted.
— What matters is—you're not alone in this anymore. That, by the way, is half the battle.
Lecture Hall 6.4. "Mythical Biology and Behavioral Patterns of Eros-Class Species."
After the break. A dreary haze outside the windows. Indoors, a rising temperature—courtesy of the topic.
Aya was the last to enter and immediately sensed it: the air in the room was… different. It smelled sweet, slightly heavy, and strangely unsettling. Like perfume that makes your head spin—and makes you want to either step away or dangerously closer.
The teacher was already at the board: a woman in her forties by the look of her, wearing a sharp suit with a neck scarf, and with such posture that any slouching student would instinctively try to sit up straight. The nameplate read: Prof. Lamiria Verr. Ethologist. Ninth Rank. Retired Succubus.
— Please be seated, — she said with a voice that made something hiss like steam in Aya's brain. — Today's topic is succubi and incubi. Biological features, behavior, and social adaptation.
A blond boy sitting near the center, with a pretty face and an entirely innocent expression, immediately turned bright red. Even the tips of his ears flushed. He tried to hide behind his textbook.
As Aya sat down at the side, she whispered toward Mirael:
— Is he…?
– A quarter, – she whispered back. – On mother's side. Dad, they say, was just a tired man.
– And now he's a poor soul in hell.
– First of all, – the professor continued, – the myth that succubi are exclusively demonic creatures is outdated. In modern classification, they belong to the class of energy-adaptive metaforms that feed on emotional and psychic output. Primarily of a sexual nature, but not necessarily.
She snapped her fingers and a holographic image appeared on the board: a female-looking creature with wings, a tail, and a strangely serene smile. It didn't seem scary… but it still felt oddly shameful to look at.
– Natural-born succubi and incubi differ from "assembled" or turned ones. The former have a stable core adapted to emotional nourishment. The latter often possess an unstable structure prone to breakdowns. Why is that, class?
A hand shot up somewhere to the left.
– Saturation phase. If a turned one doesn't receive the necessary emotional impulse in time, there's leakage. And... malfunctions.
– Correct, – the professor nodded. – Often spontaneous activation of pheromone fields, illusions, attachments. Hence the stereotype "succubi are dangerous." In truth, they're not. Only when they're hungry, irritated, or if you're... hmm... a naive sixteen-year-old necromancer with a broken heart.
Someone in the back snorted.
– Now, reproduction.The blond guy with incubus blood buried his face in his hands. Mirael whispered to Aya:
– This is going to be the most awkward part.
– So. Succubi reproduction is a complex process. Natural conception is only possible when the energy flows resonate – that is, when both partners' energetic impulses peak at the same time. This might not even require physical contact, but could stem from a psychic link. Though yes, the classic method still applies.
Half the class looked away in different directions. Someone dropped a pen. The "heir's" face was already the color of tomato juice.
– Additionally, – the professor said, completely unfazed, – succubi experience a surge season. It depends on the astral background phase and may occur unexpectedly. Signs: strong aura, increased tendency to flirt, heightened metabolism, and occasionally – unintended charm spread to nearby individuals. There have been cases when entire audiences fell in love with a succubus in this state. Even one professor once.
Aya nearly choked. Mirael was already giggling quietly.
– But don't worry. Here at the Academy, stabilizer bracelets and low-resonance rooms are issued for such cases. Question for the class, – the professor said. – What are the main behavioral rules when dealing with an eros-class individual in an activated state?
Aya couldn't help herself and raised her hand.
– Don't make sudden movements and avoid eye contact?
– Almost correct, – the professor smiled. – Also, best not to agree to "meet later just to talk." Because that could end… well, in various ways.
The bell. Salvation. It rang like an anthem of freedom.
After the bell, the class exhaled. Some quietly, as if it was just academic interest. Some with laughter – ambiguous and completely unprofessional. Aya tried to keep a straight face, not to sink through her seat.
The incubus boy, red to his ears, left looking like he was about to change faculties. Mirael, beaming, turned to Aya:
– Just imagine if tomorrow they talk about kitsune? There's this girl in our class – when she gets embarrassed, her tail poofs up. It's a sight.
Aya just shook her head.
– This isn't a school. This is educational theatre on the verge of an erotic disaster.
Mirael nodded.
– Um... thanks for the lecture, – she mumbled into the air as she stood up. Her shoulders were still burning. Her palms were sweaty. Her eyebrows ached from tension.
The teacher, as if nothing had happened, began erasing the incubus tail anatomy diagram and its… well, "specific functions" from the board. Meanwhile, classmates were already whispering. Mirael wore the face of someone who had known this day would come.
– So, Aya Li, my enlightened one, – she started, clutching a notebook with a sketch of a very embarrassed student from the back row. – Have you, by any chance… noticed increased attractiveness during full moons?
– Shut up. Just... shut up, – Aya groaned, staring at the ceiling as if it were a portal to a normal life. – I had a plan: survive until lunch and avoid disgrace. Did you see what she drew?! That was a reproductive organ in three projections!
– It was anatomy, – Mirael countered, almost honestly. – Respectfully drawn, too. Educational. Though, yeah, maybe I was too bold choosing the front row…
Behind them, someone not very quietly whispered:
– What is she anyway? Not human, right? Or maybe she is? Or a hybrid?... Her voice changed, maybe a siren?
– No, I heard that when she got angry, she burned like fire. That's definitely a sign of something else.
Aya turned around. Five of them. All pretending to discuss the weather. Or the schedule. Or underwear-free alchemy. Who knows.
– What? – she snapped.
– N-nothing, – one squeaked. – Just… curious. Don't be offended, it's normal here. We just... figure out who to sit near. In case someone flares up during mating season.
Aya narrowed her eyes:
– Please. I flare up every time I see your "logical" geography of mythospheres. We live with it somehow.
Mirael, laughing nervously, stepped in front of her:
– Sorry, we're in the denial stage. And irritability. Classic character development. Now back off before she activates at least into spontaneous sarcasm discharge.
They stepped out into the hallway. Aya walked quickly, not looking back. With each phrase from the last hour, she didn't exactly want to die… but turning into a harmless wardrobe wouldn't be bad. Or a curtain. Preferably in another room.
– Be honest, – she grumbled at Mirael. – All that talk about physiology... is that really part of the curriculum? Or was it a prank for the newbies?
– Well… – Mirael hesitated. – Depends. On the professor. And the topic. Today was the succubus module. Next week's about three-headed sphinxes and their cognitive games. Much calmer. Almost no one blushes. Except that one guy. One of his heads.
Aya covered her face with her hand.
– Great. Just great. I wanted to learn how to pass the college entrance exam, not how tail stimulation works.
– You did great! – Mirael chirped. – You looked… well, like someone who wanted to run but stayed. That's a win. And also, you still don't know what you are, do you?
– Uh-huh. Thanks for the reminder. Just in case someone didn't hear.
Mirael nodded, unfazed:
– Then maybe... tonight? We'll have a circle game to identify "inclinations." Nothing weird, just light, a bit of magic, some sparkles. Well, maybe one more thing: if something ancient lives inside you, it might come out. But it usually doesn't bite. Right away.
Aya stopped in front of a stained glass window. Looked at her reflection. Still her. But not quite.
– What if I don't want to be something ancient? What if I just want to be… me?
– Then, – Mirael said gently, – you'll still be one of us. Tail or no tail.
Aya snorted.
– Thanks. Very comforting.
– Always happy to help. And remember: if anyone asks, just say you're a rare type of "fire foxwitch" with a congenital allergy to idiots.
– That fits.