บท 2: 2. First Day
Viole Shivani walked through the iron gates of Aetherfall Academy, his steps deliberate and heavy. The towering stone walls cast long shadows across the courtyard, the kind that seemed to swallow the light whole. The academy loomed before him like a forgotten fortress, its gothic architecture both awe-inspiring and ominous. He had heard whispers of this place, a school where strength determined survival, where power wasn't just sought—it was demanded.
His brown skin glistened under the overcast sky, and his black locs hung low over his brow as he gazed up at the massive stone structure. The academy was known for producing the best warriors, the most cunning tacticians, and the most ruthless leaders. But more importantly, it was a place where students like him—part human, part monster—could hone their abilities. Viole knew he didn't belong to just one world. His very existence was a paradox, a Tribrid housing multiple souls. He'd come here not just to prove himself, but to learn how to control the four personalities that lurked beneath his skin.
The moment he stepped past the gate, a flood of sensations surged through him. A pulse—faint but undeniable—echoed from the depths of his mind. He clenched his fists, feeling the first stirrings of Aamon Valentine, the ancient vampire king that resided within him.
"Remember, Viole," Aamon's voice echoed in his head, regal and dripping with disdain. "Strength comes from control. Lose your composure, and they'll tear you apart. Show them what you are—show them the strength of kings."
Viole exhaled slowly, forcing Aamon's influence to the back of his mind. He had to focus. This was his first day, his first test. He wasn't here to draw attention to himself—yet.
As he moved toward the dormitory, he felt another presence bubbling up, more playful, more chaotic. Desmond Fester, the mimic demon, barely suppressed a giggle. "Ooooh, look at all the shiny new toys!" Desmond's voice chirped, his childlike glee barely contained. "So many people to mimic, so many abilities to steal. This is going to be fun, Viole!"
Viole gritted his teeth, knowing Desmond was right about one thing—everyone here would be a potential rival. He couldn't afford to be careless. But Desmond's excitement also carried a weight of danger. Mimicking powers was risky, especially when you didn't fully understand the consequences.
He continued walking, keeping his gaze forward. Around him, groups of students gathered, their eyes flicking toward him with curiosity, some with malice. He could feel their auras—vampires, demons, werewolves, even humans who had tasted the blood of the supernatural. They all radiated power, and it took everything in Viole to suppress his instincts to fight or flee.
As he neared the dorm, he caught sight of a pair of upper-year students—two vampires lounging against a stone pillar, watching him with interest. Their sharp features and glowing red eyes marked them clearly. They didn't move, but their expressions shifted as he passed, a silent acknowledgment that he was new—unproven.
"Vampires," Aamon sneered in the back of his mind. "They've forgotten what true power is. They're nothing but shadows of what they could be. But they'll remember, Viole. In time, they'll all remember."
Viole didn't reply, pushing Aamon back down. His focus was on getting through this day, not on making enemies.
Inside the dormitory, the atmosphere was tense. The stone walls seemed to absorb the very breath of the students moving through the halls. Conversations were quiet, hushed. Eyes darted to Viole as he passed, gauging, measuring. He could feel it—the quiet calculation behind every glance. They were weighing him, deciding if he was a threat, or if he could be crushed.
He found his room near the end of the hall. The door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing a sparse interior—just a bed, a desk, and a single window that barely let in the gray light outside. The air was cold, sterile. It was perfect for someone who didn't expect to get comfortable.
Viole set his small bag down beside the bed and collapsed onto the mattress, letting out a long breath. His mind buzzed with the voices of the personalities within him. Clark Maxwell, the Arachne, had been silent for now, but Viole knew it was only a matter of time before he stirred, his dark hunger for control manifesting in twisted thoughts. Clark was patient—too patient. He would wait until Viole was at his most vulnerable before making his move.
But even as Viole lay there, trying to regain some measure of calm, he felt something shift in the atmosphere. A presence—dangerous, predatory—approached the door. The scent hit his nose before he even heard the knock. Blood. Not fresh, but lingering. The scent of someone who had fed recently.
The knock came a second later, followed by the creak of the door opening before Viole could answer. Two figures stepped inside—one of them the vampire he had seen lounging outside, the other a taller figure with a predatory grin.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" the taller vampire mused, his voice smooth as silk, but with a sharp edge that made Viole's skin crawl. "A fresh recruit. Looks like the academy's standards have dropped." His grin widened, revealing sharp fangs.
Viole pushed himself up, his muscles tensing. He could feel the rise of Desmond, the mimic demon, within him, bubbling with excitement at the impending confrontation. Desmond loved a challenge, loved seeing what others could do so he could take it for himself.
"You've got this, Viole!" Desmond chirped. "Let's see what they're made of!"
The shorter vampire crossed his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe. "We're just here to give you a little welcome," he said, though his tone made it clear that this wasn't an invitation—it was a challenge. "You know, see if you're cut out for this place."
Viole's heart pounded in his chest. He could feel the personalities stirring inside him, each one urging him in a different direction. Aamon wanted to display his dominance, to show these vampires what true power looked like. Desmond wanted to toy with them, to provoke and test their limits. And then there was Clark, silent but ever-present, watching, waiting for the moment to strike.
But Viole wasn't going to let them control him. Not yet.
"I don't want any trouble," he said, his voice steady, though his muscles were tense, ready to spring into action. "But if you're looking for a fight, I'm not backing down."
The taller vampire laughed, stepping forward. "Oh, we're not looking for a fight," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "We're just making sure you know your place. And right now, that place is beneath us."
In an instant, the taller vampire lunged, faster than Viole could react. His hand shot out, grabbing Viole by the throat and slamming him against the wall. Viole's vision blurred for a moment as the impact sent shockwaves through his body.
"Pathetic," Aamon's voice sneered in the back of his mind. "You're going to let him do this? Show him what you're capable of!"
Viole struggled, his body instinctively reaching for the power within him. His muscles tensed as he summoned the strength of his lion-blooded heritage, pushing back against the vampire's grip. His eyes flickered, a flash of amber glowing in their depths.
For a brief moment, he felt Aamon's strength rise within him, felt the ancient vampire's power pulse through his veins. He let out a growl, low and dangerous, as his vision sharpened.
And then the tide turned.
Viole twisted, breaking free from the vampire's grasp and shoving him back with a force that sent him stumbling. The shorter vampire's grin faltered, his eyes narrowing as he realized they had underestimated him.
But it wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
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