The footsteps grew louder.
Fast. Urgent. Too many.
He tightened his grip around the unconscious girl in his arms. Her long pink hair spilled across his sleeves, soft strands brushing against his wrist, her body light yet fragile, as if every ounce of energy had been drained from her. His heart pounded violently against his ribs. The college was empty-hallways silent, classrooms abandoned-but whoever was coming was moving with purpose.
They were running.
Heavy, uneven footfalls echoed through the corridor, bouncing off the walls and amplifying the emptiness around them. The sound was chaotic yet contained, a dissonant rhythm that made it impossible to judge how many there were or how close they really were.
Then the footsteps stopped suddenly.
Too suddenly.
Silence fell like a weight.
He stiffened. Something about the pause felt deliberate, not random.
Then he saw them.
They weren't arriving.
They were already there.
Two figures stepped forward from the shadows at opposite ends of the hallway-emerging where the dim light barely reached. Their presence pressed down on the air, heavy and deliberate, as if they had been standing there long before the first panic had spread.
He staggered back a step, instinctively tightening his hold on the girl. She was pale, faint, and utterly still, but her life pulsed faintly beneath his hands.
"Who... who are you?" he demanded, voice echoing sharply in the hollow corridor.
No one answered.
Their eyes weren't on the abandoned classrooms or scattered belongings. There was no destruction here-nothing to draw attention. Their gaze was fixed entirely on him.
And then-briefly-on his neck.
He felt the weight of that look. The mark. The fang-shaped symbol. He had never hidden it. It had always been there, natural, ordinary. So why did their eyes linger like that?
One of them spoke quietly, almost as if confirming something to themselves.
"The beast withdrew."
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
The words sent a shiver down his spine. Not relief. Not surprise. Just acknowledgment.
Before he could respond, the two figures stepped forward. Older than him and the girl he held by a year or two, but the difference wasn't just age.
The older boy's hair was long, messy, falling in flicks over his eyes, most of it tied back loosely in a spread-out ponytail that brushed his shoulders. He moved with calm precision, like someone who had rehearsed every step in silence for years.
The older girl stood beside him. Two long ponytails swayed behind her as she walked, her posture composed, her gaze sharp. A small pouch hung at her waist, resting lightly against her hip. She spoke with authority, alert and confident where her companion remained silent.
He held the girl tighter. "Stay back!" he warned, though the warning sounded feeble in the empty corridor.
The older girl's eyes softened slightly. "We're not here to hurt you. Relax."
"How do you know she's alive?" he demanded. "You haven't even touched her!"
The older boy crouched beside them. "I'll take a look," he said simply, his voice low, controlled.
Before he could stop him, the older boy placed two fingers gently on the girl's forehead, the other hand on her stomach. A faint, soft pinkish glow spread from his hands. It pulsed slowly, flowing into her body, warm and calm.
He held his breath.
Then, slowly, her fingers twitched. A shallow breath escaped her lips. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused, barely registering the world around her. Her body trembled slightly, drained and weak.
"She's conscious," the older girl said quietly. "But don't expect her to move much yet."
He exhaled, relief and lingering fear mixing together. "You... you did this?"
The older boy withdrew his hands. "Stabilized her. Before it went further."
"Went further?" he asked sharply. "What do you mean?"
Instead of answering immediately, the older girl reached for the small pouch at her waist. From it, she carefully pulled out a scroll, old and brittle, stained with rust and time. She unrolled it deliberately, revealing five symbols etched onto the parchment, each distinct, deliberate, and ancient-looking.
"We all have one of these marks on our body...,I am Misa," she said, her voice calm but firm. "The holder of Sound."
His eyes froze as they fell on the symbols.
One of them-one symbol-matched the mark on his neck perfectly.
Recognition flooded through him, a strange calm settling in the pit of his stomach. Something inside him whispered: So it wasn't random.
But calm brought no comfort. Only questions. Too many to answer at once.
Before he could even ask, the older boy glanced at him and said with quiet certainty:
"Ritchie... The Holder of Healing."
He swallowed, still holding the girl tightly. "Why us?" he asked finally, voice low but urgent.
"Because we are the chosen ones," Misa replied immediately.
The corridor remained empty, silent but for their breathing and the faint echo of distant footfalls long since gone. No other students. No alarms. No chaos. Just four people in a hallway, standing on the edge of something that had started long before they arrived.
The older boy glanced again at his neck. "You have awakened today," he murmured.
He tightened his hold on the girl instinctively. Something inside him stirred, unfamiliar and unbidden. He didn't understand it-but he knew one thing clearly: nothing about today was normal. And nothing that had begun here would stay quiet for long.
A shadow of doubt crossed his mind. "The beast..." he whispered, voice tense, fear lacing the words.
"It didn't come on its own," Misa said immediately. "Someone sent him."
The girl in his arms weakly murmured, still exhausted. "Who...?"
Ritchie silent ly said,"That's what we have to figure out."
The silence returned, heavier this time. The empty corridor seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction, holding the weight of the question, the mystery, and the threat that had just begun to surface. And somewhere deep inside, he knew: nothing about today-or the awakening that had just happened-would ever be simple again.
Chapter 2 ends
