The academy was a different place at night.
It wasn't just the stillness or the silence that clung to the air. It was the way the shadows crept up the walls, thickening in corners where the light couldn't reach. The moon cast its silvery glow over everything, like a lingering dream, and it made the ordinary world feel... off-kilter.
Alexandrov walked the grounds again that evening, his boots silent on the stone paths. He had gotten used to the night, even grown comfortable in it. It was when the sun went down that his senses came alive, sharpening to a razor's edge. There was something in the darkness, something he understood better than the chaos of daylight. The world felt more real at night, more in tune with who he truly was—ancient, immortal, out of place.
He passed by the oak trees, their gnarled branches twisting like claws reaching toward the heavens. The light from the moon reflected off the slick, dew-covered grass, creating patterns that seemed to shift and move as he walked. It wasn't just the landscape that came alive under the night's embrace—it was the academy itself, with its stone walls and spires. The gothic architecture seemed to shift, shadows pooling in places where they should not be, stretching long into the darkness. It felt like the academy was alive, watching, waiting.
And tonight, it felt different.
Alexandrov's breath clouded in the cool night air as he made his way through the labyrinth of hedges. Something, or rather, someone, was drawing him here. A subtle pull, almost invisible but undeniable.
His eyes flicked to the darkened windows of the dormitories, and he saw her—a flash of white. Amalia.
She was standing at her window, her figure silhouetted against the pale glow of the moon. Even from this distance, he could see the soft curve of her face, her features half-hidden in shadow. She didn't see him—yet.
For reasons he couldn't explain, he found himself stopping. Not because he couldn't go on, but because for the first time since he'd arrived at Saint Laurentius, something tugged at him that wasn't his need for control or power. No, this was something different. Something... human.
But human or not, he couldn't afford to let emotions distract him, not when he was so close to unraveling the threads of his past. He had come here for a reason, and he wasn't about to lose focus now.
Inside the academy, the halls were quieter than usual, almost unnervingly so. The faint creak of old wood beneath his boots echoed in the empty corridor as Alexandrov made his way toward the library. The heavy wooden door swung open easily, but his gaze froze when he stepped inside.
It was dark. The overhead chandeliers flickered with weak light, casting long shadows across the bookshelves. The air smelled like aged paper and incense, a combination that made Alexandrov's heart beat a little faster. There was something ancient in the air of this place. A connection to the past, and to whatever secrets it held.
The library was always open at night. It wasn't that it was technically allowed—no, the academy's administration preferred to keep a tight leash on the students. But the truth was, there were few rules that Alexandrov couldn't slip past. There were even fewer people who would challenge him.
He wandered deeper into the room, his fingers trailing over the leather-bound volumes, some of which he had already read in his long life. It wasn't the knowledge that interested him; it was the power of history itself. The artifacts. The old texts. The traces of forgotten sorcery that lived in the cracks of these ancient walls.
It was here, among the dust and cobwebs of forgotten worlds, that he sensed something familiar. A presence. The one he had been avoiding.
Amalia.
She was standing near the farthest shelf, her hair cascading down her back in soft waves, her silhouette outlined in the dim light. She didn't seem to hear him approach. Her eyes were fixed on the text in front of her, but her body was tense, as though she were waiting for something.
The faintest sound—like a shift in the air—alerted her. She looked up, and for a moment, their gazes locked.
There was no mistake. She knew he was here, and she was waiting for him.
"Why are you always here at night?" Alexandrov asked, his voice low, an edge of curiosity threading through it.
Amalia didn't flinch at the sound of his voice. Her expression remained unreadable. She closed the book in her hands slowly, the soft thud of it marking the end of whatever distance had been between them.
"I could ask you the same thing," she replied, her voice quiet but firm. "You always appear at night, always lurking in the shadows."
"I prefer the night," Alexandrov said simply. "It's... more fitting for what I am."
There was a pause, and then she took a step closer to him. The air between them thickened, charged with something unspoken. Something ancient.
The moonlight that filtered through the high windows hit her in just the right way, and for a brief moment, Alexandrov was struck by her presence, her beauty. It was like she belonged to the night just as much as he did.
Amalia's gaze never wavered. "What do you want, Alexandrov?"
It was a simple question. A direct one. But beneath it, there was something more—something in her eyes that made his chest tighten.
"I want to know everything," he answered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "About the academy. About you."
Her expression softened, but just barely. "You don't even know what you're asking."
He tilted his head, his sharp gaze flickering over her face. "Then tell me. Show me."
The tension between them was palpable, the world outside slipping away as their fates seemed to intertwine in the stillness of the night.
Before she could answer, a sound echoed from the door—a soft, sharp click. They both turned in unison to find Mrs. Decker standing there, her silhouette framed by the doorway. The mysterious teacher, the one who had always seemed to linger just outside of view.
"I see you've met," Mrs. Decker said with an unreadable expression.
Alexandrov narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing here?"
The substitute teacher smiled a cold, calculating smile that sent a shiver down his spine. "I could ask you the same thing. But, it's of no matter. Just remember, students like you... they're always under watch."
Before Alexandrov could respond, Mrs. Decker turned and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway.
The next day passed in a blur of lectures and fleeting encounters, but the unease that Alexandrov had felt the night before lingered like a shadow. The academy was watching him. It wasn't just the students or the faculty—it was something more.
The full moon hung heavy in the sky that night, its pale light casting a long shadow over the academy's sprawling grounds. The air felt thick, charged, as if something was about to happen. Something that would shift the balance of power at Saint Laurentius forever.
And as Alexandrov stood in the courtyard, looking up at the cold, silver moon, he felt it.
Amalia was close.
Too close.