The walk home ended at Jonathan's doorstep, but the brothers didn't leave.
Not yet. They had homework to do. Ethan and Elijah had no intention in letting Jonathan fall behind. They also had to keep their eyes on their friend.
Ethan leaned against the wall in Jonathan's kitchen, a glass of water in hand, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Elijah sat at the kitchen table, pencil tapping steadily against a math worksheet. The room was dim but warm, the kind of comforting glow that came from cheap yellow lighting and good company.
Jonathan sat across from them, his mind still gnawed at by unease. Whatever had followed them home was gone now… but not forgotten.
He tried not to think about it. Tried to focus on the papers in front of him.
"You're really helping me with quantum physics?" Jonathan asked, blinking.
Ethan smirked. "What, you think dragons don't understand particle duality?"
Jonathan laughed, tension bleeding off his shoulders. "Yeah, actually."
"Shows what you know," Ethan muttered playfully. "Now—why does wave function collapse only happen upon observation?"
Jonathan hesitated. "Because… the act of measuring it forces a fixed outcome?"
Ethan grinned, his eyes glowing faintly with approval. "Damn right. You're learning."
Beside them, Elijah didn't speak. He simply reached over and tapped his finger against Jonathan's math homework.
"This part's wrong," he said flatly. "You dropped a negative sign in the discriminant."
Jonathan squinted. "Wait—what?"
Elijah grabbed the pencil and began scribbling. "Quadratics aren't about speed. They're about rhythm. Miss one beat—everything collapses."
"…That sounds like something a samurai would say."
"I am one."
Ethan chuckled as Jonathan threw up his hands. "Okay, fine. I deserve that."
The three of them kept at it for another half hour—paper strewn across the kitchen, calculators open, mugs of water growing warm and forgotten.
Eventually, Jonathan returned the favor by walking them through the personal finance assignment—the one class that kicked both brothers' asses.
"No, no, no—Ethan, you can't write 'buy an island' as a long-term financial goal."
"But that is my goal!"
"You also can't list 'hoarding gold in a volcano lair' as a retirement plan."
"It's not hoarding," Ethan grumbled. "It's cultural!
Jonathan laughed so hard he nearly fell off his chair. For the first time that day, all three of them forgot the shadows pressing in from the edges of the world.
When the clock struck nine, Ethan checked his phone and sighed.
"We should head out," he said. "Don't want Ma getting pissed again."
Elijah stood wordlessly and pulled his coat on. We will be back tomorrow to help you with your other classes. Ethan pulled on his coat and fist bumped Jonathan. Oh and here Jonny I burned a CD with some of the new Death metal bands I've been listening too. You'll be happy with the guitar riffs I promise! Thanks bro I'll be sure to give it a listen! Said Jonathan. three walked towards the door.
But before they left, Elijah did something strange.
He stepped to the far wall of Jonathan's living room—where nothing hung but an old bookshelf—and placed his palm against it. His eyes narrowed, glowing faintly. Thin, crackling lines of blue lightning etched out from his fingers, forming an arcane symbol in the wood.
The rune shimmered once—brilliant, alien—and then disappeared like smoke sucked into the ether.
Jonathan blinked. "Uh… what was that?"
Elijah didn't answer.
He simply turned, grabbed his bag, and said, "Sleep well."
Then the brothers were gone.
Later That Night…
Jonathan rubbed his eyes, brushing his teeth with one hand and scrolling through nonsense on his phone with the other. The house was silent. Lora was working late. The neighborhood outside sat hushed under the watch of midnight.
He walked into the living room, casting a glance at the spot where Elijah had touched the wall.
The wood looked unchanged. Ordinary.
Jonathan stared for a few seconds longer.
"Weird," he muttered. "Guess I'll find out eventually."
He clicked off the lights and collapsed into bed, phone face-down on the nightstand. His thoughts buzzed, then slowed… and then, finally, stopped.
Sleep took him.
But shadows do not sleep.
From the corner of the room, beneath the soft glow of moonlight filtering through half-closed blinds, a ripple disturbed the darkness. A figure emerged—not walking, not crawling—but sliding from beneath reality itself.
It was the wight.
Back again. Patient. Silent.
Its movements were unnatural. Too smooth. Like water gliding over rotted silk. Its body was twisted with scars and death-worn muscle, its eyes empty and soulless. Taloned fingers flexed, ready to strike.
Jonathan slept peacefully.
The wight loomed over him, one hand stretching toward his neck.
And then—
The wall rune lit up.
A single, electric blue line shot across the room like a fuse igniting. Symbols flared into the air, forming a glowing seal behind the intruder.
BOOM.
In a flash of lightning and thunder, Elijah appeared.
Katana drawn. Stance perfect. Expression cold.
The wight barely turned its head before it saw its own death play out in its mind.
Elijah's sword moved.
Once?
No.
Hundreds of times.
What appeared as a single, graceful draw was actually a storm of impossibly fast strikes. Slices, arcs, and cuts layered on top of each other like sheets of lightning folded in space. The room was silent.
Elijah sheathed his katana.
Click.
And the wight fell apart.
Not collapsed.
Fell. Apart.
Its body separated into hundreds of cauterized segments—cleanly severed, each edge still crackling with residual energy. No blood. No screams. Just silence and steam.
Elijah stepped forward, kneeling slightly. He whispered in ancient draconic, the shadows around the room listening as if obeying a forgotten god.
"Swallow this filth. Let no trace remain."
The darkness moved. The pieces of the wight vanished, swallowed whole by an abyssal gate that closed without sound. Not a bone was left behind.
Elijah stepped into the darkness himself.
Gone.
And in the silence that followed… only the echo of distant thunder remained.
Jonathan stirred in his sleep.
But he never woke.
Not to the light.
Not to the death.
Not even to the sword that had saved him.
He simply rolled over, mumbling something about quadratic equations.