Oliver stepped into the hallway, the low hum of chatter from the classroom fading behind him. His shoes tapped against the polished floor, the morning light filtering through the wide windows, casting long, slanted shadows. Students passed by, caught up in their own worlds, barely giving him a glance.
The summons from the principal was unexpected, but Oliver wasn't particularly concerned. His grades were fine; he hadn't caused trouble—well, none that they could trace back to him. So what was this about?
As he moved, curiosity gnawed at him. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing over the teleportation talisman. He had tested its limits before, but now, an idea sparked in his mind. If he could see through objects and locate people, why not get a glimpse of what awaited him?
With a subtle flow of Qi, he activated the talisman. A rush of awareness surged through him, his spirit sense stretching outward like invisible tendrils weaving through the school's structure. The walls melted away in his mind's eye, their solidity replaced by transparent layers. His vision soared past classrooms, students hunched over desks, teachers droning on, lockers lined in neat rows—until he reached the principal's office.
At first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The office was tidy, a minimalist elegance to its layout. A deep wooden desk sat at the center, papers neatly stacked atop it. And at that desk…
Oliver's breath hitched for a second.
A woman sat there, flipping through documents with a casual grace. She wasn't the old, graying principal he had expected. No, this woman was something else entirely.
Her long, raven-black hair cascaded over her shoulders, silky strands framing a sharp, mature face. She wore glasses, their thin frames only emphasizing the sharpness of her piercing dark eyes. Her blouse—buttoned a little too perfectly—hugged her form in a way that made it impossible to ignore, while the slit in her skirt revealed a glimpse of smooth, pale skin when she shifted in her chair.
Oliver licked his lips, feeling a heat stir in his gut.
Interesting.
He let his senses linger, drinking in the details—the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers tapped lightly against the desk, lost in thought.
His Qi flickered, pulling at his Yang Essence. A reckless idea bloomed in his mind.
He had seen the aphrodisiac-like properties of Yang essence, and to be honest, he had wanted to use it on Yuki last night, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. But now he had no plans of holding himself back.
Closing his eyes briefly, he focused inward, guiding his Qi and Yang through his meridians. A slow release—controlled, deliberate—flowed from his core, spreading outward in an invisible wave. The energy seeped into the air, subtle yet undeniable.
Then, he watched.
The woman's movements stilled for a fraction of a second. A shift in posture, barely noticeable—her shoulders tensed, her breath a little deeper than before. Her fingers, once idly flipping through papers, now hesitated over them.
A smirk tugged at Oliver's lips.
It's beginning to take effect.
She adjusted her glasses, exhaling softly before shaking her head and returning to her work. The reaction was small, almost imperceptible—but it was there.
Satisfied, Oliver let his Qi settle, deactivating the talisman. But still letting his Yang travel through the air, his body still hummed with energy, a faint anticipation sparking in his veins.
This meeting just got a lot more interesting.
He turned the corner, reaching the principal's door. With one last adjustment to his blazer, he knocked twice before stepping inside.
The office was just as he had seen—neat, composed, the scent of paper and faint perfume lingering in the air. The woman looked up, meeting his gaze with a calm, unreadable expression.
"Oliver, correct?" she asked, her voice smooth and professional.
"That's me," he replied, stepping forward.
She gestured to the chair across from her desk. "Have a seat."
He did, letting his body relax against the cushion. Up close, her presence was even more striking. There was an air of authority about her, a quiet confidence that made it difficult to look away.
She folded her hands atop the desk. "I assume you're wondering why you were called here."
Oliver tilted his head. "It did cross my mind."
She studied him for a moment before nodding. "There was an… incident. Something unusual. And you happened to be at the center of it."
Oliver's brows lifted slightly. An incident? He didn't recall anything too out of the ordinary. Then again, his definition of 'ordinary' had shifted ever since he had awakened his abilities.
"What kind of incident?" he asked carefully.
Before she could respond—
The room shuddered.
A strange, hollow sound filled the space, like the echo of something collapsing inward. Oliver's body tensed as the walls around him melted, dissolving into shadow. The woman's form flickered—one moment solid, the next unraveling into mist.
Then, silence.
When Oliver's vision cleared, he was no longer in the principal's office.
He stood in a vast, dimly lit library. Towering bookshelves stretched endlessly in all directions, their wooden frames lined with tomes that pulsed with faint, eerie light. The scent of aged parchment and something sweet, almost intoxicating, filled the air.
At the center of it all, a single figure stood before him.
A woman—no, a witch.
She was unlike anyone he had ever seen. Moonlight-pale skin, a luster that was almost unnatural, stretched over delicate, ethereal features. Her silver hair cascaded down her back in shimmering waves, each strand catching the dim light of the library, giving her an otherworldly glow. But it was her eyes that unsettled him most—piercing violet, filled with an eerie depth that sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn't just their color; something within them moved, an intelligence ancient and terrifying, a knowing gaze that seemed to peel back his very thoughts.
Her gown was midnight spun into fabric, clinging to her form in ways that felt both seductive and dangerous. The material shifted like liquid shadow, wrapping around her curves yet flowing unnaturally, as though obeying a will beyond gravity. She stood at ease, composed, her presence alone commanding the vast library as if it were merely an extension of herself.
And she was watching him.
A slow, knowing smile curved her lips—one that was equal parts amusement and hunger, as if she had been waiting for this moment far longer than he could comprehend.
"I've heard you've been peeking at the bodies of the girls around school," she mused, her tone velvet-smooth and sultry, laced with a dangerous amusement. "And there's also the matter of you leaving your things lying around."
Her voice was intoxicating, the kind that made the air itself feel heavier.
Oliver's mind sharpened instantly, but before he could respond, she tossed something toward him—a small, leather-bound book. He caught it on instinct, the familiar weight settling in his palm. The moment he laid eyes on it, his breath hitched.
Impossible.
It was his notebook.
The very one he had used to perform the dream pattern ritual.
His body tensed as alarm bells blared in his mind. His hand shot into his pocket, grasping the teleportation talisman. For the first time since obtaining it, he fully activated it—not just for a flicker of movement, but a desperate, all-consuming escape attempt.
But the moment his spirit senses spread outward, his stomach lurched.
This isn't the town.
Gone were the modern buildings, the streets, the world he knew. Instead, what met his perception was an entirely different era—a medieval village sprawled outside a massive, labyrinthine castle. Spires jutted into the sky like the fangs of a slumbering beast, and black spots covered in runes and magic circles littered the air, humming with ominous power.
His heart pounded. Where the hell was he?
Then—the talisman vaporized in his pocket. After selecting where to appear, it turned itself to ash, and his body flickered, landing at the farthest place his spirit sense could reach.
He reappeared at the edge of the village, startling a few locals who gasped and stepped back. But Oliver didn't care. Without wasting a second, he reached into the inner pocket of his blazer, grabbing another talisman and crushing it.
Another flicker—deep within a forest.
Then—pain.
A sharp, searing agony tore through his body. His Qi had been completely drained. His meridians burned, as if his very energy had been forcibly extracted from his core. His knees buckled, breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Impressive~"
A voice rang out above him.
His head snapped up.
The silver-haired witch—Morgana—was materializing midair, floating effortlessly. Magic circles, intricate and ancient, pulsed around her, forming a crystalline sphere of power as she fully took shape.
"But you didn't have to run," she purred, snapping her fingers.
The world lurched.
In the blink of an eye, they were back in the library.
Oliver staggered, his mind still reeling from the teleportation, but Morgana simply adjusted her posture, heels clicking against the wooden floor as she approached.
"I just wanted to have a chat on etiquette," she said smoothly, brushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear. "And on how to keep your possessions on you at all times."
She stopped just inches from him, tilting her head, amusement flickering in her violet gaze.
"Now then," she murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction. "How about we do this properly?"
Her lips curved into a slow, wicked smile.
"You may call me Morgana~"
The way she spoke her name made it feel like a spell in itself—powerful, laced with an invitation that was both irresistible and damning.
"And I have a proposal I'm sure you won't refuse~"
Oliver barely had time to process her words before he noticed it—her eyes.
The violet irises glowed faintly, but within them, something stirred. Thousands of runes danced in her pupils, shifting, reforming, creating patterns that defied comprehension. It was mesmerizing, hypnotic.
And then—he saw himself reflected in her gaze.
Not as he was now.
But as if he were moving through time.
His reflection changed constantly, fast-forwarding through different actions—raising a hand, speaking, reaching for a book, stepping forward, falling, fighting, kneeling before her—kissing her hand—on his knees with his head bowed—
Oliver snapped his gaze away, his pulse hammering.
Morgana laughed softly, the sound rich with amusement. "Oh, you noticed?" she mused. "Such a sharp boy."
She lifted a single finger, trailing it along the air between them, leaving a faint silver glow in its wake.
"You see, Oliver…" she murmured, leaning in ever so slightly, "I know you far better than you think."
The air was thick with her presence, power, and seduction intertwined, an intoxicating mix that made his thoughts feel sluggish.
This wasn't just a witch.
This was a predator.
And he had just stepped into her domain.