Raiven woke up with a dull ache radiating through his body, his mind still foggy from the ritual. The whispers of the elders had long faded, yet something lingered—an energy pulsing through his veins like a second heartbeat. He pushed himself up, his breath slow and measured, trying to grasp the weight of what had happened.
His brother, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watched him with a mix of concern and intrigue. "You didn't tell me you had a tattoo," he said, gesturing for Raiven to follow.
Raiven frowned but stood, his muscles stiff from the ordeal. He followed his brother to a mirror, and as he turned, his breath hitched.
A symbol, faint but unmistakable, was etched onto the side of his neck. It pulsed softly, shifting slightly under the dim light, as if it were alive.
"That wasn't there before," his Khael muttered. "It means something."
Raiven traced the mark with his fingers, feeling a strange warmth spread from the touch. It wasn't just a mark—it was a declaration, a symbol of something greater than himself. But what?
Before he could dwell on it, he was remembered that he had somewhere to go, School! He had to return as if nothing had changed, as if he was still just Raiven. But gosh he was already late.
The day was normal at first. The routine, the classes, the mindless chatter of students who had no idea the world they lived in was on the brink of war. But the moment the news broke, everything shifted.
"Did you hear? Six new students just transferred in," a voice whispered behind him.
Raiven barely paid attention—until the next words sent a chill down his spine.
"They're Wair Cats."
His grip tightened around his pen. His brother's warning echoed in his mind: Kill any of them you find alone, or they will kill you.
He clenched his jaw. It wasn't just a warning—it was a command. His brother had always been ruthless, always certain that war was inevitable. But Raiven didn't want that life. He didn't want to be a killer.
Yet, his instincts sharpened. His eyes flickered across the classroom. Who were they? Were they already watching him? A slow tension crept up his spine as he scanned the room, but everyone looked the same. Ordinary. Just students, laughing, writing, lost in their own mundane realities.
But Raiven knew better.
Somewhere among them, predators lurked. And if he wasn't careful, he'd be their prey.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. A message from Khael.
Stay sharp. If you find one alone, you know what you've got to do.
Raiven exhaled sharply, shoving the phone back into his pocket. The weight of expectation settled over him like a storm cloud. But before he could process it, the teacher called on someone new.
"Senya, why don't you answer that?"
Raiven turned his head slightly, curiosity piqued. A girl with strikingly sharp eyes and an air of quiet confidence stood up. She didn't hesitate. Her answer was precise, delivered with the ease of someone who had complete control over her thoughts.
Raiven felt a flicker of irritation. That was his answer. Normally, he was the first to speak up, the one ahead of the class. But today, someone had beaten him to it.
He studied her as she sat back down, his fingers grazing the symbol on his neck. There was something about her, something unsettlingly familiar. Was she one of them?
Fate was pushing him toward something. And for the first time, he wasn't sure if he could resist it.