I was looking out the classroom window, watching a pair of birds flirting on the tree. They looked ridiculously carefree, as if the world didn’t exist beyond their little patch of bark.

  Oui. Really? Flirting in broad daylight? What a bold move. Then again, what bird would think a human would stare at them while they were making out. Except for me, that is.

  Ding Dong. Ding Dong.

  My spine straightened on instinct.

  Pens froze mid-scratch. Chairs creaked as half the class jolted upright, as if the bell had yanked invisible strings attached to our bones.

  Salvation. What other sound could make an entire building come alive in an instant?

  A chorus of muffled cheers, relieved sighs, and barely contained laughter rippled through the room. Bags were already being unzipped. Zippers screamed. Desks groaned. The air itself felt lighter.

  Our English teacher glanced at the sea of exhausted faces, lips twitching as if she found the collective suffering mildly entertaining. The moment the ringing faded, she clapped her hands once.

  "Alright, students. Since today is the first day, I'll let you all go home earlier." She smiled warmly and left with a swish of her skirt.

  Earlier? The school bell already rang. I let out a soft grunt and began packing. The zipper sounded louder than usual in the quieting classroom; it felt like the room itself was deflating after a long, stale day.

  I took a detour to the water station, lingering longer than necessary. The cool drip on my fingers mixed with the sharp, chemical smell of new paint in the hallway. With a small sigh, I headed next door to Iz’s new classroom.

  As students rushed out, the hallway lightened, like someone had opened a window in a suffocating room. First days were always too loud, too fake, even my footsteps sounded exaggerated.

  And there I stood, Classroom 2-A.

  I hadn’t seen Iz in hours. Catching her off guard always made things feel normal again, like slipping into an old rhythm we never admitted we missed.

  “Here it is.” I peeked inside and saw Iz at her desk, her pen racing across a logbook like she was trying to outrun time itself.

  Perfect.

  I slid the door open quietly and slipped inside. Iz didn’t even twitch. I set my bag down, and sat directly across from her. Still no reaction. She just kept writing. I reached out, poking the tense spot between her brows.

  "Stop frowning. Uncle Georgie will wither if he sees a line between your eyebrows."

  Uncle Georgie, the legendary beautician I'd never met but had built a complete mental image of. Dramatic, fond of floral shirts, and probably armed with cucumber slices at all times.

  Iz immediately covered her face. "Ah, sorry, Lil. Give me a minute. I'm almost done with this logbook."

  I leaned forward, watching her handwriting. The pen dug into the paper when she was stressed. She always did.

  "It's your first day, and they already have you doing the class logbook? This is only our second year, not fourth year, when existential dread kicks in and we all start decomposing in our chairs."

  She chuckled softly, a sound that made the classroom feel a little less empty.

  I leaned back. "Unlike yours, my homeroom teacher only introduced herself and vanished like smoke. The others went on and on about their 'glory days'. I swear, my ears nearly dropped off."

  "Our homeroom is strict. She lectured us on everything, rules, exams, attire... and then gave us homework. The other teachers were kinder. Just a quiz on first-year topics." Iz rubbed her head as if the memories physically hurt.

  "Oui. You sure got some sadistic teachers, huh? The difference between our classes is like heaven and hell." I opened my mouth wanting to yawn, but Iz pointed at me with her pen. "Stop yawning. You're making me sleepy."

  She lifted her bottle for a sip, the plastic crackling in her hand.

  She squeezed the bottle, a tiny tell. Stress, maybe.

  I tapped my finger repeatedly on the desk, searching for a distraction.

  Oh well. I guess I can only do that.

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  "All right, all right. I’ll stop, dear." I formed a hand heart and directed it at her.

  She choked mid-swallow. Water dribbled down her chin. "Gosh, who are you role-playing this time?"

  I grinned. Her reaction never gets old. Some things in this weird second year stay comfortingly the same.

  "Some poor soul trying to win their crush's heart."

  Iz gave me her trademark blank stare, equal parts judgement and disbelief. "Do you know why it's called a 'crush'?"

  "Because the crush will crush the other person's heart?" I leaned away, in case she decided to strangle me.

  "Exactly. Now stop the act."

  I dropped my head onto her desk dramatically. "Fine. You're such a bore sometimes."

  "Thank you," she replied flatly, resuming her scribbling.

  Boredom set in. I fiddled with her water bottle, rolling it across the desk. Even that small movement felt loud in the quiet room. The silence wasn’t empty anymore. It felt like it was listening.

  Ugh... It's still not enough. I'll fall asleep at this rate. Ah! I know.

  I pinched the sensitive skin between my thumb and index finger. A sharp little sting to anchor myself. It worked every time, a weird habit maybe, but better than drifting. Soon, another yawn nearly escaped.

  Ah!

  I peeked at Iz.

  Looks like she didn't hear that. Nice friend points for me. (Strategically saved to avoid getting murdered later.)

  For a moment, I just watched her pen. The soft scratch filled the quiet. Sunlight fell in thin stripes across the desk, warming the wood. My fingers toyed with the bottle cap. A memory nudged its way in.

  "Hey, Iz. Want to know something?" I leaned in closer. "Just now in class, I saw two birds making out in that tree." I pointed outside.

  Iz stared. Unimpressed.

  "Fine, fine. I'll shut up. Sheesh!"

  While Iz kept writing, I let silence settle. I looked up at the ceiling fan groaning overhead, swirling in its endless, repeated motion. A few minutes later, she finally closed the logbook with a quiet thud. She tidied her desk until it looked immaculately presentable.

  "I'll bring the logbook to the teacher's office. Don't do anything while I'm gone, okay?"

  "Mmm..." I hummed, lifting a hand lazily.

  She left. The door clicked shut. Silence returned, heavier this time. I never realized how much noise a single person made until Iz wasn’t there. Mostly my noise.

  I looked around. The classroom looked too clean, too untouched, four blank walls waiting for life.

  Unlike our old classroom.

  The silence pressed in, heavy and unnatural.

  Bzz...

  A fly crashed into the window like a drunken intruder, buzzing far too loudly. I watched its messy loop as it wobbled against the glass. My limbs felt strangely weighted, as if someone had draped sandbags over them.

  When I inhaled, the air scratched at my lungs. Dry and metallic.

  That's odd. It reminded me of something… but I couldn’t place what.

  My mind grew heavy. Something about the room feels... wrong. Too sterile, too warm, even the fly buzzing like it knew something I didn’t. A tiny pressure gathered behind my eyes, and my head dipped. The quiet swallowed me whole.

  I awoke.

  To blood.

  A sour wind scraped the back of my throat, thick with iron and rot. My lungs burned with each breath. The battlefield sprawled endlessly before me, drenched in crimson. Corpses lay twisted at unnatural angles, armor shattered, weapons scattered like broken memories. Some faces were frozen in silent screams; others were serene, as if death had finally whispered mercy.

  No one moved.

  The air itself felt alive, heavy, metallic, suffocating. A low, wet gurgle echoed somewhere beneath the rubble. I swallowed hard, trying to tell myself it was a dream, but the taste of iron on my tongue argued otherwise.

  I looked up. My breath hitched.

  No sky. No sun. Only a void above, swallowing all light.

  What is this place?

  Panic clawed up my throat, but through the ringing in my ears, my mother’s voice surfaced, soft and steady: Calm yourself. Always breathe.

  I forced a breath in. Then another. Slowly, clarity seeped back, but my body still trembled.

  Right. Don't panic. Think, you mushy brain.

  I scanned the expanse of death, searching for clues. Shelter? An exit? Something to ground me? Nothing. Only silence.

  And then, movement at a distance.

  Her.

  The woman from my morning dream. But this time, her hair was black.

  Alive. Fearless. Beautiful in a way that made the dead seem peaceful. She held a scythe taller than I was, the blade curved in a vicious arc. A chained dagger dangled from its end, swinging with lethal grace.

  Steel laughed against steel.

  She moved like a storm made of precision, dancing through armored soldiers from every era. Blade clashed. Bones snapped. Blood sprayed. If death itself could perform ballet, it would look like her.

  Curiosity cut through my fear. Against my better judgment, I crawled to another vantage point, pressing my body behind a pile of collapsed shields. Only a handful of enemies remained. I caught a glimpse of her face.

  Serene eyes. A soft smile.

  A smile that did not belong on a battlefield.

  My heart lurched again. Something pulling me toward her.

  No. No way. My body... Why isn't it listening to me again? Tch! I needed something, anything, to break the pull.

  Then, stab.

  Before I could second-guess myself, the dagger I’d snatched from a fallen soldier drove straight into my palm.

  Pain exploded. Sharp. Real. I bit my lip to stop the scream. I gasped, taking deep breaths until the agony subsided into a dull throb. I looked down at my hand. Blood seeped out, hot and metallic. Too real.

  My breath thundered in my chest. Relief flushed through me temporarily.

  The pull stopped. My body finally listened. But... but... Is this really just a dream?

  I shook my head.

  No. Dreams don't hurt. Then... what is this?

  At the edge of my eye, I saw a dead medic beside me, half-buried by rubble. Breathing unsteady, I tore through his kit and patched the wound with trembling hands. My breath steadied. A moment of fragile safety.

  But my mind was still swirling with questions. Questions only I could answer.

  Then a shadow fell over me.

  She stood there. Scythe stained with fresh blood, dripping. Towering over me.

  She looked down at me, her expression unreadable. My heart thundered.

  This... is this the end for me?

  The blade lifted. I shut my eyes.

  Whoosh.

  And that was the last I heard.