The beginning of the school year has always been a significant occasion filled with excitement, joy and delight. Most students were looking forward to returning to their friends, their favorite activities, and their community, even if it meant returning to their regular schedules. But this time, no one was happy. No one dared to smile. Everyone merely sat there in utter stillness, bathed in deathly silence. Nobody cracked a joke, didn't mention their vacation, or turned their gaze away from their ex-lover. In their all black attire, they were motionless as they merged into a single wave of mournful misery.

Only the deep, dry voice of the new principal, like the sharpest knife, could break through the oppressive silence that surrounded everyone.

“The recent accident has rattled the supernatural world to its core. The circumstances surrounding the death of headmistress Sartre were not to be revealed, but the faculty decided almost unanimously that you must know everything. You must all be aware of the weight of the situation. There are dangers everywhere. You are no longer children. This is a good time to tell you that the world isn't so colorf–”

"Principal Sartre died from a werewolf bite," a middle-aged blond woman interrupted the deputy headmistress.

Her words were greeted with a threatening expression on the face of the new headmaster, who was about to say it in a much more delicate manner. But the woman didn't beat around the bush. She rightfully thought that the young people sitting in the auditorium had no need for such a sermon, they were not children after all. They did not have to be prepared for this information, even though it seemed dramatic. 

This news had a far greater effect on Desideria Daviau than on others. Although she didn't express it, hearing it gave her the impression that she had been forcefully slapped in the face. That one sentence, those few harsh words, said in a history teacher's gruff voice, scratched a wound in her heart that had been healing for a very long time and hadn't quite cured yet. She didn't even realize that she began to tremble slightly. Even so, a friend seated beside her noticed this and squeezed her hand as if to reassure her. Despite being a challenging person to impress, Calia appeared to be equally as alarmed. Even if she wouldn't say it aloud, she froze in fear. However, feeling terrified was reasonable and perfectly fine. Finding out that their eternal adversaries, the fabled beasts, actually roam outside the academy's walls is not something that happens every day.

Whispers shattered the foreboding silence. Prior to a short while, no one had dared to even breathe aloud, descending into a state of wretched grief; nevertheless, at this point, there were so many voices that it was difficult to concentrate on a single one. They all converged into a muffled murmur that resounded in the ears. 

The news shocked every one of them. None of them was prepared for it. Everyone resisted accepting it. 

For years, there had been no sign of werewolves. Some people even believed them to be fairy tales for naughty children. Some supernatural beings shared this opinion, although in the human world they were regarded as actual mythical beings itself.

“That’s enough,” he began. “We can relate to your restlessness but you all need to remain composed and take even better care of yourself than normal. Because threats can lurk behind any wall, we'll be forced to implement new security measures. The employees will be armed with silver daggers designed to weaken werewolves. In case you are forced to confront the enemy, self-defense classes will be added to your schedule. That’s everything for now. Today's classes are canceled. Take precautions and await further instructions. The teachers will now accompany you to the dormitories. Don't leave them today.” He stepped away from the podium, straightening his jacket.

Teachers attempted to maintain order and secure the pupils' safe return to their rooms in accordance with the task assigned to them. It wasn't simple. Although it was difficult to control such a large crowd, the professors did a good job. One class at a time, beginning with the youngest, they brought the students outside. There were less people around but the older individuals had to wait even though they would have preferred to leave this location as quickly as possible. 

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"I can't believe werewolves are back," the blonde uttered. 

“I… knew.”

“You knew?” In shock and disbelief, she repeated the words.

"I had a dream about it," Calia briefly explained. 

Vampires and witches were the two types of supernaturals collected by the Noapte Academy. Witches contrasted with fairy tale creatures. They didn't use spell books or make potions out of a toad's head. A witch was a person who possessed a special ability. There were those who mastered a specific element, but there were also other cases. Calia bore the burden of seeing the future, or at least a portion of it. Prophetic dreams frequently gave her the ability to predict future events, but they were also a riddle, a jumble of elements she didn't always understand. Her dreams were rarely straightforward. There were no instructions for the puzzle pieces.

"How come you didn't tell me?"

"I had no idea what that meant."

"We could get to it," she grumbled. "We've worked out your visions numerous times." 

“And each time it failed. We were unable to stop it.”

“It could be different this time.”

Calia was about to deny it, claiming she didn't want to hurt Deria's feelings, when they were summoned to leave. The best time possible. She was saved from this uncomfortable conversation, though she knew the fair-haired one would bring it up again.

The walk to the dormitory was actually quite short. The academy was divided into three sections: the main, largest one, where all classes were held and dorms, which were situated on each side of the building. Even if all of these buildings were quite close to one another, the teachers took extra care to move between them carefully and to avoid leaving without authorization, particularly at this difficult time. 

“Why didn't you tell me, then?” she asked, sitting up in bed. 

The brunette groaned. She should not delude herself into thinking she will miss this discussion. She had just relished finishing it, but she now had to return to it.

"I had no idea what that meant and didn't want to bother you with it,” she explained. “I know how seriously you take these things..."

Deria took a deep breath and questioned, "What was in that dream?" 

"It doesn't matter. We won't take it back. There's no point in worrying about it," she answered nervously.

Calia didn't want to return to this situation. The memory of what she had seen that evening made her feel terrible.

“Tell me” 

"Why are you always so stubborn?" She sighed resignedly and buried her face in her pillow. "All right, just..." She searched for the right words to describe this. "It was the midst of winter. It felt like… the woods were whispering something to me. I still can hear it in my head… I noticed a paw print and went towards it. I noticed the blood at one point. It stood out against the snow's pristine whiteness. I found the wolf thanks to the tracks. He was struggling to breathe. Sartre sat across from him,” she stopped for a moment, not being sure if she should say the last sentence. “With a dagger. She was holding a bloody dagger." 

Deria sat silently listening, staring blankly at one point. She was analyzing every word her friend said, her face was pale and emotionless. Nothing could be deciphered from it. 

"It was quite obvious," she said at the end.

"I knew you’d say that."

"We could have prevented it," she lamented, clenching her trembling hands.

"I'm sorry it happened, but some things are just… beyond our control. I know you want to help her, but it had to be this way. Even if we knew and tried to do something about it, the effect would ultimately be the same. You know how it always ends the same... I wanted to spare you disappointment this time. It was unavoidable. It was fate," she replied, wrapping her arm around her. 

They were distinct. Calia was the picture of strength, something her mother must have instilled in her. Deianira Verge was a huntress and a well-known werewolf slayer. Cal was her younger self. She hasn't killed any enemies yet, but she has inherited all of her mother's characteristics. Stubbornness, rebellion, and self-assurance. She was prone to getting into problems for doing more than she intended, yet she always managed to escape unharmed. She landed on all fours in some way. But Deria? Sweet, innocent Deria, who overwaters flowers because she never knows when it’s time to stop giving? She possessed a unique kind of strength. She was a pearl. Delicate and gleaming. Beautiful but fragile. Her heart was pure gold, but at the same time so easy to break.

"Fate can be so cruel," the blonde sighed, brushing her light vanilla hair away from her face.

"It has its own rules."