Alaric sat there for another mont, shaking ice crystals off his sleeve. His arm was numb from the cold. His head felt stuffed with cotton. And he was pretty sure he’d just been lectured by his fiancée about not being an embarrassnt.
Great start to the day.
Then he stood slowly, gathered his things—which apparently he’d brought to class even though he didn’t rember taking notes—and followed Verelia out into the corridor.
She was already gone. Probably off to the library to start studying imdiately like the perfect student she was.
Alaric rubbed his eyes. Tried to shake off the exhaustion that had been weighing on him since last night.
"Just what was that?"
The mory flickered through his mind—his eyes glowing in the washbasin’s reflection. The burning sensation. The dizziness that had slamd into him.
Then... nothing.
He frowned, trying to pull up what happened after. But—
Blank.
The next thing he rembered was waking up in that dusty room this morning, slumped in the corner with dried blood under his fingernails and his head pounding.
Everything between was just... gone.
Alaric ruffled his hair in frustration.
"There’s really sothing fucking wrong with ," he muttered under his breath.
Students passed him going the opposite direction. A few glanced at him strangely, probably because he was talking to himself, but most ignored him.
He pushed through the hallway leading outside.
Sunlight hit his face imdiately. Warm.
Almost uncomfortably bright after the dim corridors. He squinted against it, letting his eyes adjust.
The courtyard spread out ahead, busy with students moving between buildings. The fountain in the center splashed quietly. A few people sat on benches, eating or studying or just talking.
Alaric took in a deep breath of fresh air. Held it. Released it slowly.
The warmth helped a little. Made the fog in his head lift slightly.
He sighed and started walking again, heading toward the dining hall. His stomach was empty, he couldn’t rember if he’d eaten breakfast. Probably not.
The dining hall doors stood open. The sll of roasted at and bread drifted out. His stomach growled in response.
Inside, the usual lunchti chaos filled the space. Students clustered at tables, voices overlapping in a constant buzz. Kitchen staff moved behind the serving counters, ladling soup and cutting bread.
A line had ford. Alaric scanned it and spotted Oliver near the middle, shifting his weight from foot to foot while he waited.
Alaric walked up behind him and tapped his shoulder.
Oliver turned. "Oh, hey. Where were you? When I woke up and you were already—"
Alaric shoved his empty plate into Oliver’s hands. "Get one for too."
Oliver blinked. "What?"
"Food. Get mine while you’re getting yours." Alaric was already turning away. "I’ll find us a table."
"Wait, I—"
But Alaric had already left, weaving between other students toward the tables near the windows.
Oliver stood there in line, holding two plates now, his mouth hanging open slightly.
Then his eye twitched.
"Are you—" he started to say to no one in particular, then caught himself. Looked around to see if anyone was watching him talk to empty air.
His jaw clenched and took a breath through his nose, exhaling slowly.
"Fine," he muttered. "Sure. Why not. I’ll just get your food for you like I’m your personal servant."
The line shuffled forward. Oliver moved with it, gripping both plates a little harder than necessary.
By the ti he reached the front and got their food, stew, bread, so kind of roasted vegetables, his irritation had only grown.
He scanned the dining hall. Found Alaric sitting at a table by the windows, leaning back in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Oliver walked over, plates balanced carefully so he didn’t spill anything. Set them down on the table with more force than needed.
The bowls rattled.
And dropped into the seat across from Alaric and imdiately started muttering under his breath.
"Sure, Oliver, just get my food. Don’t worry about the fact that I was standing there anyway. Don’t ask if I mind. Just hand your plate like I’m the staff..."
Alaric pulled his bowl closer and picked up his spoon. "Thanks."
"Oh, you’re welco," Oliver said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "So glad I could be of service. Would you like to cut your bread for you too? Maybe chew your food?"
"I’m good."
"Of course you are." Oliver grabbed his own spoon and stabbed it into his stew. "Because why would you ever do anything yourself when you can just order people around?"
Alaric took a bite. The food was decent. Hot, at least. His stomach stopped complaining.
Oliver kept muttering. Sothing about "taking advantage" and "basic courtesy" and "not being soone’s butler."
Alaric ate in silence, letting the complaints wash over him.
From the table beside them, voices drifted through the general dining hall noise.
"I heard it’s supposed to peak tonight."
"The Crimson Tide? Yeah, last night of the cycle. Moon’s going to be massive."
"My roommate’s a wolf beastkin. He’s been acting weird."
"That’s normal during the Tide. My cousin’s half-vampire and she locks herself in her room every month when it happens. Says the pull is too strong otherwise."
"Think they’ll lift curfew for it? Let people watch?"
"Doubt it. It’s too dangerous. All the beastkin and vampire bloodlines get unstable. Last thing the academy needs is students losing control and fighting each other."
Oliver’s muttering had stopped. He was listening too, spoon halfway to his mouth.
"The Crimson Tide," he said, more to himself than to Alaric. Then louder: "Tonight’s the peak, apparently."
Alaric didn’t respond. Just kept eating.
Oliver set his spoon down. "I always wanted to see it properly. My mother used to tell about it when I was a kid." His expression shifted, going distant. "She said this night is really special for so races. Like, the moon affects them differently than us."
He leaned forward slightly, warming to the topic.
"Beastkin can shift forms easier. Vampires’ physical abilities spike. Even people with dormant bloodlines sotis feel it." He paused. "Mom said it’s beautiful if you’re just watching. Terrifying if you’re experiencing it."
"So cultures celebrate it," Oliver continued. "There’s this whole festival thing in the southern territories. They light bonfires, do these ritual dances, honor their ancestors who had strong bloodlines." He picked up his bread and tore off a piece. "But here? They just lock everyone down and pretend it’s not happening."
Alaric said nothing. Just took another bite of stew that suddenly tasted like ash in his mouth.
The Crimson Tide. Peak tonight.
And he had no idea what was going to happen to him when it did.
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