5:30
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The alarm on the bedside table screamed like an angry mechanical bird, dragging Nash Ashford kicking and screaming from a surprisingly nice dream about absolutely nothing.
"Ughhhh... I'm so tired."
He peeled one eye open, glared at the clock, and immediately regretted everything.
5:01 AM.
His eye twitched.
"It's five in the morning....." He let his head fall back into the pillow. The pillow was flat. The sheets were cheap. The whole room smelled like lake water and the cheap air freshener the previous occupant had left behind. "I shouldn't have let Mom touch the alarm."
THUD.
He collapsed backward, already surrendering to sleep. Just a few more minutes. Just a few—
"You know, you should be grateful."
The voice slid through his mind like someone dropped an ice cube down his back. Cold. Smooth. Ancient.
Nash didn't move. "Cyro. It's five AM."
"Your mother cares about you."
"She set my alarm for five AM."
"...I see your point."
Nash snorted. "Thank you."
Silence. Then:
"But you should still get up."
"Why?"
"Because I'll keep talking if you don't."
"You talk anyway."
"I'll talk LOUDER."
Nash groaned. Cyro, the ancient being who had seen empires rise and fall, was threatening to talk louder. This was his life now.
He sat up. Ran a hand through his mess of black hair. Stared at his reflection in the dark window — light brown skin, deep obsidian eyes, the face of a guy who really needed more sleep.
"You're the worst," he muttered.
"I know." Cyro sounded weirdly proud of it.
---
The dorm hallway was quiet. Nash liked it that way. No stares. No whispers. Just him, his thoughts, and the ancient voice in his head that couldn't shut up.
"You should eat."
"Not hungry."
"You said that yesterday. Then you almost passed out in combat class."
"That was one time."
"It was three times."
Nash grabbed a stale pastry from the empty cafeteria. Ate it in three bites. Tasted like nothing.
"Happy?"
"Ecstatic."
---
CHATTER. CHATTER. CHATTER.
The hallways were a different story now. Full of students heading to class, their voices bouncing off the old stone walls. Nash weaved through them like a ghost — not ignoring anyone, just... not engaging. New kid. Transfer. Better to stay invisible.
"That guy's staring."
Nash's eyes flicked sideways. Some upperclassman with perfect hair and an expensive uniform was definitely looking his way.
"He's just curious."
"He's been staring for eight seconds."
"You're counting?"
"I'm always counting."
Nash kept walking. The guy kept staring. Whatever. Let him look.
---
2C.
The door stared back at him like it knew something he didn't.
CLICK.
He pushed inside.
Twenty-nine faces turned toward him.
Nash felt the weight of their stares — curious, bored, interested, judgmental. Higher class academy meant higher class students. Kids from bloodlines with actual power. Kids who'd been training since they could walk. Kids who definitely didn't have ancient beings arguing with them about breakfast.
He walked to the empty seat at the back, near the window. Sat down. Looked outside.
Lake Michigan stretched out before him, calm and blue. Seagulls fought over something near the shore. A training boat cut across the water.
"This is boring."
"We've been here five minutes."
"Five minutes too long."
"You're millennia old. Five minutes is nothing."
"Exactly. I've waited millennia. I'm done waiting."
Nash bit back a laugh. Cyro, the ancient, world-weary being, was whining like a kid on a road trip.
CLICK.
The door opened again.
The room went quiet.
Nash looked up. A man walked in — average height, graying temples, nothing special about his appearance. But the moment he entered, something shifted. Students sat up straighter. Conversations died mid-sentence.
"Oh," Cyro said. "Him."
"Yeah." Nash kept his face neutral. "Him."
Instructor Moses reached the front of the class and scanned the room. His eyes landed on Nash — just for a second — and Nash caught the faintest twitch of his eyebrow.
Hey, kid. You made it.
Nash gave a tiny nod. Barely visible. But Moses saw.
Then Moses smiled. Warm. Easy. The kind of smile that made you forget he could probably kill you with his pinky.
"Morning, class." His voice was calm, casual. "Hope you're all awake, because we've got a lot to get through."
A few students laughed. The tension broke.
"He's good," Cyro admitted.
"He's Uncle Moses."
"That's not an explanation."
"It's the only one you're getting."
Moses cleared his throat. "So. We have a new face with us today." He gestured toward Nash. "Transfer student. Come on up, introduce yourself."
"Ooh," Cyro said. "Your turn."
Nash stood. Walked to the front. Twenty-nine pairs of eyes followed him.
Moses stepped aside, but not before giving Nash's shoulder a quick squeeze. Warm. Solid. You're okay.
Nash turned to face the class.
They stared.
He stared back.
"...I'm Nash." His voice came out flat. Neutral. "From Redwood Academy."
Silence.
"Say more," Cyro whispered.
"I'm... easygoing?"
It came out like a question.
Someone snorted. Not mean — just surprised. A few people smiled. Nash felt his face warm slightly.
"Smooth," Cyro said. "Very smooth."
Moses rescued him with a laugh — warm and genuine, the kind that made everyone relax. "Easygoing, huh? We'll see about that. Welcome to 2C, Nash. Take a seat."
Nash nodded. Walked back to his desk. Sat down.
"That wasn't so bad."
"You said that last time."
"And I was right last time."
"You were not."
"Details."
Nash looked out the window. The lake was still there. The seagulls were still fighting. Nothing had changed.
But something felt... different. Lighter, maybe. Or maybe he was just imagining things.
"Focus," Cyro said.
"I am."
"You're staring at birds."
"They're fighting. It's dramatic."
"...Fair."
Nash smiled. Just a little. Just for a second.
First day. So far? Not terrible.