A KISS OF DARKNESS

The morning sky over Astraea University was still gray as Elara hurried toward her lecture hall. The autumn wind rustled the dry leaves along the sidewalk, while other students walked briskly, just as rushed as she was. Today marked the first session of Philosophy and History.

The classroom was already packed when Elara stepped inside. She quickly took a seat in the middle row, trying to steady her slightly labored breathing—she had almost been late.

"No one is allowed to be late."

That sentence echoed in her mind, spoken in a calm yet chilling tone by the man who would be teaching them—Lucien.

As the classroom door closed, the atmosphere shifted instantly.

Lucien entered.

Silence.

It was as if all the air in the room had been sucked away by his presence.

He was tall, with a strong, upright posture, dressed in his usual impeccably neat all-black attire. His dark hair was perfectly combed, though a few stray strands fell over his forehead, adding an untamed edge to his otherwise refined appearance. But the most striking thing about him was his eyes—piercing golden eyes that seemed to cut through anyone who dared to meet them for too long.

Elara swallowed hard.

How could a professor have such an intense presence?

"Good morning."

Lucien’s voice was deep and smooth, yet there was something beneath it that sent a shiver down the spine. "I hope you’ve all read the material I assigned. Philosophy is not just about thinking—it’s about understanding."

Not a single student spoke.

No one even dared to whisper.

Lucien walked slowly across the front of the class, his gaze sweeping over the students as if evaluating who among them was worthy of speaking.

"We’ll start with a simple question," he said. "What separates truth from illusion?"

Silence.

Elara could feel everyone holding their breath, hoping they wouldn’t be called on.

"Who can answer?"

No one moved.

A student in the front row buried his head in his notes, pretending to be busy. Others averted their gazes, as if avoiding eye contact could somehow make them invisible to Lucien.

Elara bit her lip. Why was everyone so afraid?

Lucien’s sharp eyes scanned the room, searching for someone brave enough to challenge his mind. Then, his gaze landed on her.

Her heart stopped.

"Elara."

His voice was gentle, but there was weight behind it. A subtle threat, or perhaps a test.

All eyes in the room turned to her.

Elara tried to stay composed, though her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She lifted her chin and met Lucien’s gaze—only to realize that was a terrible mistake.

His eyes were piercing, as if he wasn’t just looking at her but straight into her thoughts.

She swallowed hard. Then, in a voice that wasn’t entirely steady, she answered, "Illusion is a truth that has been misinterpreted… or perhaps, a truth that has been deliberately concealed."

Silence.

Lucien didn’t respond right away. He simply watched her, his eyes studying her as if searching for something hidden.

Then, he gave the faintest smile—barely noticeable, but enough to make something inside Elara stir.

"Interesting," he finally said. "But the real question is… who is concealing that truth?"

There was something layered in his words, something that felt like more than just philosophy.

Something bigger. Something darker.

And in that moment, Elar

a knew one thing for certain—Lucien was no ordinary professor.

Not at all.

The heavy rain poured over Astraea University, forming puddles along the stone pathways.

Elara pulled her thick coat tighter around her body, quickening her pace across the empty courtyard. The night was deep, and only the distant rumble of thunder accompanied her walk back from the library.

But amidst the rainfall, she heard something.

The sharp clang of metal. A low growl. Then, the dull thud of something heavy hitting the ground.

Her heartbeat quickened.

Her eyes scanned the narrow alleyway between the university’s old buildings, and that’s when she saw him—Lucien.

He stood in the darkness, his posture rigid, golden eyes gleaming like fire.

And in front of him were three figures that looked… wrong. Their skin was unnaturally pale, their eyes glowed red—like starving beasts.

Elara held her breath.

No. That couldn’t be real. It had to be a trick of the light.

But then, one of them lunged.

And Lucien moved—faster than any human should be able to.

In a flash, he sidestepped the attack and slashed across the creature’s chest with something silver in his hand—a dagger.

Elara took a step back, her shoe slipping on the wet asphalt.

Damn it.

She stumbled against a trash can, sending it crashing to the ground with a loud clang that echoed through the silent alleyway.

Lucien turned.

Their eyes met.

His usually composed expression hardened—shifting into something sharp. Shock. And… anger?

“Elara?”

The remaining creatures turned as well.

They smelled something.

And when their glowing red eyes locked onto her, Elara realized her mistake.

She had just drawn the attention of something that should have never known she existed.

And before she could run, everything dissolved into a thick, swirling mist that wrapped around her.

She gasped.

The fog was dense, cold—like invisible fingers trailing along her skin. Her breath came in short, panicked bursts as the three figures drew closer, their crimson eyes glowing with hunger.

Run.

That was what she needed to do. But her legs felt heavy, as if the ground beneath her had turned to thick, sinking mud.

One of the creatures inhaled deeply, a twisted grin forming on its lips.

“Her blood…” Its voice was hoarse, almost like a hiss. “So sweet.”

Elara froze.

And in a blink, it lunged toward her—too fast for her to react.

“Don’t touch her.”

Lucien’s voice cut through the night, followed by the sharp whistle of something slicing through the air.

Crack!

The creature staggered back.

Lucien’s silver dagger was now lodged in its shoulder, black smoke rising from the wound.

It growled, but before it could retaliate, Lucien was already behind it—moving faster than any human Elara had ever seen.

In one swift, lethal motion, he yanked out the blade and slashed across its throat.

A sharp, strangled cry rang out.

The creature’s body hit the ground—then, within seconds, turned to ash.

Elara’s stomach churned at the sight.

But she didn’t have time to process it.

The second figure was already coming for her.

Ice crawled through her veins as it reached out, its long, black claws mere inches from her face—

And suddenly, she couldn’t move.

Not just her.

The creature, too.

Its face twisted in shock, its body frozen mid-attack.

Elara’s eyes darted to Lucien.

He was staring at the creature, his golden gaze glowing like molten fire.

That’s when she understood.

Lucien was the one holding it in place.

"I warned you," Lucien murmured.

In a movement almost too fast to see, he stepped forward and pressed a single fingertip to the creature’s forehead.

Its body shuddered violently—then crumbled into dust.

Elara’s eyes widened.

What the hell just happened?

But before she could think, the last figure—the one that seemed to be their leader—started backing away.

It was paler than the others. And this time, its expression wasn’t hunger.

It was fear.

Lucien stared it down, his golden eyes still burning.

"Tell them…" His voice was cold, every word laced with warning. "Stay away from her."

The creature didn’t wait.

With a single, swift movement, it vanished into the shadows.

Elara collapsed to her knees, gasping for breath.

Her hands trembled as she looked up at Lucien.

For the first time, she wasn’t seeing the quiet, mysterious professor who taught philosophy.

Lucien was something else.

Something far more dangerous.

"You…" Her voice barely came out, her mind drowning in questions.

Lucien’s expression remained unreadable. He stepped closer, his black coat billowing in the wind.

“Elara,” he said softly. But there was something in his tone that sent a shiver down her spine.

“You weren’t supposed to see this.”

“But I did.” Elara’s voice was shaky but firm. “I

saw everything. You… you’re not human.”

Lucien exhaled, long and slow—like someone who had finally reached the point of no return.

“…You’re right.”