Unholy Heart
Kasuz Academy.
An institute of hope, grace, and power, meant to bring out the best in everyone. The university brimmed with extraordinary students—sorcerers, warlocks, witches, and more. But beneath the marble floors and glittering banners, tension lingered. Rivalries ran deep, competitions flared, and rumours spread like wildfire. The war had taken its toll on everyone. It’s been two months since the fighting stopped, but the shadows of battle still stretched across the island, echoing through every corridor. Among other things.
“Exactly, Mr. Voss!”
The teacher clapped his hands once, a sharp sound that echoed off the walls of study hall four. “Perfectly explained. Remind me not to test you again if I want to keep my dignity.” A few scattered laughs rose from the class, though most students just stared at Zane like he’d solved some impossible riddle—which, technically, he had.
Zane didn’t even lift his head. He just scratched something onto his paper with a dry tone in his voice. “I’m surprised you even did in the first place.”
Professor Helden grinned. He was in his late fifties, grey streaks lining his otherwise dark hair, and always wore mismatched socks under his robes, for “balance,” as he liked to call it. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Moving on!”
The classroom shifted back into motion—pens scribbling, books turning, a few enchanted quills floating lazily in the air. From the side, faint sunlight streamed through tall windows. It was cozy. Almost peaceful.
Almost.
The bell chimed with a soft, harmonic note—subtle, but clear. Students began packing up, chairs scraping and murmurs rising.
“Mr. Voss,” Professor Helden called as Zane slung his bag over one shoulder, “a moment, if you would?” Zane paused, then gave a polite nod. He waited until the last of the students left. The door clicked shut behind a pair of girls still giggling about something that definitely wasn’t lecture-related.
Professor Helden stood by his desk, adjusting a stack of floating papers with a wave of his hand. When he looked up, his usual playful energy had softened into something quieter. Kind. “I wanted to check in,” he said. “You’ve been doing remarkably well in class. Better than well, honestly.” A chuckle rumbled in his throat. “But I imagine this place isn’t always… easy.”
Zane raised a brow. “Because I’m only human?”
Helden smiled, a little sheepishly. “You’re not the only one, of course. But I do remember what it was like to be the odd one out—and surrounded by all this power, all these bloodlines, and constantly being told to catch up, it can’t be easy.”
Zane gave a small shrug. “I like puzzles. Spells are just algorithms. Once you understand how they’re built, even I could learn to cast.”
“And,” the professor said, crossing his arms lightly, “considering most students don’t pass my tests with a perfect score, let alone in half the time, I have no doubts you will. Still, maybe making some friends might help.”
Zane didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He simply brought up his hand to faintly scratch the crescent scar on his temple. Helden studied him for a second longer, then gave a quiet chuckle. “You don’t have to talk about it, of course. Just know: It’s okay to be different. Power takes many forms, Mr. Voss. And from what I’ve seen, you’ve already found yours. Up there.” He pointed at the boy’s head, where his oak brown hair was slicked back formally. Zane’s gaze flicked to the side briefly. “Thanks, Professor.”
Helden nodded. “Go on, then, try and get some breakfast. Maybe the cafeteria hasn’t run out of edible food yet.” Zane gave the faintest hint of a smirk. “That’s optimistic.”
The cafeteria at Kasuz Academy was loud as usual. Clattering trays, bursts of laughter, the occasional floating pastry someone had accidentally overcharged—literally. Zane slipped through the noise like a shadow, tray in hand, navigating past crowded tables until he reached the far corner. One table. Empty. Tucked against the window. He sat down without ceremony, placed his tray quietly, and took out a small notebook from his coat pocket while chewing on a salty french-fry.
“Still haven’t learned a spell, Voss?” Zane didn’t look up. He recognized the voice—Arden Virell, third-year pyromancer with more confidence than common sense. Arden strolled over, then gestured at the notebook. “You always sit in this same spot, scribbling in that creepy little book. Makes people wonder if you’re planning to summon a demon or something—like that devil’s kid from your class.”
Zane calmly turned a page. “Only one worth summoning would be someone who knows when to shut up.”
“Ouch,” Arden muttered amused. But before he could fire back, someone slid into the seat across from Zane—calm and deliberate.
Melanie.
His head turned.
She didn’t say a word as she sat down, one leg crossed over the other. Her eyes scanned the room like she owned it or didn’t care who did. Either one worked. Most people avoided her. Half because of her kind’s reputation since the war, and half because she didn’t seem to care whether they did or not. She wasn’t loud or flashy. Simply present, watching sharply, but with a confidence that was either fused into her bones or rehearsed really well. She didn’t look at Arden. He shifted his stance, clearly debating whether to push or just leave. Melanie didn’t glance up, but her presence alone was enough. After a long pause, Arden scoffed and turned away. “Whatever. Enjoy your freak club.”
Once he was gone, silence settled between them again. Zane looked at her. “Seeking silence as always?” he muttered. She sat there with him every day. Most likely because it was the quietest corner one could get. And she always wore the same outfit—a fitted, high-neck black top with the subtle boning beneath the fabric around her waist, tight enough to keep her posture straight but not enough to be showy.
Practical.
Guarded.
“You know by now,” she said. “He was loud. I don’t like loud.” Her voice was low and cool. Detached. Like every word was filtered through three layers of control. Zane’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying her. But he didn’t push. They simply stayed quiet for the rest of the breakfast break. No talking. No shifting. Not even looking at each other once. Just like they did every day.
Second period passed in slow rhythms—soft chalk strokes across the board, the occasional flick of enchanted quills writing on their own. Professor Helden had returned to his usual pace, animated but thoughtful, guiding them through a lesson on history and post-war infrastructure.
But the mood shifted when a boy from the second row raised his hand. “Professor?” he asked. “Do you think any druids survived the war?”
The question was innocent. The silence that followed wasn't. Around the room, a few students exchanged looks. A couple glanced toward the left side of the classroom. Toward Melanie.
She didn’t flinch. Her posture stayed perfect, but her gaze dropped to the floor, and something in her expression dipped. Just for a moment. Like a weight she’d managed to drown out was suddenly resurfacing.
Professor Helden hesitated before answering. “I think it’s safe to assume some are still alive,” he said gently. “But after what happened… I doubt many are eager to be found.”
Another hand went up. This time from a girl seated near the edge. “Professor?” she said carefully. “Did you know any druids personally?” There was no mockery in her voice, just hesitant curiosity. A few students perked up. Others sank slightly in their seats.
Helden nodded once. “I did,” he said. “A few, actually. One used his abilities to help in medicine, who I met during my time in Olira. Kind soul. Always smelled like cedar bark and mint. Another was a student, briefly. Brilliant and unpredictable. He never liked rules. Among a few more.” A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. “They all died. Killed by vampires during the war.”
Melanie still hadn’t moved. Zane’s eyes flicked toward her. She was staring at her desk now—lips pressed into a fine line. A boy in the centre row leaned forward. “Do you think the druids were wrong to fight back?”
That one sent a ripple through the room. No longer innocent. Helden exhaled through his nose, then folded his hands behind his back. “I think wars make everyone wrong, eventually.”
The boy shrugged. “But the vampires started it, didn’t they? Druids just defended themselv—”
“Enough,” Helden said calmly, but with clear authority. “This is a classroom, not a tribunal.” He glanced at Melanie, who peeked up at him, almost gratefully. Even so, the energy had changed. The air felt heavier. A few more glances cut sideways toward her. A student in the far corner whispered something to another, too low to catch, and both chuckled under their breath.
Melanie didn’t react.
She sat perfectly still, her hand clenched around her quill, jaw tight. One finger tapped the edge of her parchment—anxious, mechanical. Zane watched her with silent concern at her obvious guilt, then looked back at the professor, who’d resumed writing on the board. But the lesson was already lost. Nobody was listening anymore. Not really. They were all waiting to see if she would break.
She didn’t.
Then, from the back row, Zane’s voice joined in, low and even. “Is it really fair to just assume all vampires are evil?” he asked. “Or that trust just doesn’t apply to them?” Heads turned. Zane hadn’t spoken all class. Not once. Even Professor Helden seemed briefly surprised. “That depends on how you define trust, Mr. Voss.”
Zane leaned back in his chair, eyes steady. “As in living next to someone without waiting for them to become a threat.” A few students shifted in their seats. No one looked at Melanie this time.
Professor Helden gave a small nod. “Then yes. I believe trust can return, even if slowly. But only if we’re willing to stop treating them like enemies—and, as you said, stop assuming.” Zane nodded once and said nothing more. From across the room, Melanie glanced at him over her shoulder. Just for a second, their eyes met before he gave her a knowing nod.
The sun hung high by the time the courtyard emptied for lunch break, leaving only shadows stretched long across the stone. Melanie sat at the edge of it—on a worn bench tucked beneath a crooked tree, a cup of cold tea resting beside her on a slate.
She wasn’t staring at anything in particular. Just… sitting. Still. Quiet.
Zane spotted her on his way out of the west wing. He hesitated mid-stride, then shifted course. His footsteps were light but deliberate as he crossed the courtyard, gravel crunching softly under his boots. Melanie didn’t look up. “You alright?” he asked at last, voice calm, measured.
Her reply came flat. “Do I look like I’m not?” His gaze flicked to the untouched tea at her side, then back to her. “A little.”
She exhaled sharply through her nose. Her eyes remained low. “If you came to tell me I deserve it, save your breath. I’ve heard worse. No five minutes ago.”
Zane blinked, caught off guard. “I actually haven’t said anything against you at all.”
That made her glance up, barely.
He eased himself down on the far end of the bench, leaving space between them. The silence stretched thin until he broke it, quieter this time. “For the record… I knew people who met your father. People who’d been to your—”
Her posture stiffened instantly.
“—his kingdom,” he finished, lowering his voice.
She turned her head slightly, her eyes widening at the direction of his words, suspicion and a flicker of fear written in the movement.
“Look,” he continued, “I think you know well enough that the war was nothing more than a dispute. Not good versus evil. But hunter and prey… just that nobody stopped to ask which was which.”
A breeze drifted through, stirring the leaves overhead. The quiet rustle filled the pause. Melanie stared ahead again, her jaw unclenching just slightly. She reached for her tea. Didn’t drink it. “I do know that,” she muttered. Then, softer, she glanced at his side profile. “How do you?”
He chuckled under his breath. “Like I said… I knew people.” She nodded faintly, her eyes dropping back to the grass. “I don’t care if you believe me,” he said, “but I can tell you’re nothing like your father. And I don’t think you’re an enemy.”
Melanie stayed quiet. Zane leaned back slightly, eyes lifting to the sky. Clouds hung low, painted with the last fading streaks of gold.
“You always talk like that?” she asked quietly. “Like you’re quoting a book no one else read?”
Zane smirked, ever so slightly. “Only when someone needs it.”
Melanie didn’t reply. But the tension in her shoulders loosened.
Zane stood after a moment, brushing off his shirt.
“I’ll leave you to your tea,” he said quietly. She didn’t thank him. Didn’t stop him, either. Just followed him with her gaze.
The rest of lunch break passed quickly. In the dimly lit backyard, warriors refined their fighting styles, their blades flashing sparks as they collide. Inside the lecture halls, sorcerers debated the dangers of elemental fusion, their hands glowing faintly with restrained magic, spoken spells echoing among the rooms.
But not everyone had classes in the after-lunch period. Zane was one of them. In the farthest corner of the library, hunched over a pile of books, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He was alone, hoping no one would find him there. Only that being alone wasn’t always a good thing. Even with the open book in front of him, his mind drifted off. Screams still echoed in his mind—warriors falling, their bodies broken, their cries swallowed by flames. He could still see the look in his parents' eyes before they broke down.
Too late to save them. Never too late to remember.
“Hello?”
His chest ached at the memory. His hair, usually neat, felt wild as his thoughts tangled with rage. The air around him felt cold as his regrets crawled down his spine.
“Hellooo?” A feminine voice broke through his thoughts, followed by a hand waving in front of his face.
Zane blinked, forcing the memories back down. Another second passed before he finally looked up, meeting Melanie’s questioning gaze. “You alright? You’ve been staring into nothing for minutes now,” she continued with a soft chuckle, her violet eyes piercing through his glasses. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just… hooked on the story, I guess.” Zane chuckled, hoping to mask his dishonesty. Her expression shifted as she glanced at his book, then back at him. Only then did he realize his own dumb mistake.
‘Martial Arts.’
Right. So much for that excuse.
He let out a short laugh at his own stupidity, earning a sighing chuckle from his classmate. A soft “Sorry” escaped his lips, met with an understanding shake of her head. “For someone as smart as you, that was really stupid,” she teased.
Without the weight of dozens of eyes on her, Melanie looked almost like a different person. Around other people, Melanie was cold. But now she was merely guarded. She grinned, barely holding back her laughter, as was he. After a short pause, a curious sparkle lit up in her eyes. “I know we’ve spent some time together already, and not to sound like the bullies around here, but I have to ask: Why would someone as smart as you pick the most dangerous school on the island? There’s a lot of other schools all over Sekari focused on magical theory and normal nerdy stuff. Wouldn’t you be better off there?”
Zane’s lips curled into a slight, almost deceiving smile. His voice was low, but soft when he answered, “I guess… I just wanted to be at a place where I could learn how to protect myself. You’ve seen how things are out there. Smarts don’t always cut it."
She chuckled softly, already having expected an answer like this. “That makes sense, I guess. Well, if ever you need some help with that, books don’t always cut it either. Even I could probably teach you better than a book.” She smiled, but there was something knowing in it.
He exhaled, tilting his head slightly as if considering her words. “But… you’re a vampire. Why do you need martial arts?” he replied, just a little slyly. Her eyes darted up, vanishing in thought for a moment before she let out a thoughtful chuckle. “First off, I’m a half-vampire, my mother’s a sorcerer. Meaning the sun doesn’t hurt me, and I can do a lot more than most vampires. Still, she taught me a few things, just in case,” she answered with a cheeky smile.
Zane nodded in understanding. He looked up at her, blinking as he gave a soft, grateful nod. She stood up from his desk she’d been sitting on and made her way toward the exit with a thick book tucked under her arm.
Almost out of hearing distance, she turned. “Oh, and by the way: I've been watching you a lot,” she said, looking at him with a smirk. “That big brain of yours? Impressive. But I’m not buying it. You’re smart. And no one that sharp stays this quiet without a reason. I see the mask, Zane.”
He looked up slowly, locking eyes with her. “Well, you’re one to talk, aren’t ya?” he shot back, his tone sharpening as he met the violet in her stare. The edge in his voice wasn't anger, but something colder. “I know a fake smile when I see one. You always act all dark and distant like nothing gets to you, but I see through it.” He leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly. “You think I didn’t see how much earlier actually got to you? You can be sensitive. I’d even bet you’re sensitive most of the time. Because that fake confidence you’re putting on isn’t fooling me. I’m not the only one wearing a mask.”
Something flickered in her expression—a pause, then a smile that didn’t feel rehearsed.
Surprised? Maybe. Intrigued? Definitely.
“Well then,” she said with a soft hum, a genuine lilt in her voice, “why don’t we stop pretending all together?” Her smile softened after asking, careful and almost warm—an offer.
Zane exhaled and looked down at the book, fingers tightening slightly on the page. “I don’t just let anyone in,” he muttered, dismissive now, more reflex than resistance. “Good,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Means you're careful. That’s rare. And it was exactly the answer I hoped for anyway.” With that, she disappeared through the doorway. Zane blinked, then shook his head with a soft, incredulous huff as he stared back down at the page, reading nothing.
Time passed, midway through the next class. The classroom was steeped in faint golden light as Professor Helden tapped the hovering chalk gently, letting it sketch a map of Sekari in shimmering white lines. “As we covered, Kasuz Academy remained neutral and standing upright during most of the war, but dozens of innocent villages like Anira and Jersh suffered heavy damage, especially in the early years. Reconstruction is ongoing, particularly where—”
“Professor?” a student near the back interrupted. “What’s your opinion on what started the war? I know everyone heard different things, I’m just curious what you think.” The question hung in the air, heavier than expected. Helden adjusted his glasses. “As you already pointed out, it depends on whom you ask,” he said with a vague smile. “I wasn’t directly involved either, so I’ve also heard different versions, like everyone. But I guess just proof of domination. Predatory attacks. The usual stuff for these disputes.”
Zane’s fingers drummed softly on his desk. Then, almost reluctantly, he looked up from his book. “But that wasn’t the kick-off, right?” he asked quietly. A few heads turned toward him. Melanie shifted slightly in her seat, surprised. “Druids and vampires have been circling each other for years,” he continued. “That part’s no secret. But wasn’t there an incident far south? When a vampire prince was killed. Druids got blamed for it. Only two years later did they find out it wasn’t a druid, just a servant. But by then the war had already gone too far. Vampires didn’t want to stop. Druids couldn’t, even if they tried.”
Professor Helden didn’t interrupt.
“S-so I’ve heard,” Zane added stuttering. The teacher just stared at the desk for a moment, thoughtful.
“That’s… nothing I heard before,” a girl in the front whispered.
Zane looked back down at his notebook, pretending to read something. “It wouldn’t.”
Melanie’s eyes lingered on him this time, just for a second.
She knew that story.
But how did he?
Later that afternoon, Zane had taken a walk through the last hour-break of the day. He was on his way back. Only one more upcoming class was left before the day would come to an end. He wandered past the western training yard, drawn by the rhythmic thuds of fists hitting flesh and wooden swords cracking against armour. Dozens of students trained in pairs, overseen by older mentors. Most of them shouted or barked instructions.
But one corner stood out in sharp contrast—silent and fast. Two girls moved in perfect sync. The slightly taller one wore deep black, her movements razor-sharp. Her hair was tied back tightly, effectively, and her eyes never left her opponent. She weaved through strikes like liquid shadow.
Her opponent, slightly smaller, shared the same sharp jawline and piercing features. Her strikes were heavier, more aggressive. But slower. Zane stopped at the edge of the fencing rails, folding his arms loosely. For a few moments, he simply watched. The tall one ducked, twisted, disappeared in a blur—and reappeared behind the other, wooden blade poised at her neck. But instead of delivering a fake killing blow, she stepped back.
Respect.
The shorter girl shot the other one a look of surprise. “Are you getting even faster?”
“No, sis,” the other one replied coolly, “you just aren’t.” The two circled again. Zane couldn't help but be impressed. That level of precision wasn’t common. Then, a voice called from across the field. “Alright, swap partners!” The taller girl walked off without looking back. The other one stretched, turning slightly, and caught Zane watching. Her eyes narrowed briefly. Zane was just staring, gaining a soft, almost cocky chuckle that was more visible than audible before she turned to leave.
Leaving the training yard behind, Zane crossed the open courtyard. In the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of someone familiar. Cynthia, or “Sin,” as friends and family called her. She sat on the edge of a dry fountain, legs crossed, hunched over a small gear with wires balanced on her lap. Her dark blonde hair was tied back behind her pointy ears in a rushed bun, and her sleeves were rolled high, exposing a few ink smudges and a small burn on her forearm.
She looked up just as he was about to walk past. “Hey, Zane?” she asked with a hint of shyness. He paused, a little wary. “Yeah?”
“I need your help,” she said unsurely. “Think you can help me figure out why this stupid thing still isn’t working?” Zane tilted his head slightly. Cynthia was a year higher than he was, but close with someone in his class, Kallen. Sometimes, both Kallen and Cynthia would sit with Zane and Melanie during lunch.
“Depends on what it’s supposed to do.”
“It’s a signal flare,” she said, holding it up. “Activates when you throw it. At least, it’s supposed to. But now it just sort of… fizzles. It was working until—” she paused, frowning. “Well, my brother broke it.”
Zane stepped closer. “Mind if I take a look?” She handed it over without hesitation. Zane turned the device in his hands, inspecting the small frame.
“Be my guest. If it explodes, you’re holding it now.”
He smirked faintly. His eyes scanned the components, fingertips slithering past exposed wiring. After a few seconds, he plucked out a small piece and tilted it toward her. “Your contact pin’s bent. When you close the casing, it’s not actually connecting the battery to the actuator.”
Cynthia blinked. “Seriously? That’s it? I really am going blind, maybe I do need new glasses.” He nodded once. “I can bend it back. You got a flathead?” She reached into her belt pouch, handed him a multitool. “Thanks for the assist.”
Zane worked in silence, then clicked the casing shut. “Try it now.” She flicked it once. A soft click followed by a red spark at the tip. Her eyes lit up. “Okay, damn.” He handed it back, about to step away when her voice stopped him. “Thank you,” she said, turning the gadget in her hands with a lopsided grin. “Glad to have someone normal who doesn’t go all know-it-all on me.”
Zane blinked, his gaze unreadable. Before he could say anything, someone called from across the courtyard, “Nerds at work! Trying to build another robot?”
Cynthia didn’t miss a beat. “Eat my gears, Marek.”
Zane gave a faint shake of his head, lips twitching at the comment, then turned toward the academy steps. “See you around, gearhead,” he muttered, already walking.
He stepped into the study hall for the next class a few minutes before the bell would ring. This room had a more casual layout. Small tables with a single chair each. A handful of students were already there, scattered across the room in their usual spots—some chatting, some scribbling notes, a few half-asleep already. Zane moved toward a seat right by the window.
Minutes later, class had already started. Zane was simply staring out the open window, lost in thought. His gaze drifted over the big clearing behind the building, where animals ran freely. Playing, hunting, surviving. He let out a quiet sigh. His lips curled into a faint smile. Even with the chaos around them, the creatures carried on undisturbed. In moments like these, his love for nature wasn’t just comforting, it was everything.
Not a minute passed before a crow suddenly flew toward the window, flapping its wings excitedly just inches from his face. Zane lifted his left hand, letting the bird draw closer until it landed gently, clinging to his arm. His smile deepened as he carefully stroked its feathers, running his fingers along its sleek side. But at the edge of his vision, he caught a glimpse of something else within the room: A pair of violet eyes watching him, sharp and unreadable.
Suddenly, the crow stiffened on his arm, its feathers ruffling as if sensing something unseen. Zane’s smile faded.
The air changed—thicker, heavier, pressing down on his skin like a silent warning. The distant hum of students chatting seemed quieter, swallowed by an unnatural stillness.
A shadow passed overhead, dimming the peace around the academy.
Zane blinked, glancing up outside just in time to see the clouds twisting unnaturally, curling inward like a vortex forming above the academy. The once-playful breeze outside shifted, turning sharp and biting, rattling the windowpanes. Even the animals in the clearing had gone still—ears perked, muscles tensed, as if waiting for something to strike.
The crow let out a single sharp caw before taking off in a frantic burst of wings. Zane’s gaze followed it, unease creeping into his gut.
Something was coming.