Chapter 6: Mr. Zephyr
The morning sunlight streaming through the great windows of Blackwood Academy’s dining hall brought no warmth whatsoever. Its pale rays fell across the marble floor, revealing millions of dust motes drifting lazily through the air. The long dining table made of old oak was filled with senior students sitting in rigid silence. There was no clink of spoons, no youthful laughter; the only sounds were heavy breathing and the faint chime of porcelain touching porcelain, creating an atmosphere that squeezed the breath from one’s chest.
Iris stepped inside with light but steady strides, wearing the academy uniform, its close-fitting cut molding perfectly to her body. Inside her coat pocket, the old copper pocket watch continued ticking backward, radiating a faint yet constant pulse of heat, as though it were directly connected to her own heartbeat.
She chose a seat at the end of the table, directly across from a dark-haired senior student whose eyes held countless grim secrets. Without wasting a moment, Iris leaned forward, breaking the silence at the table with a sharp whisper.
“I want to ask you something,” Iris said, her eyes probing sharply into the senior student’s pupils. “Who does the scent of sandalwood and cold tobacco in this academy belong to? And... whose hands does this antique pocket watch usually rest in?”
The male senior student flinched, nearly spilling the teacup in his hand. He looked up at Iris, his expression a mixture of terror and a dark, warning desire. Without warning, he shot his hand across the table and seized Iris by the shoulder so forcefully that his nails pierced the fabric of her uniform, squeezing the delicate skin until Iris hissed softly from the sharp pain.
“You’ve lost your mind, Francesca,” the senior student whispered, his voice trembling violently with terror. “How do you know that scent? And where did you get that damned thing?!”
Iris blinked, holding back the pain in her shoulder, but her eyes blazed with defiance. “Answer my question. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
The senior student leaned closer, his breath coming fast with fear. “That’s Mr. Zephyr’s scent. The founder, overseer, and absolute ruler of this place. And listen carefully to my warning, you stupid girl... never say his name after dusk unless you deliberately want to beg him to come crawling in and collect your soul from your very own bed.”
“Mr. Zephyr...” Iris murmured, tasting the name—sweet and poisonous—on her tongue. “So he’s real...”
“He’s more than real,” the senior student cut in, his voice hoarse with desperation. “He is a living curse.”
Before Iris could answer the provocation, the entire atmosphere inside the dining hall suddenly froze. The candles burning dimly on the table all darkened at once, leaving behind only twisting flames of violet-blue fire.
A heavy creak split the air. Every senior student around the table suddenly bowed their heads deeply, staring at their empty plates with bodies trembling in fear, as though a god of death were walking among them.
The great main doors of the dining hall slowly swung open. The old hinges groaned for a long moment, accompanying the entrance of a shadow that immediately dominated the entire room.
Mr. Zephyr stepped inside. The perfectly sculpted man wore a deep-black suit that fell flawlessly over his tall frame. His aura was so dense it radiated a deadly, icy authority and a dark allure capable of shattering the sanity of anyone who looked at him. Iris stood transfixed, her chest suddenly tight with a combination of terror and a surge of desire running wild through her blood.
Mr. Zephyr’s footsteps stopped at the end of the table. Without glancing at anyone else, his sharp, ice-blade gaze locked completely onto Iris Francesca. As though, among the dozens of students filling the room, Iris were the only living creature in his eyes.
Iris swallowed with difficulty, unable to tear her gaze from the man’s mesmerizing pupils.
Mr. Zephyr slowly lifted the corner of his mouth, forming a thin, crooked smile—cold, yet brimming with a burning desire to possess her. In the absolute silence of the dining hall, his right hand rose slowly, and his index finger tapped against the side of the pocket watch hanging from his suit pocket—a silent gesture affirming that the antique pocket watch that should have been in Iris’s grasp at that very moment was entirely under the control of the lord of darkness.