Chapter 153: What’s Happening to Me? [4]
In his dormitory room, Alaric was sleeping peacefully.
But then suddenly...
His eyes snapped open.
His chest heaved, pulling in air like he’d been drowning.
Sweat dampened his hair, stuck his shirt to his skin.
He sat up fast, the room spinning slightly around him. His hands clutched at his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. The pressure there felt wrong. Like something was pressing down from the inside.
Oliver’s bed across the room was empty.
Alaric swung his legs off the bed and stood. His vision wavered, the edges of the room blurring and refocusing. For a moment he saw—
"Something else. Somewhere else. Stone walls. Torchlight. Figures in chairs. Some in armor. And—"
He blinked hard and the image vanished.
His legs carried him to the window. He grabbed the frame and shoved it open. Cold air rushed in, hitting his face and chest. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the sill, and sucked in deep breaths.
His vision swam again. Not the same hallucination, just normal dizziness from standing too fast, breathing too hard. He closed his eyes, focused on the feeling of cold air filling his lungs.
What the hell is happening to me?
It wasn’t a panic attack.
He’d seen those before... watched soldiers break down after battles, seen courtiers crumble under political pressure.
This felt different. Physical, yes, but also... something else. Like a warning his body was trying to give him about something his mind couldn’t see.
The system was still offline.
His breathing had steadied now, the tightness in his chest fading to a dull ache.
Alaric straightened slowly, testing his balance. The dizziness was gone.
He moved to the washbasin and splashed cold water on his face.
Stared at his reflection in the small mirror hanging on the wall.
Same face. Black hair, crimson eyes, the changes from his awakening. Nothing unusual there.
But something felt wrong.
Not sick. Not injured. Just... wrong.
He dried his face with a towel and forced his breathing to stay even and controlled.
The window was still open, letting in the night air. He turned toward it, intending to close it before returning to bed.
The moon hung full and bright in the sky, its light flooding through the window.
His eyes met it for just a second.
And.
The dizziness slammed back into him again.
The room tilted.
His vision blurred at the edges.
Alaric staggered back from the window, one hand shooting out to grip the bed frame for balance. His other hand pressed against his chest again where that pressure had returned, heavier now, like something was trying to push its way out from under his ribs.
No. Don’t look at it.
He dragged his gaze away from the window, focusing instead on the floor, the wall, anything but that bright silver light.
His legs barely carried him the few steps to his bed. He collapsed onto it, his body suddenly feeling too heavy. Sweat broke out across his forehead despite the cold air still pouring in from the open window.
His breathing came hard again, each inhale taking effort. Heat spread through his chest, radiating outward until his whole body felt like it was burning from the inside.
Just need to rest. Need the body to calm down.
He tried to slow his breathing, tried to force his muscles to relax, but his heart kept hammering and the heat kept building.
Alaric turned his face away from it, pressing into the pillow. Squeezed his eyes shut.
His body trembled, small shakes at first, then harder tremors that made the bed frame creak beneath him. The heat peaked, burning through his veins like liquid fire, then suddenly started to fade.
Slowly. Gradually. Taking the tremors with it.
His breathing evened out. The pressure in his chest lessened. The dizziness receded.
Exhaustion crashed over him like a wave.
Then sleep took him.
***********
A girl in a maid’s dress moved through the empty hallways of the manor, a wicker basket balanced against her hip.
Her footsteps made no sound on the polished stone floor. Even her breathing came shallow and quiet, barely disturbing the stillness. Some habits were too deeply ingrained to break, no matter how much time she spent pretending to be a simple servant.
It had been months since she’d arrived at the Glimor estate and taken on the role of a housemaid.
At first, the other servants had made their displeasure clear, whispered insults when they thought she couldn’t hear, "accidentally" spilling things near her workspace, leaving her the worst assignments.
Eventually, they’d stopped. Not because they accepted her, but because they learned she didn’t react. Didn’t cry, didn’t complain, didn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing their barbs had landed. The insults became fewer, the sabotage ceased, and an uneasy truce settled over the household.
Though it didn’t mean she was welcomed. The other maids still kept their distance, still went quiet when she entered a room. But she didn’t care. She hadn’t come here for friendship.
She turned the corner leading to the guest wing, the basket shifting slightly against her hip. Linens that needed replacing, the late-night task given to her because no one else wanted to work these hours.
At the end of the corridor, a window stood open. Silver moonlight poured through it, painting the floor and walls in pale luminescence.
Nyra’s grip on the basket handle tightened for a moment, then deliberately loosened.
She set the basket down against the wall, then walked toward the window with slow, measured steps.
The moonlight grew brighter as she approached, until it washed over her completely, illuminating her pale skin, her sharp cheekbones, and her deep midnight-blue hair shimmered with the silver undertones.
She stopped directly in the window’s frame and tilted her face upward toward the moon.
Her eyes closed.
She drew in a deep breath through her nose, held it for a long moment, then released it slowly through parted lips.
When her eyes opened again, they had changed.The violet irises had narrowed to thin slits, pupils contracting to pinpoints. Then they began to glow—not brightly, but with an unnatural luminescence.
Something stirred beneath her skin.
Nyra’s jaw clenched. She closed her eyes again, harder this time, and forcibly willed herself to calm.
She drew another breath, this one deeper and more deliberate.
And counted to ten in a language she hadn’t spoken aloud in months.
The glow slowly faded and the unnatural sharpness of her pupils softened back to something almost human.
Her breathing evened out.
She opened her eyes agajn and turned her gaze from the moon to the grounds beyond the window.
The estate stretched out in the darkness—manicured gardens, the distant outline of the outer wall, and beyond that, the wilderness.
"I hope you’re all alright," she whispered above her breath.
She stood there for another moment, letting the moonlight wash over her, then turned away.
Picked up her basket. And continued down the corridor toward the guest wing.