Chapter 42: Curfew of the Damned
{IRSI}
My brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Instead of answering, he simply nodded toward the window.
"It’s already dark."
My heart jumped. I turned—and froze.
The expansive windows that overlooked the academy grounds were pitch black, the moon hanging low and swollen like a bleeding wound in the sky.
Dark?
When did it become dark?
I swallowed, a sudden chill running down my spine. Where were the students I’d seen earlier? The bustling hallways? The noise?
Why was everything so quiet?
Had time moved so fast while I was reading and wasn’t paying attention?
"W-what’s... going on?" I whispered, my fingers tightening around the back of the nearest chair.
He finally looked back at me.
But he wasn’t the same.
His eyes glowed faintly, a soft predatory gleam beneath the laziness. His sharp features, once almost gentle, now carved themselves into something dangerous. His smile was slow... and wrong.
"We have rules here," he said softly. "No student should remain in the library past seven."
I took a shaky step back. "Why not?"
His gaze swept over me—unhurried, hungry, curious.
"Because after seven..." His voice lowered, almost affectionate.
"Creatures roam. Creatures far less polite than I."
The torches flickered, casting long shadows over his pale face.
"And women," he added with a tilt of his head, "are especially vulnerable to ... bad things."
My breath stilled.
He took a single step closer—silent, graceful, a shadow gliding across marble.
"But don’t worry," he murmured, eyes fixed on mine with unsettling intensity. "You are not alone."
That didn’t comfort me.
Not even a little.
"I’m here . . ."
I took a step back when he extended a pale hand toward me.
"I... I should go," I whispered, my throat tightening. "I remembered there is a curfew in the dorms."
I turned, ready to flee, but—
The exit was gone.
My breath hitched. I blinked hard, once, twice, but the towering rows of shelves only stretched endlessly, swallowing the doorway whole.
There was no entrance. No exit. Only books upon books, rising like walls of a labyrinth I had unknowingly stepped into.
"What...?" My voice trembled. "What’s going on?"
I forced myself to run—to somewhere, anywhere—but the farther I moved, the more the shelves shifted, rearranging themselves .
The air thickened. The wooden floors groaned.
"Why are you running?"
The voice drifted from behind me—soft, lazy, too calm.
I spun around—
But he wasn’t behind me.
He appeared instead at the end of the aisle, leaning against a shelf that hadn’t been there before. His pale hair shimmered faintly, glowing in the oppressive dark, his eyes gleaming an unnatural yellow-green as though catching moonlight where none existed.
And that was when I noticed—
Every lantern.
Every candle.
Every chandelier—
Snuffed out.
Darkness strangled the room, thick and absolute, except for the faint, cold glow radiating from him.
A ghost.
He looked like a ghost.
His head tilted slowly, unnaturally, to one side. His once-handsome features warped subtly in the shadow, his cheekbones sharpening, the edges of his form flickering as if he were half-real, half-nightmare.
"Are you a werewolf?" he murmured, voice smooth yet hollow. "Your eyes are glowing. Though... I don’t smell the wolf from you."
I couldn’t breathe.
I didn’t answer.
I just turned—
And ran.
I bolted down the nearest aisle, my breath tearing from my chest in panicked gasps, but the shelves kept shifting—sliding silently, impossibly, like giants moving bones through the dark.
Every corridor curved back into itself. Every turn led me deeper instead of out.
My pulse thundered in my throat.
No exit. No light. No help.
Only him.
A cold wind stirred through the library, though there were no windows open, no doors ajar. It swept over my skin. My steps grew frantic. My lungs screamed.
Then—
His whisper curled down my spine.
"You look adorable when you’re scared."
I spun around—
But he wasn’t there.
A book slid off a shelf behind me. Then another. Then ten more, falling like heavy rain. Pages flapped wildly, rustling like creatures crawling out of the dark.
The sound grew louder, filling the aisles with an overwhelming frenzy—chaotic, unnatural, like the whole library was awakening.
My knees buckled.
"No—no please—stop—"
A sharp crack echoed, and one of the ladders slammed down from above, landing inches from where I stood. I screamed, stumbling backward—my foot caught the edge of a fallen book, and I crashed onto the cold marble floor.
Cold fingers dragging across my shoulders. A hand brushing the back of my neck. Something whispering against my cheek.
I jerked away, choking on a sob, but the shadows followed, clinging like tar.
"I don’t like it when they don’t play with me..."
His voice drifted through the black, closer than before, yet nowhere at all.
"You were smiling earlier." His tone dropped to a chilling murmur. "I wanted to keep that little spark alive. But now look at you."
Something icy trailed beneath my chin, forcing my head up even though no one was there.
"Shaking."
Another cold glide across my cheek.
"Trembling."
His laugh—a soft, broken sigh—echoed above me.
"Crying."
Then—
Hands.
Shadows formed into hands. Dozens. No—hundreds. They reached from beneath the shelves, black and skeletal, grasping at my ankles, my wrists, my waist.
Clawing. Pulling. Cold as graves.
"NO—!" I screamed, kicking wildly.
But every time I freed one limb, another shadow latched on. Their fingers were like ice seeping into my bones. I clawed at the ground, dragging myself forward, my fingernails scraping the marble until sparks of pain shot through my hands.
The shadows laughed.
The books above trembled violently—shaking, rattling, as if caught in some unseen storm. A gust of wind spiraled around me, lifting loose pages into a whirlwind. They cut across my skin like thin blades, stinging my arms and face.
"Poor little wolf," he cooed, his voice echoing from everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.
The shadows yanked me back.
I screamed until my throat tore.
Then—
Silence.
The shadows froze.
Every page, mid-air, stopped fluttering.
Every shelf stopped shaking.
Every whisper cut off.
And he appeared—
Directly in front of me, crouching low, his pale face inches from mine, glowing faintly in the dark like moonlight painted onto a corpse.
His smile widened slowly—stretching past what should have been possible, revealing sharp, delicate teeth that were far too many.
He reached out and brushed a tear from my cheek with a single, slender finger.
"My, my..." he whispered. "Look how beautifully broken you are."
A low whimper escaped my lips. I hated that I couldn’t fight back. How do I even fight a ghost?
He leaned closer—so close I could feel the coldness radiating off him.
"Let’s play a little longer—"
"That’s enough, Zephyros."
