Returning to the White-Coat University after summer break felt like stepping back into a lucid fever dream. One moment, Ezra was in Italy, tangled in the warmth of Julie’s arms, the ughter of family, the comforts of home. The next?

  He was back in the madness.

  His first few days were spent catching up on technical courses, cramming advanced physics theories that had only just begun to be taught in prestigious civilian institutions. It was brutal—mentally grueling, even for someone like Ezra, who was no stranger to hard work.But it wasn’t the science that unnerved him.

  It was the rituals.

  The White-Coats had their own little strange traditions, some of which were harmless inside jokes that had been carried over from generations of schors… and others that Ezra couldn’t quite make sense of.

  One night, under the cover of darkness, the students were gathered and led into the local woods. Ezra felt uneasy the entire walk there, watching as the others chatted excitedly, as if this was a normal part of their education.

  As they arrived at a rge clearing, torches were already burning, casting long, flickering shadows against the trees. A great feast had been id out on long wooden tables, and the smell of roasted meats, fresh bread, and spiced wine filled the air.

  It should have been comforting. But to Ezra? It looked like some Illuminati-type craziness.

  The scene bordered on absurdity. White-cloaked figures moved gracefully around the tables, setting ptes, pouring drinks, ughing as if this were just another holiday celebration. They sang songs, deep-throated, eerie hymns in a nguage Ezra had never heard before. They raised their cups to some strange deity, their voices echoing into the night.

  "Kinyara, keeper of the eternal breath," one of the elders intoned.

  "Kerria, the ever-living fme," another followed.

  Ezra wasn’t paying attention. He was sticking to the back of the crowd, making damn sure no one was about to make him drink goat’s blood or chant something weird in Latin. He’d heard rumors of those kinds of parties, the Eyes Wide Shut insanity where things got real freaky real fast.

  And this?

  This was one naked weirdo away from turning into something he would have nightmares about forever.

  But, to his deep relief, it wasn’t that kind of gathering. There were no sacrifices. No eerie whispered invocations summoning some cosmic horror from beyond the void. Just… a weird cult-like dinner party, with entirely too much enthusiasm for a made-up country. At least, that’s what he thought.

  Until they called his name.

  Ezra’s stomach dropped when he realized that all eyes were turning to him.

  The newcomers were being called up one by one, forced to pledge themselves to Bajookind in an official, ceremonial act. Ezra tried to slip away. Tried to make himself invisible.

  But then—

  "Ezra of the Key family," one of the elders announced, voice ringing through the clearing like a hammer on stone.

  Ezra froze.

  Shit.

  His pledge was unofficial, something he had been coaxed into back in Baldric’s office. But this? This was different. He swallowed hard, stepping toward the wooden podium at the center of the gathering. The torchlight flickered wildly, casting strange shadows across the faces of the gathered White-Coats.

  As he pced his hand over his heart, preparing to repeat the absurd pledge, something in his peripheral vision made him freeze.

  A figure.

  Lurking in the shadows just beyond the firelight. It wasn’t one of the White-Coats. No, it was something… wrong.

  Unlike the others, dressed in pristine white, this figure was cd in bck from head to toe. The robes were long and heavy, the hood pulled forward, casting their face in deep shadow. Ezra’s blood ran cold. Because he could see something beneath the hood. A face.

  But it wasn’t human.

  At first, he thought it was a mask. The elongated features, the sharp, snted eyes, the grooves in the skin that looked eerily unnatural. But then he realized—it wasn’t a mask at all.

  It was real.

  A goat-like face peered from beneath the hood, its expression impossible to read, its presence somehow heavier than the rest of the room combined. Ezra’s pulse pounded in his ears. His mind screamed at him to run, to get the hell out of there, to do anything but stand here like an idiot staring at something that clearly did not belong in this world.

  But he couldn’t. Because everyone was watching him. His hesitation had already sted too long. Baldric, standing among the elders, arched a brow. A silent warning.

  Ezra clenched his fists. He had to keep it together. So he forced himself to finish the pledge, every word feeling like it was being pulled from his throat against his will.

  And when it was over? The merriment resumed. The White-Coats cheered. Ezra returned to his seat, his hands cmmy, his breath uneven. And when he finally dared to gnce back toward the shadows? The figure in bck was gone. But the feeling it left behind? That would haunt him for a long, long time.

  The night after the White-Coat ritual, Ezra couldn’t sleep.

  Not because of the insanity of the pledge. Not because of the cult-like chanting or the feast under the moonlight. Not even because of the unsettling reverence the others had for the ridiculous mythos of Bajookind.

  No.

  It was because of the figure in bck. He couldn’t shake it. It had stood outside the firelight, completely still, watching. The white-robed schors never acknowledged it, as if it was never there to begin with. At first, Ezra had thought it was some eborate prank, a joke by the higher-ups to scare the newcomers into submission.

  But the more he thought about it, the more wrong it felt. It wasn’t just someone in a robe. It wasn’t just a mask.

  He had seen the details too clearly—the elongated, goat-like features, the glint of unnatural, horizontal pupils, the way its presence had made his skin crawl as if every cell in his body was rejecting what his eyes were seeing.

  And then there was the way it disappeared. One second, it had been there, watching. The next?

  Gone.

  Like it had never been there at all. And that…

  That was what kept Ezra wide awake, staring at his ceiling, counting the hours as the night dragged on too slowly.

  At some point, exhaustion won out.

  Ezra wasn’t sure when he drifted off—only that it happened in increments, his body fighting between wakefulness and sleep.

  Then—The bells rang.

  Deep. Heavy. The kind of sound that settled into the bones, vibrating in the marrow.

  Ezra shot upright, his breath catching in his throat.It was the kind of sound that didn’t belong in the modern world—too raw, too ancient, like something that had been forged from a forgotten time.

  Another toll.

  Then another.

  It felt like the whole building should be shaking, but everything around him remained still. Ezra turned toward his window, swallowing hard. What he saw outside? Made his stomach drop into a pit of ice. The moonlight was frozen. Not just dim—but literally suspended in the sky, locked in pce like a photograph.

  The trees, the campus, the buildings… nothing moved. Everything was frozen except for the shadows. And they were crawling. Ezra’s pulse hammered as he realized that the shadows weren’t where they were supposed to be. They detached from their sources, shifting along the ground like living ink, bleeding into shapes that defied logic.

  And standing at the center of it all—The figure in bck.

  Waiting.

  Watching.

  For him.

  Ezra barely had time to react before the world lurched—And he was somewhere else.

  The smell of burning parchment and salt filled the air. Ezra stumbled forward, his boots hitting something smooth and unnatural beneath him. He was no longer in his dorm. He was… inside something massive.

  A city?

  No.

  It was bigger than that. Ezra looked up—And his breath caught in his throat.

  The sky above him wasn’t just sky. A star hovered at the center of it all, suspended in the vastness like the beating heart of a forgotten god. Cities stretched around him in every direction, bending at impossible angles, weaving into the very walls of this world, as if the entire structure of reality had folded in on itself to house them.

  It was a realm unto itself. And yet—It felt abandoned.

  No. Not abandoned. Something else lived here.

  Ezra turned, heart pounding—And then he saw them.

  The city wasn’t empty. The streets were flooded with figures that looked too perfect to be real. Tall. Elegant. Radiant. Their faces were eerily symmetrical, their expressions fixed in an almost unnatural stillness. At first, Ezra thought they were people, until he noticed the way they moved.

  They didn’t walk—they glided, their feet barely touching the ground, their bodies too fluid, too synchronized, as if they weren’t individuals at all, but part of a greater system.

  Ezra’s throat went dry. They were beautiful, but something felt wrong. They didn’t notice him. Didn’t even react to his presence. They just continued moving, carrying out whatever incomprehensible purpose this pce demanded.

  And above them all—The star pulsed.

  Three short bursts.

  Three long bursts.

  Three more short bursts.

  Morse code. SOS. A distress signal. Ezra’s mind screamed at him. What the hell was this pce? What was sending that signal?

  He took a step forward—And that’s when he heard the first scream.

  Ezra turned a corner and froze. In the darkened alleys of this impossible city, past the towering ivory buildings, were cages. Metal constructs stacked on top of one another, stretching into the shadows beyond his vision.

  And inside them—Were things that weren’t angels.

  Their skin was bckened, their eyes burned red, their bodies bound in glowing chains that hissed and crackled, searing into them. Ezra’s stomach twisted violently.

  Demons.

  Or at least, something that fit the description. They were hunched, gaunt, their wings tattered and ruined, their faces contorted in agony as they thrashed against their restraints.

  And then—The golden beings came for one of them.

  Ezra watched in horrified silence as two of the tall, elegant figures approached a cage, their glowing eyes calm, emotionless. They reached inside and pulled one of the creatures out, dragging it toward a massive obelisk at the center of the square.

  Ezra tried to step forward—tried to do anything—but his body wouldn’t move. He could only watch. The demon snarled, struggling, its voice twisting into something painful to hear—

  And then, without hesitation, one of the angels pced a golden hand against its forehead. Ezra expected an execution. He expected the creature to be put down, to be erased in some fsh of holy light. But that wasn’t what happened.

  The demon began dissolving.

  Not like ash, not like flesh burned away—but as if it was being unwoven, its very essence peeled apart into something raw, something stripped of meaning. The angel absorbed it.

  The demon’s st cry faded into nothing. And the angel—It glowed brighter.

  Ezra felt sick. This wasn’t salvation. This was harvesting. This wasn’t heaven.

  It was a farm.

  "You shouldn’t be here."

  Ezra whipped around. The figure in bck stood behind him. This time, its eyes were visible beneath the hood. They were watching him.

  "You weren’t supposed to see any of this," the voice said again.

  Ezra tried to speak—tried to demand answers—but the world shattered around him, the golden sky imploding, the city crumbling into dust.

  And the st thing he saw?

  The star. Pulsing. Still crying for help. Then—Darkness.

  Ezra’s eyes flew open, his breath ragged. He was back in his room. The bells were silent.

  But his hands—He lifted them slowly. They were covered in golden dust. And the only thing on his mind? What the hell had he just seen?