"Celebrate life's grandeur, its brilliance, its magnificence..."

Nyx Avatar, Persona 3.

Stocke sat, panting, for a long moment, after the brilliant figure had gone from the sunlight-filled alleyway. My Persona, his instinct told him. Baldr. Why was he aware of the creature's name? How had he learned the way to summon it? This, he did not know.

Stocke staggered back until he felt the solidity of the wall behind him. He remembered the pain that had flared up when the black creatures had touched him, and he checked his arms for burn marks in a flurry of chaotic movements.

He let out a slow exhalation as he found nothing. Stocke stared numbly at the pale, unblemished skin, his mouth going dry. Dammit. What the hell happened? Had he had hallucinated the figure—Baldr—as well as these shadowy monsters? Dozens of dreadful possibilities raced through Stocke's mind. If I'm going crazy, then this is getting worse and worse. There was a dull pang in his chest as he thought of his family. What are they going to do with me?

The crunch of gravel under someone's feet snapped him out of his dark thoughts. Stocke attempted to scramble to his feet, but his shoe slipped under his weight and he hit the ground, the fall knocking the air out of his lungs. Before he could get a better look at the figure at the other end of the alleyway, they had bolted.

"Wait!" Stocke called after them. "Don't run!" With a grunt, he finally managed to push himself off the ground and broke into a run. The stranger was using the maze of alleyways to their advantage, and so even though Stocke was faster—he had the clear impression that the one he pursued had rather short legs—he never quite managed to gain on them.

"I'm not going to hurt you!" Stocke shouted. "I only need to know—" Did you see them too?

Soon, the sounds of their footsteps was fading away. Stocke stopped in his tracks, wincing as he tried to catch his breath. It all possibilities, the one he had been pursuing must have reached one of the main streets by now; it would be impossible to find them now that they had blended with the crowd. Stocke was certain they'd been small and slight. A kid? He must have frightened them.

Stocke rubbed the bridge of his nose. Just my luck… For a moment, he entertained the idea of just calling at work to ask for a night off. The bookstore where he worked belonged to a pair of sweet-natured elderly folks who never refused him anything. Stocke took his cell phone from his pocket, sighing as he glanced at the darkening sky.

I'm gonna be late anyway… Still, Stocke's thumb hovered over the buttons as he thought of his mother and sister. What would he tell them? He had done his best to act normal throughout the week, and yet they had treated him like some breakable object the moment he'd given so much a sneeze. I can't give them another reason to worry about me. Stocke let out a groan as he pocketed his phone. He headed out of the alleyway, unaware that a small figure was spying on him from just beyond the corner, their eyes shining with curiosity and fear.

The next day he went to school, Stocke blended in with the crowd gathering at St. Noah's entrance, lost in thoughts. His indifferent gaze ran across the dozens of faces, and he listened to what Eruca was saying with minimal attention. Still, a chill ran down Stocke's spine when his eyes fell upon a dark shape, its deep black sticking out amongst the bright blue of the students' uniforms.

Another of these creatures had appeared at school.

The monster stood in the thick of the crowd, unseen by the gaggle of students entering the school. Stocke stilled at its sight, jaw tightening. Only when he felt a tug at his sleeve did he came out of his daze. Startled, he looked down to find Eruca staring at him, puzzlement written over all her face.

"I'm fine," he answered her unspoken question. "You know me. I'm not so good with Mondays." He forced his mouth to curl into a rueful grin and hoped she would not notice that his eyes weren't smiling as well.

More and more of these creatures appeared as the days went by. In truth, they never seemed to pay Stocke any mind, making him all the more apprehensive. They gathered in packs in the darkened corners of the classrooms and hallways, their fuzzy shape only sharpening whenever someone approached their unmoving forms, unaware of their silent and secret vigil. Sometimes, the creatures did stir, moving as if to follow a teacher or a student. Every time it happened Stocke grew tense, limbs coiling as he anticipated an attack that never did come in the end. Worse still, the students and staff of St. Noah's never seemed to notice the strangers in their midst. Stocke was truly the only one who could see them.

Stocke was about to accept the terrifying truth that they were just a figment of his imagination, a hallucination brought about by his perhaps now diseased brain, when he was finally given the answers he sought.

It took Stocke some time to become aware of his surroundings. The last thing he recalled was going to bed and uneasily staring at his ceiling in the dark of his room. Stocke shifted in the seat he was currently occupying, running his hands against the armrests, feeling the soft plushness of velvet under his fingertips. He wasn't anywhere at home, that much he knew. His mom would never go for something as gaudy as velvet.

"Welcome to the Velvet Room," came a familiar, cheerful voice. The fog in front of Stocke's eyes was dissipating, and now he could clearly see the electric blue sky spreading into infinity and in front of him, the strange trio he had met not long after—

Stocke's throat constricted, and he gripped the armrests of his chair tighter. No, don't think about that. He inhaled and exhaled. Focus. The old man—Igor—was staring at him with bloodshot eyes, and yet Stocke found the twins' gazes more unnerving. There was a sense of genuine helpfulness in Igor's smile, at least.

"My, how good to see you again, my boy," Igor said. "I was starting to wonder if you had forgotten us."

"I was starting to think I might have dreamed you guys up," Stocke replied. "So. Are you going to give me some answers or you'll wait until I have another near-death experience?"

The boy twin shook his head. "The Shadows wouldn't have killed you."

So that's what those monsters are called. "Really?" Stocke remembered the sense of burning, and the rising terror in his guts as the dark tendrils had twisted around him. "What would have they done, then?"

The girl—Lippti—was the one who answered. "You could say they would have sucked the lifeforce out of you."

Stocke let out an irritated sound. "How is that any different from killing me?"

"Your body would still be alive," Teo said. "You would only be… comatose."

That's so much better, of course. "What are those things?" A thought suddenly struck Stocke. "They attacked some other people beside me, did they? Like these kids at school?" Igor's grin disappeared; it was all Stocke needed to know he was right. "These two… are they going to be all right?"

"We do not know," Lippti said, evading Stocke's gaze. "There are many things we do not know about the situation at present. We were hoping you would be our eyes and ears, in fact."

"Still, we can tell you what the Shadows are," Igor said with a cackle. "And how to beat them."

Stocke remembered the fiery figure striking the black creatures in the alleyway with its burning sword. "With my Persona, right?" He rubbed his temples, groaning. This was all going to result in a headache, he knew it. "What the hell is a Persona, anyway?"

"A facet of your true self, my boy," Igor said. "You are a son, a brother, a nephew, a friend, a student… and for each and every of these identities you have a mask that you present to the outside world. Your Persona is just another of these masks."

Now Stocke's head really hurt. "I don't see how this allows me to summon a magic person out of thin air."

"You unlocked the abilities that were dormant within you when you agreed to a contract with us," Teo said. "This is why you were able to see the Shadows as well."

"Sadly, they became aware of your presence for the same reason," Lippti added. "And the more attention you paid to them, the more they noticed you."

Stocke leaned back into the chair, throat tightening. "So they could attack me again." He felt cold all over. "And what if they try assaulting someone who hasn't got a Persona?"

"You already know the answer," Teo said.

The air seemed to thin around Stocke. "I could have ended up like one of these two kids." Anyone could end up like those two kids. His hands curled into fists. "Damn. How can we stop them?"

"First of all," Teo began, "the creatures who attacked you were only offshoots of a bigger Shadow. That's why you beat them so easily."

"Great. Just… great. How do I find the biggest fish, then? And how do I kill it?"

The twins exchanged a frozen smile, while Igor quirked an eyebrow.

"You've become a bit bloodthirsty, haven't you, my boy?" the master of the Velvet Room said, chuckling.

"I'm not looking for a fight," Stocke told Igor, "but if those things can hurt any more people, then…"

"It would be impossible for you to kill a real Shadow by yourself," a stern Teo said. "It would be far more powerful than someone of your skills."

"Then, what?"

"You must weaken it," Lippti replied. "Much like a Persona, a Shadow comes from someone's heart. To defeat a Shadow, you must first gain the assistance of the person from whom it was borne. Once they claim the Shadow as their own, its powers can be nullified."

"But the larger a Shadow is, the more difficult it is to find," Teo said. "A powerful Shadow will start subtly reshaping reality to its own whims. If you are not carefully looking for it, its influence might pass unnoticed."

"Keep your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary," Lippti said. "And do not worry. The White Chronicle is watching out for you. She will not allow you to fail."

"She?" Stocke could not help but frown. "Books have genders now?"

The twins were stone-faced. Igor's smile was as unhelpful as the two children's blank stares.

Stocke understood they would tell him no more. "Fine. I'll do some sleuthing of my own. And I'll find that damn Black Chronicle of yours before it can wreak more havoc on my school."

"On your school, you say?" Teo noted. "That's an interesting observation. The attacks all have occurred in a certain radius of your school... for now."

"That's what I thought, too," Stocke said. Could the holder of the Black Chronicle be a student or a teacher? "How do I find a Shadow? What does it looks like?"

"Each Shadow is unique," Igor said, drumming his fingers against the desk. "Their appearance varies according to the human from whom it was created."

"And as we said before," Lippti continued, "a Shadow's very presence warps reality. You might not notice it at first, but the moment you become aware of it, the Shadow will reveal itself to you."

Stocke found this was less than helpful. "Alright," he said, "I guess I'll learn as I go."

"We wish you luck," Lippti said; her voice echoed in his ears as the fog overtook him once more.

Stocke woke up not long after, the early morning sun filtering through the drapes on his window. He said nothing as his mother and sister chatted animatedly over breakfast, mulling over the monumental task that had been laid in front of him. Thankfully, no one—not even the worriers that were his uncle and Sonja—commented on his silent and contemplative mood throughout the day. They were used to it by now, Stocke surmised.

School didn't seem much different—if one could overlook the lesser Shadows hiding amongst the students and staff, that is. Stocke ignored them at the best of his abilities, unwilling to have a repeat of the attack in the alleyway. None of the creatures seemed to particularly stand out in his eyes. The Shadow will reveal itself to you, Lippti had said. To Stocke, it was as crappy as a piece of advice could get.

A poke in the back took Stocke out of his reverie. He had been daydreaming during math class. He gave a furtive look behind him, where Sonja was scowling at him, her pen still up in the air. He mouthed a sheepish 'sorry' before turning back his attentions to the teacher. Anselm Dias was one of the two newcomers—the social studies teacher, Regis Selvan, being the other. One sweeping glance at this class was enough to tell Stocke that Dias was the favourite among the two. Even now, three weeks into the semester, most girls—and a couple of boys, too—gave him coy looks, blushing the moment he would turn his dark purple gaze to them. With long, flawless silver-gold hair and skin as smooth and pale as white marble, Dias looked more like a movie star than a mere school teacher. He was halfway decent at his job too, which made him okay in Stocke's books.

A look of annoyance did mar that perfect face when the sound of someone knocking on the door broke the silence that had fallen as the students worked. The door opened, revealing a young man Stocke recognized as the vice-principal's secretary.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your class, Mr. Dias, sir," he said without much enthusiasm. "The vice-principal has asked to meet up with a student." He took out a paper from his pocket. "A, um, a certain Ernst Stocke-Hei—"

"That's me," Stocke said, interrupting the young man before he could say the last bit of his name. Didn't the official records strike out that part?

"Did something happen?" Dias asked, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"No," the secretary said. "Well, I don't know, she hasn't said."

"Go," Dias said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "But I expect you to catch up on what you missed on your own."

Stocke exchanged a look with Sonja; she gave a little nod as if to say she'd help. Stocke got out of his chair without another word and followed the secretary, apprehension weighing down on him.

"She's waiting for you," the secretary said as they arrived at the vice-principal's office. He motioned for Stocke to enter, and the latter did so with a sigh and slumped shoulders.

If Dias resembled the kind of heartthrobs who would make the first page in teenage girls' magazines, then vice-principal Protea Bicchieri looked like the kind of women who would appear in publications of more dubious moral quality. She was shapely and she knew it: she wore tight pencil skirts and shirts that were buttoned just enough so Principal Hugo could not say anything but which still offered a plunging view down her cleavage. Her face was lovely enough, though she always appeared to sport a perpetual sneer, something which spoiled her features a bit, Stocke found.

"Oh?" vice-principal Protea said, turning away from her computer. "I didn't expect for you to come so fast. Sit down." She offered him a smile that would have made most teenage boys weak in the knees. Stocke just stared.

"Did something happen?" he said. She appeared a bit taken aback by his bluntness, but Stocke did not care. "Why did you call me?"

Protea laughed. "And here I though any kid of your age would be thrilled to be taken out of class." She grinned that predatory smile again. "Especially to spend some time with a lovely lady."

Stocke blinked dumbly at her. God. Did she just…?

"But there's no need to worry, sweetie. Nothing has happened. I was just curious to meet a member of my new family."

Stocke continued to stare, his surprise barely registering on his face. "Your… new family?"

"Yes," she said, feigning a bit of distress. "It seems Victor hasn't told you about me. How dreadful!"

"I haven't spoken with my dad in months."

"That's so sad. He's very distraught that you have to live so far away, didn't you know?"

Stocke's face became so stiff it started to hurt. "No. And my mom once put a restraining order against him. Didn't you know?"

Protea's smile was as brittle as ice. "Well, as of two months ago, I've become your new stepmother." She waved her left hand in Stocke's face; he could see the glittering diamond ring on her finger. "I'm so glad to be finally able to meet you."

Usually, Stocke would congratulate someone on their wedding, but he could only pity the poor woman. Now that she was seated directly in front of him, her face only inches away, he understood why he'd found her facial features so beautiful. She looks like a younger version of Mom. The thought made him sick to his stomach. Creepy bastard. Good thing Mom doesn't know.

"To think my first job in Alistel would be at my stepson's school! The world really is a tiny place." Protea rested her chin on her hands, offering Stocke an even better view of her cleavage. He obstinately looked at the wall instead. "You look just like him, you know. I knew you would be as handsome as your papa."

Now, Stocke did feel like he was about to retch. A younger version of Mom who keeps hitting on me. He briefly wondered whether to tell the school authorities or sic his uncle on her. Then again, perhaps the latter option was far too cruel to be even considered seriously.

"Still, it was hard for me to realize you were even a student here," Protea said. "Since you took your mother's name and everything."

"My sister's in Class 1-A," Stocke replied. "And my uncle teaches history in that grade too. Were you aware?"

"Really?" Her eyes were round in insincere surprise. "I didn't know."

And they are the ones who share a name with your husband… "Can I go back to class, now?"

"Well, there is something I'd like to tell you before you go," Protea said. "It's about your father." She looked stricken for a moment—Stocke wondered if this was faked as well. "It's… well, I haven't heard from him for a month."

Stocke folded his arms together. "…and?"

Now Protea's composure did break a little. She must have found him to be quite the ungrateful child. "Aren't you worried? He's your father, after all."

"You've called the police, right?"

"No, but—I've figured he might have contacted you or your sister. You're his children after all. And I know he'd gone to Alistel to meet you this summer. I thought..."

"I told you," Stocke said in an almost growl, "I never speak to him. He lives in a different country. And there's this little thing the court put on him. Oh, yeah, that restraining order. Little thing, that."

Protea's smile looked like it was about to shatter into a thousand of tiny pieces. "So sad to see a family broken apart like that. Well, you can go, now. Skip class if you like—you got the vice-principal's permission." She winked and lightly touched Stocke's arm. The latter ground his teeth together, but said nothing. "I'm glad to have met you."

"Likewise," Stocke said, his jaw tightening.

He was happy to be finally out of her office—she had managed to make the tiny space almost as suffocating as the family dining room had been in the home he'd grown up. Stocke quickened his pace, cursing as he looked at the hour on his cellphone. Dias' class was the last one of the day —and Stocke's meeting with the creepy new addition to his family had eaten up almost half of it.

The bell rang as Stocke was about to go back into the classroom. With a sigh, he went against the rush of student coming out of the door, making a beeline for his desk. He was thankful to see that Sonja was already gathering his stuff.

"Stocke! There you are!" Sonja ran up to him; as he had expected, her eyes were filled with worry. "Did something—? "

"Everything's fine," Stocke assured her. "Let's get out of here, first, and meet up with Rosch." He grimaced. "I guess there is something I have to tell you."

"Oh…" Sonja bit her lips. As they went out the door, she continued, "Sorry, but I have to go. I'm helping Mr. Fennel set up the labs for class tomorrow. And I think Rosch is giving Coach Garland a hand with the new recruits."

"I see," Stocke said. "So, I guess he'll drive you home after that?" Sonja had always stayed in school after classes—she'd been part of almost any club imaginable. Back in the days, her brother Rowan would always come and fetch her once he'd finish his shifts at the hospital. Now, Rosch was usually the one to give her a ride home.

"Yes, he will, after practise is over." Sonja sighed. "I hope this is a good idea, him helping around even though he'll never be able to make the team." She looked to the ground miserably. The topic of Rosch's injury had always upset her.

"Of course, it is," Stocke assured her. "Does Rosch strike you as the kind of guy to be worked up about it?"

Sonja smiled and patted his arm. They had reached the point where they'd have to part. "I guess not. His therapist said it'd help, after all."

"You're the one who's always saying to listen to your shrink," Stocke said. "Say hi to him for me."

"I will! See you tomorrow!" And with that she was off to the science wing.

Mercifully, nothing happened over the course of the next days. Both Eruca and Sophia were horrified to learn of the newest addition to their family tree. Still, the vice-principal did not attempt to contact Stocke or his sister afterwards. Stocke couldn't help but wonder what would happen if she were to meet with his uncle—she'd come back scarred from that encounter, he was sure. The man had gleefully built a dossier containing every dirt he could find on her when Stocke had told him of their family connection.

The last week of September came by without any new bizarre revelation, to Stocke's greatest relief. By now, he had established a certain pattern in his patrols across the school ground. It allowed him to be unnoticed by the other students and the staff—the last thing he needed was for anyone to notice just how strange he was acting. He questioned the friends of the Shadows' first two victims. Their testimonials did not help shed any new light on the case. The two victims had been normal kids, with no known illness or trouble, one being a shy girl who had been thinking of joining the school music band, the other being a chatty member of the school chess club. Truly, Stocke had no lead to follow.

Rosch and Sonja never seemed to notice his odd behaviour. Sometimes, Stocke wrestled with the idea of telling them everything. There was a certain part of him that dreaded the possibility that the Shadows' next casualty would be someone he knew. And the thought of anything happening to the two of them was—

"The Coach's been putting us through hell," Rosch told Stocke and Sonja as they left their last class, one late Monday afternoon. He flexed his left arm and flinched. "Ow. Dammit, that last practise was murder."

"Poor baby," Sonja said with a laugh. "He's doing this for your sake, you know. You're our best hope at making the college team."

Rosch blushed as he rubbed his neck. "Sure. Maybe." Stocke hid a smile; even the tip of Rosch's ears were red. "Want me to come and get you after I'm done with practise? You're helping Prof. Fennel with the labs again, are you?"

"That won't be necessary," Sonja said. "Rowan will come for me after work."

For some reason, this struck Stocke as odd. "Rowan is? But…"

"Hm?" Sonja said. "What's wrong, Stocke?"

The strange impression was gone. Stocke shook his head. "Nothing. I'm just tired, I guess."

"Okay," Sonja said. "If you say so." She gave him what he called her doctor-in-training's glare. "Make sure you get plenty of rest, then."

"Yeah, sure," Stocke told her with a shrug.

He was still daydreaming and mulling over the strange feeling that had seized him at the mention of Sonja's brother when his sister called for him from across the school entrance. Stocke cut through the crowd to join her.

"Ernst, finally!" Eruca admonished. "You're always so slow lately. You know Uncle doesn't like to wait."

Stocke noted belatedly that she was accompanied by two other kids. One was a short and chubby boy with messy pale brown hair and dark eyes peering up curiously at Stocke from under his glasses. The other was a tall girl with dark hair, tan skin and almond-shaped eyes that seemed to glint with perpetual good humour. The short skirt of the uniform allowed her to show off long, muscled legs. She carried over her shoulder a sports bag and a hockey stick.

"Is that your brother?" the dark-haired girl asked Eruca, her eyes flicking from Stocke's feet to his head. Her grin grew even wider. "Must be, there's this crazy family resemblance. 'Cept you're taller and stuff." For some reason, Stocke had the feeling she'd meant to use another word instead of 'taller' but decided against it at the last minute.

"This is Raynie Sukapatana," Eruca said—the girl wiggled her eyebrows in salutations—"and this is Marco Zielinski." The short boy gave Stocke an unsteady smile, then glanced at his friend Raynie, muttering 'here we go again' under his breath.

"Nice to meet you both," Stocke said. "I guess you're the ones who've been taking good care of my little sister since the beginning of the school year."

"Ernst!" Eruca said, protesting with a pout.

Raynie gave a loud bark of laughter. "I dunno about taking good care of her, but we sure are gonna make her class president, so that amounts to something, right?"

"Raynie, I'm not even in the running yet…"

"Well, you should be! You're smarter than the bunch of us put together!"

"No one would ever want to vote for me…"

"They'd be dumb, then!"

"Raynie, stop pressuring her," Marco said, rolling his eyes. "Don't you have your own ambitions to fulfill?"

Raynie balanced the hockey stick on her shoulder. "Of course, I do, but that's gonna wait til next year. They'd never allow a freshman to be captain of the hockey team, would they? So, until then, I have to vicariously live through Eruca and her triumphs."

Stocke didn't think Eruca could grow any redder; still, she was smiling and looking bashfully at her new friend, no doubt touched by her loyalty. The boy called Marco massaged his temples, sighing.

"Well, you crazy kids keep up the good fight," Stocke told Raynie and Marco. "Let's go, 'Ruca."

Stocke groaned as he drifted out of sleep, the alarm buzz screeching into his ears. He propped himself on one arm, looking at his calendar. Another Monday morning… He rubbed his eyes and dragged himself out of bed. He let his gaze wander to his desk, where he'd put the White Chronicle over his school books. How is it supposed to help me, anyway?

At least he found Eruca to be in a good mood; she talking animatedly about her new friends and her plans to run for class president as they prepared breakfast together. "You'd like them, Ernst," she told Stocke. "I have to introduce you sometimes!"

Stocke could not focus on any of his classes throughout the day. His eyelids were heavy, the teachers' words barely filtering in. When the final bell rung, he followed after Rosch and Sonja, listening to their conversation with a lazy ear.

"The Coach's been putting us through hell," Stocke could hear Rosch say. " Ow. Dammit, that last practise was murder ."

Sonja responded with a laugh. "Poor baby. He's doing this for your sake, you know. You're our best hope at making the college team."

Stocke frowned. His head was starting to hurt, and he could feel the blood thumping in his temples.

Rosch rubbed his neck with his left hand. "Sure. Maybe." He turned to Sonja, cheeks reddening. "Want me to come and get you after I'm done with practise? You're helping Prof. Fennel with the labs again, are you?"

"That won't be necessary," Sonja said. "Rowan will come for me after work."

Stocke stopped in his tracks. Huh?

"Hm?" Sonja said. "What's wrong, Stocke?"

Stocke looked down at her, his vision momentarily blurring. What's going on? "Nothing. My head hurts, that's all."

"Okay," Sonja said. "If you say so. Make sure you get plenty of rest, then."

"Uh, yeah." Stocke held his head, groaning. "I'll catch up with you guys later."

With mechanical movements, Stocke headed for the school entrance. Soon, he heard Eruca calling out his name.

"Ernst, finally!" Eruca said as he approached her. "You're always so slow lately. You know Uncle doesn't like to wait."

Stocke stared at her, at a loss for words for reasons he couldn't fathom.

"Is that your brother?" the dark-haired girl said. Stocke met her gaze—hadn't they been introduced already? "Must be, there's this crazy family resemblance. 'Cept you're taller and stuff."

"This is—"

"Raynie, I know," Stocke answered.

The girl looked surprised, but pleased. "Oh, I guess she told you about, us, eh? This guy here is Marco." She jabbed her thumb at the smaller boy.

"Nice to meet you, Ernst," Marco said. "Eruca said you used to fence. That's so cool! Is that true?"

"I'm…" Stocke shook his head; the pain in his head was getting stronger and stronger. "Eruca, can we go now? I'm not feeling so good."

"Really?" In the blink of an eye she was at Stocke's side. For once, he was happy that his sister was such a worrier. "Then, let's go back home. I'll see you tomorrow, Raynie, Marco."

Stocke muttered a goodbye as well. He followed after his sister without putting much thought in his movements, almost as if he was in a dream.

The sound of the alarm buzzing was the first thing his mind registered. Stocke grumbled against his pillow. He would have gladly slept in for another hour. And to think I went to sleep early to avoid this kind of thing…

Stocke got out of bed and looked at his calendar. Another Monday… They seemed to keep on coming. He'd have another week with no new lead, this he was certain.

He could hear Eruca humming to herself as he descended the stairs. "My friends want me to run for class president," she said to him as she flipped some pancakes, her tone slightly bashful. "You'd like them, Ernst. I have to introduce you sometimes!"

"You're talking about Raynie and Marco, right?" Stocke replied. "We've met already, haven't we?"

"What? Really? Gosh, there have been so many things to keep track of since I've begun high school. I must have forgotten."

Stocke sipped his tea, frowning. Maybe I'm the one making things up…

The rest of the day passed in a blur, Stocke barely paying any attention to the contents of the lessons.

"The Coach's been putting us through hell," Rosch was saying as they left their last class together. "Ow. Dammit, that last practise was murder." He grabbed his left arm and winced.

Stocke stared at him, his head swimming. Something's wrong. He'd seen it before—almost as if he had dreamed about it only the night prior.

"Poor baby. He's doing this for your sake, you know. You're our best hope at making the college team."

"…no," Stocke found himself saying. "No, he can't make the college team."

The chatter of the other students went on, but for Stocke, it was as though the world had come to a grinding halt as Sonja and Rosch turned to face him, their eyes growing large with incredulity.

"Huh?" Rosch said. "What do you mean?"

"Yes, Stocke," Sonja added as she put her hands on her hips, "what is that supposed to mean? That Rosch's not good enough to make the team?"

"No, I meant… ugh…" Everything behind the two of them seemed to be twisting, the students blurring into unrecognisable shapes, the colours becoming loud and garish, the hallways spreading and spreading until he could not see where it ended. What the hell is going on? Stocke blinked and gasped—the school had gone back to normal the moment he'd opened his eyes.

"I… I didn't mean anything," Stocke managed to say. He looked at his feet. "I'm tired, I guess."

"Huh," was Rosch's reply. "Well, Sonja, want me to come and get you after I'm done with practise? You're helping Prof. Fennel with the labs again, are you?"

"That won't be necessary," Sonja said. "Rowan will come for me after work."

Stocke's gaze snapped to Sonja's face. "What? Rowan… Rowan can't…"

"Hm?" Sonja said. "You're sure everything's okay, Stocke? You don't look so well." She squeezed his arm. "You should get some rest. Remember at the beginning of the month how you fainted?"

"Yeah, you don't wanna give your mom and your sis another fright."

"I'm fine, really," Stocke said. Logic told him he was the one behaving strangely, but a little voice in his head—his intuition, he guessed—told him to be wary. "You should run along now, Sonja, before Fennel throws a fit."

Sonja looked at him with suspicious eyes. "Alright. But the moment something's wrong, you better give it to me straight, Ernst Stocke." She punctuated her last two words by poking him in the chest before finally leaving for the labs.

"Well, I guess I'll be going too," Rosch said. "See you next morning, Sto—"

"Wait, I'll come with you," Stocke interrupted him. "It's been ages since I've seen you practise." In fact, Stocke had the nagging feeling that he'd never even seen Rosch play for the school team. Maybe it's just my imagination, but…

"Well, I guess there's no problem, just text your sis and your uncle so they'll know you won't be coming home with them."

Stocke took his phone and wrote a message to Eruca. "Done. Let's go."

As they approached the gymnasium, Stocke did not fail to notice that there seemed to be less and less students in the courtyard and the hallways. The gym itself was completely empty, which was more than unusual. Stocke felt his body tensing.

"You sure there's a practise scheduled?" he told Rosch. "Why is there no one here?"

Rosch shrugged. "Yeah, that's pretty weird. Are we too early?" He went to grab a ball from the racks. "You up for a game? We used to play tons of times when we were kids, remember?"

Yeah, before— "Rosch, something's wrong." Stocke was certain of it now. The ceiling was higher up than he remembered and the clocks on the wall seemed to be melting, the hands twisting around the centre in never-ending spirals. The colours were all wrong, too—the green paint was so bright a shade it hurt the eye and the corners of the gym were dark as night, a black matter oozing out of them like tar. Long scrolls hung on the walls—they all showed the same number, displaying one name over and over.

Number 4, Leon Rosch. Number 4, Leon Rosch. Number 4, Leon Rosch—

Now Stocke was panicking. But he never made the team…! "Rosch, we need to get out of here."

Rosch was not grinning anymore. He hadn't noticed anything strange, a horrified Stocke realized. I'm still the only one who's seeing all this...

"What's up, man?" Rosch said. "You've been acting weird. This isn't like you at all." He stopped dribbling, catching the ball with his left hand.

The air sapped out of Stocke's lungs. Yes, that's it. He closed his eyes, inhaled, and then opened them. Where there had been a flesh arm before, now only a stump came out of Rosch's left sleeve. Rosch never made the team because he lost his arm in that accident three years ago.

Cold sweat pooled under Stocke's bangs. Was that what the twins had meant when they had said the Shadow would start to alter reality? If so, this was worse than everything Stocke could have dreamed up.

He'd finally found his first Shadow. And it was possessing his very best friend in the entire world.

Author's notes: *dramatic chipmunk theme plays*

…really, I've nothing more profound to contribute. Thanks for reading, as always! And thanks to quicksilver-ink for betaing this thing!