For someone who had apparently just been dragged out of his evening routine, Roman looked annoyingly composed.
It was a jarring shift from his daytime appearance.
He had discarded the academy blazer and the structured, formal layers expected during lectures.
Instead, he wore a simple white t-shirt that cleanly highlighted his forearms, the fabric fitting just enough to reveal the unmistakable, lean strength of his body without looking deliberate.
His dark hair was still slightly damp, falling messily over his forehead in a way that somehow looked less like disarray and more like he had personally negotiated with perfection and won.
A few first-year students who had been whispering animatedly among themselves slowly fell silent as he entered the grand hall, their chatter dissolving into curious, hurried murmurs.
“Wait… who is that?” a young witch near the front leaned slightly toward her friend, keeping her voice low as though saying his name too loudly might somehow be considered a transgression.
“You don’t know?” the other girl whispered back, her eyes widening.
“That’s Roman Laurent.”
The first girl’s expression changed instantly.
“Oh.”
That single word carried the full weight of someone finally understanding a legend they had only ever heard in scattered pieces.
Around them, similar realizations spread through the crowd of incoming freshmen like a wildfire.
“House Laurent?”
“The Laurent?”
“The one from the Vampire Council?”
“You’re telling me that’s him?”
Beside Roman, Jett Winslow followed a few steps behind, navigating the room’s sudden tension with a familiar, weary grace, his shoulders easily cutting through the narrow gaps in the crowd.
“And that’s Jett Winslow right beside him,” a young fae muttered to a friend, gesturing with his chin.
“Son of the Grand Lord that guards the border of Calmaria City. Don’t let the polite smile fool you, he can notch a composite bow and pin a rogue shadow to a wall before you can even draw a breath.”
A pair of sirens exchanged amused glances nearby, clearly entertained by the frantic gossip spreading through the younger students.
“He looks exactly like the rumours said,” one murmured, her eyes lingering on Roman.
“Unfortunately,” the other replied with a soft, liquid sigh.
“The rumours were not exaggerating.”
Even some of the second-year students, who had already spent a full terms navigating Roman’s volatile orbit, spared him a glance.
It was not unusual to see him receiving this kind of heavy attention.
If anything, the truly unusual part was how little he seemed to care about it.
Roman Laurent had been a name before he had ever become a student.
A pureblood heir from one of the most ruthless vampire houses in existence.
A prodigy.
A problem.
A person whose reputation always arrived several minutes before his boots did.
And apparently, according to the vast majority of the academy’s demographic, unfairly attractive.
Lillian watched the first-years quietly losing their composure from her hidden vantage point by the masonry and felt a strange, exhausted understanding settle over her.
…Maybe not yet, her inner overthinker desperately pleaded, her fingers tightening around her sleeves.
If I approach him now, in front of this entire crowd, it’ll draw too much attention.
Roman looked completely out of place among the half-asleep, rumpled students currently wandering into the residential hall, yet somehow he belonged there more than anyone.
It was as if the entire academy had been built as a mere background piece, and he had simply walked into the scene to claim it.
“You say that like you weren’t the one who encouraged everyone last year,” Jett muttered dryly, his voice easily cutting through the low hum of the room as he walked half a step behind his friend.
Roman stopped walking, turning his head slightly with a look of incredulity.
“I encouraged nothing.”
“You literally told them the residential dormitory regulations were ‘suggestions written by old people afraid of fun,'” Jett countered, raising an eyebrow.
“They were poorly phrased.’
“They were rules, Laurent.”
“Semantics, Lordling.”
A few nearby students immediately turned away, clearing their throats and pretending very badly that they had not been hanging onto every single syllable of the conversation.
Lillian shrank back a fraction further into the shadow of the stone archway, holding her breath, acutely aware that the space between her hiding spot and Roman’s sweeping gaze was shrinking by the second.
Unfortunately, although Lillian was exceptionally good at becoming quiet, keeping to herself, and occupying the smallest possible amount of space, certain people at Valerius Academy possessed an unnatural ability to notice the quiet ones.
“Lillian?”
Her entire body stiffened.
Slowly, she turned her head.
Standing right beside her was Stella Montclair, wearing a soft smile and carrying the kind of effortless warmth that made her seem completely untouched by the overwhelming social chaos of the hall.
“Oh,” Lillian blinked, her heart settling slightly.
“Stella.”
“Why are you hiding?”
Lillian immediately straightened her posture, attempting to look dignified.
“I’m not hiding.”
Stella glanced pointedly at the very obvious shadow of the heavy stone archway draped over Lillian’s shoulders.
“…You’re standing in a shadow.”
“I was observing.”
“From behind a pillar?”
“…”
For a second, Stella simply stared, her emerald eyes dancing with silent amusement.
Then she smiled, and Lillian immediately knew she had lost the debate.
“Hey,” Stella said gently, leaning closer, “most people observe from somewhere they can actually see the thing they’re observing.”
Lillian opened her mouth and closed it again.
Because she had absolutely no counterargument prepared for that, she merely shook her head, letting her defenses drop.
“I just don’t like crowds,” she admitted quietly, shifting uneasily.
Stella hummed.
“I figured.”
Just an easy, instinctual understanding.
But before Lillian could fully appreciate the rare moment of comfort, several familiar voices drifted over from the center of the hall, cut neatly through the ambient noise.
“Stella!”
The witch turned immediately, her face brightening in an instant.
A small group of girls approached them, each carrying themselves with the fluid, vibrant familiarity of people who had known each other far longer than a single academy year.
Their conversation flowed naturally, filled with inside jokes, lighthearted eye-rolls, and mutual complaints about the unexpected evening assembly before Stella turned to her once again.
“Lillian, these are my coven friends from home,” Stella introduced happily, gesturing between them.
“Everyone, this is Lillian Shaw. We share a dormitory.”
The girls immediately turned toward her, their expressions shifting as one.
“Oh, you’re Lillian?” The one with short and wavy hair asked.
Lillian’s internal anxiety grid immediately activated.
In her experience, that was never a good sentence to receive.
But before her brain could manufacture a catastrophic scenario, the bright-eyed witch with beautiful braids at the front spoke with a wide smile.
“Stella mentioned you! She said you were quiet but very sweet.”
Lillian stared, completely caught off guard.
Stella’s cheeks flared with a sudden pink tint as she looked slightly embarrassed.
“I did not say it like that.”
“You absolutely did,” one of her coven sisters countered instantly.
“I did not.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘My roommate is like the softest vampiress I’ve ever seen.'”
Lillian’s face immediately heated, a familiar warmth spreading rapidly toward her ears.
Stella covered her mouth with both hands, shaking her head frantically in horror.
“I was describing your personality!”
“…That was somehow worse, Stella.”
The witches laughed softly.
Not at Lillian, but with a warm, inclusive humour that seemed to soften the sharp edges of the grand hall.
And somehow, strangely enough, Lillian found herself relaxing.
Just a little.
They were not interrogating her.
They were not trying to figure out why she was quiet, nor were they searching her face for secrets.
They were simply… talking.
It was a terrifying concept, usually, but in this exact moment, it felt surprisingly pleasant.
“Come sit with us,” Stella offered, linking her arm lightly through Lillian’s before the sophomore could overthink the invitation.
“You’ll freeze standing here alone.”
Lillian looked down at where their arms were woven together as a tiny wave of profound relief washing over her.
She had not even realized she had agreed, but the prospect of a protective buffer zone of friendly witches was too comforting to refuse.
“I…”
Before the word could fully form…
BOOM.
The heavy staff of the Grand Residential Warden struck the center of the raised podium at the front of the hall, the sound echoing through the rafters like a crack of thunder.
The ambient chatter of the grand hall died instantly, the freshmen flinching while the upperclassmen simply groaned in unified misery.
The Warden, a terrifyingly tall Reaper whose aura radiated the chilling finality of a closed ledger, scanned the room with hollow, unblinking eyes.
“Attention, students,” the Warden’s voice droned, cutting through the damp evening air like a cold blade.
“Due to the standard compliance review of Dormitories Rules, tonight’s assembly will adhere strictly to traditional structural protocol.”
Lillian looked at the podium.
“You will separate immediately,” the Warden commanded, gesturing with a pale hand toward the long rows of benches.
“All students will sit in direct alignment with their designated biological factions. Males and females will occupy separate, parallel aisles. No mixed seating will be tolerated until the orientation ledger is finalized, unless unavoidable.”
Ah…
The hopeful warmth had lasted approximately five seconds before reality brutally claimed it.
Of course Valerius Academy would have a rigid seating system, because apparently even a basic dormitory orientation required military-level segregation.
The student body began moving immediately, well-practiced in the ritual.
The hall divided smoothly into organized rows, each faction gathering with their respective kin groups.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Stella complained, her bright face instantly falling into a pout.
“We’re being segregated by bloodline on day two? This academy has a deeply twisted definition of ‘harmony.'” Stella looked thoroughly apologetic as she slowly unlinked her arm.
“Looks like we have to separate.”
“It’s alright,” Lillian nodded quickly, forcing a small, reassuring smile.
“I’ll see you back at the entrance. We’ll go back to our room together, okay?” Stella sighed, giving Lillian’s hand a comforting squeeze before retreating toward the sea of witches.
Lillian did not look further.
She stood alone in the shifting crowd for a moment before moving toward her assigned vampire line, clutching her student crest tightly against her chest and quietly hoping the universe would allow her a few peaceful, invisible minutes.
However, it seemed she had severely underestimated one important factor.
Vampires were apparently much more organized when it came to social territory.
The moment the female vampire section began filling, she watched in growing horror as groups of girls effortlessly claimed entire sections of the benches.
Arms linked.
Bags placed strategically.
Casual conversations continuing as if they were conducting a military operation disguised as friendship.
“Lydia, save me a spot!”
“Already did!”
“I’ll sit beside you!”
“Sorry, this one’s taken.”
Lillian paused.
The bench had one empty space.
She looked at the girl who had just spoken, then at the perfectly empty space beside her.
“Oh… alright.”
She moved further down the row.
Five minutes later, the same thing happened.
“Is this seat free?”
The vampiress glanced toward the empty space beside her before immediately shaking her head.
“Sorry. My friend is coming.”
Lillian looked around.
There was no friend, not even a suspiciously approaching shadow.
But she nodded anyway.
“Right. Of course.” Because apparently even imaginary friends had priority seating.
By the time the last few students entered the hall, Lillian stood frozen at the end of the vampire women’s section, her fingers clutching the edge of her sweater.
Because every seat was already occupied.
Every.
Single.
One.
And she was beginning to suspect that if she remained standing any longer, someone would assume she was a decorative statue.
She looked across the hall.
In the male vampire section, there were still several empty spaces.
But hell no.
Absolutely not.
The idea of walking over there alone already made her stomach twist.
She would have to cross an entire aisle of students and announce her presence like some kind of wandering lost child.
Panicked, she quickly made assumptions.
Maybe she could just stand.
Maybe standing for an hour was acceptable.
Maybe nobody would notice.
But then, the Warden’s hollow gaze began sweeping across the hall, passing over rows of seated students with the precision of someone who had already witnessed every possible attempt at avoiding regulations.
“All students are required to be seated. If your assigned section is full, you will find an available seat elsewhere. Be quick.”
Lillian wanted to cry.
But because sneaking out was scarier, she lowered her head and quietly walked toward the only remaining available seat, which was located at the very front on the male vampire side.
She quickened her step, if only to hide from the sheer embarrassment of being looked at by everyone who was already sitting.
However, as she neared the front row, her steps became slower.
Her heart spiked up.
And her eyes were threatening to water.
No. No, no, no.
This was not happening.
Why is this happening to her?
Just why?
Why out of all the empty seats in the entire Grand Residential Hall.
Of all the possible locations.
Of all the possible vampires.
It has to be him?!
Her feet stopped dead beside the bench.
Roman, who had been sitting with one arm casually draped along the back of the empty seat beside him, glanced sideways in the middle of a yawn.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
His eyes flicked down to her student crest clutched so tightly in her hand.
Then back to her face.
Lillian hated that she could spot the familiar amusement slowly appearing on his face.
“This is becoming a habit,” Roman murmured, leaning back slightly.
“We need to stop meeting like this.”
Lillian’s brain could not even produced anything useful as it fumbled into pure, unfiltered chaos.
Because somehow, after spending the entire evening trying to find a way to speak to Roman Laurent privately, the universe had physically placed her beside him.
She was still contemplating when the Warden’s hollow eyes found her.
“Miss.”
Every nearby conversation died.
Lillian looked up with the expression of someone who had just been personally summoned by destiny itself.
The Warden gestured once toward the empty space beside Roman.
“Unless you intend to remain standing for the duration of the assembly, please take your seat.”
Several students subtly turned their heads.
Lillian wished they would not.
Wished even harder when they continued doing it anyway.
She could not even respond, afraid her voice might sound too shaky and only nodded her head toward the Warden.
Flinching beneath what felt like the collective attention of the entire Grand Residential Hall, she crossed the dividing aisle and lowered herself onto the empty bench with all the speed and dignity of someone attempting to disappear before anyone could witness the event.
She perched carefully on the very edge of the wooden seat, ankles tucked neatly beneath the bench, spine ramrod straight.
She was literally pressing herself against the side of the bench just so that she could create some distance between them.
And because Roman’s arm was still resting along the backrest behind her, she remained perched forward instead, clutching her student crest in both hands with the unwavering determination of someone who fully intended to survive the orientation through impeccable posture alone.
And so, she kept her gaze fixed on the Warden with almost desperate concentration, never noticing the faint shimmer beginning to gather along her lower lashes.