The shirt felt itchy, but he knew it wasn’t the shirt.

  “It’s fine.”

  Melmarc turned to look at Ark standing at his door. He frowned a little, not truly annoyed. He ignored his shirt for a moment to fold his arms over his chest pointedly.

  “Dude,” he said, with as much exasperation as he could muster. “Where’s your shirt?”

  Ark stood in front of his room in black jeans and no shirt. “I was thinking of skipping today.”

  Melmarc was already shaking his head. “Nope. Hard disagree on that one. Put a shirt on.”

  His discomfort grew and, slowly growing irritated, he took the shirt of and tossed it back on his bed.

  “The shirt’s fine, Mel,” Ark called out as he returned to his room, hopefully to put on a suitable shirt.

  Melmarc looked down at the ground and saw Spitfire just sitting there, staring up at him. He could not say it with complete certainty, but the creature looked happy about his currently ongoing discomfort.

  “Scram,” he told it, practically hissing at the demon.

  All it did was cock its head in response. Sighing, Melmarc ignored it and returned to his wardrobe in search of another shirt to wear. It had taken him four pairs of pants before he’d settled on the joggers he was wearing.

  It was a while before Ark returned to the room. Ark got to the door only to pause when he looked at Melmarc.

  “You’re wearing that?” he asked, holding back a chuckle.

  Melmarc didn’t look at him. “I know. I’ve seen what it looks like in the mirror. It’s the only thing that’s comfortable.”

  “You’ll choose social suicide just to be comfortable?” Ark cocked a brow. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying that beauty is pain?”

  “I have,” Melmarc confirmed. “From Ninra, and other girls. Never heard a boy use it before, though.”

  “Well, that’s because a boy has never chosen social suicide because of comfort before.”

  Melmarc gave him a flat look. “You sure?”

  “Well…” Ark pursed his lips in thought. “Fair point. But please don’t wear that. You’ll be laughed at all day.”

  Spitfire licked one leg of his pants.

  “What the fuck?!” Melmarc hissed, shoving it away with his foot. “What was that for?”

  Ark shook his head, a little worried. “I’m not sure, but he’s been very happy the past few days.”

  He walked into the room and picked Spitfire up from the ground. He placed it on his shoulder, scratching under its jaw.

  “Want to know something else that’s interesting?” he asked, a confused look on his face.

  Melmarc adjusted his shirt. “What?”

  “He wants to follow me to class today.”

  There were no rules against having familiars in class in Fallen High, at least not as far as Melmarc knew. There were special familiars that were not allowed but all of them were usually summoned. Familiars that were not summoned like Spitfire were extremely rare cases.

  “It’s almost as if it knows something,” Ark was saying.

  Melmarc shrugged, walking over to the door. “I’m more annoyed by the fact that he’s happy. To be more precise, I’m annoyed at how long he’s been happy.”

  Ark paused, thought about it, then laughed. “He’s been happy since your discomfort started again.”

  “Yeah,” Melmarc muttered to himself as he left the room. “I can’t say that it doesn’t worry me.”

  …

  “Really?” Pelumi asked. “You chose that?”

  Melmarc groaned. “It was the only thing that was comfortable.”

  “And you let him?” she asked Ark.

  Ark, standing on Melmarc’s other side, shrugged. “I let him have all the pieces of information required to make the decision, and he still made it.”

  “You could have stopped him.” She shrugged. “Just saying.”

  She held her hand out to Melmarc. Without question, he pulled out his phone and placed it in her hand. Having met Spitfire more than once before, she only had a glance to spare the demon on Ark’s shoulder.

  “Thank you,” she said to him, making emphasis on each word.

  Then she turned the phone horizontally and opened an application on it.

  “Why don’t you just download the game on your phone and play it there?” Ark asked as they walked.

  “Because my phone does not have a one terabyte storage space like Marc’s.”

  “Mine does.”

  “Yep.” Pelumi didn’t look up from the phone. Not even once. “But I like using Marc’s phone.”

  Ark held his phone up and waved it as if offended. “If anything, my phone’s better.”

  “Yes,” she agreed as the game she wanted to play started, still not looking up from the phone. “But it’s not Marc’s.”

  Ark grinned, even though she wasn’t looking. “I see.”

  With that, he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

  They continued their walk to class. The path wasn’t filled with students but there were enough students walking around. Some didn’t look like they were trying to get to class.

  Melmarc ignored them all. He got a few looks that confirmed what Ark called a social suicide, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. All he knew was that he was not as uncomfortable, and he was fine with that.

  It wasn’t long before they got to the building where they held their classes. Through the entire journey, Pelumi was on the phone, speaking to nobody. She was playing a war game with an online community filled with racial comments and all around lack of any form of decency. He’d asked her once how she coped with it, and her response had something to do with violence being the way of the world.

  It was an odd response for a girl who liked pacifism.

  “Hey, Ark,” Scottie greeted, hurrying up to meet them. “Did you get my message last night?”

  Scottie joined them, eyes darting from left to right as if looking for someone.

  “I did,” Ark answered. “And I did not reply.”

  Scottie paused.

  “Hi, Scottie,” Pelumi greeted. “Where’s Patience?”

  Scottie stiffened. “Hi, Pelumi. I haven’t seen Patience this morning. Have you?”

  Pelumi took a moment to give him a confused look. “I wouldn’t be asking if I have, would I?”

  Scottie scratched his neck in a nervous twitch. “That’s very true.”

  Ark looked at the exchange. He waited until Pelumi’s attention returned to her phone before he spoke.

  “Scottie.”

  “Yes?”

  Melmarc didn’t let it bother him that Scottie hadn’t taken a moment to acknowledge him in any way.

  You didn’t acknowledge him, either, though.

  Ark threw an arm over Scottie’s shoulders, forcing the boy to keep walking with them while Spitfire scrambled—to Melmarc’s discomfort—over to Melmarc’s shoulder. Scottie seemed more than happy to, ignoring the crowd of passersby.

  “You know how fun it was helping you get Patience’s attention?” Ark said to the boy.

  Scottie nodded. “I wouldn’t have gotten it without your help.”

  “And how many dates have you gone on?”

  “Three.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “So, you tell me, is she dating you or me?” Ark asked with a smile. Melmarc could tell that the smile was forced. Ark was already tired of the conversation. Maybe even tired of Scottie.

  Scottie scratched his cheek. “She’s not dating me, though. She said we were just friends last time.”

  Ark paused. He seemed to mull the words over in his head. “So you’re still in the friend zone?”

  Scottie nodded, sheepish.

  “I see.” Ark scratched his jaw. “Well, while I understand the Casanova need to court multiple women—”

  “No one says court anymore, Ark,” Pelumi interrupted absently.

  “—I will say that you should not do it,” Ark continued without missing a beat. “Pick one girl from the line of girls and go with it.”

  “Isn’t that keeping all your eggs in one basket?” Scottie asked, genuinely curious. “Isn’t that a… bad thing to do.”

  Ark rolled his eyes. “Relationships are not eggs.”

  Uncle Dorthna would have begged to differ. Once upon a time, Uncle Dorthna had said something along the lines of having multiple partners so that you always had options. When Ninra had said something about not being a whore, he’d laughed and returned with how she was okay with Ark being a whore.

  There had been some back and forth before their uncle had pointed out that there was no difference in the evil of an action simply because of what gender engaged in it. A promiscuous boy was just as bad as a promiscuous girl in his book. However, that was not the argument that he had been making.

  “What I’m trying to let you know,” Ark was saying, “is that the player lifestyle is not for everyone.”

  “So… it’s not for me?” Scottie asked, crestfallen.

  Ark shook his head in a consoling manner. “No, my dear boy.”

  There was a moment of silence that lasted for only the space of a heartbeat. Scottie perked up suddenly. Melmarc saw the birth of an idea on the boy’s face.

  “But you can make it happen,” the boy blurted out, a little excited.

  Ark paused, thought about it. “It will be near impossible.”

  “But not impossible.” Scottie looked up at him with hope. “Right? Near impossible isn’t impossible. I learnt it from Melmarc. He’s always very careful with the words he uses. You said near impossible because you thought about it and know that it’s not impossible.”

  Ark looked at Melmarc. Melmarc shrugged. He was always as careful with his words as possible. Words were important, choosing them wisely prevented misunderstandings. It also kept dissonance away. Then again, there was a very strong importance in knowing the difference between the words ‘can’ and ‘will’. If there was one thing he had learnt, it was that people tended to not care for it in arguments and conversations. As if it didn’t matter because they refused to agree that it mattered.

  “Well,” Ark told Scottie. “I’m not my brother.”

  “That’s not an answer,” Scottie pointed out.

  With a sigh, Ark rolled his eyes. “You’re right. It is not.”

  Pelumi stopped to look up from her game. Students still moved around the hallway—the first class had not started yet. They still had more than enough time to mingle, having come early.

  Ark noticed her attention on him but said nothing to her.

  “I can make you a Casanova if that’s what you want,” he told Scottie.

  Scottie celebrated with a muted fist pump. He kept it as high as his chest.

  “But,” Ark said, interrupting his celebration, “I can tell you that it will not end well.”

  The boy was full of smiles. “Then I guess it’s a good thing that I’m not trying to be a Casanova.”

  “You are not going to help him go out with multiple women,” Pelumi said out of nowhere.

  “I’m not trying to,” Scottie argued.

  “I don’t know,” Ark mused. “Sounds like you are. I saw three names on that message.”

  Scottie winced as if Ark had just revealed a deep dark secret.

  Pelumi paid him no attention, focusing only on Ark. “You are not helping him go out with multiple girls.”

  “I never said that I was going to,” Ark pointed out. “Only that it would not be impossible.”

  Scottie frowned a little, clearly annoyed at Pelumi’s interruption. As for Ark, despite what he had said, Melmarc could see the look in his eyes. It was the same one he always had when he found himself in front of a challenge. He thought he could do it, but he wanted to do it to be certain that he could do it. That there was no dissonance in his words meant that somehow what he was seeing in Ark's eyes were different from what Ark was saying. There was still much to his sense of dissonance that he had not found out.

  Melmarc would be lying if he said that he was not intrigued at what the outcome would be here.

  Still, as interested in the conversation as he was, he couldn’t stop his attention from being dragged to something on the wall. He squinted, looking at it.

  Was that always there?

  As if reading his mind, Spitfire’s head snapped to the side, zeroing in on the same thing he had just seen.

  Pelumi put a hand on Melmarc’s arm. “What’s up?”

  He looked at her, shook his head, then looked at the spot on the wall. “That,” he answered. “Was it always there?”

  Pelumi followed his attention while Ark and Scottie continued their conversation. She peered at what he was looking at. It was right there, just between two lockers. A small black stain.

  She blinked up at him. “How the hell did you see that?”

  Melmarc wasn’t sure how to answer that. It was less of him seeing it and more of him just… noticing it. He couldn’t really explain it. He’d just been walking past it and felt as if something was off, like something was where it was not supposed to be. It wasn’t very surprising since the building they held their classes in did not have the same black and white design as some of the buildings on school grounds.

  I don’t like this, he thought to himself.

  First there was the discomfort that he had now had for a few days. It was only significantly less when he was around Pelumi and other people with the [Invoker] class because their very presence reduced the focus he had on his discomfort. Then there was Spitfire’s happiness and pleasure at his discomfort.

  Now, I’m noticing things that shouldn’t be where they are.

  On top of his shoulder, Spitfire started wagging its tail. It was as clear a sign of its happiness as there could be.

  Melmarc gritted his teeth just as Pelumi gave her answer to his question.

  “I don’t think it was there before.”

  …

  The entire thing was still bothering Melmarc even by their second class. Their first class had been mathematics. He had done his best to pay as much attention to the subject as he could. Ninety percent of what the teacher had said had gone over his head. Mathematics, he’d always learnt was, was one subject that could make him feel dull any time.

  Now, however, they were learning Portal Studies.

  Mrs. Green, a tall lanky woman who liked to wear what could only be described as a black lab coat with a constantly messy bun, was talking as she walked. Unlike some teachers, she liked to walk among her students while she taught. It reduced the chances of being distracted by things that should not distract a student. For example, the message that Delano had just sent to the group chat that Melmarc could not read for fear of being caught.

  “…Then there are Designated Portal Helpers,” Mrs. Green was saying. “Who knows what they are?”

  Hands went up immediately. There was no one with an interest in Delving that did not know what they were.

  “Mr. Stilt,” Mrs. Green said, picking out a boy with a raised hand.

  “In the event of a portal with a boss fight,” the boy said, rising to his feet with hands leaning on his desk, “there is a chance of summoning magic. With this, a student…” he stuttered when he said the last word. “A Delver,” he corrected quickly but not quickly enough to avoid the snickers and chuckles that went through the class, “can summon the assistance of a creature to help defeat the boss and close the portal.”

  Mrs. Green nodded, as if he had not made the mistake of saying student instead of Delver.

  “And does anyone present have an idea of what cases usually lead to the presence of these helpers?” she asked, looking around. “Anyone?”

  No one said anything, no hands came up this time.

  “Mr. Lockwood.”

  Melmarc pressed his lips in a thin line, doing his best to hide his unhappiness at being called as he stood up.

  “They are usually present when the final monster does not match the level of the portal?” he answered. In his case, the aide had been present to help with a fight against a demi-god.

  “Are you asking or telling, Mr. Lockwood?” Mrs. Green asked.

  Melmarc infused as much confidence into his voice when he answered. “Telling.”

  If there was one rule Mrs. Green had, it was that if you thought what you had to say wasn’t stupid, then the least you could do was say it with confidence. And if you thought it was stupid, then the least you could do was not say it.

  “You are correct, Mr. Lockwood,” she said, pleased. “As far as the Delving society knows, they are there to help Delvers deal with bosses that significantly outrank the portal’s rank.”

  Something pricked Melmarc. He stiffened; ears suddenly grew very sensitive. Someone was calling him. It was a similar feeling to the one he got when he was around Pelumi. It was as if he was supposed to listen, to pay attention… to answer.

  Worry settled on him as all the feeling of discomfort slowly sipped out of him. His mind was clear now, everything was suddenly in place. He could feel the world around him, sense everything. He knew that Scottie was eating tofu that he’d hidden under his desk, taking bites every time Mrs. Green turned her back on him. He could tell that Pelumi’s thumb kept twitching because she wanted to continue playing the war game on his phone.

  Come on, it has to work.

  Melmarc moved at the sudden words. They were in his head but they were not his thoughts. His action moved his seat, drawing everyone’s attention to him. Pelumi looked worried. The rest of the class looked intrigued.

  “Would you like to say something, Mr. Lockwood?” Mrs. Green asked, voice polite.

  Melmarc shook his head, slowly returning to his seat. “No, ma’am,” he answered. “Sorry about that.”

  She gave him a curious look. “Would you like to be excused?” she asked.

  Would I?

  Melmarc wasn’t sure.

  Try it again.

  His eyes widened. It wasn’t his thought.

  Mrs. Green looked at him for a moment longer before returning to her class. “Now, there are opinions as to the state of these designated helpers,” she said. “Many philosophers and polymaths over the years have each had their own theory on it.”

  Pelumi’s hand shot up.

  “Yes, Ms. Olatunji.”

  “Is it possible that these creatures are actual living beings?” Pelumi asked.

  Mrs. Green was already shaking her head. “That would allude to the possibility of other worlds with actual sapient life forms in them. While there is nothing to disprove this, there is no concrete evidence that proves it either.”

  Melmarc pulled his phone out quickly and opened his chat with Uncle Dorthna.

  Uncle, I think something’s very wrong, he typed quickly. I’m hearing voices.

  Nothing. His uncle did not reply immediately. He didn’t even open the message. Melmarc’s foot started tapping in worry.

  One more.

  Again, it wasn’t his voice. Melmarc’s eyes moved instead to everything around him.

  The marks, he thought.

  His eyes tried to pick out another black spot on the walls or the ceiling or the ground. That was what was different between today and every other day since his discomfort had started. It had bothered him since coming to the school, but now he was sure of it. The white and black design of the school was something unnatural.

  It was not a fashion design.

  Something was wrong.

  …

  Pelumi was worried. Melmarc probably didn’t notice it, but he was sweating in his seat. She had never wanted classes to end so quickly in her life. That he had not taken the excuse that Mrs. Green had offered him was what was annoying her now.

  She hated it when people who were smart enough to take care of their health refused to, not because they didn’t know better but because they wanted to be stubborn and deal with hit through nothing but sheer force of will. The world did not work that way.

  “Now, so far, we are aware of a few categories of helpers,” Mrs. Green was saying, even though Pelumi wasn’t paying much in the way of attention.

  At some point it was the war game on Melmarc’s phone that had her attention. There was a new online enemy she had made, full of racism and skill. She’d lost to him twice before classes had started and really wanted to get back and show him that she was just as skilled.

  Now, it was Melmarc that was distracting her. He was quiet and still, precise even. His tapping foot seemed to be tapping out a rhythm that she did not know. There was a possible chance that he was trying to distract himself from whatever was bothering him by singing in his head.

  The only problem was that his movements were too precise. He didn’t look panicked yet he seemed panicked.

  Something was very wrong. Something was—

  Melmarc bolted up from his seat for the second time since classes began. This time, he did not stop halfway up, he stood up completely, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

  “Mr. Lockwood?” Mrs. Green said, but Melmarc paid her no attention.

  Something happened. The world fell still. There was moment of silence, brief and strong, pregnant. Then a portal appeared out of nowhere. It came to life behind Melmarc. His eyes fastened on Pelumi immediately.

  “Find Ark.”

  Those were his only words before the portal sucked him into it like a black hole.

  Then it closed.