Chapter 3- Gala of Ghosts

Lysan stood there, staring at the rose and the note in his hands. 

His thumb ran over the words slowly. The handwriting was so familiar in a way that made his chest stir uncomfortably.

His eyes moved to the rose next. It was fresh. The stalk was still green, not a trace of withering.

His mind went to Roman first, but he quickly dismissed it. This wasn't Roman's style. Every white rose Roman left on the chest of enemies, on the body of his victims, on the doorstep of those he wanted to terrorize was always dead, without any note.

But this was different.

This person was someone who wanted to make Lysan know that they were here, but Lysan could not guess who.

He folded the note and slipped it carefully into his pocket, then he looked around the field one more time, now completely empty.

He walked back to his dorm slowly, the fresh rose still in his hands.

Who in his previous life knew him well enough, and also found him here?

He reached the door of his dorm, turned the knob slowly, and walked inside. His roommate wasn't here yet. That was good. He closed the door and pressed his back against it.

His mind drifted back to the note in his pocket and the rose. He walked towards his desk in a daze, dropped the rose, and went to his bed to sit, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together in front of him.

He was still sitting there, staring into space, when Dyleon knocked and pushed the door open.

“Hey, Lys,” He walked towards Lysan. “You missed dinner.

Lysan blinked, “Huh?”

“Dinner, where I had told you I would save you a seat?” Dyleon's voice rose slightly. “I waited for you for an hour.”

Lysan's stomach dropped, “An hour?” He looked at Dyleon wide eyed.

“Yes, an hour. I waited because you told me you'd be there, and I know you never missed dinner.”

“I'm sorry, I wasn't really hungry.”

“Not hungry?” Dyleon narrowed his eyes. “You're always hungry, Lys, and you never miss a good dinner. Today your favorite dish was prepared, and you never miss Friday dinners for anything.” 

Lysan didn't know how to respond, he didn't know anything about this body habits.

Dyleon moved closer, leaning against the wall “Something's off with you Lys,” his voice dropped. “I'm not stupid, I've known you for three years, and—”

Dyleon's gaze moved to the desk in front of him and his eyes caught the rose. “Where did you get that?” He picked the rose.

“Uhm, I found it.” Lysan said, looking at Dyleon now.

“Ooh, pretty.” Dyleon turned the rose around, examining it.

“Hmmm.”

Dyleon dropped the rose, and looked at Lysan properly. “You've been acting weird all day, Lys.”

Lysan looked up at Dyleon again, “Define the weird.”

“You're not usually this quiet.” Dyleon said softly. “And you're always spacing out while we’re talking.”

Lysan chest tightened. Dyleon had no idea that the person he was talking to was not the same person he knew.

“I'm fine… I'm just… adjusting.”

Dyleon brows furrowed, “Adjusting to what?”

Lysan wanted to say, adjusting to this new body, to this new life, that he received a strange note from someone he had no idea about.

“To the new verdict, you know. Botany and all.”

Dyleon stared at him, and something in his expression shifted. “You're a terrible liar, Lys. But I won't push, not tonight.”

Lysan ran a hand through his hair and sighed, “Seriously, it's nothing, Dyleon.” He paused. “The gala announcement has been made, it's tonight. I saw the memo on the notice board earlier.” 

Dyleon blinked. “Oh, really? I haven't checked it yet.” He put his hand in his pockets. “Attendance is compulsory for the whole academy. I hate these things.”

“Yeah, same.” Lysan said.

“We could fake sick.” Dyleon sing songed.

Lysan chuckled, “Attendance is mandatory, Dyleon.”

“Hmm, right. But we get to go together okay? Just—don't disappear on me again. Whatever's bothering you, I'm always here.” Dyleon smiled, patted Lysan’s shoulder and walked out.

*****************

Lysan reluctantly put on his uniform—a navy blue pants with silver trim at the sides and a white shirt. He looked like every other student.

He didn't want to go, but attendance was compulsory. And the worst of all—Roman Da’Luka

was the guest of honour.

When he was done dressing, he stepped out of his dorm and met Dyleon, coming from the right side of the hallway.

He waited for Dyleon to reach him, then they started walking together.

“You look good, Lys,” Dyleon smiled and nudged him with his elbow.

Lysan looked at Dyleon closely. His uniform fitted him differently, his hair was a little shiny, and he was wearing a light cologne that hit Lysan’s nose as soon as he got close

Lysan smiled back, “So do you. So much for not liking these events.” 

They laughed together.

They walked to the ballroom, Dyleon's shoulder, brushing against Lysan’s shoulder every few steps, but Lysan didn't move away.

They approached the ballroom, and the massive door swung open on its own. Dyleon and Lysan stepped inside. 

The ballroom was magnificent, chandelier crystals shimmering above,soft golden light reflecting on the marble floor, cool music, luxurious velvet drapes covering the high windows. Nobles in glittering wears, moving across the dance floor.

Lysan and Dyleon found the punch table at the far corner of the room and went towards it. Dyleon poured himself a drink from the table, then poured another for Lysan.

They clinked their glasses together, and Dyleon took a sip, “This is the darkest corner of the room. It feels like we are watching a show from afar. No disturbance whatsoever. Cool.”

“Yeah.” Lysan smiled and raised the glass to his lips. The punch tasted like berries, and it burned his throat a little. He set the glass down.

He was not drinking anything exposed. Not after the last time.

The music paused and the crowd parted. Someone important was about to enter.

Then the ballroom door swung open. 

Roman Da'Luka walked in. He was dressed in midnight blue, his dark hair falling across his face giving him a handsome youthful vibe. His grey eyes shimmered like glass under the light as he smiled. He looked like a prince from a fairy tale—young, charming, beautiful, captivating.

Every noble gave way for him to walk through. 

Roman moved through the crowd effortlessly.

Lysan's hand tightened on the glass. 

He had seen that smile a thousand times, in battle fields, in his nightmares, everywhere. But here, no one knew what that smile hid.

Dyleon whispered softly to Lysan. “Wow, so that's the famous Demon prince, Roman Da'Luca.”

“Yeah.”

“They say he's gonna be the next Demon king.” Dyleon's eyes trailed Roman. “But, mere looking at him, he doesn't seem like someone who could cause terror.”

Lysan jaw clenched tightly. Only if Dyleon knew.

Roman walked to the stage and raised a glass. He took a mic, “To peace,” he said, his voice bellowed in the ball room through the speakers, smooth and rich, like music. “To a future without war.” Then he smiled.

Everyone cheered, including Dyleon, standing beside Lysan, and they took their drink.

Lysan just stood still, looking at Roman, a slight frown visible on his face.

—

Roman finished his speech, his eyes scanning the crowd. His eyes met Lysan's and he walked towards their table. 

Dyleon noticed Roman approaching them. “Uh…Lys? Why the hell is Roman walking towards us?” Then he looked back, checking if someone else was at their back. No one was there.

Lysan's throat tightened. “I don't know.”

Dyleon grabbed Lysan’s arm. “He’s looking right at you, Lys.” He said in between his teeth.

Within a few seconds, Roman reached their table. This close, he was even more devastating, he had sharp cheekbones and full lips.

“You’re the one from the combat exams,” Roman said, his voice low and warm. “The one who couldn’t hold a sword properly.”

“Hmm.”

Dyleon shifted beside him, whispering in his ear,”Lys, have you guys met before?”

“Not really.” Lysan said, his expression flat.

Roman extended his hand towards Dyleon, “I'm Roman Da'Luka.”

“I’m Dyleon.” he shook Roman’s hand, a huge smile spread across his lips.

Then Roman removed his hand from Dyleon's hand and extended it to Lysan.

Lysan looked at his hand. The same hand that would slaughter millions of people in the future.

He didn't take it.

Roman withdrew his hand slowly, his smile still on his lips. “Not one for handshakes?”

Lysan looked at him, the disgust spread on his face, “Not one for pretentious people.”