Cat dreams and Fox secrets

When the lecture ended, Ray sat still for a while, staring at the nearly empty page in his notebook. The handwriting was neat, almost calligraphic — as if each word was trying to balance between 'normal studies' and the strange, almost unreal reality he now inhabited. He exhaled, stood up slowly, and left the lecture hall. Outside, evening had fully claimed the academy. Lanterns shaped like glowing fireflies flickered to life along the pathways, and a light golden dust hung in the air — not dust, not magic, just... evening. That's how it was here. He wasn't in a hurry to return to his room. As he walked past the shadow garden and the ancient staircases whose geometry shifted if you looked at them too long, for the first time all day, he wanted a little silence. Not solitude, but the kind of pause that exists between notes in a melody. Just to be. Ray stopped on a small bridge over a stream. The water below shimmered with a soft green glow, as if reflecting remnants of forgotten spells. Something swam deep beneath the surface — gracefully, but with clear distrust of what lay above. Ray chose not to guess what it was. He leaned on the railing and, without looking down, inhaled the evening air. Across the bank, the grass swayed gently to the rhythm of some distant singing — or perhaps it was only in his mind. Still... he looked at the water. The reflection stared back. A thin face with slightly sharp cheekbones, calm and almost detached. Chestnut hair, a little wavy, tousled by the breeze, tucked behind one ear. Dark eyes, deeper than they should be for someone his age. The tiredness in them wasn't physical — more like something lived-through, familiar. He didn't look like a first-year lost in a new world, but someone who already knew too well what came next. As if a shadow from the future had already settled on his shoulders. For a moment, the reflection seemed older than it should have. Too grown. But then something floated up in the water, distracting him, and the face returned to normal — calm, and a stranger only to itself. Ray looked away, back to the sky. He really was here. Not just an observer — a part of it all. And even if he didn't yet know why — why now, why here — he could feel the place hadn't chosen him by accident. He jumped slightly when a familiar silhouette appeared beside him. — "Are you hiding from the cat?" Lio squinted at him teasingly. — "Bad idea. We'll find you." Ray smirked. — "I wasn't hiding. Just walking slow." — "Slow, huh? Is that what you call going around the lanterns, avoiding the energy-sensitive slugs, and not setting foot on the main path?" Lio snorted. — "That's not slow, that's sneaky." — "I was just... choosing my route," Ray replied smoothly. — "Fine," Lio stretched. — "Come on, then. I've got an idea." Ray rolled his eyes. — "Of course you do." They returned to the room when night had fully fallen. Warm light from the streetlamps spilled through the window, glinting off glass crystals hanging from the ceiling — apparently installed by a previous tenant to 'enhance the energy.' Or repel mosquitoes. The effect was debatable. Ray dropped his jacket, stretched, and settled on the windowsill wrapped in a blanket with a cup of tea. Lio, meanwhile, spread papers across the floor and scribbled in a thick, battered book whose cover muttered in Old High Elvish something like 'Return me to the archive, you little rascal.' — "Do you even understand what you're reading?" Ray asked, nodding at the book. — "It's a treatise on field interaction with non-material entities," Lio said grandly. — "Written by a possessed goblin, so he knows what he's talking about." Ray snorted into his tea. — "Well, at least you sound confident." Lio leaned forward, his eyes lighting up. — "So here's the theory! Look: if ghosts cling to me, then I must attract them. Not just see them — resonate with them. You get it?" Ray nodded, tension flickering beneath the surface. — "Resonance... sure." — "And if I find the counter-resonance," Lio continued, flipping through pages, — "I could either repel them, or..." — he squinted mysteriously — "temporarily phase them into another layer. Like an astral timeout. A pause between lives. The book says it needs stabilization circles — pentagrams, runes, linking lines... I already started drawing, by the way." He waved toward the wall, where chalk symbols had indeed begun to take shape. Ray sat up slightly, sipping his tea, and murmured absently: — "You're only drawing them in more. They love structural magic. Especially unstable ones." Lio froze. — "...What?" Ray blinked, finally realizing what he'd just said. He slowly set the cup down. — "I... uh... It's just logical. All entities are drawn to energy sources. And your circles aren't exactly... stable. It's obvious." Lio stared at him, eyes narrowing. His tail — barely visible — twitched. — "Uh-huh. Obvious, huh. Like you've seen them." — "I..." Ray faltered. — "Just... read about it. Somewhere. Maybe in the magical fire safety guide? Weird stuff happens here." Silence. Lio studied him. Not suspicious. Not hostile. Just... focused. Too focused. — "Ray..." he began softly, almost gently. — "You sure you're a first-year?" — "Yep. Just arrived yesterday," Ray replied a bit too quickly. — "And never had any contact with ghosts before?" — "Never," Ray said — then, without meaning to, added, — "...in person." Lio raised a brow. — "Ghosts are rare at the academy. But you talk about them like you know them. Like you didn't just read about them. Like you've lived with them." Ray turned to the window. He wasn't nervous. He was choosing silence. As a shield. — "Just intuition," he said quietly. — "Sometimes all you need is to pay attention." Lio didn't argue. But he didn't let it go either. He simply snorted, returned to his papers, and said nothing more — though Ray could feel his gaze still brushing against him. Measuring. Comparing. The room settled into a quiet stillness. Almost. On the floor, a sparrow dozed with its beak nestled into an amulet. In a mug, mint shoots were sprouting again — someone had whispered to them in their sleep. And in Lio's mind, a first quiet suspicion began to form: Ray was hiding something. And it might not be just charming introversion. But something... entirely different. At some point, Lio simply shrugged and buried himself back in the treatise. He snorted, as if Ray's comment was just another student ghost story. — "Fine," he muttered. — "If they start showing up, I'll talk to them. Maybe we'll be friends. Or start a club or something." He didn't even try to erase the circles. In fact — he added another line, carefully painting a symbol that looked vaguely like a cat's paw. Just in case, he explained. Maybe ghosts have a sense of humor. Ray didn't argue. Not a word. He just watched, with almost philosophical calm. After all, he knew the warning wouldn't work. Lio was one of those who don't believe until the very end. And even if he did — he'd still have to test it. Ray didn't feel irritated — only a faint weariness, like from a rainstorm that promised to pass by, but still drizzled. When the clock hands passed ten and the room grew quieter, Ray got up, slowly walked to the window, and opened the balcony door. The night greeted him with a chill, tinged with early autumn — clear, smoky, and laced with echoes of distant spells cast in upper floors. He stepped outside, closing the door behind him. And only then — with a familiar, practiced gesture — he pulled out his old, carved pipe. The weight of the wood was comforting in his hand. The copper ring, slightly worn. The smell of herbs, gathered far from these forests. Before lighting it, he ran his fingers over the pipe and whispered a simple illusion spell — almost childlike in its ease. The pipe now looked like an ordinary cigarette — long, slim, white-papered, glowing faintly at the end. Ray knew Lio was watching him. Knew he'd glanced at him — casually, supposedly — from behind the book. And knew that Lio had already started piecing it together: the too-calm reaction, the too-accurate comment, the too-certain knowledge. But that wasn't dangerous. Not yet. Ray took a drag and exhaled into the night. The smoke was thick, herbal, with a hint of minty bitterness. It curled through the air in soft waves, dissolving into the ambient magic of the evening.

He wasn't afraid of being exposed. Not right now. There were worse things — like the chalk circle sliding down the wall, as if something inside had started to stir. Or the sparrow that had moved closer to the exit — as if it didn't want to stay near the symbols. Ray knew it was only a matter of time. But he was patient. Sometimes, survival meant simply waiting out those who were digging their own grave. He took another drag, leaning his elbow on the railing, and let the silence embrace him. Soft lantern light, comforting shadows, quiet outside the window — and madness, just beyond the wall. The ghosts hadn't come yet. But they were close. And if Lio kept this up... he'd be the first to know. Ray exhaled — and with the smoke, it seemed, released a sliver of his worry into the air. The room slowly filled with silence — but it wasn't the cozy kind that accompanies reading and nighttime tea. This was something else. Tense. Muted. Like the hush before a storm. Only instead of static, there was dust — memory dust — hanging in the air. Ray was still on the balcony, slowly finishing his 'cigarette', and looked detached. But in truth, he was listening. Carefully. To the sparrow, now frozen on the windowsill. To the stillness of the hallway behind the door.  To the shift in the air inside the room. He heard Lio flipping pages. Heard him mumble something like: — "If internal energy flow is increased, the ghost should manifest visually... Huh... Light paws? Seriously?" And then — a quiet: — "...What the..." Ray exhaled the last plume of smoke and, without turning, whispered: — "It's started." The air inside the room grew heavier. As if something invisible had hung a wet sheet from the ceiling. First — small things. A curtain swayed, though the window was closed. The minty smell from a mug turned acrid. A feathered pen rolled off the table for no reason — landing precisely in the center of Lio's largest drawn circle. He froze. Just as the book warned: — "If a magical object begins behaving unexpectedly — best to retreat and observe from a safe place." — "Um..." Lio said. And fell silent. A faint, glowing outline appeared on the circle — not bright, not dramatic. More like... pearlescent mist seeping through the wall. Then another circle, to the left. And another — right near the door. They didn't ignite. They awakened. And from deep within the wall... something looked. The room grew cold. Not breezy, not drafty — but internally cold. The kind that seeps through pores, into bones. The kind that makes your teeth chatter before you realize you're scared. First — a flicker in the mirror. Then — at the edge of peripheral vision — someone walked behind him. Where no one should've been. — "R-Ray?.." Lio's voice trembled. Ray didn't answer. Shadows emerged on the walls. They didn't move — but with each blink, they grew closer. Like manually advanced film frames. One was now by the bookshelf. Another — near the bed. And the third... No. It wasn't standing. It was watching. Lio staggered back, almost stepping on the sparrow, knocking an amulet from the table, stepping on a notebook, forgetting to breathe and— — "RAY!" He bolted for the door — practically bursting it open — and in the next second had launched himself onto the balcony, landing on Ray like a startled cat, clinging to his back. — "They're in there! I... they... THEY MOVED! THEY'RE STARING! AT ME! THEY'RE STARING!" Ray didn't move. He remained at the railing, gazing out at the forest and stars. He was silent for a few long seconds as Lio clung to him like a terrified plush demon. — "I told you," Ray said calmly. — "Circles attract them." — "I THOUGHT YOU WERE JOKING!" Lio hissed in his ear. — "I don't joke about the dead." They stood like that a moment longer. Lio didn't dare look back — afraid he'd see something. His ears were still twitching. His tail was fluffed up so much it barely fit on the balcony. Ray, unhurried, moved the 'cigarette' from his lips and casually waved a hand — as if brushing away smoke. But the gesture was precise. The motion of his fingers — subtle, natural. He traced a symbol in the air — one known to ancient spirits, long forgotten by people. The lines flared with faint white light — not bright, more like moonlight on water. For a split second, the room shuddered — like water repelling a touch. And deep in the stillness, something hissed. Not to the ears — to the bones. Ray's aura surged — just slightly — cold and commanding, like wind down a collar. He wasn't angry. He simply reminded them who was stronger. The ghosts felt it. And withdrew. The shadows didn't flee. Didn't vanish. They let go — like fingers uncurling. The glow left the circles. The air warmed. Space settled. Only then did Lio slowly peek over Ray's shoulder. First with one eye. Then, cautiously, with his whole head. And saw... nothing. The circles were still there. The wall — normal, even boring. The sparrow was back on the pillow, tense but alive. The shadows — gone. Only a candle on the nightstand flickered, as if something had breathed on it. — "They're gone?" Lio whispered. Ray, still looking toward the forest, nodded. — "For now. They've had their fill. They remembered you." — "That... doesn't sound better." Ray smirked — not smugly, just with tired understanding. — "Well, now you know. It's not just 'experimental chalk art.'" Lio slowly slid off him into a kind of defensive crouch, still clutching a scrap of parchment. He sat directly on the cold tiles, staring into space. — "I thought they were... you know, not like that. In the books they don't stare at you like you're going to be their portal!" Ray sat down nearby, a bit apart. — "Books don't have to save you. And you don't have to believe them." — "...So you do know about ghosts," Lio finally asked, not looking at him. — "A bit," Ray shrugged. — "More than I want to. Less than I need." Lio finally turned to him. His amber eyes were narrow — still unsettled, but studying. — "Hm." He didn't say anything else. Just exhaled. Slowly. Deeply. There was still suspicion in his eyes. But now — also exhaustion. And maybe... a flicker of gratitude. — "I'm wiping those circles tomorrow," Lio muttered, still staring into the dark. — "And retraining the sparrow..." He paused, then added with a crooked smirk: — "Then again, no need. I saw him duck behind a book when they hissed. He's had enough." Ray glanced at the room. The sparrow really did sit puffed up like an angry featherball. Occasionally shifting his feet or fluttering his wings — like he was ready to fly but kept changing his mind. — "...What's up with that sparrow?" Ray finally asked. — "Is he... your pet?" — "No," Lio snorted. — "He followed me. I was eating crackers by the dining hall stairs, and he latched on. Thought I was a walking buffet, I guess. Walked into the room with me — and stayed. Been hanging out all evening. Like he's paying rent or something." He shrugged, like it wasn't strange at all. Ray huffed a laugh but didn't argue. Honestly, the sparrow looked too well-groomed and clever to be wild. There was a faint silver band on its leg — barely visible, but it glinted under the lamplight. Probably someone's familiar or a lost training pet. But if Lio considered him a 'random roommate,' Ray didn't object. It was a very cat-like thing to do — find a living creature, declare it yours, and live with that fact. — "Smart bird," Ray nodded. — "Learns faster than you." — "Hey!" Lio protested, but without bite. He leaned back against the balcony railing and sighed. The sparrow, as if hearing the compliment, chirped and started preening. — "Well fine," Lio muttered. — "Maybe he is smarter. But I've got style." — "Sure," Ray replied dryly. — "Especially when you clung to my shoulder like a stuffed demon." Lio snorted but stayed quiet. Then, after a moment, he edged a little closer, glancing sideways: — "Hey, Ray?.." he asked quietly. — "If I see something again tonight... can I climb on your back again?" — "No," Ray replied instantly. — "...Okay. Just to the waist." Ray closed his eyes and took a slow drag. The night breathed toward them — cold, but no longer frightening. The watching hadn't stopped. But now, it kept its distance. And that made all the difference. The night would be long. But it didn't feel lonely anymore.