Cat dreams and Fox secrets

The night passed quietly. Relatively. The ghosts didn't return. Nor did the nightmares — for Lio, at least, not yet. But Ray's blanket was thoroughly stolen, and by dawn he found himself nudged all the way to the edge of the bed, as if the furniture had decided on its own who needed more space. Lio lay sprawled across the bed, the sparrow peacefully asleep on his back, both breathing softly, as though there hadn't been a full-blown panic just a few hours ago. Ray didn't wake them. He hadn't slept anyway — sleep wouldn't come after everything that had happened. Not from anxiety. But from magical exhaustion — even minor magic use required time to stabilize. And also... he didn't want to leave Lio alone. A strange feeling, considering they'd known each other barely two days. He sat on the windowsill, wrapped in a thick cardigan over his nightshirt. It was chilly, but the cold didn't really bother him. A ghost — even in a body — wasn't easy to freeze. Dawn was breaking beyond the windows. The campus still slumbered in the pre-dawn hush — a thin mist drifted between the towers like someone had drawn with chalk in the air. An owl called softly in the distance. It smelled of herbs and damp earth. Ray watched the shadows shift from the rooftops and thought. About the circle. About the shadow. About how easily it had all affected Lio. — "Non-resonant, sensitive, spontaneous... and very much alive," he sighed. — "Impossible to predict what he'll do next. But at least... he's not hollow. That's something." He glanced at his sleeping roommate. Lio mumbled something in his sleep and hugged the sparrow like a stuffed toy. Ray almost smiled. — "You'll learn what not to mess with." — "Or maybe you won't..." But for now — let him sleep. He sat a little longer in the silence. Then made himself some green tea, lit a small comfort charm — it gave off a soft amber glow — and returned to the window. A new day was beginning quietly. And who knows how long that would last. Ray left quietly, as usual. Slipped out the door without waking Lio, leaving the sparrow to guard his sleep — something that looked both ridiculous and oddly symbolic. The academy's hallways were nearly lifeless in the early morning. The magical lamps flickered dimly, occasionally crackling, as if whispering to each other. Room doors 'slept.' Here and there, small spirits drifted — insubstantial, lazy. They didn't notice Ray. Or pretended not to. He descended to the first floor, circled the south wing, exited into the courtyard — and turned toward the forest. Officially, access to the sacred forest was restricted until the third semester. Unofficially — no one could find a way in unless the forest itself allowed it. And Ray — it always let him in. Every time. He walked between the silver-drenched trees, soaked in magic down to their roots, heard old roots shift beneath the moss, owls whisper in the canopy, something ancient slumbering deep within. And in that forest... he didn't pretend. He dropped the mask. Not entirely — but enough. Inhale. The wind filled his lungs, and something inside ached — a part of him that wasn't flesh, but lived alongside it. He felt hunger. Not the usual kind. Not physical. But... ancient, searing. It started in the chest, crawled up his throat, and reminded him: 'You're not human. Not completely. And power doesn't last forever without feeding.' Ray stopped by a small pond. A thin layer of ice had begun forming along the edges, even though it was still autumn. His reflection wavered, and for a moment he saw himself — as he was. A fox spirit with two tails and glowing amber eyes. He sat on a log and pulled out a small bundle from his inner pocket — a dried slice of cow's liver. Not quite right. The real need demanded more — a heart, a living source, true fear. But he had chosen to live among people. Which meant — no killing. — "Though sometimes it's tempting," he snorted to himself. Legends said kitsune fed on souls. The truth was... more complicated. Some of his kind really did. Others fed on fear, emotions, memory. He had long ago chosen to limit himself to things that didn't scream. But power faded. Spent on shielding, on suppressing his aura, on staying unnoticed. And without feeding, he wouldn't last long. Ray dropped the slice into his mouth. Chewed mechanically. The taste — rancid rust. The effect — minimal. But still, something. "I'll have to find something better in the cafeteria," he thought. "Or at least something fresher..." He stood, ran a hand along a tree trunk. The magic under the bark responded — a faint pulse, like touching a living heart. The forest — accepted him as one of its own. But he still had to return. Lio might wake up. Ray turned and walked back — calmly, with the light shadow that always followed him. But now there was a little more fire inside him than at sunrise. When Ray returned to the room, the sun was beginning to break through the thick clouds. The air inside felt still, like an aquarium — warm, stagnant. Only the sparrow on the windowsill fluffed its wings, yawning as if it had been dreaming something long and important. Lio was already awake. He sat on Ray's bed, clutching his head and grimacing, as if trying to make his skull shut up. The blanket had slipped to the floor, his hair was a mess, and shadows clung under his eyes. — "Headache?" — Ray asked quietly, closing the door behind him. — "Mhm. Feels like two ghosts threw a party in there. No snacks. And... my leg," — he added without looking up. — "It felt like it got shot during the night. Doesn't hurt now, just... weird. It's pulsing." Ray tensed. He sat beside him, cautiously. — "Show me." Lio reluctantly stretched out his leg. Around his ankle — an odd mark, pale like frostbite but inverted. The skin had turned marble-white, thin almost invisible threads spreading like ice patterns. At the edges — an unnatural blue-grey sheen, where ghostly force had met another kind of magic. His magic. Ray touched it lightly with his fingers. Lio flinched. — "Does it burn?" — "No. Just... cold." Ray traced the edge of the pattern. His own energy stirred — as if something ancient shifted inside. He'd seen ghost marks a hundred times. Seen people touched by them. Seen souls fracture from staying too long in contact with the otherworld. But this... this was different. — "Well?" — Lio tilted his head. — "Is it like... an astral snake bite? Or is my leg now out of range?" Ray looked up. Calm, composed. Almost emotionless. — "Looks like the ghost latched on deeper than expected. That happens when contact breaks abruptly. Energy sticks. Leaves a mark." — "So now I'm... a spiritual antenna?" Ray snorted — without amusement. — "More like a bookmark. If you start hearing voices, don't answer." Lio gave a crooked smile, rubbing his temple. — "Reassuring." Ray turned away but glanced at the mark again. It hadn't faded. And the longer he looked, the more he felt: the imprint wasn't just lingering. It was growing roots. And that was alarming. — "I'll go get some food," — Ray said, standing. — "You'd better not stand up too quickly." — "Yeah. Got that part. Looks like today's going to be slow. And a bit cursed." — "If we're lucky — just slow." Ray paused by the door, glanced over his shoulder. — "Don't touch any circles. Old or new. Even tell the sparrow." — "The sparrow was hiding yesterday," — Lio grumbled, tugging the blanket around himself. — "He's had enough." Ray didn't reply. He simply left. The sparrow followed a moment later, perching lightly on his shoulder. Until the door fell silent behind them, Lio couldn't tell what unsettled him more — the mark on his skin, or the way Ray had looked at it. The corridors were still dim — wall sconces flickered faintly, as if only half-awake. The academy exhaled in sleepy calm; far off, the hum of enchanted pipes carrying water echoed faintly. Ray walked quietly, hands in his pockets. The sparrow settled on his shoulder, a fluff of feathers occasionally shifting from foot to foot with a soft grumble. It seemed to be dozing, but turned its head at every sound like a sentinel. Ray wasn't in a hurry. He knew most students were still asleep, and no one would care about a weirdo wandering campus at dawn. Especially one with a bird on his shoulder. The dining hall was almost empty. A couple of upperclassmen sipped coffee in the corner, yawning and avoiding eye contact. The smells of baked herbs, vanilla, and fish blended into something warm and sticky, like a half-remembered dream. Ray slowed his step. He scanned the displays like a hunter and began gathering what he needed: Strong green tea, no sugar. Tuna pastries. Two toasts. Vanilla coffee. Then he began looking for something... raw. He wasn't sure what exactly. Liver? Heart? Magic needed fuel, and regular food only gave the illusion of sustenance. At that moment, the sparrow on his shoulder perked up. — "Hey!" — called a voice from across the hall. Light, ringing, almost melodic. — "Riki!" The bird shot up, circled under the ceiling, and then dove straight toward a girl with wings tucked behind her back. A harpy. Light hair, a short scarf like a feather around her neck. She stood near the coffee machine, smiling brightly. — "There you are, you little brat! I looked for you half the day yesterday!" — She held out a hand, and the sparrow plopped down onto her shoulder with a delighted chirp. Ray paused, watching silently. The girl noticed his gaze, raised her eyebrows — and walked over. — "Sorry, he was with you last night, right?" — She nodded toward the sparrow, gently stroking the back of his neck. — "He usually doesn't get lost. But yesterday was a bit... loud." — "He just tagged along," — Ray replied calmly. — "While my roommate was eating mint crackers." The harpy laughed. — "That's how he found me too. Stole a ginger cookie from my backpack and wouldn't leave." — "I'm Kora, by the way. Fifth floor. You're from the room where that magic firework happened recently, right?" Ray nodded slightly. He didn't correct her — it was more of an anti-firework. — "Ray." — "Nice to meet you. And thanks for watching him." — "He managed fine on his own." — "Still. You've got a calm aura — maybe that's why he didn't bolt." Ray didn't answer. He just dipped his head slightly and glanced back at the display. He felt Kora trying to "read" him — but gently, without pressure. Respectfully. — "Looking for something... specific?" — she asked cautiously, noticing the thoughtful look on his face. Ray met her eyes. A long pause. — "Just... breakfast." — "Sure," — Kora smiled softly. — "If you ever want something a little more "dense," ask Selv, the night chef. He works late, but sometimes sneaks out things that aren't on the menu." Ray noted that. Gave a small nod. Kora was already turning back to her table. The sparrow, still glowing with joy, bounced on her shoulder at every step, chirping something like 'I'm a hero, I'm saved!' Ray exhaled. Now he just had to get breakfast back to the room. And try to find something on the menu that didn't make his instincts recoil. Behind the display counter, the dish room hummed softly. Most of the cooks had already gone — breakfast was nearly over. Just a couple of helpers remained, and a light steam hung in the air, rich with herbs and butter. Ray, holding Lio's breakfast tray in one hand, slowly made his way to a narrow door labeled Staff Only. He knocked twice. Quietly. Almost politely. Almost like a shadow. There was no answer, but after a few seconds, the door creaked open. A tall man appeared — short gray hair, and eyes that could tell how much salt you'd added to a soup even if you hadn't started boiling it yet. — "You're not a janitor," — he said calmly. — "And not a thief," — Ray replied, tilting his head. — "I was told you might help with... an unusual request." The chef squinted. — "Who told you?" — "The harpy from the fifth floor." — "Ah. Kora." — The man opened the door wider and stepped aside. — "Then come in. Just don't touch the knives. They get grumpy." Inside was cooler than the dining hall. Ventilation magic. Jars, spices, bundles of dried herbs. The kitchen was spacious, dim, and spotless. Like an alchemical lab — only instead of vials, there were cast-iron pots. — "What do you need?" — the chef asked, heading to a large fridge. Ray set the tray down on the counter. — "Liver. Or heart. Raw. Freshness is the priority." The chef wasn't surprised. He only looked more closely. For a long time. Calmly. Like he was reading not Ray's face, but the scent of his blood. — "First year," — he said at last. — "And already got an appetite." — "I don't eat people, if that's what you're thinking." — "Yet," — the chef clarified, but nodded. He opened the cold drawer. Inside, wrapped cuts of meat rested like artifacts — carefully packed, magically sealed. — "I've got pork liver, some deer. No griffon heart — too expensive, and too noisy. Liver's easier." He handed Ray a wrapped bundle. Ray quickly stowed it in a cloth pouch inside his coat. — "Thanks," — he said simply. — "I'm not asking why." — The chef shrugged. — "The academy's full of hungry people. Not all of them honest about it." He turned back to his work, then added, almost absently: — "Name's Selv. If you need me — knock twice. Once slow, once fast. That's how I'll know it's you and not a student asking for 'three kinds of cheese on a plate, but make sure they don't look at each other'." Ray nearly smiled. Nearly. — "Ray. And I'll remember." — "Don't just remember that," — Selv muttered, stirring something in a pot. — "Remember it's better to be hungry than to be full of the wrong thing." Ray left the kitchen. The smell of it still clung to the lining of his coat. The room greeted him with a smell — not cozy or homely, but distinctly Lio-chaotic: warm air, mint, a little dust from books, toasted crumbs on the floor, and a trace of ether, as if the magic here hadn't yet settled. Lio sat on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, clutching a water bottle. He looked... not great — face pale, dark circles under his eyes, hair a tangled mess. He looked up and muttered at the tray: — "Took you long enough. I nearly starved to death." — "If the ghosts had eaten you, no one would've noticed," — Ray said evenly, setting the tray down on the table. Coffee, tuna pastries, some apples, honey, a couple of buns — Lio perked up immediately and dove into the food. Meanwhile, Ray sat down in the chair nearby, placing his breakfast quietly by his side. The part no one should see. — "By the way," — Ray began, watching Lio chomp into a pastry. — "That sparrow? Not really yours." — "What?" — "While I was grabbing breakfast, he flew off. Landed on the shoulder of a harpy from the fifth floor. She said he ran off a couple days ago. According to her, he rarely warms up to people. Looks like to him, you're just the weird guy with the mint crackers." Lio froze, pastry in hand. — "So... he wasn't some fateful companion? Not my spirit bird, attuned to mana streams and peppermint?" Ray shook his head, smirking. — "He literally eats trash off the floor. If he's attuned to anything, it's the culinary kind." — "Incredible," — Lio exhaled dramatically. — "So I fed someone else's sparrow, and he also pooped on my desk. Brilliant. Hope he at least left a thank-you note." He took another bite — less enthusiastically now. Ray stayed silent, sipping his tea. He'd added a drop of magnolia tincture — to dull the aura's edge. He barely breathed in the direction of the bag beside him, where the raw liver still sat, faintly warm. Something inside shifted. Not physically — but the essence buried deep within reacted to the scent of blood. Its ears twitched, tails flicked — in his mind. No. Not here. He took a slow sip, eyes scanning the room. Too small. Too exposed. Lio was still distracted by food, but leaving anything out in the open would be stupid. "Need the forest. Or a basement. Or an attic window no one ever visits. Somewhere I won't have to growl under my breath while blood drips from my hands." — "Hey, Ray?" — Lio's voice shifted tone — more alert. — "M?" — "You okay? You're looking at those pastries like they personally offended you." Ray leaned back in the chair, smiling just a little too sharply. — "Just wondering where my appetite went. Must be the heavy air in here." Lio frowned but didn't press. He was tired enough not to dig deeper. Ray glanced toward the window again. He needed to find somewhere quiet and empty. Because no matter how careful he was, every fox — eventually — had to eat. Or something inside him would wake that no spell could restrain. After breakfast, Lio collapsed under the blanket again with a mug of coffee, resembling some bedraggled spirit of laziness and pain. He genuinely tried to read something in a textbook, but quickly gave up and settled into dramatically staring at the ceiling. Ray, meanwhile, left under the vague pretense of 'needing a walk.' No one questioned him. The wind tugged at the hem of his coat. Residual magic buzzed faintly at the edge of his senses. In the bag — a cold piece of liver, wrapped well enough that the scent wouldn't leave a trail through the halls of the academy. But inside, Ray still felt it — like someone else's blood was whispering his true name. He needed a place. Quiet. Empty. Forgotten. He circled the main building, passed the greenhouses, and paused. Behind the vibrant glass domes where students grew magical herbs stood something... different. An old greenhouse. One of the sections, overgrown with bushes and twisting grapevines. Half the windows broken, the roof caved in places, magical lamps long dead, but the frame still held. On the door — 'Restoration Suspended.' Dust coated the lock. Ray crouched, eyeing the overgrown path. With a couple gestures, a shadow stretched from a bush, brushing aside the foliage to reveal a narrow gap — just wide enough to slip through. Inside was perfect. Dust. Heat. The damp smell of rotting leaves and mildew. And no one. He sat on a broken wooden bench. Placed the bag beside him. Unwrapped the bundle. His heart beat fast. Not from fear. Just... the familiar moment between the human self and what lurked beneath his skin. He snapped his fingers lightly. The illusion hiding his ears and tails flickered. Just for a second — and two brownish-red fox tails settled across the floor, barely twitching. His nostrils flared. The liver smelled right. And finally, he let himself bite. The juice was thick, metallic. The world shifted slightly. With each piece, the aura around him grew quieter — denser — closer to earth. The magic that had been vibrating in him since the night before slowly calmed. He ate in silence. Methodically. Not greedy, but with a clear sense of necessity. Don't eat, and the fox wakes up. Eat, and you stay yourself. Simple. Ten minutes passed. Maybe more. He wiped his fingers on the cloth bag, closed the leftovers, restored the illusion. The tails vanished. Human again. Quiet. Pale. Composed. He sat a little longer in the dim light. The greenhouse rustled with leaves. A pane cracked somewhere in the corner — likely the wind. No one came. Perfect place. "Remember this. Come back. Maybe even set up a ward — just in case someone else notices." Ray stood, adjusted his collar, and left the same way he came, knowing the blood scent had already faded, the traces wiped clean. No one would know. No one should. The room welcomed him with silence and the faint smell of stale coffee. Behind tightly drawn curtains, the dimness was muted — almost cozy. On his bed, tangled in blankets, Lio slept — ruffled and curled up like a small animal that had weathered a storm. Ray entered soundlessly. He closed the door and scanned the room. A half-empty coffee mug balanced precariously over a notebook. A book lay open on the floor, its pages crumpled slightly like someone had tried to flip them in their sleep. One sock by the bed. The other stuck between pillow and wall. Chaos. Warmth. Lio. Ray gently picked up the book, smoothed the corner of the page, and placed it on the table. Then he sniffed the mug, grimacing — the coffee was not just cold, but bitter with age. He moved it to the sink — Lio could deal with it later. Lio's bag stuck out from under the chair. Ray nudged it closer to the leg of the desk to keep it from tripping anyone. Little things. But necessary. He walked over to his bed, grabbed his own satchel, and ran a hand over the strap — checking everything was in place. Folders, ink vial, schedule. He'd packed ahead of time, knowing how chaotic mornings could be. Before leaving, he looked at Lio again. Still asleep — his cheeks a little flushed now, breathing deeper. A pillow imprint still faint on his temple. Alive. Warm. Calm. For now. Ray let himself sigh — almost smiled — and slipped out the door as only a fox-spirit could: without a sound. Lectures lay ahead. And, maybe, a sliver of normal life. For today — that would be enough.