Syril did not move; it was as if an overwhelming force was demanding he stay. Every nerve in his body was screaming; every instinct he’s ever experienced told him something was wrong. He couldn’t understand it; Seabright had only just started this school this year; how did Davion know who he was? 

His brother’s words tumbled around Syril’s head, “Not everything is about you…”, despite being rather rude, it raised more questions; what other reason would there be to meet with his professor behind closed doors?

He rubbed his temples, the headache returning, the pain pulsating through his eyes like liquid fire. Syril wasn’t sure if he was crazy with curiosity or maybe just plain crazy, but he resolved both warranted the same answer; he needed to know what was happening in that room.

Syril turned on his heel, casting his eyes over the wooden classroom door. How was he supposed to get in? He tried the handle, sure to only subtly move it so as not to cue in the victims of his eavesdropping. 

Yep, the door was locked. 

He tried it again, a little harder; still just as locked. So instead, he opted to inspect the handle itself; maybe he could pick the door. Granted, Syril didn’t know the first thing about picking locks, but he didn’t see any harm in trying.

He knelt and inspected the handle. He quickly became sure of two things, one, it was a handle for a door, and two, it was silver.

He groaned; what was he doing? He didn’t know how to pick locks, and he didn’t see any other way of getting in short of breaking down the door.

He put his ear to the door, hoping to hear what was said, but the pair was either too quiet or too far away. He sat down and rubbed his temples; his head felt full of lead; his eyes burned to the brim of tears, and his mouth tasted metallic.

Something was wrong; he’d never felt pain like this. Syril squeezed his eyes shut to stay the tears; a sharp pain filled his gut.

He looked down; a dagger was protruding from his stomach. He looked up; his brother’s emerald eyes bore lifeless into his own, devoid of emotion.

Confused, he looked around, expecting to see the long, empty hallway; instead, he leaned against a mahogany desk in the lecture hall’s centre.

He brought his hand up from his stomach, blood soaking his green sausage-like fingers. He staggered away from his brother, scattering exam papers as he did so. he opened his mouth to speak but could only grunt.

Blood, so much blood; he lost his balance, it was becoming harder to stay upright, and he felt a jolt as his head hit the floor.

He coughed, desperately trying to empty blood from his struggling lungs. He was about to die; he knew he would die, yet his body remained frozen. He clutched his golden pocket watch tightly in his hand and used the pain to focus his dying brain.

He must keep Davion away from it; for whatever reason, Davion wanted it, and he could not be allowed to have it. So he focused all his energy on the watch, willed it to do his bidding, willed it to aide him.

He gripped the watch harder, willing it, begging it, to follow his bidding. It could help him. By the love of the Gods, please help him. 

He watched as the figure resembling Davion stepped closer towards his fetal body, kneeling to pull the knife out, his green eyes devoid of emotion. The figure spoke, but Syril did not hear, his ears rang, and blackness overcame his vision. He again appealed to the watch, begged it. But it remained cold in his hand, the faint ticking now a metronome of death, each beat lulling him into an endless sleep.

Tik

Tok

Tik

Tok

And then silence.

In some deep corner of his mind, Syril was aware that he was no longer holding the watch; a wave of exhaustive panic blew through his body. Where had it gone? Did Davion have it? Had he failed in securing the watch’s safety?

He watched as the figure knelt, now just a black shape through his fading vision, reaching towards the hand that once clung to the watch. 

The figure stopped, and through his ringing ears, he could distantly hear the figure scream with rage.

Seabright smiled, the watch was gone, but Davion did not have it. As his mind’s fog grew thicker, he felt the burden of the watch lifted, and peace overcame Darek Seabright as he blinked away his last moments of life.

Syril screamed. His eyes flew open as he threw up over the floor. He looked around; twilight overwhelmed the sky in the hallway, and he was only vaguely aware of the crowd around him.

“Sir, I think he’s awake.”

“Yes, thank you, I can see that” Syril looked up into the face of someone he knew but could not remember, “Son, are you ok? I think we need to get you to an apothecary”.

Syril was confused; his head was still pounding, and his hand felt like it was on fire…

Oh gods

He wrenched, but he had nothing left inside him.

“Son, you need to come with me right now.”

No, he wouldn’t; he couldn’t. The force was back again, pulling him towards the door.

Hands grabbed him, fruitlessly trying to pull him up and away from the door. He fought; he needed to get in; he needed to know it was not real.

He turned, clawing at the door’s silver handle, distantly aware that the door was now unlocked. He threw it open, stumbling into the room; his head was on fire, his hand wet with blood, and his eyes filled with tears.

There, in the centre of the room, in a puddle of his still wet blood, Cold and lifeless, sat Professor Seabright.

Someone screamed.

Movement all around him.

He fell to his knees, and a circular object fell out of his bloodied hand. It hit the floor with an audible clang.

His heart skipped a beat; his stomach turned inside out. Syril knew it before he looked down; there, on the floor, sat a golden pocket watch; through all the chaos unfolding around him, he heard the same metronome.

Tik

Tok…