Read Crimson Ascension: The Bloodborne Cadet :: Chapter 2 – Mockingbirds and Monsters

The cafeteria smells like metal and burnt cooking oil, the way old kitchens do when they’ve been scrubbed too hard for too long. The kind of place where nothing ever smells clean, just less dirty than before.

You sit there staring at your tray like it’s offended you personally.

The meat looks too glossy. The bread smells wrong—sweet in a way bread shouldn’t smell. Even the eggs look… alert. Like they’re waiting for something.

You push the tray away.

Your stomach doesn’t growl. That should worry you, but it doesn’t. What worries you is the iron smell. Sharp. Familiar. It keeps sneaking up on you in little waves, like when someone cuts their finger and pretends they didn’t.

Across the room, someone laughs.

Not loud laughter. The quiet kind. The kind meant for sharing.

“Did you see his arm yesterday?”

“Swear it stitched itself up.”

“My cousin had a Book like that—cost more than a house.”

“Yeah, but his blood moved.”

You keep your eyes on the table. There’s a scratch in the metal shaped like a lightning bolt. You trace it with your finger. Grounding trick. Learned it when you were twelve and hiding under a sink while the city burned.

Focus on something small. Something real.

Your heartbeat refuses to cooperate.

It’s too fast.

Too loud.

Like someone else is tapping on the inside of your ribs, asking to be let out.

“Eat.”

You look up.

Rhea Solenne sits across from you, uninvited but not unwelcome. She’s holding a mug that smells like real coffee, not ration substitute. Somehow that annoys you.

“I’m not hungry,” you say.

“That’s a lie.”

You shrug. “It’s a useful one.”

She studies you the way medics do when they already know something’s wrong but want you to say it first.

“You healed too fast,” she says quietly. “That wasn’t adrenaline.”

You feel the hum in your veins spike, like it heard its name.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Quinn.”

There’s something in the way she says it. Not accusation. Concern. Real, annoying concern.

You stand so fast your chair screeches. A few heads turn.

“I need air.”

Someone claps slowly.

Aric Mordane.

He’s leaning against a pillar like the whole building was designed for his comfort. His wristband glows gold today. Fresh upgrade, probably. He looks like someone who’s never had to wonder if they were worth the space they took up.

“Well, if it isn’t the academy’s favorite mystery,” he says. “You going to bleed on us again, Veyra? Or was yesterday a one-time performance?”

A couple of people laugh. Not many. Enough.

You feel it then—the shift. The way the air tightens. The way your skin prickles like static before a storm.

Rhea stands. “Back off, Mordane.”

He grins wider. “Why? You his handler now?”

You try to walk past him.

He steps into your path.

The iron smell sharpens.

Your vision narrows. His pulse thumps loud and clear, like someone knocking on a door that doesn’t belong to them.

“You think you’re special,” Aric says. “But everyone here knows what you are.”

You meet his eyes. “Move.”

He shoves you.

Not hard.

Not enough to matter.

But your blood doesn’t care about intent.

Heat floods your arm. Pain flashes white, then disappears entirely. Something crawls under your skin, rearranging itself like it’s been waiting for permission.

You stagger.

Rhea grabs your wrist.

Her fingers brush your skin—

—and she flinches like she’s touched live wire.

“Your heart,” she whispers. “Quinn, it’s not… it’s not right.”

You rip your arm away and yank your sleeve down. Too late.

The mark is already there.

Not words this time.

Not script.

A sigil.

Sharp lines, angular, pulsing faint red, stamped just above your wrist like a brand that didn’t bother asking permission.

A couple of cadets notice.

Someone swears.

Aric takes a step back. “What the hell is that?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your pulse is roaring now. The hum has turned into a chant.

Feed.

Training drills start before anyone can say more. The academy never wastes a good distraction.

You barely remember getting to the field.

You remember collapsing.

The ground comes up fast. Hard. The taste of dirt fills your mouth. For a second, you’re twelve again, face-down on concrete while sirens scream and someone’s shouting your parents’ names into smoke.

Hands grab you. Someone shouts for a medic.

Rhea’s face swims into view. She’s pale. Scared.

“You fainted,” she says. “You don’t just faint.”

You laugh weakly. “Guess I do.”

She leans closer, voice dropping. “Your pulse—Quinn, it’s like it’s chasing something.”

You want to tell her everything.

The page.

The whispers.

The way your blood feels like it’s remembering things you never lived.

Instead, you say, “Leave it alone.”

The words come out cold. Sharper than you meant.

Her face tightens. Hurt flashes there before she hides it.

Before she can answer, Aric’s voice cuts in again, loud and ugly.

“Careful, Solenne. Might bite.”

That’s when something in you snaps.

Not rage.

Not fear.

Instinct.

The world sharpens like someone turned the contrast up too high. You smell sweat, ozone, fear—and blood. Fresh. Somewhere nearby.

Your fingers curl.

Rhea moves fast, stepping between you and Aric, palms up like she’s calming an animal.

“Quinn,” she says. “Look at me. Please.”

You try.

The hunger claws.

Aric laughs. “What’s wrong? You going to cry?”

You move.

You don’t remember deciding to.

One second he’s standing. The next he’s slammed against the wall, cracks spiderwebbing through reinforced concrete. Your hand’s twisted in his collar. His heartbeat is right there.

So loud.

So tempting.

Drink.

Rhea screams your name.

That does it.

The sound cuts through the fog like cold water. You blink. The world stutters back into place.

You let go.

Aric collapses, gasping.

You stumble back, staring at your hands like they belong to someone else.

The sigil burns under your sleeve.

Havel is shouting. Cadets scatter. Someone runs for Vale.

Rhea grabs your arm again—this time firm, grounding.