Chapter 5

I slightly nodded and started to count from 10 to 1 in my head, then opened my eyes. I was standing near the wash basin. I simply washed my face with cold water. Whatever drops of tears were left in my eyes and the tear marks on my cheeks were washed away, and a new coldness and calmness took over me. My nerves were calm now. With my vision cleared, I looked around.

Nothing.

It was empty. No one was there. It was like no one had been there to begin with.

I can’t hallucinate this much… can I?

I washed my face once more. This time the water was even colder. As soon as that water hit my face, I remembered I have an exam to give. While wiping my face, I came out and saw the sign at the door.

“GIRLS WASHROOM.”

I was dead embarrassed. I almost ran from that spot before anyone could see me and came back to the examination hall. When I entered again, one of the professors came to me and asked, “Are you okay now, or do you need a doctor’s attention?”

I simply denied and came back to my seat and sat down. Now I had only 90 minutes left out of 150. I took a deep breath and opened my booklet and WROTE my name:

“Z E R I E L.”

After filling in my few other details, I started skimming the questions and thank God… all the questions were majorly from the material I recently covered, and some were from last night and the morning session. Thanks to that, I somehow managed to wrap up my whole exam just one minute before the final bell.

I submitted my answer paper and thanked the professor. I almost ran out. Even at the gate, I gave a slight nod to the guard and then ran to my F-150 and sat inside. Then I was calm and finally able to breathe properly.

The fear of the exam. The fear of being seen. Every thought.

Now I truly felt free.

Since it was already around lunchtime, I decided to eat something on the way back so I could go and sleep. On the way back, I had a pizza and burger combo and texted my mother:

“Exam done & I am having lunch now. Will go and rest probably.”

Within a few minutes, a thumbs-up reply came back. After lunch, I came to my flat and lay on the bed like a puppet. When I slept, I didn’t realize.

And I woke up from a phone call.

Half asleep, I picked it up.

“Hello.”

“Happy Birthday, son.”

I know this voice way too well. As soon as I heard it, I knew. I almost jumped. In a hurried voice, I somehow replied,

“Thanks, Father.”

“Since you are 18, your mother prepared some arrangements. Don’t be late.”

“Sure, Father.”

Then he just handed the phone to my mother.

“Many many returns of the day, son.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

“Do you want anything for your birthday?”

“Nope, Mother.”

“Okay. But something will be delivered tomorrow, so please collect that. And for the party, don’t come in those casual clothes or gym clothes.”

“Mother—”

“No ‘Mother,’ no ‘Father.’ Just go to the location I will be sending in the morning, tell them your name, and pick something nice. And pick up a face mask as well.”

“Mother…”

“Mr. Zeriel Dravaryn, am I clear?”

From her voice, I knew she was serious, so I simply agreed.

“Okay, Mother.”

“Happy 18th, son.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

After the wishes, the call was cut. I lay back in bed and saw the time — it was around 12 something. I closed my eyes and said in a normal voice to myself,

“Happy 18th birthday, Zeriel.”

Just after my voice, another voice came — almost like the one from a year ago.

“Happy birthday.”

I snapped my eyes open again.

But I knew for sure I was alone.

Still… it felt like someone just whispered.

I started thinking and spiraled down into darkness, and when I slept, I didn’t know.

Sharp at 5, my alarm went off. And today was the first day in the last one year I wouldn’t be waking up and sleeping whenever I wanted. I closed the alarm and went back to sleep. I woke up from my doorbell. I checked the time — it was 9 a.m. While rubbing my eyes, I went and opened the gate. A man in a three-piece suit was standing in the hallway with a flower bouquet.

“Good morning, Mr. Dravaryn.”

“Yes?”

“Many many returns of the day, sir.”

“Thanks.”

“Sir, your father instructed us to deliver this at 9 a.m. sharp.”

He handed me a flower bouquet and a small box. I simply took it, and he bowed and left. I was still confused. Then I remembered Mother’s instructions. I kept the bouquet aside and unwrapped the box. Inside was a card and keys. I picked up the card and flipped it.

“Happy Birthday, son.”

I kept the card back and picked up the keys. I pressed unlock.

I could hear the unlocking sound.

Then I started the engine.

It started almost instantly.

I could hear the engine.

I put on slippers and went down. Just next to my F-150, my new BMW M8 Competition was standing there with red glowing eyes.

I locked and unlocked it multiple times just to see that red glow again and again.

I went and sat inside. While I was admiring my new car, my phone rang. Without looking, I picked it up.

“Hello.”

“So, you liked it?”

“Yes, Mother. Very much.”

“I am glad. Me and your father selected it. It was his idea to keep the eyes red and the whole matte black — just like your F-150.”

“I loved it, Mother.”

“Now go to the location I have shared with you and pick something nice. And don’t forget the mask.”

“Yes, Mother.”

After that, the line went dead.

I came out of the car, locked it, and turned once more to look at both my beasts.

After admiring them enough, I came back, got ready, had something for breakfast, and then got into my M8 and revved it for the first time. The engine roared like a hungry lion looking for its prey.

I set the location in maps. The time showed around one hour.

But I reached in 45 minutes.

I stopped my M8 and rolled to a halt beneath old Roman stone facades washed in evening gold. The sunlight hit the matte black hood and died on it — like it refused to reflect.

The storefront ahead was understated. Black marble. Restrained gold lettering.

Brioni.

I frowned slightly.

Before I could reach the door, it opened.

“Mr. Dravaryn.”

I paused.

I hadn’t given my name.

The man standing before me wore a tailored charcoal suit. Silver at the temples. His posture was straight — not welcoming, not stiff. Measured.

“We’ve been expecting you.”

That word settled in my chest heavier than it should have.

Expecting.

Inside, the store was almost silent. Not empty — silent. There’s a difference. The kind of silence where even the air feels instructed to behave. Staff moved with subtle precision. No one stared, yet I could feel awareness brush against my shoulders as I walked past.

They led me past the main showroom into a private salon at the rear. The lighting was softer here. Darker wood panels. Heavy curtains. The kind of room where decisions are made, not purchases.

At the center stood a single mannequin.

A black three-piece suit.

Not decorative black. Absolute black. Structured shoulders. Peak lapels sharp enough to look dangerous. The waistcoat cut close to the body — almost ceremonial. The fabric carried a faint silk sheen, subtle and expensive in a way that didn’t need to announce itself.

Beside it, on a velvet stand, rested a matte black half-mask. Minimal design. Clean lines. The inner lining caught the light — and I noticed it. Crimson. Not bright. Controlled.

I felt something in my chest shift. Not excitement. Not pride.

Recognition.

“This was commissioned to your measurements,” the manager said.

I turned slowly. “You’ve never measured me.”

A pause.

“We have, sir.”

That silence again.

Not awkward. Not uncomfortable.

Intentional.

The manager stepped forward and opened the jacket carefully. Inside the lining, embroidered in deep red thread:

Z.D. — Dravaryn

The stitching was precise. No decorative nonsense. No crowns. No emblems.

Just my name.

“And the cost?” I asked.

“Settled.”

“By my mother?”

A fractional hesitation.

“By your father, sir. As instructed.”

My father.

He rarely involves himself directly. He observes. He approves. He corrects. Yet here — arrangements had been made.

This wasn’t a gift. This was preparation.

The tailor approached me with a tape measure already in hand, though he barely used it. Adjustments were minimal. The suit slid over my shoulders like it had memory. The fabric settled against my frame with unnatural precision.

When I buttoned the jacket, I felt… aligned.

As if something locked into place.

I lifted the mask from its stand.

It was lighter than I expected.

The inside stitching — a thin red line tracing the edge — deliberate. Not decorative. A boundary.

I held it in my hand for a moment longer, feeling the weight of something that was lighter than it should have been.

Then I turned toward the manager and gave a slight nod.

“You look sharp, sir.”

There was no compliment in his voice. Only confirmation.

I returned the nod and walked back through the quiet showroom. The silence felt different now — not observing.

Acknowledging.

Outside, the evening light had shifted. My M8 waited exactly where I had left it. Matte black absorbing the fading gold of the sky.