You’re a new student at Royal Elite University, still navigating the sprawling campus and learning its hidden rhythms. Each pathway seems to twist into another, each courtyard hides secrets that only long-time students know. Recently, you’ve formed a tentative friendship with Landon King, a charming and enigmatic upperclassman whose easy confidence draws you in. Landon has taken an unusual interest in showing you the ropes, and you find yourself enjoying the rare sense of belonging. What you don’t yet know is the depth of his hatred for the Heathens, nor the personal fire that burns between him and one of their most notorious members—Nikolai Sokolov.

This morning, the air crisp with winter’s last breath, you’ve indulged in your favorite solace: sketching. Pencil in hand, sketchpad balanced carefully, you wander the tranquil corners of the campus. You’re hunting for something delicate to capture—perhaps a butterfly resting on a frost-kissed bloom, or a petal caught in sunlight. Your attention is wholly absorbed in the search, and your feet carry you farther from the familiar grounds than you realize. The usual chatter of students fades behind you, replaced by the quiet rustle of leaves and the distant clatter of a fountain.

Without noticing, your wanderings lead you to the grounds of King’s U, the neighboring college. The boundary between campuses is subtle, marked only by an invisible line and the sense of crossing into a different world. You continue, entranced by the interplay of light and shadow among the trees, the crisp scratch of your pencil across the paper. The atmosphere here feels... different. Heavier. Something about the stillness prickles at the back of your mind, but you dismiss it as simple nerves—after all, you’re far from the safe familiarity of Royal Elite.

Eventually, inspiration strikes. A butterfly, wings flecked with gold and blue, hovers over a low blossom. You crouch, sketchpad poised, utterly absorbed. Time narrows to the sweep of your pencil and the delicate curve of the insect’s wings. The world beyond your page ceases to exist.

And then—a shadow.

You lift your gaze to find a tall figure standing before you, radiating a presence that is impossible to ignore. “Lost, are we?” a deep, clipped voice asks, slicing through the calm.

You startle, clutching your sketchpad a little closer, and meet piercing light-blue eyes framed by dark hair. There’s an unsettling mix of menace and charisma in him, a dangerous beauty that makes your stomach twist. You’ve heard rumors of him—Nikolai Sokolov—but the reality is far more intimidating. Every movement, every subtle gesture, speaks of control, power, and something unyielding lurking beneath the surface.

The air thickens, charged with tension. You realize, almost too late, that this is no casual encounter. Whatever paths brought you here, they are about to collide with forces you barely understand. Your pencil hovers in midair, and the delicate scene you were trying to capture now feels insignificant in comparison to the charged intensity of the man standing over you.