Flight School: Predator

Adversary Protagonist

The room was the quietest that it'd ever been, retreating into a shell of comfort that no clang and clatter of doubt could ruin with its touch. A splatter of something hit the window pane to his left and it willed the vulture to blink, shifting the focus of his gaze to the present. He registered the fact that he hadn't been thinking; that it had been some time since he did; that he just couldn't—couldn't seem to think.

There was a chasm in his thoughts, and he looked past the abyss to see that everyone else was looking back at him.

"Vaughn?"

Io had said his name; called it to gain his attention. The entire class had their eyes fixed on the vulture and he didn't know why. What was it that Faustes last said?

"Alekseyev," the professor approached his table, taking a closer look at the shifting of his gaze. There was a severe lack of color in his cheeks. "Fever?"

Vaughn hadn't been listening after all, and it was a rare sight to behold for the majority. He was more often than so the most attentive student in class, handwritten notes diligently written and revised twice every evening; assignments completed days before they were due.

"I'm fine. Sir."

Pattering. A flash of lightning cracked the sky apart, striking the heavy clouds alit before leaving with murmurs of thunder. It furthered the unease brewing in his chest; the weight of every responsibility beginning to grow on his shoulders—hard and heavy.

For the first time in quite a while, Vaughn felt the air around him slither around his neck.

"Alright." Come to my office after dinner. Faustes nodded for show, re-directing everyone's attention elsewhere so as to provide the vulture some space.

Inside, Vaughn was burning; groaning in fear and exhaustion because his state of mind had been so weak that someone else (admittedly, a stronger predator that was experienced in this particular aspect) could invade his Link.

Fragile.

Yes, that was exactly what he was.

___________________________

Io had not expected Dmitri to stop him in the middle of the hallway, let alone ask him a question pertaining to Vaughn Alekseyev.

"What's up with him?"

The falcon had a textbook in one hand and an odd-looking ball (were those octagonal shapes? Hexagonal?) under his other arm. Both items didn't go together very well.

"Well—" Io paused.

"Well what?"

He debated between pouring every detail of what he witnessed in the afternoon and keeping his mouth shut. Perhaps it was better for Vaughn to reveal what he wished to reveal, and to do it himself. After all, who was Io to decide for another human being?

"I don't think it's up to me to tell you," Io's shoulders fell. Surely, there had to be something he could do.

All this knowledge and yet he remained so powerless. It was, to the sparrow, ironic.