Chapter 80 Identity

Chapter 80 Identity

Olivia's POV

When I woke up, my head was still pounding. It felt like someone had pressed a wet towel against my forehead—not heavy, but just sitting there.

I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling. This wasn't my dorm room ceiling. That lampshade had a crack running from one end to the other.

This was Ethan's room. I could smell him—clean, cool, like bedsheets dried outside in winter.

In an instant, the memories came flooding back. At the end of Potions class, something had unfurled from my back—feathers, gold-red, every single one glowing.

I tried to sit up. My arms shook badly as I propped myself up on the bed, like two sticks about to fall apart. When I finally managed to sit upright, my back ached, a pulling sensation from my shoulder blades all the way down, like someone had hung weights on my spine.

I looked down at my hands. Human hands, but they were shaking—those muscles that didn't belong to humans, those bones that had been stretched and then contracted back.

The door opened, and Ethan walked in carrying a tray. He saw me sitting up and paused for a second, then set the tray on the nightstand.

"You slept for seventeen hours," he said.

Seventeen hours? I opened my mouth but no words came out, because my stomach growled so loudly it startled even me.

"Eat first." He pushed the tray toward me. There was a bowl of porridge on it, still steaming.

Did he make this? Probably not. He couldn't make porridge—he could even make a boiled egg explode. This must be from the cafeteria. When did he go to the cafeteria? I had slept for seventeen hours. What about him? When did he sleep?

"Have you eaten?" I asked.

He looked at me but didn't answer.

"You haven't eaten."

"I have."

"Liar."

He didn't argue. He pulled out the desk chair and sat down facing me, arms resting on the chair back, chin on his arms. This position made him look less like his usual cold self and more like a quiet, large dog.

I picked up the porridge and drank. I didn't realize how hungry I was until I had finished the whole bowl—the kind of empty like I hadn't eaten in three days.

"Want more?" He glanced at me, worry in his eyes.

I shook my head. My fingers were still trembling when they touched the bowl's edge.

"Ask whatever you want to ask." His tone was gentle, like he was afraid of startling me.

I looked at him. There were no dark circles under his eyes, but his eyelids were a bit swollen—the kind of swelling you get after staying up all night and only sleeping for a short while.

"What did you find out?"

He stood up, walked to the desk, pulled out a book from the top of a stack, flipped to a dog-eared page, and handed it to me. I took the book and looked at the cover. Leather cover, badly worn, the corners rubbed white, the gold lettering faded but still readable—

"Extinct Magical Creatures."

My hand stopped on the cover. I didn't open it.

"I marked the page," he said.

I opened it. Phoenix.

My heart was racing.

I skipped the academic descriptions and went straight to the middle section.

A Phoenix's feathers possess purifying abilities in any form. In human form, this manifests as healing magic, with energy conducted through the palms. In beast form, the energy concentrates in the tail feathers and releases through contact. If tail feathers are removed in beast form, they can be used in medicine, with effects varying depending on whether the removal was voluntary while in human form.

Tracing Phoenix bloodlines is extremely difficult, as their offspring show no magical signs before adulthood, appearing identical to ordinary humans. Magical awakening typically occurs between ages eighteen and twenty-five, with the awakening moment accompanied by the first transformation, violent energy fluctuations, and high susceptibility to external detection.

Historically, Phoenixes were continuously hunted because their feathers, blood, tears, and ashes could all be used in medicine, artifact crafting, and life extension. The last reliable sighting was over a century ago. Current academic consensus is that Phoenixes are extinct.

I read it once, then again. There were a few words in that passage I stared at for a long time—"identical to ordinary humans." Before eighteen, I really couldn't do anything, didn't know anything. I pulled radishes in my grandmother's vegetable garden, zoned out behind the counter at the video rental store. I thought I was just an ordinary kid abandoned by my parents.

"No wonder," I said, my voice hoarse, like my throat was coated with fine sand.

"No wonder we couldn't find anything for so long. Phoenixes don't show any magical signs before adulthood. I'm not a shifter who grew up in a normal human environment—I actually was human... at least back then."

"You're still human now," Ethan said. His voice was flat, but he spoke a bit faster than usual, like he was afraid I would misunderstand.

"You shift into beast form, but your human form is still you," he said. "You didn't become something else. You're still you."

I stared at him. His expression didn't change much, but his jaw was tight, like he was holding something back.

"How do you know?" I asked. "The book doesn't say that."

He paused. "I'm guessing."

I looked down at those two pages again. Lots of words, densely packed, but not much useful information.

Phoenix abilities, characteristics, history—most of it was speculation, "according to legend," "as recorded." They weren't even sure how long Phoenixes could live, whether their healing abilities had limits, whether Phoenixes retained human consciousness in beast form.

Not a single word telling me what to do.

My hands started shaking again.

Ethan came over and took the book from my hands. The movement was gentle but decisive, like taking something dangerous away from a child.

"Stop reading," he said.

"I need to know—"

"Not right now." He closed the book and put it back on the desk, his back to me. "Right now you need to eat, sleep, and let your body recover. Everything else can wait until you have the strength."

His back was to me. His shirt was wrinkled, with a small unironed crease at the back collar. Yesterday he had rushed into the classroom wearing this shirt, carried me through the entire hallway, watched over me all night without changing.

Looking at that crease, I suddenly felt my nose sting.

"Ethan."

"Yeah."

"You didn't sleep either, did you?"

He didn't turn around, but his shoulders lifted slightly, then dropped.

"I slept," he said quietly.

"How long?"

He didn't answer.

I was about to say something when a knock at the door interrupted.

Ethan went to open it. The door opened a crack, and the person outside said something, voice too low for me to hear.

After a moment, the person outside came in—Blair, holding a roll of parchment.

"The Dean asked me to bring this," she said, looking troubled. "Your new schedule."

New schedule? I stared at the parchment roll but didn't reach for it.

Blair glanced at me, her lips moved like she wanted to say something, but in the end she just nodded and left.

The room was quiet again. Ethan stood by the door without moving, hand still on the doorframe.

I looked at the parchment roll, my fingers still shaking as I reached for it. It took several tries to untie the ribbon. The paper unrolled. The writing was handwritten, the ink not quite dry, some strokes still bleeding at the edges.

Olivia.

Daily schedule will be flexibly arranged based on daily circumstances. All classes changed to individual instruction. Meal times will be notified separately. Do not leave academy grounds without permission.

The signature was Lydia's, with the academy seal stamped beside it.

"Ethan."

"Yeah."

"I can't leave anymore, can I?" I couldn't quite describe what I was feeling.