Chapter Text
At seventeen, Noah Czerny came face to face with death. It was silent, a sensation that numbed all his senses. A vast, empty space stared back at him, or perhaps his eyes were closed. He couldn't tell. Death was rather disoritening. It fogged his brain, blurring memories together to create an uncomprehnsibe jumble of images.
He felt more tethered in the nothingness, as if one was most alive after death. Funny how it took him to his deathbed for him to finally feel alive.
Noah Czerny.
His thoughts were overtaken by a rustling of leaves, whispers that were only present in his mind. Reverbrating through his head.
Noah Czerny, it said, or echoed? Could something that he could not fully comprehend be considered a person? You are meant for far greater. Dying is not an option for you, not this time. Save the world from ending, Noah Czerny.
Light blinded his vision, a pulling sensation coursed through him. As if he was being tugged back to his world. Pure, white light bled into the darkness that he had just gotten used to and he felt his mind slip. Before long, Noah awoke to the dim light of a hospital, laying on an uncomfortable bed. Breathing.
Alive.
Now, seven years later, Noah found himself returning to Henrietta. As if it held him in its grasp, firm and unyeilding. He could never truly leave, not permanently at least.
On top of returning, he had decided to opt for a position at his old school, Aglionby Academy. It felt the right choice when he'd made it at the time, and he could almost hear Whelk complain that Noah was a terrible teacher. But, then again, Whelk was an obsessive loser so Noah didn't really take much he said at face value.
To his surprise, he had actually been accepted and offered the position of World History teacher (the on my subject he had cared about when he'd been at Aglionby, funnily enough), and as much as he doubted his expertise in the art of teaching he was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth and readily took the position.
Aglionby Academy hadn't changed much since Noah's time as a student. It still had its pristine walls, aged in the way that spoke of wealth, and neat, uniformed, halls. If Noah blinked, he could almost imagine being a student once more, walking among these walls.
Even the lecture halls were the same, polished and unadulterated. He wondered if Aglionby existed in a space beyond time itself, unaffected by the ticking of the clock. If he tried hard enough, he could almost hear Whelk asking him if he wanted to search for the ley line. If he wanted to give up his life for something Whelk hadn't even been sure was real.
Had this been a good idea? Noah wasn't entirely sure anymore. The walls at Aglionby were plagued by bad memories, the source of his nightmares. After graduating, he had never imagined coming back. Perhaps he should resign before he found himself being a part of something far larger than him.
But, no. He couldn't do that. He wouldn't do that. Noah had spent many years running from Henrietta, trying to escape the claws of the unknown whispers that told him to save the world. He wouldn't allow himself to continue like this, he wasn't a coward.
So, Noah pushed away all the doubt that lingered in his mind and left Aglionby for the day. He didn't start teaching until tomorrow and he had had enough of its perfect exterior and even more perfect interior. Sometimes, just looking at his old school made him feel sick.
Teaching World History came easy to Noah. Partly because it was the only subject that he had studied intensely for, and partly because it felt like second nature to him. Maybe that was odd, but he wouldn't deny that teaching the topics that he had once loved was thrilling.
So, yes, World History was easy to teach. Ronan Lynch, however, was not. Noah wasn't entirely familiar with the man that Ronan inherited his surname from, but he knew of the man's demise. Dead, the news said, no clear cause of death. Killed, gossip mongers whispered, for revenge.
A rather unfortunate fate, but Noah had become familiar with death and so when he'd heard the news he hadn't thought much of it.
Looking at Ronan Lynch now, however, made him think that he was the embodiment of the aftermath. As if someone dumped various hardships onto the boy and expected him to carry them all. But that wasn't really what mattered to Noah. Ronan Lynch was infamous on skipping classes, and Noah's wasn't an exception.
Rarely did he see Ronan sitting in one of the rows, legs propped up on the table with his one (of two, all three of them making up an inseparable threesome) friend beside him. Richard Campbell Gansey III, was his name. Noah couldn't quite understand him, either, but at least he had the decency of showing interest in the topics Noah talked about.
Noah never pointed out Ronan's frequent absences. Whenever he looked at Ronan, he felt a sense of familiarity wash over him, a feeling that he figured to be because he saw a piece of himself in the way Ronan held himself. Maybe not exactly, but something similar was there and so Noah knew that even if he did reprimand Ronan for skipping class, nothing other than static would stick to the boy's brain.
It wasn't just Ronan that Noah had become intrigued by, Richard Campbell Gansey III was another oddball. Not in a bad sense, but more like a curious one. He kind of reminded Noah of Whelk was a more bright, passionate and loyal individual. Perhaps Gansey was nothing like Whelk and Noah merely saw something that wasn't there.
Either way, Gansey piqued Noah's curiosity. Not that it was hard. Noah had a habit of noting what someone's drive was, what they were determined to do. After figuring that out, it was almost funny how easily he tied himself to their fates. He had done it with Whelk, and was probably doing it with Gansey and Co.
Noah kind of hoped Gansey's drive was something small, miniscule in comparison to what Whelk had been dabbling with. Hopefully Gansey was just a regular seventeen-year-old doing regular seventeen-year-old things. Like knitting.
The last of the threesome, Adam Parrish, was a somewhat mystery to Noah. He heard good things about him from the other teachers, how he always submitted his homework on time and did impeccably well in class. A star student. However, he was also aware that that wasn't all to him. Adam Parrish was an ongoing rags to riches story, and many had told Noah their opinions to that.
Noah, for one, didn't have any hatred for Adam. The boy sounded like a good kid who was just trying to get by, and he could respect that. So even though Adam didn't take World History, he knew enough of him to piece together a messy understanding on Adam's character.
Maybe Noah should stop analysing the students at Aglionby, it wasn't going to lead anywhere. Seven years later and Aglionby was once again as mundane as Noah had remembered it to be. No more key line hunting, no more Whelk barging into his room at ungodly hours of the night and telling him to bring a dowsing rod. Everything had rightened itself in the years Noah had been gone, had buried the scandal that had lead to Aglionby's shaky reputation.
Hence, Noah steered his thoughts away from the past and brought them back to the present. Like how he had many papers to grade this weekend. He sighed, pulling his bag over his shoulder and grabbing the neatly stacked papers he'd left on his desk. A week had passed since he'd first returned to Henrietta and so far nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Noah found that to be a relief.
He walked into the empty hallways, taking time to see if anyone was around. He was in the mood to chat with someone, perhaps Jonah Milo would agree to listen to his rambles about a new True Crime podcast he'd listened to a while ago.
Suddenly, one of the classroom doors opened and Noah was about to greet whoever came out when his steps came to a halt. Barrington Whelk froze, shoulders tensing as the two stared at each other.
Noah had known that Whelk worked here, he'd learned years ago that his old companion had become the Latin teacher at Aglionby Academy. He'd been trying to ignore him all week, staying far away from the Latin classroom and even further away from Whelk's barely used chair in the staff room.
Still, it was almost jarring to see him. Older than he last remembered, more odd looking. It was as if his body couldn't fit in the mold it was meant to and perhaps that was fitting.
A tense silence strechted between the two. Noah couldn't meet Whelk's eyes, not when the last time he had he'd died. Well, almost died. The scar that he sported on his cheek told a different story. He had been dead, he was sure of it, but he also hadn't been, in some weird way. He wasn't sure. It was complicated.
"Czerny," Whelk finally said to break the silence, hands clenching to fists at his sides. Murderer, he thought but didn't say.
"Whelk," Noah forced out, staring at the very faint ink marks on the door that Whelk had come from, maybe a student had gotten bored and decided to redecorate the classroom door.
Whelk did not say anything else. In fact, he stared at Noah for a second longer, watching him in the way that sparked familiar to Noah, before pressing his mouth into a line and quickly walking in the direction Noah had come from.
The tension dissipated as soon as Whelk dissaperaed. Noah's shoulders slumped and he let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, Whelk still made his skin crawl. Even after all these years.
He stood there for a few moments longer, calming his heart and controlling his breathing. Noah really did hate Whelk, everything that he had liked, had indulged in, had been what brought his downfall. Never trust a man with an obsession over ley lines, he supposed.
The rest of the walk to his car had been relatively normal, silent and uneventful, but normal nonetheless. He got into the driver's seat, putting his bag and unchecked papers on the seat beside him and let out a sigh. He wondered if his mother would let him stay over for dinner and after a but of debating if it was a good idea to bother her, he called her.
"Hello?" She said through the phone, her soft drawl comforting after the eventful day he'd had.
"Hi, Mom," he said, an instinctive smile on his face. "Do you think I could come over for dinner?"
"Oh, Noah, dear! Of course! I'm sure Veronica would love for you to come over," she said warmly, in the way only mothers could.
"All right, I'll be over in ten. Love you, mom."
"Drive safely, young man! Love you, dear."
Then she hung up, leaving Noah with the dial tone. He put his phone in the cup-holder compartment beside him and started up his car. Around him, the tree's leaves rustled in the wind. A familiar sound. Henrietta was quiet, that day, and Noah almost wondered if this was the calm before the storm. Like something big was about to be released onto the small town, but, then again, there wasn't much to sustain the theory of his.
He pushed whatever thoughts that lingered on whispered words, words that spoke of the world's demise. Instead, he focused on the drive to his family house and what his mother might be making for dinner.
The weekend was uneventful. Once, he may have imagined a time where he partied and spent long days doing who knows what. But now, he didn't really have the energy to partake in such activities.
His old self would call him boring, and to that he says screw him. Was he boring if he stayed cooped up in his lone apartment more often than not grading papers? No. He'd be called lame instead.
When Monday rolled around Noah didn't waste much time arriving at Aglionby. Sleep wasn't regular to Noah, it came in few spurts and was irregular. Not that it mattered since coffee was a god send.
The sun was hardly in the sky when he reached Aglionby. He might've come a tad earlier than necessary, but that didn't really matter since he could probably get in a bit of sleep before classes started. Yes, he thought to himself, that sounded good.
The halls were quiet as he walked to his classroom, eerily so. Noah always thought of silence to be uncanny, and this thought lingered as he opened the door to his lecture hall and turned on the lights. He hung his bag on the headrest of his chair and sat down with a sigh, holding back a yawn as he rested his head on the table.
Just then, the door opened suddenly and Noah was startled out of his half-asleep state. He blinked, rubbing his eyes to see who could have interrupted his nap so early in the morning.
It was none other than Richard Campbell Gansey III. Of course it was.
The boy walked over to Noah's desk, an air of confidence to him that Noah could pinpoint to be a defence mechanism more than anything else. He stopped a few centimetres from his desk, a thrilled look in his eyes even at this hour of day. When did this boy sleep?
"Do you need something, Gansey?" Noah asked, straightening in his chair to look a bit more professional. He didn't really care, but he suspected that whatever Gansey wanted to talk about needed more than a bit of his attention.
"I do," he said. The next words he spoke gave Noah a pause. "Mr. Czerny, do you know much of Welsh Kings?"