The Academy of Ages
The scream tore through the early morning silence like a blade through silk.
Issac’s feet hit the floor before the sound fully faded, his heart hammering against his ribs as he ran toward his son’s room.
Behind him, Venus and Pendacore moved with equal urgency, all three converging on the door that stood between them and whatever horror had claimed the morning.
Issac burst through first and stopped cold. Leizar sat upright in bed, his silver hair matted with sweat and something darker. Blood covered him—thick, congealing blood that wasn’t his own.
It soaked through his nightclothes, pooled beneath his body, painted his hands crimson. In his right fist, clutched so tightly his knuckles had gone white, was a broken rosary.
The wooden beads were shattered, the chain snapped, and the small silver cross at its end was bent nearly in half. He knew without understanding how he knew that it had belonged to a child.
A girl, perhaps eleven years old, with dark hair and eyes that had once held laughter. The rosary had been her grandmother’s, passed down through generations, blessed by priests whose names were lost to time. She’d been holding it when she died. She’d been praying.
The taste of grave dirt filled his mouth.
“I BURIED HER ALIVE!”
Leizar screamed, his whole body convulsing with horror. “SHE WAS ELEVEN YEARS OLD AND I BURIED HER ALIVE!”
Issac reached for him, but Leizar scrambled away, falling off the bed in his desperation to keep distance between them. He hit the floor hard, the broken rosary cutting deep into his palm, his blood mixing with Clara’s.
“Don’t touch me! DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!”
His voice broke completely, raw and ragged. “I buried a child! She was still breathing, still praying, and I threw dirt on her coffin even as cried! I can taste it - the dirt, her tears, her terror!”
He was sobbing now, great heaving sobs that shook his entire frame. “Clara Stanton. Eleven years old. She liked to sing in the church choir.
Her little brother went missing and she went looking for him with just her grandmother’s rosary for protection and I - my shadow - it didn’t just kill her, it STOLE HER SOUL FIRST!”
He vomited then, bile and blood splattering across the floor as his body rejected the horror of what he’d confessed.
The retching seemed to tear something loose inside him, and when he could speak again, his voice was barely human.
Behind him, his shadow writhed on the wall like a living thing, stretching and contorting in ways that had nothing to do with the lamp’s light. It reached toward the door, toward freedom, toward its next hunt.
Then Venus moved. She crossed the room with deliberate calm and sat down beside Leizar on the floor, ignoring the blood, ignoring the vomit that pooled around them, ignoring the broken boy who flinched away from her approach.
The moment she settled next to him, something extraordinary happened.
His shadow recoiled. It pulled back from the wall like a hand jerking away from flame, shrinking and condensing until it was barely visible - a thin, trembling line pressed against the baseboard, trying to hide behind Leizar’s body.
Where it had been writhing with hunger and malevolence, it now cowered like a beaten dog. Issac and Pendacore exchanged a look over Venus’s head, both noting the shadow’s terror, both choosing to say nothing.
Venus said nothing. She simply sat with him, her presence a wall between Leizar and the darkness that wore his shape. The shadow pressed itself flatter against the wall, whimpering in frequencies only it could hear.
For long moments, they sat in silence - the broken boy, Venus, and the two men who could only watch.
Finally, Pendacore knelt beside the fallen rosary, his emerald eyes studying it with grim intensity. “This is more than just a trophy. The blood, the terror that consecrated it - your shadow didn’t just take this. It fed on her fear as she died.”
“I can feel it!” Leizar clawed at his chest as if trying to tear something out. “She’s in here, trapped, screaming! My shadow ate her soul before burying her body! She couldn’t even die properly because I’d already taken the part of her that mattered!”
“She clawed at the earth above her until her fingers were bone. She died terrified and alone and soulless because of me.”
“Your shadow is developing its own will,” Pendacore said quietly. “Acting independently while you sleep. Hunting.”
Leizar laughed, a broken sound that was more sob than humor. “So I’m not becoming a monster. I already am one.”
“No,” Issac said fiercely, but the denial rang hollow. How could he argue when the evidence was painted in blood across his son’s body?
The silence stretched until Leizar finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I can’t stay here. Whatever I am, whatever’s happening to me, I can’t risk this happening again. Can’t risk hurting you.”
Venus and Pendacore exchanged a meaningful look. The shadow, still cowering against the wall, seemed to sense what was coming and tried to shrink even smaller.
“There is a place,” Pendacore said carefully. “Somewhere you could go where your abilities would be understood, where you could learn control instead of being controlled by them.”
“What kind of place?”
“An academy. A school for those with unusual talents and dangerous capabilities.”
Leizar looked up at him with desperate hope flickering in his silver eyes. “Could I really learn to control this? Could I stop being a danger to everyone I care about?”
“I believe so. But it would mean leaving here. Leaving your father.”
“If it means keeping him safe, then that’s what I’ll do.”
Issac felt something break inside his chest. His son was willing to sacrifice everything to protect the people he loved. It was exactly the kind of noble, selfless decision that made Issac’s heart swell with pride and shatter with grief at the same time.
“The Academy of Ages,” Pendacore continued. “I can personally guarantee your safety there.”
“When would I leave?”
“Today.”
“Come on,” Issac said softly, his voice thick with unshed tears. “Let’s get you cleaned up, my boy.” He helped Leizar to his feet, supporting his trembling son’s weight as they made their way down the hall to the washroom.
Behind them, Venus remained on the floor, her presence still keeping Leizar’s shadow cowered against the wall.
Issac lit candles with trembling hands, their warm glow pushing back the deep shadows as he began running hot water in the large copper tub. Steam rose in pale ribbons, and the sound of rushing water almost masked Leizar’s ragged breathing.
“Easy,” Issac murmured, testing the temperature with careful fingers. “We’ll get you clean. We’ll get this off you.”
He helped Leizar out of his blood-soaked nightclothes, his movements gentle but clinical. The boy’s skin was painted with Clara’s blood—dried streaks across his chest, under his fingernails, matted in his silver hair. But Issac had done this before, after other nights, other children. His hands never shook.
“Into the water,” he said quietly.
The hot water stung against Leizar’s skin, turning murky brown as Clara’s blood began to wash away. Issac knelt beside the tub, sleeves rolled up, soap in his hands.
“I can still taste the grave dirt,” Leizar whispered as his father worked shampoo through his hair. “I can feel her fingers clawing at the earth. She was so scared, Dad. So scared and alone.”
Issac’s jaw tightened, but his touch remained gentle.
“I know, my boy. I know.”
“How do you know? How can you possibly know what this is like?”
The question hung between them like a blade. Issac continued washing, his movements careful and thorough, but Leizar caught the way his father’s hands trembled just slightly.
“Because I love you,” Issac said finally. “And when someone you love is in pain, you feel it too.”
They sat in silence after that, father washing away the evidence of his son’s shadow’s hunt. When the blood was gone and Leizar’s skin was clean, Issac helped him from the tub and wrapped him in thick towels, rubbing warmth back into his chilled body.
“Better?” Issac asked softly.
Leizar nodded, though they both knew clean skin couldn’t wash away what lived inside him.
When they returned to the bedroom, Venus and Pendacore were waiting. The blood had been cleaned from the floor, the vomit scrubbed away. Fresh clothes lay folded on the bed—traveling clothes, Leizar noticed with growing dread.
“I’ll make breakfast,” Venus said quietly. “Something light. You need to eat before we travel.”
“Travel?” Leizar’s voice cracked.
Venus slipped from the room to begin breakfast preparations, leaving the three of them in heavy silence.
Pendacore moved to where Issac’s bow hung on the wall, his fingers tracing the carved wood with obvious appreciation.
“Beautiful craftsmanship,” he said.
“May I?”
Issac nodded numbly as Pendacore lifted the weapon and settled the leather strap across his chest. The bow looked natural on him, as if he’d been born to carry it.
“We will take this, You will need it.”
“You’re taking me away,” Leizar said, understanding flooding through him.
Issac’s composure cracked.
“I can’t keep you safe here. I can’t protect you from what you’re becoming, and I can’t protect others from your shadow. The Academy—they know how to handle this.”
“Handle what, exactly?”
Pendacore’s expression was grave.
“Shadow magic that acts independently. A darkness that hunts while you sleep.”
-
Venus set plates of bread, honey, and eggs on the kitchen table. Leizar picked at the food, each bite turning to dust in his mouth.
“The Academy is in Darrows Hallow,” Pendacore said quietly. “Hidden in plain sight, where you’ve walked past it a hundred times.”
“I’ve never seen any academy there,” Leizar said, confused.
“You weren’t meant to,” Venus replied. “Not until you needed it.”
Issac stared at his untouched plate.
“How long will he be at the Academy?”
“As long as it takes,” Pendacore said. “Some students master their gifts in months. Others take years.”
“And some never come home at all,” Issac whispered.
Leizar pushed his plate away.
“I should pack.”
He went to his room and pulled his traveling bag from the wardrobe. Clothes first—his warmest cloak, sturdy boots, the green tunic Issac had given him last winter.
Then books—a few favorites he couldn’t bear to leave behind. Finally, small treasures: a carved wooden horse from his eighth birthday, a pressed flower from their garden. Issac appeared in the doorway holding a small leather pouch.
“Something precious,” he said, his voice barely audible. “You should have it.”
Leizar’s throat closed. He nodded and tucked the pouch against his heart.
“I don’t want to go,” he whispered, the words breaking free despite his resolve.
Issac’s composure crumbled. He pulled his son into his arms, holding him with desperate intensity, as if he could memorize the feel of him, the warmth of him, the way Leizar still fit perfectly against his chest despite being nearly grown.
“I don’t want you to go either,” Issac choked out, his voice raw with ten years of suppressed grief. “God help me, I don’t want to lose you.”
Leizar buried his face against his father’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of woodsmoke and leather, trying to memorize it.
“What if I never see you again?”
“Nonsense,” Issac said with a tight smile, hoping desperately that it would be true. “You can come home on the weekends.”
His hands shook as they smoothed through Leizar’s silver hair.
They stood there, father and son, holding each other as if the world was ending. Because in a way, it was. The life they’d built together, the quiet mornings and evening meals, the archery lessons and forest walks - all of it was ending with this embrace.
“I love you,” Leizar whispered against his father’s neck. “I love you so much it hurts.”
“I know,” Issac whispered back, tears streaming down his face. “I know, my boy. And I love you more than you’ll ever understand.”
They broke apart slowly, reluctantly, both knowing that if they held on any longer, neither would have the strength to let go.
The silence stretched between them until Pendacore’s voice came from downstairs.
“The horses need readying.”
It was time.
Leizar gathered his packed belongings while Issac stood frozen, watching his son prepare to leave. They descended the stairs together, each step feeling like a small death. Venus waited by the door, her expression carefully neutral though her eyes held sympathy.
They walked to the stables in heavy silence, the morning air cool against their tear-stained faces.
In the stable, Tallia nickered softly as Issac approached her stall.
Venus grabbed the halter and without a word lifted it over Tallia’s head, securing the straps with practiced efficiency. She led the mare from her stall to the hitching post outside, her movements swift and sure while Issac stood frozen in his grief.
His hands shook as he lifted her saddle—the same saddle he’d taught Leizar to use when the boy was barely tall enough to reach the stirrups. “Let me,” Pendacore said gently, taking the leather from Issac’s trembling hands.
While Pendacore saddled Tallia, Issac prepared the black mare with methodical care, his movements automatic despite the tears threatening to fall. Venus walked to the far stall and murmured something under her breath, her hands glowing briefly.
A gray mare materialized from wisps of silver light, solid and real, already bridled and ready to ride.
“There,” Pendacore said, patting Tallia’s neck. “She’s ready.”
The three horses stood waiting in the courtyard, their breath misting in the crisp morning air.
Issac stood in the doorway, watching them prepare to leave. He looked smaller somehow, diminished by the approaching separation.
“Take care of him,” he said to Pendacore, his voice breaking.
“I give you my word,” Pendacore replied solemnly. Leizar mounted Tallia with practiced ease, but his hands shook as he took the reins.
“Go,” Issac said, though the word seemed torn from his chest. “Before I lose my courage.”
They rode out of the courtyard without looking back, because if Leizar had seen his father collapse against the doorframe, if he’d witnessed that final breaking, he never would have found the strength to keep riding.
The ride to Darrows Hallow passed quickly, the three of them traveling in relative silence along familiar roads that wound through forests painted gold by autumn sunlight. Leizar rode Tallia with practiced ease, while Pendacore led the way on a black stallion and Venus followed on her conjured gray mare.
The Academy can be overwhelming at first,” Pendacore said eventually. “Many students struggle with the transition. Don’t be discouraged if it takes time to adjust.”
“What are the other students like?”
“Varied. Some have been there since childhood, others arrive as adults. Some control their abilities perfectly, others are still learning. You won’t be the only one struggling with power you don’t fully understand.”
As they crested a hill, Darrows Hallow spread out below them—a market town built around a central square, busy with the day’s commerce. They made their way to the stables, where Pendacore arranged for the horses to be cared for.
“I need to handle some final arrangements,” he said. “Venus, would you mind showing Leizar the market? We’ll meet at the Academy gates in an hour.”
Venus nodded, and together she and Leizar walked into the bustling square. The familiar sights and sounds of market day surrounded them - vendors calling their wares, children playing between the stalls, the comfortable chaos of commerce and community.
They had barely entered the square when a small figure broke away from a group near the flower stalls and came running toward them.
“Leizar!” The voice was bright with joy, musical in the way that only children’s voices could be. “Leizar, you came!”
Little Lysa reached him with a laugh, her curly hair bouncing as she skidded to a halt. She was perhaps eight years old, with bright eyes and a smile that could light up winter mornings. In her hands she clutched a bunch of wildflowers that looked like they’d been picked from every corner of the countryside.
“I hoped you’d be here today,” she said breathlessly. “I made something for you!”
From behind her back, she produced a small leather satchel. The craftsmanship was clearly that of a child, but there was care in every stitch, love in every carefully placed line. Across the front, worked in painstaking letters, were two words: “Fairy Prince.”
“I made it myself,” she said proudly, thrusting it toward him. “Mama taught me how to work the leather, and I practiced the letters until they were perfect. See? It says ‘Fairy Prince’ because that’s what you are. I can tell.”
Leizar knelt down to her level, his throat tight with unexpected emotion. “Lysa, it’s beautiful.”
She beamed and pressed the satchel into his hands, then carefully tucked one of her wildflowers behind his ear. “There. Now you look properly princely.”
“Do I now?” He managed a genuine smile. “You know I’m no prince, little crow.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think you are,” she said with the absolute certainty that only children possessed. “You’ll always be my fairy prince. And now you have something to remember me by when you go away to your castle.”
“How did you know I was going away?”
She shrugged with eight-year-old wisdom. “Fairy princes always have to go away. It’s part of the story. But they remember the people who love them.”
She threw her arms around his neck in a fierce hug, and Leizar felt something shift in his chest - a warmth he hadn’t felt since waking covered in Clara’s blood. For just a moment, the world felt manageable again. “I love you, Leizar,” she whispered against his ear. “You’re my favorite prince in the whole world.”
Then she was gone, darting back toward the flower stalls with a laugh that carried on the afternoon breeze. Leizar watched her go, clutching the leather satchel that said “Fairy Prince” in careful, loving letters.
Venus touched his shoulder gently. “She’s special, that one.” “Yes,” Leizar agreed, tucking the satchel carefully into his pack. “She is.”
They continued through the market, stopping at various stalls where Venus made small purchases and introduced Leizar to vendors who’d known him since childhood. Near the spice merchant’s stall, a figure in a yellow coat and silver skull-topped cane caught Leizar’s attention.
“Haldor,” Venus said quietly. “Be polite, but don’t linger.” The scarf vendor’s single visible eye gleamed as they approached. His strawberry-blond hair curled around his shoulders, and his black gloves were oddly pristine despite his rough profession.
“Young master,” Haldor said with an elaborate bow. “Off to seek your fortune, are we?”
“Something like that.”
“Wise. Very wise. The town grows… restless. Too many disappearances, too many questions without answers. Best to be elsewhere when the reckoning comes.”
His words carried weight that made Leizar’s skin crawl, but before he could respond, Venus was guiding him away with firm pressure on his elbow.
“Pay him no mind,” she said quietly. “Haldor sees too much and speaks in riddles. It’s safer to assume he knows nothing worth knowing.”
They made their way back toward the edge of town, where the Academy of Ages waited.
The Academy rose from the landscape like something out of legend, all soaring towers and impossible architecture that seemed to shift and change when viewed from different angles.
Gothic spires reached toward the sky while bridges of carved stone connected buildings that appeared to float unsupported in mid-air. Gardens grew in terraced layers that defied gravity, their flowers blooming in colors that had no earthly names.
“It’s magnificent,” Leizar breathed.
“It’s home,” Venus replied. “For those who need it to be.”
She guided him through the main entrance, past corridors lined with moving portraits and classrooms where impossible things were being taught to students who would have been burned as witches in the outside world.
“Oh, before I forget,” Venus said, pausing in the corridor. “There’s someone else I brought with me.”
She gestured to a young man who had been walking behind them so quietly that Leizar hadn’t noticed him.
“WindRaven, meet Leizar. Leizar, this is WindRaven.”
WindRaven stepped forward with a confident stride, though there was something almost regal in his bearing despite his simple clothes. He had warm brown eyes and an easy smile, and carried a small leather bag slung over his shoulder.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he said warmly. “I’m actually a pr—” His words suddenly became garbled, as if his tongue had twisted around itself. “I’m… well, I’m looking forward to learning here.”
“Are you alright?” Leizar asked, concerned by the strange interruption.
“Fine, fine,” WindRaven said quickly, though he looked puzzled. “Sometimes my words get away from me. Happens when I try to talk about my… background.”
Venus’s lips quirked in what might have been amusement, but she said nothing.The registration process was handled by a woman whose skin held the subtle shimmer of scales, using crystal tablets that filled themselves out with glowing script.
When the paperwork was complete, she handed Leizar a key. “Room 347. Your roommates should already be settled in. Classes begin tomorrow morning.”
She handed WindRaven the same key. “Room 347 as well - there’s a fifth bed prepared. And don’t forget about your… special item. The hearths in the dormitories are always kept warm.”
WindRaven nodded seriously. “Thank you. I won’t forget.”
The woman’s eyes darted nervously toward the upper floors, as if expecting someone important.
“Everything has been arranged as requested,” she murmured, though Leizar wasn’t sure who she was addressing.
They climbed a spiraling staircase that seemed to go on longer than the tower’s external dimensions should have allowed, finally reaching a landing marked with the number 347. The door was heavy oak bound with iron, carved with symbols that shifted when looked at directly.
Leizar was reaching for the door handle when footsteps echoed on the stairs behind them. He turned to see Pendacore ascending, but he wasn’t alone. Cradled in his arms was a jet-black cat, so dark it seemed to absorb light rather than merely reflecting none.
“I found her in the courtyard,” Pendacore said by way of explanation. “She seemed to be looking for someone.”
The moment Pendacore reached the landing, the cat leaped from his arms with fluid grace. She landed at Leizar’s feet and immediately began rubbing against his legs, purring with an intensity that made his bones vibrate.
Without thinking, without understanding why, Leizar knelt and scooped her into his arms. She settled against his chest as if she belonged there, yellow eyes meeting his with ancient intelligence.
“Hello, beautiful,” he murmured, and then, from some deep place in his mind that he didn’t recognize: “Thalawen.”
The name fell from his lips like it had been waiting there his whole life. Not a common name, not a human name, but something older and more complex. A true name, spoken in a language he didn’t remember learning. The cat’s purr deepened, and she butted her head against his chin in obvious approval.
Pendacore and Venus exchanged a look over his head - Pendacore’s lips quirking in what might have been a smirk, Venus’s eyes bright with something that could have been satisfaction or recognition.
“She seems to have chosen you,” Venus observed.
“Cats are excellent judges of character,” Pendacore added, though there was something in his tone that suggested layers of meaning beneath the casual words.
Leizar scratched behind Thalawen’s ears, marveling at how right she felt in his arms, how perfectly she fit against him. For the first time since waking covered in blood, he felt something approaching peace.
“I guess I have a companion.”
“You do indeed,” Pendacore said. “The Academy has accommodations for bonded animals. She’ll be well cared for.”
The door opened to reveal a common room furnished with comfortable chairs around a large fireplace, study tables near tall windows, and shelves lined with books whose titles seemed to shift when he wasn’t looking directly at them.
Four beds were arranged along the walls, and a fifth had clearly been prepared for him. Three young men looked up as he entered, while WindRaven stepped in behind him, taking in their new shared space.
Leizar recognized one immediately - Raelith, who had somehow been waiting for him at the Academy gates earlier.
“Raelith,” he said with surprise, settling Thalawen gently on his bed. “You’re my roommate?”
The other two young men stood to introduce themselves.
“Severan,” said the one with bright sapphire eyes that seemed to hold calculations running at impossible speeds. When he spoke, his voice carried mathematical certainty. “Probability of successful room assignment: optimal. Statistical likelihood of compatible personality matrices: eighty-seven point four percent.”
“Sylas,” said the other, his seafoam eyes holding depths that seemed older than his apparent age.
Raelith grinned, though there was something careful in his expression.
“Random selection, apparently. Though I have to admit, it’s convenient. We can help you settle in.”
He said it with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly how the selection process worked. Severan’s bright sapphire eyes tracked every movement with inhuman precision.
“Academy placement algorithms incorporate seventeen distinct variables including magical resonance, psychological compatibility matrices, and temporal probability cascades.” He paused, fingers drumming rapid calculations against his book. “Current configuration suggests deliberate optimization rather than random selection. Statistical variance: negligible.”
“Meaning?” Leizar asked, unpacking his few belongings.
“Meaning maybe we’re supposed to help each other,” Sylas said quietly, his seafoam eyes reflecting depths that seemed far older than his apparent age. “Students with unusual abilities often benefit from… understanding company.”
Thalawen had settled on Leizar’s pillow, her yellow eyes tracking each conversation with an intelligence that seemed almost human. When Raelith reached out to pet her, she allowed the touch but never stopped watching Leizar.
“She’s attached to you already,” Raelith observed.
“It feels mutual,” Leizar admitted, scratching behind her ears. The purring that resulted seemed to resonate through his bones, calming in a way he couldn’t explain.
A bell chimed somewhere in the Academy’s depths, deep and musical.
“Nutritional intake period commencing,” Severan announced, closing his book with mechanical precision, but he waited until Raelith stood first. “Optimal social hierarchy protocols maintained. First meal statistical probability for interesting occurrences: ninety-six point two percent.”
The great hall was everything Leizar had imagined a magical academy’s dining room would be and more. The vaulted ceiling showed the evening sky complete with moving clouds and emerging stars, though they were clearly indoors. Floating candles provided warm, flickering light that danced across long tables filled with students whose ages ranged from what looked like twelve to early twenties.
In the corners where shadows gathered softest, tiny figures moved like whispers made visible. The Luminari were almost impossibly small, their feathered hair catching the candlelight like edges of clouds at sunrise.
They wore cloaks too large for their delicate forms, and within their hoods, small orbs of light blinked and hummed like captured stars. They drifted between the tables, drawn to students who shared their bread or helped a struggling classmate, their presence making the food taste somehow warmer, more nourishing.
But it wasn’t the magical architecture that caught his attention - it was the students themselves.
Near the front tables, a girl’s hair bloomed with tiny flowers that opened and closed with her emotions. At a middle table, two boys debated loudly while one casually walked up the stone wall itself, each step defying gravity.
A student near the back appeared to be made entirely of crystal, his body catching and refracting the candlelight into dancing rainbows.
“Don’t stare too obviously,” Raelith murmured as they found seats at one of the middle tables. “Everyone’s self-conscious about their abilities when they first arrive.”
“This is normal here?” Leizar asked, watching a girl whose shadow moved independently, waving at other students while she focused on her meal.
“Define normal,” Sylas replied with what might have been amusement. “But yes, this is what the Academy exists for. Students who can’t control their gifts, or whose gifts make them… unwelcome… in regular society.”
They found spaces at a table that was already partially occupied. As they settled in, WindRaven approached their table, looking slightly uncertain.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked. “I’m still figuring out where everyone sits.”
“Of course,” Leizar said, gesturing to an empty seat. “WindRaven, meet my roommates. Raelith, Severan, Sylas.”
As WindRaven sat down, he carefully placed his small leather bag beside his chair.
“Nice to meet you all. I’m actually from a royal fam—”
Again, his words twisted into incomprehensible sounds, leaving him looking frustrated.
“Sorry. I have this… speech thing. Happens when I talk about certain topics.”
“Linguistic impediment probability: magical in origin,” Severan observed with clinical interest. “Curse-based restriction on specific subject matter. Fascinating.”
WindRaven looked at him with surprise.
“You can tell that just from hearing me try to speak?”
“Statistical analysis of speech pattern disruption suggests external magical interference rather than natural speech disorder,” Severan replied matter-of-factly.
Almost immediately, other students began introducing themselves with the casual ease of people accustomed to the unusual.
“You’re the new ones,” said a girl with striking violet eyes and silver hair that seemed to move on its own. “I’m Lyra. I work with memories - not reading them exactly, but… shifting them. Making them clearer or hazier as needed.”
“Garrett,” said the boy beside her, whose hands bore faint scorch marks. “Fire affinity, though I’m still working on not burning everything I touch. Last week I accidentally set the library’s poetry section ablaze. They’re still mad about that.”
“That’s why we don’t let him near anything irreplaceable,” Raelith said, earning a good-natured laugh from Garrett.
Leizar noticed how the Luminari kept their distance from Garrett’s end of the table, though one brave soul hovered at the very edge of the warm light cast by his presence, as if drawn by his gentle nature but wary of the fire that lived in his hands.
Other students at nearby tables caught wind of the introductions and joined in. Curiously, they all seemed to wait for Raelith to acknowledge them before speaking, though the pause was so brief Leizar almost missed it.
Elena, a girl whose skin held a faint green tint and whose fingertips ended in what looked like tiny thorns, leaned over from the next table.
“Plant manipulation,” she explained, “though mine tends toward the carnivorous varieties. I’m trying to convince the groundskeepers to let me start a greenhouse for exotic specimens.”
“That’s Elena,” Garrett said. “She accidentally grew a man-eating orchid in her dormitory last month. Took four professors to subdue it.”
“It wasn’t man-eating,” Elena protested. “It just had very aggressive feeding habits.”
As she spoke, a cluster of three Luminari materialized around her, their tiny orbs pulsing with gentle approval. Elena’s fingertips, which had been showing faint thorns, smoothed back to normal skin. The creatures hummed softly, a sound like wind through flower petals.
“And I’m Dmitri,” said a boy who appeared to be sitting slightly inside his chair rather than on it. “I phase through solid objects, but only when I’m not thinking about it. Very inconvenient during exams.”
“He’s fallen through three floors this week,” Lyra added with obvious affection. “The professors are getting tired of fishing him out of the dungeons.”
“Last month I got stuck halfway through a wall for six hours,” Dmitri said cheerfully. “Had to wait for my concentration to slip before I could get free.”
A girl whose shadow seemed to be having an entirely different conversation with the shadows of other students waved from across the table.
“I’m Cara. Dream walking, though I’m still learning to stay out of people’s nightmares uninvited. Last month I accidentally got trapped in Professor Hendricks’ recurring dream about being chased by mathematical equations. Took three senior students to pull me out.”
More introductions followed: Thomas, whose luminescent skin could reveal the true nature of magical objects; Beth, who could temporarily grant life to inanimate objects (“though they usually just complain about existing”); and Finn, whose gift for seeing glimpses of possible futures mainly resulted in him knowing exactly when it was going to rain and never being able to enjoy surprises.
Each ability more extraordinary than the last, yet all treated as simply part of who they were. The casual acceptance was both comforting and unsettling - comforting because no one seemed shocked by the concept of uncontrollable magical abilities, unsettling because it made him wonder exactly how dangerous these “gifts” could become.
“What about you?” Lyra asked Leizar. “What’s your gift?”
Leizar hesitated, the weight of Clara’s broken rosary and now Lysa’s satchel heavy in his memory. “Shadow magic. Though I don’t really control it yet.”
“Autonomous manifestation?” asked a quiet boy named Thomas whose skin held a faint luminescence. “I have a cousin who deals with something similar. His reflection lives independently - they take turns attending family dinners.”
“Something like that,” Leizar said, grateful that no one pressed for details.
“What about you, WindRaven?” Garrett asked. “Any abilities manifesting yet?”
WindRaven shrugged. “Not that I can tell. I was brought here more for… protection, I think. Though I do have this.” He reached into his leather bag and carefully withdrew what looked like a large, smooth stone. It was about the size of a loaf of bread, with an almost metallic sheen that seemed to shift in the candlelight.
“Interesting rock,” Elena said, leaning forward to get a better look.
“I’m supposed to keep it warm,” WindRaven explained matter-of-factly. “Venus told me it’s very important that I put it near a fire at all times. I don’t know why, but she was very specific about it.” He cradled the stone-like object carefully. “It’s heavier than it looks.”
Severan’s eyes narrowed as he studied the object, his fingers drumming calculations.
“Composition analysis: indeterminate. Thermal requirements suggest… incubation parameters. Probability of organic origin: seventy-three point six percent.”
“Incubation?” WindRaven looked puzzled. “It’s just a rock.”
“Is it though?” Sylas asked quietly, his ancient-looking eyes studying the object with interest. “Some things that look like rocks aren’t rocks at all.”
WindRaven looked down at the object in his hands with new uncertainty.
“What do you think it could be?”
“No idea,” Lyra admitted. “But if Venus said to keep it warm, there’s probably a very good reason.”
WindRaven carefully placed the object back in his bag. “Well, mystery rock or not, I should probably get it to a fireplace soon. It’s been away from heat for too long already.”
The meal continued with easy conversation and foods that seemed to appear on the tables by magic - which, Leizar realized, they probably did. For the first time since waking covered in blood, he felt something approaching normalcy. These people understood what it was like to be different, to possess abilities that set them apart from the ordinary world. He was reaching for a pitcher of water when he accidentally knocked into someone passing behind his chair.
“Watch it,” the person snapped, and Leizar turned to see a boy about his own age with sandy hair and cold blue eyes. There was something immediately aggressive about his posture, something that suggested he was always looking for reasons to take offense.
“Sorry,” Leizar said, standing to help collect the books the other boy had dropped. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Of course you didn’t.” The boy snatched his books back with unnecessary force. “New students always think they own the place.”
“I don’t think anything like that,” Leizar replied, keeping his voice level. “I was just apologizing.”
The boy studied him with obvious disdain, taking in his simple clothes and unassuming manner.
“Let me guess - another ‘dangerous’ ability that mommy and daddy couldn’t handle? Come running to the Academy to learn how to be special?”
There was cruelty in his tone that made other students look up from their meals. Lyra frowned, Garrett set down his fork, and Leizar’s roommates had gone very still.
More tellingly, every Luminari in the hall simply vanished. One moment they had been drifting peacefully between the tables, and the next they were gone, as if Dale’s malice had driven them to seek safer spaces. The absence felt wrong, like a held breath in the middle of a song.
“Dale.” Raelith’s voice carried a quiet authority that made several students turn their heads. For just a moment, his careful facade slipped, and something cold and absolute flashed in his expression. “That’s enough.”
“I’m just welcoming our new friend,” Dale replied, his smile sharp as broken glass. “Making sure he knows how things work around here. Some of us have been students for years, working to master abilities that could level buildings. We don’t need some frightened child coming in and disrupting everything with his lack of control.”
“Nobody’s disrupting anything,” Sylas said, and there was something in his voice that made the temperature around their table drop several degrees. “And some of us remember being new students ourselves.”
Dale’s eyes flicked to Sylas, and for just a moment his aggressive posture faltered. Whatever he saw in those seafoam depths made him reconsider his approach - but only slightly.
“You know what your problem is?” Dale said, turning back to Leizar with renewed venom. “You think you can just walk in here and everyone will accept you. But I’ve been watching you since you arrived, and there’s something wrong with you. Something that goes deeper than just uncontrolled shadow magic.”
The dining hall had grown quieter, other students sensing the escalating tension. Even the magical displays around the room seemed more subdued, as if the very air was holding its breath.
“Dale.”
The voice came from the head table, where a tall woman with steel-gray hair and penetrating dark eyes had risen from her seat. Her gaze flickered briefly to Raelith, as if checking his reaction, before focusing on Dale.
She wore the deep blue robes of a senior instructor, and her presence commanded immediate attention.
“Is there a problem?”
“No problem, Professor Aldrich,” Dale replied, his tone instantly becoming respectful. “Just welcoming our newest student.”
Professor Aldrich’s gaze swept over the scene, taking in Dale’s aggressive posture, Leizar’s pale face, and the uncomfortable expressions of the surrounding students. When her eyes met Raelith’s, there was a subtle question there, and his barely perceptible nod seemed to decide her course of action.
“I see. Mr. Blackwood, perhaps you could demonstrate this welcome by returning to your seat and allowing Mr. Leizar to finish his meal in peace.”
Dale’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Of course, Professor.”
He gathered his books, but as he turned to go, he leaned close enough to Leizar that only he could hear the whispered words: “This isn’t over. And when you wake up screaming in the middle of the night, remember that some of us know exactly what you are.”
The threat sent ice through Leizar’s veins, not because of Dale’s hostility, but because of the certainty in his voice. How could this boy possibly know anything about what he was when Leizar himself didn’t understand it?
As Dale stalked away, Professor Aldrich approached their table.
“Mr. Leizar, I trust you’re settling in well despite this unfortunate introduction to Academy politics?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Leizar managed, though his voice sounded strained even to his own ears.
“Excellent. If you have any concerns about your safety or well-being here, please don’t hesitate to contact me or any other member of the faculty.” Her eyes followed Dale’s retreating form with obvious disapproval. “The Academy is meant to be a sanctuary for all students, regardless of their background or the nature of their abilities.”
She returned to the head table, but not before shooting one more warning glance in Dale’s direction.
Slowly, tentatively, the Luminari began to reappear. First one, then two, then small clusters gathering around students who had shown kindness during the confrontation. They moved with extra caution now, their orbs dimmed to barely visible glimmers.
The uncomfortable silence that followed was finally broken by Garrett, who let out a long breath. “Well, that was dramatic. Dale’s usually more subtle about his nastiness.”
“He’s scared,” Elena observed, her thorn-tipped fingers drumming thoughtfully against the table. “I’ve seen that look before - it’s not just jealousy or territoriality. He genuinely thinks Leizar is dangerous.”
“Are you?” Finn asked suddenly, his gift apparently showing him something the others couldn’t see. “Dangerous, I mean. Because I keep getting flashes of… darkness. Cold. And something that might be screaming, but it’s too far away to be sure.”
The question hung in the air like a blade. Leizar found himself thinking of Clara’s broken rosary, of waking covered in blood, of Lysa’s trusting smile as she pressed the satchel into his hands.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I hope not.”
“That’s more honest than most of us would be,” Cara said quietly. “And honesty counts for something here.”
“Don’t mind Dale,” Lyra said once he was out of earshot. “He’s bitter because his ability is relatively minor - he can make small objects levitate, but only for a few minutes at a time. He takes it out on students whose gifts are more… significant.”
“Significant?” Leizar asked.
“Shadow magic is rare,” Garrett explained. “And powerful. He probably sees you as a threat to his position in the Academy hierarchy.”
“There’s a hierarchy?”
“Hierarchical structure empirically verified,” Severan stated with matter-of-fact certainty. “Power quotient directly correlates with resource allocation and instructional attention. Subject Dale: three-year enrollment period, minimal advancement metrics. Levitation capacity: basic tier, limited temporal sustainability. Probability of significant improvement: twelve point seven percent.”
“That’s not your problem,” Raelith said firmly. “You’re here to learn control, not to navigate petty politics.”
But as the meal continued, Leizar found himself glancing occasionally toward where Dale sat with a small group of similarly resentful-looking students. The hostility in those cold blue eyes had been unmistakable, and something about it reminded him uncomfortably of the way people in his village had sometimes looked at him - like they could sense something wrong but couldn’t quite identify what it was.
When dinner ended and they made their way back toward the dormitory, Lysa’s satchel tucked safely in his pack alongside his other belongings, Leizar tried to push the encounter from his mind. One hostile student was hardly unusual in any school. He had bigger concerns than Dale’s petty jealousy.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Raelith said as they climbed the stairs to their room. “Dale’s all bluster and insecurity. He won’t actually do anything.”
There was something final in the way he said it, less prediction than decree.
“I’m not worried about him,” Leizar replied, and it was mostly true. After everything he’d been through, one resentful student seemed like a minor concern. But as they settled into their room for the night, Thalawen curling up on his pillow with a contented purr, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Dale’s animosity was going to become a problem sooner rather than later.
The Academy at night was a different creature entirely. The magical lighting dimmed to a soft glow, and sounds carried differently through the ancient stone corridors. From his window, Leizar could see other dormitory buildings scattered across the grounds, each one lit by the warm glow of student quarters.
WindRaven had immediately gone to the room’s fireplace upon returning from dinner. He carefully extracted his mysterious object from the leather bag and placed it gently among the glowing coals. The warmth seemed to make the stone-like surface shimmer more intensely.
The moment the object settled near the flames, a single Luminari appeared on the mantelpiece. It was larger than the ones in the dining hall, its feathered hair more pronounced, and the orb floating within its hood pulsed with an odd rhythm - almost like a heartbeat. It watched WindRaven’s mysterious charge with what seemed like recognition, humming a tune that made the flames dance in perfect harmony.
“There,” he murmured, settling into his bed while keeping one eye on the fireplace. “Venus said to keep you warm, so warm you’ll stay.”
He couldn’t shake Severan’s words about “incubation parameters.” What if it wasn’t just a rock after all?
Leizar sat on his bed with Lysa’s satchel in his hands, running his fingers over the careful stitching. “Fairy Prince,” she had called him, and somehow that innocent declaration felt more true than anything else in his life. Not because he was princely, but because she had seen something in him that others couldn’t - or wouldn’t - acknowledge.
“She made this for me,” he said quietly to Thalawen, who opened one yellow eye and purred in response. “A little girl who barely knew me, and she made this with her own hands because she thought I was something special.”
The cat padded closer and butted her head against his hand, a gesture of comfort that seemed almost human in its timing.
“I won’t let anyone else get hurt,” he whispered, placing the satchel carefully on his bedside table. “Whatever my shadow is, whatever it wants, the Academy will help me control it. No more children. No more blood.”
As he spoke, a tiny Luminari appeared at the far edge of his windowsill. It kept its distance, clearly sensing the darkness that clung to him, but its orb pulsed with something that might have been hope. For a moment, boy and creature regarded each other across the space between light and shadow.
Thalawen’s purr deepened, and she settled against his side as he lay down. Around them, his roommates settled into their own beds - Raelith reading by magical light, Severan calculating something on what appeared to be a crystal tablet, Sylas simply lying still with eyes that reflected starlight, and WindRaven watching over his mysterious charge by the fire.
The Academy’s wards hummed around them, ancient magic designed to contain and protect. For the first time in weeks, Leizar felt truly safe.