Shadowed Secrets

Isadora:

The morning air was cold against my cheeks as I got dressed and left my dorm, dragging my feet across the cracked stone floors of Ashywick’s endless corridors. Every step felt heavier than the last. My body ached in ways I didn’t remember being capable of, and my mind—my mind was a storm I couldn’t quiet. I had barely slept, though my dreams had been filled with shadowed corridors, flames, and whispers that seemed to follow me even when my eyes were open. I still carried the residue of panic in my chest, like a stone pressing on my ribs.

I ran a hand along the banister, feeling the cold of the iron bite through the thin sleeve of my cardigan. The halls were empty, except for the faint hum of enchantments placed to guide students through the maze of the Academy. I wondered how many of those spells had been created by the founders themselves—or if the current faculty had merely discovered them and twisted them to their own designs. Either way, I felt their weight pressing down on me, even now, in the dim light of the early morning.

By the time I reached the classroom for Magical Theory, my legs ached and my hands shook faintly from exhaustion. I hated being weak, hated that my body was betraying me, but the gravity of everything—Lucien, Kai, Rhett, Silas, the Royals—had left me raw. I tried to center myself, breathing deeply as I slipped into the back row, arranging my notes and quills with meticulous care. The parchment felt comforting beneath my fingers, grounding me in something tangible while the shadows outside the windows seemed to pulse and stretch, threatening to reach inside.

The room itself was older than I could have imagined. Gothic arches rose overhead, carved with faint runes that shimmered as if alive. The windows were tall and narrow, letting in slivers of moonlight still lingering from dawn. The air smelled faintly of candle wax, parchment, and a whisper of something… metallic. Something alive. I ignored it, setting my jaw and trying to focus on the task at hand.

Professor Hawksley entered, her frail frame surprisingly commanding as she tapped her staff against the stone floor. “Good morning, class,” she squeaked, her voice carrying an edge of authority beneath the timid cadence. “Today, we will explore the intersection of magical theory and ancient leyline manipulation. Pay close attention—these concepts will form the foundation for your advanced studies.”

I tried to focus. Really, I did. I scribbled notes, muttered incantations under my breath, followed her demonstrations with my eyes and mind fully engaged—but something was off. At first, I thought it was fatigue, the kind that made shadows sway in corners of the room that shouldn’t exist. But no. These were different.

Shadows moved unnaturally along the walls. Not just dark reflections of the students or the flicker of candlelight, but autonomous, twisting and curling as though the darkness itself had a mind. One shifted near the doorway, elongated and sinister, almost beckoning me to follow it. Another shimmered across the ceiling, coiling like smoke, whispering words I couldn’t hear at first. Then I did.

“Isadora…”

The voice was faint but insistent, curling around my name like a vine wrapping tighter and tighter. My pen froze in midair. Every instinct screamed at me to look up, to confront the impossible, but fear rooted me to the spot.

Another whisper:

“Secrets… secrets beneath the stone… the founders… the prophecy…”

The air in the room thickened, carrying a faint scent of iron and smoke. My heart hammered against my ribcage, threatening to break free. Was I imagining it? Surely this wasn’t possible. The Royals didn’t have this ability. Not even Kai or Rhett—or Silas, though he felt like he existed just a breath away at all times—could bend shadows into messages meant for me.

But I knew. I knew.

I could feel it in my blood, the faint thrumming under my skin, a resonance that had always been there but that I could never name. My dreams—the flames, the whispers, the running from something that couldn’t be seen—were connected. And these shadows, this ancient pulse through the hallways, it wasn’t random. It was part of a pattern. A prophecy I hadn’t yet understood.

I clenched my fists, pressing them against my thighs to steady the shaking. A ripple of unease ran down my spine, prickling like icy fingers. My head felt heavy with thoughts I couldn’t untangle. Who was I in all of this? Not just a student, not just a pawn, but something else entirely. Something the Academy had noticed long before I’d even stepped foot here. Something the Royals were drawn to like moths to fire.

My vision blurred as I tried to take notes, the shadows dancing just beyond the edge of perception. One of them uncoiled toward me again, a thin, serpentine strand of darkness, and I caught a glimpse of symbols etched in the void. Letters, numbers, sigils older than any history I had been taught. My stomach knotted. If what I was seeing was true, then I wasn’t just part of the Academy—I was part of something larger. Something powerful. Something dangerous.

I swallowed hard and forced my eyes back to the parchment. I had to remain composed. I had to act normal. I had to survive.

The whispers grew louder, overlapping now, urgent.

“…He watches… the golden wolf… your blood… your choice…”

“…Do not trust the shadow king… the silent watcher… the crimson…”

I could barely breathe. The room felt smaller, the air heavier, and every pulse of my own heartbeat seemed magnified. My hands shook violently as I tried to write down anything legible, but the shadows were relentless, coiling closer, speaking directly into my mind now, not just my ears.

I caught sight of Professor Hawksley lecturing at the front, oblivious to the creeping darkness around her. Her words droned on about ley lines and mana flow, but I couldn’t focus. All I could think about were the whispers, the shadows, the gnawing certainty that something about me had shifted overnight. Something fundamental.

The final bell rang, and it shattered the oppressive silence. Students packed up in a flurry, laughter and chatter filling the void like static, and the shadows retreated—or perhaps simply withdrew their focus. My chest heaved, relief mingled with a deeper, gnawing terror.

I tried to leave quickly, gathering my things, but a dark presence lingered. I could feel it. Not far behind, a faint, intangible weight pressing just beyond perception. Not a person—not quite—but something tied to the very air.

Rhett’s gaze, I realized, scanned the room as we left, lingering just long enough to make my pulse quicken. He didn’t speak, didn’t approach, but the heat radiating from his presence was unmistakable. I could feel the pull of Silas too, subtle but there, like a shadow brushing at the edge of my awareness. And Lucien… the thought alone sent a shiver crawling up my spine.

I exited into the hall, the shadows vanishing into corners like smoke drawn back into a chimney. The Academy’s corridors stretched out ahead, familiar yet alien. Each step felt like walking a tightrope, teetering between the known and the unknowable.

As I reached the stairwell, I finally allowed myself a shuddering exhale. My hands were cold and damp, my knuckles white from gripping my bag. What had just happened in that classroom? What had called to me?

And most importantly… what would happen if the Royals, or the shadows, or whatever ancient force had taken interest in me discovered I could hear them?

A chill ran through me.

Ashywick had always been dangerous. But now… now it felt alive. Watching. Waiting. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted it to stop.

I could feel the whispers still at the edge of my mind, lingering in a way that made my pulse quicken and my stomach twist. I wasn’t alone. Not truly. And yet, for the first time, I wasn’t entirely afraid.

Something about the pull of this place, this prophecy, the darkness within me—it was intoxicating. And terrifying.

Because I knew I would never be the same again.