The Warborn Academy

They called it an academy, but it looked more like a prison.

The Warborn Academy rose from the cliffside like a jagged fang, all black stone and iron spires. The wind howled through its ramparts like it, too, had been trained to scream. Mist clung to the ground as we crossed the threshold, swirling around our boots like ghost fingers. This was no school—it was a place built to break people.

I paused at the gates, my stomach twisting. Everything about this place reeked of power and punishment. Gargoyles leered down from the parapets. The sigils carved above the main doors pulsed faintly with magic—wards to keep things in, not out.

A guard shoved me forward. “Keep moving, witch.”

I stumbled but didn’t fall. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

Inside, the academy was colder. The halls were carved from obsidian-black stone, the kind that swallowed both sound and light. Even the torches burned low and blue, casting flickering shadows against the vaulting ceilings. I could feel the enchantments crawling under my skin, like static wards, glamours, and memory traps—designed to keep us obedient.

We were herded into the central hall—a massive dome-shaped chamber with tall stained-glass windows depicting war scenes: witches in pyres, wolves in chains, monsters torn apart by spellfire and silver.

A voice boomed through the chamber. “Welcome to Warborn.”

I looked up.

A man with silver hair and sharp teeth stood at the top of the stairs. Commander Kael. Not a headmaster, not a teacher—a war general. He wore his scars like medals. His eyes swept across us like a predator surveying a fresh hunt.

“You are here because you are dangerous,” he said. “You are also weak. That will change.”

Silence.

He descended slowly, deliberately. “Some of you are witches,” he sneered, “born into bloodlines that think ancient power makes them untouchable.”

My hands curled into fists.

“Others are wolves, feral things who think brute strength is enough to survive.”

A low growl answered from behind me.

“Here, it won’t matter. Your bloodlines, your packs, your covens—none of that protects you anymore. You’re all the same now: fodder until proven otherwise.”

He turned, his cloak sweeping behind him like a shadow. “Training begins at dawn.”

And with that, we were dismissed.

The dormitories were worse than I imagined—rows of narrow cots, no privacy, no warmth. I claimed a bed near the window to remind myself that outside still existed.

“She doesn’t belong here,” someone muttered behind me.

I turned to see a girl with crimson-braided hair and emerald rings on every finger. Her uniform was crisp, her boots polished. A pureblood, obviously. Her friends—three other witches—stood behind her like an audience.

“She’s street-scum,” the redhead continued, loud enough for the whole dorm to hear. “Everyone knows the Thornbrook line fell. She’s only here because they’re desperate.”

My jaw tightened.

“Maybe she’ll wash out before Solstice,” one of the others said with a laugh. “Or die.”

They brushed past me like I was already fading.

I sat on the edge of my bed, breathing slowly through my nose. I wasn’t going to give them the fight they wanted.

Not yet.

Outside, the training grounds stretched in grim perfection: obstacle courses of barbed wire and stone, dueling circles scorched black with runes, sparring rings rimmed in silver and salt. Everything smelled of sweat and magic and blood.

I watched a pair of students—one witch, one wolf—square off in a ring. The wolf boy moved fast, raw strength and muscle, but the witch had precision. Her spells cracked like whips of fire. Neither held back.

That’s when I felt it.

A gaze.

I turned and locked eyes with a boy leaning against the wall across the yard. Tall. Tired-looking. Hair dark and tousled. He had the slouched posture of someone who’d fought too many battles, lost too many nights of sleep. His eyes, golden and unreadable, were locked on me.

A werewolf.

He didn’t smirk like the others. He didn’t look away.

I held his gaze, chin high, until he finally gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Then he turned and walked away like he hadn’t just thrown a match into dry kindling.

I didn’t know his name.

But I knew this much.

The wolves weren’t the only dangerous ones here.

And I wasn’t planning on dying quietly.