Chapter Two – Collision Course

Sierra’s POV

Redmoor Academy – Before First Class

Sierra didn’t remember learning the language, but the words had tasted too natural on her tongue—like blood from a bitten lip. They still coiled through her mind as she stood alone in the dim hallway, heart thrumming, magic pacing restlessly inside her ribcage like a caged predator.

“Vel’thra nex umbraa…”

The syllables weren’t just words. They lingered, curling like smoke, heavy and wrong. Every time she thought them, her glyph pulsed faintly under her collarbone, burning like a coal. She pressed her palm there, wincing as it throbbed in time with her heartbeat, as though warning her.

The shadows along the hallway walls shifted with her breath. Not drifting lazily like normal morning gloom, but watching. A ripple, then stillness, as if they’d recognized her voice when she whispered that forbidden phrase.

Her throat tightened.

What was that language? Why had the shadows obeyed?

She forced herself to move before her thoughts could spiral too far. Boots clicking too loudly on stone, she quickened her pace toward class. If anyone else had seen her in the hallway after the crows left—eyes glassy, lips whispering to the dark—they’d have more than fuel for cruel jokes.

They’d have reason to fear her.

And fear was dangerous.

Redmoor Academy – Corridor Outside Basic Magicks

The words still echoed in her skull.

Vel’thra nex umbraa.

Her hand clenched tighter on the strap of her satchel.

She turned the corner too fast—straight into someone.

The collision knocked the breath from her lungs. She went sprawling, satchel skidding across the stone, the crack of bone against tile leaving her ribs aching. The humiliation burned hotter than the pain.

“Gods—” she hissed, scrambling up before anyone could laugh.

A hand appeared in her vision. Strong, long-fingered, a silver ring glinting faintly.

She batted it away, muttering, “I’ve got it.”

When she finally looked up, the words died in her throat.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Uniform jacket open, tie undone like rules were beneath him. Raven-black hair, messy but deliberate, and eyes… gods, his eyes. Black like obsidian but not flat—depthless, with shards of light caught inside, sparks that promised fire or ruin depending on where he aimed them.

And right now, they were aimed at her.

His mouth curved into something caught between a smirk and a warning. “Careful. You almost flattened me.”

Sierra blinked, pulse stuttering. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His voice was smooth, roughened at the edges, the kind of voice that lingered even after silence fell. “That’s the most interesting thing that’s happened to me all morning.”

She ducked her head, cheeks heating despite herself, and snatched her satchel from the floor. She didn’t wait for him to move aside—she slipped past, heart thundering as though she’d run a mile. The furthest back corner of the classroom called to her, safe, shadowed.

But even as she hurried away, she felt it—his gaze, sharp and unrelenting, following her all the way to her seat.

Basic Magicks – Class in Session

The classroom buzzed faintly with idle chatter until the professor swept in, robes whispering like secrets, her presence enough to snap every spine straight. Sierra tried to focus. Tried to breathe. But her thoughts tangled: the foreign words, the ache in her chest where the glyph pulsed, and above all—the boy.

Malick.

She risked a glance.

He was already looking at her.

Something flickered across his face—not curiosity, not mockery. Recognition. Like he’d seen her before. Or knew what she was.

Her stomach dropped.

Before she could look away, the professor’s voice cut through the tension.

“Miss Vale. Mr. Malick. To the front.”

The world narrowed. The weight of a dozen eyes pressed down on her as she rose. Malick moved first—calm, fluid, every step radiating unbothered confidence. Sierra smoothed her shirt, trying not to think of the way fabric pulled tight against her chest, or how her pulse betrayed her nerves.

The professor traced a rune into the floor with her staff. Veilshroud magic. Ancient. Temperamental. Its glow filled the air with a hum that raised every hair on Sierra’s arms.

“Work together,” the professor commanded. “Combine your energies. Cast the binding spell.”

Sierra hesitated. Her palms dampened. Her magic—it didn’t like being told what to do.

Still, she extended her hand.

Malick’s met hers without hesitation, warm, calloused, fingers brushing just enough to make her breath hitch.

The glyph beneath them pulsed. Once.

Twice.

Then shadows writhed upward like serpents, thick and alive. A sharp spark flared between their palms, electric and painful. Sierra flinched, but didn’t let go. Her skin prickled. The magic that surged through her veins wasn’t tame, wasn’t cooperative—it was dark, wild, terrifyingly familiar.

The air thickened, heavy with pressure. Students whispered, their voices distant.

The shadows leaned closer, curling around her ankles, reaching toward her chest. They knew her. They wanted her.

Malick’s gaze locked on hers, intense enough that she swore he could see everything she hid.

Then the impossible happened—

The shadows recoiled.

Like prey. Like something greater than them had entered the circle.

Gasps rippled through the class. The glyph twisted, cracked with light, then stilled.

The professor’s brows furrowed, intrigued. “Impressive. Unexpected. Again.”

Sierra ripped her hand back before Malick could tighten his grip, her chest heaving. She swore his fingers lingered a fraction too long, like he wasn’t ready to let go.

He exhaled slowly, studying her like a puzzle. A faint, dangerous smirk tugged at his lips.

“You’re hiding something, Sierra.”

Her name in his mouth sent a shiver through her, sharp and cold.

Basic Magicks – Aftermath

Whispers erupted like wildfire. Words too low for the professor to catch, but Sierra felt them scraping her skin all the same: freak, cursed, wrong.

She retreated, pulse racing, palms pressed against her skirt to hide the trembling. Malick didn’t move. He stood tall in the circle, arms folded, gaze still fixed on her like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.

“Do you always make magic do… that?” His voice was quiet, nearly private, but every word sank into her bones.

She swallowed hard. “Do you always ask stupid questions?”

A flicker of amusement touched his mouth, gone before it softened him too much.

“Enough,” the professor snapped. “You may both sit.”

Sierra fled to her back corner, forcing her legs not to shake. The whispers followed, stinging like nettles.

Malick didn’t sit. Not right away. He drifted, deliberate, to her desk. Leaned just enough to cast her in shadow.

She braced, expecting a taunt, but his voice was lower now, almost… softer.

“That spell didn’t react to me. It reacted to you. Whatever you are… you’d better learn to cage it before someone less forgiving sees.”

Her breath caught.

“Why do you care?” she whispered.

He leaned in, close enough that she felt the warmth radiating off him. For the briefest moment, his gaze dipped, catching the line of her throat where her shirt gaped. Her pulse leapt.

Then his eyes lifted again, hard, storm-dark.

“I don’t.”

The bell rang. Chairs scraped. Students poured out in a flood of chatter.

By the time Sierra blinked, Malick was gone.

She clutched her satchel tighter, the words rising again in her head. Not the professor’s command. Not the taunts of her classmates.

The ancient ones.

Vel’thra nex umbraa.

The shadows quivered at the edge of her vision, whispering like they knew the truth.

And for the first time in years, Sierra wasn’t sure if she was the one holding them back… or if they were the ones holding her.