Chapter 4 — The Forbidden Wing

The halls of Astryss Royal Academy were quieter at night. Or perhaps it was just that the students who weren’t meant to be here were finally gone. Aera’s footsteps echoed softly on the polished stone, her heartbeat louder than any sound.

Kael had warned her—never go near the Restricted Wing. He hadn’t explained why, only that she should stay away. But something about the warning made her curiosity flare. And after the events in the first lesson, her curiosity had teeth.

She paused in front of a long corridor veiled in shadows. Torches flickered in iron sconces, but even their light seemed to avoid the end of the hallway, which was sealed by a massive oak door carved with symbols that twisted and shimmered under her gaze.

This is it, she thought. The Forbidden Wing.

The pull in her chest wasn’t fear; it was something deeper, magnetic. Like the wing itself was alive, calling her.

Aera glanced behind her. The Academy was silent. Even Kael, usually never far, was nowhere in sight. “He must be busy,” she whispered to herself.

Her hand hovered over the door. The symbols reacted to her presence, glowing faintly. The warmth in her palm returned. She felt… recognized. A voice—soft, almost a whisper—echoed in her mind:

“Come… it’s time to see.”

Shivers ran down her spine. It wasn’t a threat, not exactly. But it wasn’t exactly safe either.

She pressed the door, and to her surprise, it creaked open. Inside, the air was cooler, and dust motes floated in slivers of moonlight from narrow windows. The corridor stretched longer than she expected, lined with statues and murals depicting robed figures with glowing eyes and sigils etched into their palms.

One mural caught her eye. A young girl stood in the center of a battlefield, her hair identical to Aera’s, her eyes glowing like molten gold. A crown hovered above her head, and behind her, a throne burned, flames licking at the edges but never consuming it.

Aera’s breath caught. She stepped closer. Every instinct screamed to touch the mural, and when her fingers brushed the stone, warmth surged through her, more intense than before. The eyes of the girl in the painting seemed to flicker—alive.

Impossible, Aera whispered.

The floor beneath her rumbled softly. The murals shimmered, and for a moment, she glimpsed another figure—masked, watching her. Her pulse spiked. She spun around, but the corridor was empty.

“Kael?” she called softly.

No answer.

Panic gnawed at her chest, but she pushed it down. There was a pull here, a truth she needed to see. Something about the Forbidden Wing was tied to her. Her magic, her bloodline, something deep inside her that even she didn’t understand.

She walked further, careful not to make a sound. Ancient tapestries hung on the walls, depicting battles and royal ceremonies from centuries ago. One tapestry showed a girl identical to the one in the mural, kneeling before a throne with her eyes closed, hands raised, and a sigil glowing in her palms.

Aera’s heartbeat accelerated. Could it… be her? Could she have existed before?

A soft noise—a clink of metal—made her freeze. She turned sharply and saw a relic on a pedestal, bathed in a faint blue light. A small orb, hovering slightly above a carved stone base, pulsed slowly. Her hand ached to reach out to it.

Do not touch it.

The thought wasn’t her own.

And yet… she reached.

The moment her fingers brushed the surface, a shock of light and warmth shot through her body. Her vision blurred. She saw flashes: the battlefield from the mural, the throne burning, robed figures kneeling, whispering in a language she didn’t understand—but somehow knew.

And then—pain.

Aera gasped, stumbling back. The relic’s glow imprinted onto her palm a sigil, delicate but undeniably alive. It burned softly, searing into her skin like a brand that pulsed with her heartbeat.

Her vision cleared, and she was no longer alone.

Kael stood at the corridor entrance, his expression tense, eyes wide. “I told you not to—” He stopped. “Aera… what have you done?”

“I—” Aera tried to speak, but the sigil burned, and a whisper echoed in her mind again:

“You are mine… chosen. Do not fail.”

Kael’s lips pressed into a thin line. He stepped forward, but not to touch her—he didn’t dare. “This… this is not supposed to happen. You weren’t meant to touch that relic. Not yet. Not until…” His voice trailed off.

“Until what?” Aera demanded.

Kael shook his head. “I can’t tell you. Not yet. But they will know. The Headmistress will know. And everyone will see you now.”

Aera looked at her palm. The sigil glowed faintly, like it was alive, like it was breathing with her. Every instinct screamed danger. But beneath that, something else flickered—power, strength, belonging.

Something she had never felt before.

Suddenly, the corridor seemed to grow darker. Shadows pooled at the edges, twisting unnaturally. The murals along the walls shimmered again, and she could swear the girl in the painting had moved her head to look at Aera directly.

Her heart pounded. She wasn’t imagining it.

Kael’s voice snapped her attention. “We need to go. Now.”

Aera hesitated. Her fingers still tingled from the relic. Something deep inside urged her to stay, to explore, to understand.

“I… I can’t leave,” she said softly.

Kael’s jaw tightened. “Aera, listen to me. You don’t know what you’ve awakened. Whatever power that is—it doesn’t belong to you… not fully. And it will bring them down on us. The Academy, the Council, everyone.”

Aera looked down at the sigil glowing on her palm. It feels like it belongs to me.

Kael’s expression softened, almost imperceptibly. “Then we’ll face it together,” he said. “But not here. This place… it watches. Always.”

Before she could respond, a metallic clanging echoed through the wing. The sound was deliberate, heavy, and deliberate in a way that made Aera’s stomach twist. Someone—or something—was coming.

Kael’s hand found hers briefly, grounding her. His eyes, dark and unreadable, met hers. “We don’t have much time. Move.”

As they ran back toward the main halls, Aera glanced over her shoulder. The murals shimmered violently, as if in protest. And then she saw it—a shadowed figure standing at the end of the corridor, unmoving, watching, waiting.

Her heart froze.

The sigil burned brighter, almost like it was reacting to the figure. Aera’s pulse raced. Something ancient, powerful, and aware had taken notice of her.

And she knew, with a certainty that chilled her, that nothing in her life would ever be ordinary again.