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New Beginnings

T he carriage creaked as it rolled over the uneven path, the wheels groaning under the weight of the journey.

Outside, the darkness of the Saturnine Woods swallowed everything. The gnarled branches of towering trees clawed at the night like skeletal fingers reaching for something beyond the veil of mist.

I leaned closer to the fogged window, my eyes scanning the twisted, shadowed trunks that seemed to move in the periphery of my vision.

Only the dim glow of the lanterns hanging from iron posts cut through the darkness, their flickering light casting long, jagged shadows that seemed to breathe with the night.

Beside me, Bethany Sloane shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her fiery red hair, vibrant against the gloom of the woods, caught the light as she leaned forward slightly. Her voice trembled as she spoke, barely above a whisper.

“I’ve heard the stories about these woods,” she said, her eyes darting nervously to the glass. “They say… they say the forest is alive, that it watches you. That some students who venture too deep never come back.”

I didn’t respond right away, my gaze locked on the shadows that pressed against the carriage, the trees like dark sentinels closing in around us.

There was something primal about the way the forest seemed to watch us, a quiet, unsettling presence that I could feel in the pit of my stomach. I had heard the stories too, whispered in hushed tones by those who dared to speak of it.

The Saturnine Woods were cursed, haunted by something ancient, and perhaps, just perhaps, even the academy itself was not untouched by the dark magic that pulsed within the very earth.

Bethany’s voice cut through my thoughts, quivering with a mixture of awe and fear. “Some say it’s cursed, that the trees are bound by ancient magic. They protect Drakestone Academy... but they don’t let anyone leave. Not without a price.”

Unease nipped at my ribs like frostbitten teeth, and I pulled my coat tighter around my shoulders. The mist outside swirled in eerie patterns, and I could almost hear the whispers of the forest—the faint rustle of leaves, the creak of branches moving as if in response to the words we spoke.

The carriage lurched again, the sound of the wheels rolling over a rough patch in the road breaking the tension for a moment.

Through the mist, I saw it—Drakestone Academy. Its towering spires loomed like jagged needles against the black sky, a silhouette that felt more like a prison than a place of knowledge.

The air around it was thick, heavy with a presence I couldn’t name, and it seemed as though the woods themselves were pulling me toward it, unwilling to let me leave.

I gripped the edge of my seat, my heart pounding in my chest. Whatever awaited inside those walls, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the forest was more than just a backdrop to the academy’s mysteries.

It felt alive, watching, waiting. And for the first time since I’d set foot in this carriage, I felt like I wasn’t just on a journey to a new school—I was stepping into something far darker than I had ever imagined.

I pulled the Drakestone Academy acceptance letter from the breast pocket of my coat, smoothing out the folds as I read it over for the hundredth time.

‘All mages in Mystral must attend one of the four arcane academies that stand in each corner of the kingdom. Drakestone Academy is by far the most prestigious of them all, birthing many of the most powerful mages from the last ten generations .’

At twenty-five, I was one of the only first-years to enter the academy without formal lineage training—my mother rarely spoke of our family history.

Wealth and bloodline played a crucial role in determining your acceptance to the grand university. My palms were sweaty as I tucked the letter back into my pocket, giving Bethany my best attempt at a friendly smile amidst my nerves.

Moonlight rained down on the castle as the carriage finally broke the tree line and made its way to the large stone stairway.

The carriage wheels groaned to a halt alongside the many other carriages that lined the pathway.

The beauty of the castle was like something out of a dream—or perhaps a nightmare.

“Ladies,” the driver called, his voice as rough and worn as the carriage itself. “Welcome to Drakestone Academy.”

I hesitated for a moment, then stepped down onto the damp cobblestones. The sound of my boots striking the ground was unnervingly hollow, a dull echo that seemed to rise from the very depths of the stone beneath me.

The air here—thick with the scent of salt from the distant Gaspeite Sea—felt different, heavier somehow, like it was infused with forgotten secrets.

Around me, other first-years disembarked from their carriages, their faces a mix of awe and apprehension, but all I could do was stare at the towering structure ahead.

I wasn’t sure if it was the looming academy or the ever-present mist that made me feel so small, but I knew one thing for certain: nothing would ever be the same after today.

I pulled my trunk from the carriage and followed the mob of bustling students up the large cobblestone steps. Green ivy and moss snaked their way through every crack and opening between the stones. The large oak double doors were open wide to allow the students entry into the grand entrance hall.

Inside, the castle was undeniably more breathtaking than I could have anticipated as it stretched out before me like a vast, shadowed cathedral. Its high, vaulted ceilings were lost in the darkness above.

Polished black and silver marble floors reflected the flickering candlelight from the ornate sconces along the walls. Soft light danced across the room, casting long shadows that made the stone seem alive.

Tall arched windows lined the walls, their stained-glass panes casting muted colors onto the floor. A sweeping staircase rose up to the second floor, its deep oak banister curving gracefully with intricate carvings.

At the far end of the hall, massive double doors stood, their surfaces etched with ancient symbols. A chandelier of flickering candles hung above. Wax dripped steadily into a silver pan below.

The double doors at the end of the hall creaked open of their own accord, allowing a silver-haired woman to glide through. She wore floor-length crimson robes with black glittering stitching that swayed with each step she took into the grand hall.

“Welcome, students of Drakestone Academy.” The woman’s voice resonated through the hall, silencing the murmurs and shuffling feet.

Her silver hair was pulled back in an elegant knot, not a single strand out of place, and her eyes—piercing and unnaturally violet—seemed to find each student individually. “I am Headmistress Morgana Grimrose.”

I felt her gaze linger on me for a moment too long, and instinctively, I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hand until I felt the sting of the skin splitting beneath the pressure.

“You stand now at the threshold of your magical education,” the Headmistress continued, her voice both melodic and foreboding.

“The path you walk here will shape not only your abilities but your very essence. Drakestone Academy has stood for eight centuries, shaping the most powerful mages in Mystral.”

She strode forward with measured grace, the hem of her crimson robes whispering against the marble floor. The candlelight flickered in response, as if drawn to her presence.

“Drakestone is no ordinary academy,” she continued, her voice carrying an unspoken weight.

“It is a crucible, a test of will, intellect, and power. Those who fail to rise to its challenges are forgotten by its walls. But those who endure—” she paused, letting the silence settle like a shroud, “—will leave this place as forces to be reckoned with.”

A ripple of unease moved through the gathered students. I swallowed, shifting my weight, my pulse quickening.

“Your studies here will push you beyond the limits of your understanding. Magic is not a gift—it is a force to be wielded with skill and precision. You will learn to master it, or you will be consumed by it.”

She lifted a pale hand, and the grand chandelier above us dimmed, the flames shrinking to smoldering embers. Shadows pooled at the edges of the hall, stretching long across the marble.

“Tonight, you will be assigned your houses, and you shall feast. But tomorrow—” her violet eyes gleamed, “the real test will begin. Drakestone welcomes you.”

The chandelier flared to life once more, flooding the hall with golden light. A collective breath seemed to release from the students around me, though the tension still clung to the air like smoke.

Headmistress Grimrose offered a final sweeping glance before turning on her heel and disappearing back through a set of towering doors. The entrance doors swung closed behind us with an ominous finality.

I exhaled slowly, my fingernails still pressing into my palms. The stone beneath my feet felt colder than before as we followed the Headmistress into the dining hall.