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I couldn’t resist adding a teasing lilt to his name, which earned me a light shove from Lydia and a conspiratorial wink from Bethany.

We gathered our belongings and began the climb back up the winding path that hugged the cliffside.

The ascent felt different in the gathering dusk—more mysterious, as if the shadows tucked between the ancient stones held secrets meant only for those who passed in twilight.

Our conversation ebbed and flowed like the tide below, punctuated by laughter that echoed off the rock face behind us.

By the time we reached the edge of the main campus grounds, lanterns had been lit along the cobbled paths, their golden glow flickering like fireflies in the growing dark.

The silhouette of Drakestone Academy loomed ahead, its spires rising like the jagged bones of a forgotten beast, piercing a sky painted in deep indigo.

Stars were beginning to peek through the veil above, timid sparks of light in the darkening canvas.

The massive oak doors of the castle stood open, spilling soft golden light onto the courtyard stones. The scent of roasting meat and freshly baked bread wrapped around us like a welcoming cloak, momentarily pushing aside thoughts of relics, amulets, and shadows.

Students streamed toward the dining hall from all directions, drawn by the promise of warmth and food.

The Great Hall buzzed with conversation, and the air was rich with the savory aroma of spices and fire-roasted herbs.

Ancient chandeliers cast a honeyed glow over the round wooden tables, illuminating the faces of students caught in half-shadow and half-light.

We scanned the crowded room, searching for Leander amid the swirl of cloaks and laughter. Bethany spotted him first—his arm shot up from our usual table, waving us over with a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

Lydia didn’t hesitate. She wove gracefully through the crowd and slid into the seat beside him like she belonged there. I followed with Bethany, who immediately sat to Lydia’s left, already eyeing the approaching platters of food with visible glee.

Almost as if by magic, steaming plates of braised lamb appeared before us, accompanied by rosemary potatoes, buttered rolls, and sweet honey-glazed carrots. I sank into my seat, the warmth of the meal and the din of conversation seeping into my bones like comfort incarnate.

Leander nudged Lydia with his elbow, mischief dancing in his eyes. “I was beginning to think you three had been lured away by sirens.”

Lydia rolled her eyes but smiled. “Only the kind that whisper promises of lamb and potatoes.”

Leander feigned offense, clutching at his chest with dramatic flair. “I’m hurt, Westcott. I thought I was the siren.”

“You’re more like the shipwreck,” Bethany deadpanned, taking a bite of her roll.

Laughter rippled around the table. I dug into my food, letting the blend of rosemary and garlic melt over my tongue. For a few blissful minutes, the world narrowed to the scent of roasted meat, the glow of the chandeliers, and the warmth of my friends around me.

Lydia was watching Leander again from the corner of her eye, and I didn’t miss the small, shy smile that tugged at her mouth when he wasn’t looking. I kept my own grin to myself and focused on my food.

Then—

A loud, sharp croak sliced through the Great Hall, silencing conversation like a blade through silk.

Heads turned. Students froze. A raven—jet black and far too deliberate in its movements—swooped in through the open doors, its wings cutting through the golden light like ink bleeding across parchment. It moved with eerie precision, a sealed note clutched in its beak.

It landed on the edge of our table.

Every eye in the hall fixed on the bird. Its feathers shimmered with an almost unnatural sheen, so dark they seemed to swallow the candlelight. The noise of the hall faded to a hush, the moment stretched taut with silence.

Bethany’s breath hitched. She recoiled visibly, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh no…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her face had gone pale, all traces of humor vanished.

The raven didn’t move. It stared at me—only me—with an intensity that chilled me to my core. Its black eyes were intelligent, unblinking, and I had the uncanny sense that it knew everything. Every secret. Every thought.

I held out my hand without speaking.

The raven tilted its head, studied me a second longer, then dropped the sealed note into my palm.

Its claws clicked once against the wood, then it launched back into the air, wings slicing through the silence.

It vanished through the open doors, leaving a trail of black feathers and unease in its wake.

The weight of the note in my hand was disproportionate to its size. It felt heavy, ominous.

Leander leaned in, his voice quiet. “Who’s it from?”

My fingers trembled as I unfolded the parchment. The seal was unmarked, the handwriting elegant and deliberate. The moment the ink met my eyes, I knew this wasn’t just a letter.

It was a summons.

"Meet me at the edge of the Saturnine Woods tomorrow at midnight. Come alone."

The parchment crackled as I lowered it to the table. I didn’t say anything at first. My friends were all watching me—waiting, unsure whether to speak or let the silence stretch further.

Bethany’s eyes were wide with worry. “Elvana…?”

I forced a smile, brittle around the edges. “Looks like our quiet dinner just got interesting.”

And yet, beneath the brittle humor, my heart thudded with a steady, growing dread.