Page 39

The Mourning Bell

Dawn clawed its way over the edge of the world, a creeping specter that carried with it the bitter chill of more than just the turning of night into day.

Its pale fingers reached through the windows of my Sapphire dormitory, wrapping around me as I lay awake, my heart still burdened with the suffocating weight of last night’s grim discoveries.

The whispered secrets of the academy coiled through my mind like restless phantoms, entwined with the violent stains of loss—the murder of one of our own—casting long shadows even in the quietest predawn hours.

Tension, an unwelcome companion, hummed against my skin, refusing to let me slip into the temporary oblivion of sleep.

I could not banish the image of Professor Grimrose’s face when she had found us, her silver hair gleaming like polished steel in the moonlight that streamed through the open dormitory door.

We had been kneeling there, Lydia and I, our hands trembling as they hovered over the grotesque tableau—the girl’s body splayed across the ancient stones, her blood forming patterns that seemed to whisper in a language I could almost understand.

“Miss Vale. Miss Westcott.” Professor Grimrose’s voice had cut through the silence like a blade of ice.

“I received your raven. What, pray tell, are you doing out of your dormitories at this ungodly hour?” Her words had been sharp, but her eyes—those piercing violet eyes that had always seemed to see straight through to one’s soul—held something I had never witnessed before. Fear.

I remembered how my tongue had cleaved to the roof of my mouth, useless and heavy. It was Lydia who had found her voice first, though it emerged as brittle as autumn leaves.

“We heard—we heard her scream, Headmistress.” Her amber eyes had been wide with shock, reflecting the crimson stains that pooled at our feet.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I bunked with Lydia to help repress the night terrors,” I offered, almost too quickly.

Professor Grimrose’s gaze had fallen to the blood on my hands. Her lips thinned to a bloodless line.

“Step back from the body. Now.”

Her palm had flared with blue electricity as she swept it over the girl’s remains, muttering incantations too complex for my trembling mind to follow.

Within moments, Professor Maximort had burst into the corridor, his bald head gleaming with sweat, fresh ink stains marring his hastily donned robes as if he had been torn from his midnight scribblings.

“Thaddeus,” Grimrose had commanded, “secure the perimeter. This is no ordinary death.”

Maximort had nodded grimly, his usual caustic demeanor subsumed by something darker, more primal. His thick fingers traced elaborate patterns in the air, Latin phrases falling from his lips in a guttural cascade that made the very stones beneath our feet shudder in recognition.

Professor Coldwell had arrived next, his imposing frame filling the doorway, silver-streaked hair wild and drenched with sweat as if he had run the entire way from his quarters.

I remembered how Lydia had swayed beside me, her amber eyes wide with shock. Professor Thornbriar had materialized then, her gentle presence a stark contrast to the horror surrounding us. She wrapped her shawl around Lydia’s trembling shoulders, her voice soft but firm.

“Come away now, dears. This is no place for students, regardless of your intentions.” Her fingers had brushed my cheek, wiping away tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “Sometimes darkness finds its way in, even in places of learning—especially in places of learning.”

“I want a full account,” Professor Grimrose had commanded as Professor Thornbriar guided us toward the door. “Tomorrow. Every detail, every word spoken, every shadow glimpsed. Nonetheless, tonight—” Her expression had softened infinitesimally. “Tonight, you need dreamless sleep.”

An eerie silence blanketed the campus, heavy and expectant, clinging to the air like fog—until the shrill cacophony of messenger ravens shattered it, splintering the fragile calm.

One by one, these black-winged envoys descended upon the dormitory windows, their obsidian bodies stark against the pale morning as they delivered their relentless summons.

Each raven’s beak clacked insistently against the glass, a staccato drumbeat heralding urgency and unrest. I watched as they carried the same chilling message to every room. A call, impossible to ignore, pulled at my consciousness, its urgency spreading like wildfire through the corridors.

In the echo of the ravens’ wake, I felt the crackling charge of dread and anticipation—a potent mix that electrified the air.

Every student, regardless of house, awakened as if a spell had been broken.

Voices, strained and disbelieving, filled the halls as we filed out, our shared alarm evident in the hurried shuffling of feet.

I pulled a cloak around my shoulders, its warmth a meager shield against the unknown, and joined the throng surging as one toward the dining hall.

An emergency assembly. A direct response to the murder that had shaken us all.

As I stepped into the dining hall, the tension hit me like a tangible force.

The air was thick with whispers and wide-eyed stares, every student reacting in their own silent way to the horror we could no longer ignore.

I could feel it in the stiff posture of those around me, the hushed conversations that died the moment someone glanced their way.

Most wore the same pale expressions—shock, disbelief, a lingering fear that refused to let go.

No one had been left untouched by what happened last night. I could see it in their eyes. The safety we once felt inside these walls was gone, replaced by something brittle and cold.

And I couldn’t help but wonder—how many of them were thinking the same thing I was?

That the killer might be sitting among us.

The grand dining hall’s vast space felt colder and more cavernous than usual, and the room buzzed with the restless energy of anxious voices.

It wasn’t just the murder that had everyone on edge—it was the looming threat of retribution, and perhaps, even the closing of our beloved academy.

Headmistress Grimrose stood at the podium at the front, her stern gaze sweeping over us all.

Even in the subdued early light, her presence commanded attention.

Clad in a dark, flowing gown with silver accents that shimmered like frost, she seemed an embodiment of authority and cold resolve.

Beside her, every member of the faculty stood with looks of trepidation and unease.

“Students and faculty,” her voice rang out, crisp and unyielding, filling every corner of the hall.

“Today, we gather under the shadow of tragedy. The murder of one of our own—Olivia Fairweather, a student of Sapphire House—has shaken the very foundation of our community. This act of violence has shaken us to our core.” She paused briefly to clear her throat.

“We do believe this heinous act is connected to the two disappearances at the beginning of the term.”

Her words, though measured, cut through the murmur of anxious conversation like a razor. I saw fear and anger flickering in the eyes of my peers as the realization sank in—that someone with dark intentions was among us.

“Effective immediately,” she continued, “all students must adhere to strict guidelines. You are to remain within the confines of your respective dormitories at all times, except when attending classes or coming to the dining hall. No student shall wander the grounds alone; you are required to travel in groups of two or more. Any violation of these guidelines will result in detention with Professor Coldwell in the Arena—a penalty that is both severe and unequivocal.”

A palpable silence fell over the hall as her words sank in.

Some students exchanged worried glances, their eyes wide with concern.

I could sense the collective fear that our sanctuary might soon be sealed off, that the academy we had always known as a place of learning and quiet rebellion might transform into a prison of endless restrictions.

“Let it be known,” Headmistress Grimrose declared, her voice rising slightly, “that these measures are not suggestions but commands. Our security has been compromised, and we must act swiftly to prevent further breaches. This is not a time for defiance or negligence. Our community must stand united in the face of such darkness.”

The Headmistress’s violet eyes, icy and unyielding, swept over us once more. I felt a shiver run down my spine. It was as if she were peering into our very souls, measuring our loyalty and our resolve.

Her words carried the weight of a final verdict, and I wondered if, in this atmosphere of dread and strict obedience, any of us truly had room left for our own secrets and quests for truth.

I exchanged a furtive glance with Lydia, whose eyes were filled with the same mix of fear and determination that churned within me.

We both knew that the night’s events—the mysterious riddle, the bloody trail, and the unspoken warnings of the Raven’s Echo—had irrevocably changed something between us.

Now, as dawn broke and the academy braced itself for a new day under tighter control, I wondered what price we would have to pay for seeking the truth.

As the assembly drew to a close, the Headmistress’s final words lingered in the air like a heavy fog.

“Remember, any breach of these rules endangers us all. The future of this academy rests in your hands. Do not fail us.” With that, she stepped down, and the hall erupted into a flurry of subdued conversation and anxious whispers.

I lingered a moment, still reeling from the assembly’s weight, when I caught a flash of movement across the hall. My eyes met Samael’s—a brief, charged look that made my stomach clench. His gaze was steady, almost searching, as if he hoped to bridge the gap between us.