Page 5

Whispers of Legacy

“ T his way!” a fourth-year student called, leading our large group down a long, echoing corridor.

We hurried to follow, our footsteps mingling with the soft murmur of whispered admiration. Along the hall, oil paintings depicting sweeping landscapes hung in an artful, if haphazard, array.

Moonlight streamed through intricately designed stained glass windows, painting prismatic patterns onto the polished floor and casting dramatic shadows over stately suits of armor that stood vigil like silent guardians.

As we progressed, students exchanged awed remarks.

—"Can you believe this place?"—

—"Every turn reveals something new."—

Rounding a corner, we encountered a grand archway dominated by a heavy iron door. With a resonant creak, the doors opened to reveal a breathtaking courtyard.

Elaborate fountains gushed water that danced in the perpetual mist, creating rippling reflections on the surrounding stone.

Ivy-clad walls formed secret alcoves and cozy study nooks, while ancient willow trees sheltered stone benches and picnic tables, inviting quiet contemplation.

Clusters of flowers in deep blues and purples punctuated the lush gardens, their colors intensified by the silver glow of moonlight.

A senior student stepped forward and began to explain with an easy authority.

“Welcome to the courtyard. The hall we just left will bring you to the main dining room and the atrium, while that grand staircase you saw upon arrival will lead you to many of your classrooms.”

He paused, gesturing towards the vibrant space.

“At the back of the courtyard, you’ll find the student houses.

On your left, you have Ruby House, then Sapphire House, followed by Emerald House, and finally Topaz House.

Remember, while the houses are open to all, you’ll need your House key to enter your assigned bedrooms. Students are allowed to visit other dorms, if a residing student accompanies them. ”

He continued, his tone laced with a touch of mischief.

“The area beyond the courtyard is secured by impenetrable iron fencing. To the west, behind the dormitories, there's a cliffside path leading to the docks. If you’re feeling adventurous—or perhaps a bit reckless—the iron gate on the east side of the courtyard will take you to the Saturnine Woods. A warning: don’t enter those woods unless you truly have a death wish, and if you do decide to go, make sure to stay on the lantern-lit path. ”

With a sly smile and a glance over his shoulder, he continued, “Behind the dormitories to the west is the Blackbloom Library. It’s accessible to students whenever you need it, so feel free to immerse yourself in its books.

If you head east past the dormitories, you’ll arrive at the Drakestone Arena.

Between the two, you’ll find Thornbriar’s herbology gardens and the greenhouse, where you can gather everything needed for potion making. ”

He wrapped up the tour with a friendly smile and a practical reminder. “Breakfast is at 7:00 am. in the dining hall, and classes start promptly at 9:00 a.m. For this evening, head to your dorms—everything you need is there, including a campus map to help you navigate.”

His clear, deliberate explanation echoed around us, melding with the enchanting ambience of the castle. As the murmurs of excitement resumed, I couldn’t help but feel that I was exactly where I was meant to be.

The students drifted away in clusters, their laughter and hushed conversations fading into the distance as they made for their assigned houses.

I lingered behind, savoring the rich array of scents that danced in the cool night air—a hint of damp ivy mingled with the faint aroma of ancient parchment and blooming nightflowers.

As I crossed the courtyard, my eyes were drawn upward by the imposing dormitories.

Elegant black stone soared into the sky, its surface carved with delicate motifs, while ivy wove itself around the turrets like living lace.

The cool glow of moonlight revealed every textured detail of the towering structure, lending it an almost otherworldly presence.

Our group approached a formidable oak door, its surface encrusted with intricate carvings. At its center, a meticulously detailed raven clutched a large sapphire in its beak, the gemstone glinting in the moonlight.

The fourth-year student at the head of our line reached out and pushed the door open with a measured force, unveiling a narrow, welcoming entranceway that felt both cozy and steeped in history.

Inside, a vast hall extended before us, its stone floor echoing our footsteps.

A sweeping spiral staircase wound its way upward in elegant arcs.

Beside the staircase hung an iron placard—a directory meticulously engraved with the layout of Sapphire House.

It listed five floors in total, each with twenty rooms.

“Manifesto!” the senior student declared as he placed his hand upon the placard. Blue letters began to swirl into existence, dancing gracefully as they revealed the names and room numbers of all the Sapphire students.

My gaze traveled down the list until I found mine—fifth floor, Room eleven, Elvana Vale. The realization sent a shiver of dread through me; of course, I was destined for the top floor, without an elevator in sight.

With a deep breath and a final glance at the glowing directory, I hoisted my trunk onto my shoulder.

The weight of my belongings threatened to send me tumbling backward as I began the arduous climb up the stone spiral staircase.

Each step felt steeper than the last, my feet dragging against the cool, worn stone.

My forehead glistened with sweat, droplets tracing paths down my temples, while my arms trembled under the heavy burden of my trunk.

As I rounded the final loop to the fifth floor, I could feel my muscles burning with every movement.

With a weary sigh, I trudged the last few paces down the dimly lit hall to room eleven.

The number on the door shone dully in the sparse light.

I inserted the key into the lock, turning it until the satisfying click resonated in the quiet hallway.

With a triumphant shove, the door swung open, and a cascade of dust motes danced in the air, caught off guard by the sudden change in atmosphere.

Inside, the room was a haven of opulence and comfort. Ornate blue rugs lay serenely across the deep oak floors, their intricate patterns adding an air of sophistication.

In the corner, a queen-sized bed stood grandly, adorned with the most luxurious silk blankets I had ever laid eyes on, their sheen catching the light and inviting me to rest.

A large window dominated the center of the room, offering a breathtaking view of the Blackbloom Library below, its ancient spires reaching skyward.

Beyond the cliffside, the Gaspeite Sea stretched out, its waters shimmering in the distance.

My room was thoughtfully furnished with a black velvet couch positioned invitingly in front of the expansive window, perfect for basking in the view.

In one corner, a small yet sturdy writing desk awaited. Tucked away in the back corner of the room was a modest ensuite bathroom, complete with a simple standing shower.

The walls of the bedroom were adorned with black and white photographs, each one a window into moments captured in time, lending the space a sense of history and nostalgia.

This room was not just a place to rest; it was a sanctuary, a haven where every element whispered of comfort and quiet luxury.

I walked over to the bed, where my textbooks for different classes were spread out alongside a campus map, my class schedule, a lovely leather satchel, a leather-bound journal, a feather quill with enchanted ink, a pile of blank letters and envelopes, a small pouch full of silver coins, and my new outfit: a sapphire blue pleated skirt paired with a black silk button-up blouse and a dark robe adorned with the Drakestone crest on the chest.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, my fingertips tracing the delicate embroidery of the Drakestone crest on my new robe. The reality of my arrival was finally setting in—I was here, at the academy my mother had once called home.

With a deep breath, I turned to my trunk, which stood at the foot of my bed, waiting to be unpacked.

The brass clasps clicked open under my touch, releasing the scent of home—lavender sachets my mother had tucked between my clothes, the faint trace of woodsmoke from our hearth, and the subtle aroma of the rose oil she used when pressing my garments.

I began removing my possessions one by one, arranging books on the shelves, hanging clothes in the wardrobe, and placing my toiletries in the bathroom.

As the trunk emptied, my movements slowed. The weight of exhaustion pressed against my shoulders, but something compelled me to continue.

When I reached the bottom, my fingers brushed against an unexpected texture—smooth, cool metal where there should have been only the wooden base of my trunk.

Curious, I pushed aside the last of my belongings to reveal a small gold box I'd never seen before.

Its surface gleamed in the dim light, etched with symbols that seemed to shift and change as I gazed upon them.

“What are you,” I whispered, lifting the box with reverent hands. It was surprisingly light, almost as if it contained nothing but air. A small clasp held it shut, unadorned yet somehow elegant in its simplicity.

My thumb brushed over the clasp, and it sprang open without resistance. Inside, nestled on a bed of midnight velvet, lay an amulet.

The pendant was fashioned of silver so old it had darkened to a deep gunmetal gray, suspended on a delicate chain that seemed impossibly thin yet unbroken.

Two raven wings delicately carved embraced a stone of smoky quartz that captured the moonlight streaming through my window and transformed it into something ethereal.