Page 7

Echoes and Alchemy

T he sun’s warmth on my face stirred me from a restless sleep, its golden fingers slipping through the heavy drapes and onto my damp skin. I blinked against the hazy morning light; my breath unsteady.

The silk sheets beneath me clung to the remnants of the dream that had plagued me through the night. My pulse still thrummed with unease as I ran a shaky hand across my clammy brow before pushing back the sheets, the cool air prickling against my damp skin.

My limbs felt leaden as I dragged myself toward the ensuite bathroom, my movements sluggish with exhaustion. The polished marble floor was cold beneath my bare feet, grounding me as I turned on the shower, the pipes groaning before unleashing a cascade of water.

Peeling off my sweat-drenched nightshirt, I stepped into the icy stream that struck my skin like a thousand needles. I inhaled sharply but welcomed the biting sensation, letting it chase away the lingering haze of sleep and the shadow of unwelcome thoughts.

How had I gone so long without knowing the truth of my family? The question gnawed at me, insistent and relentless.

Closing my eyes, I let the water wash over me, drowning out the noise in my mind.

The scent of lavender soap curled through the air, its familiar fragrance wrapping around me like a fragile comfort.

I breathed it in deeply, clinging to the simple solace it offered, even as uncertainty coiled deep within me.

I stepped out of the shower and met my appearance in the mirror, droplets cascading down my pale skin like morning dew on alabaster.

My long, dark hair clung to my neck and shoulders, the wet strands appearing almost ink-black against my colorless complexion. I leaned closer, studying the face that sometimes felt like a stranger's.

Those eyes—my most striking feature—stared back at me with an otherworldly quality. Light blue, almost translucent, they seemed to hold secrets even I couldn't access.

My mother had called them "ancient eyes" when I was little, claiming they were a mark of our lineage. Now I wondered what else about my appearance proved to be a silent testament to the magic that flows through my veins.

My fingers traced the high cheekbones and the soft curve of my jaw. The dark fringe of my hair fell across my forehead, creating a frame that accentuated the ethereal quality of my gaze.

I examined the subtle hollow at the base of my throat, where my pulse fluttered like a trapped bird. The same place where my pendant now rested peacefully on my collarbone.

I retrieved my uniform from atop the writing desk and quickly dressed. It was already 7:50 am, Lydia would be waiting for me.

Shoving my belongings into the leather bag, I took one last glance around the room to ensure I had everything and headed for the hall.

A note taped to the door of room nine, informed me that Lydia couldn’t wait any longer and would meet me in the dining hall.

A few other students were emerging from their rooms as I hurried for the stairs. Taking the steps two at a time, I wound my way down towards the exit.

As I stepped out into the courtyard, the morning air was brisk, fog danced delicately through the branches of the willow trees. Quiet conversations were taking place all around me as students made their way across the campus.

As I crossed through the center of the courtyard something changed. The pendant against my skin—which had been cool and dormant since I'd put it on—suddenly warmed. The sensation was so unexpected that I nearly gasped aloud.

“Elvana...”

I froze mid-stride, my breath catching in my throat. The voice hadn't come from around me but seemed to whisper directly inside my mind—intimate, ancient, and unmistakably not my own.

My fingers instinctively reached for the raven amulet, finding it pulsing with an unnatural warmth beneath my uniform.

The sounds of student chatter faded to a distant hum as the voice continued, each syllable sending ripples of energy through my body.

“Death returns, he searches…” the voice was ominous, deliberate.

I took an unsteady step backward, my hand still clutching the pendant, when my heel caught on an uneven stone. My body crashed into something solid, not the stone but rather a wall of hard muscle. My body tensed as strong hands wrapped around my waist, preventing me from crashing to the ground.

“Easy there, little raven.”

Samael’s voice slipped against my ear like smoke, low and unhurried, but laced with something far more dangerous than amusement. “One might think you’re afraid of your own shadow.”

His hands were already gone, but the imprint of them lingered — a ghost of heat against my ribs. The amulet at my chest had fallen silent, the strange warmth it held extinguished the moment he touched me. I turned slowly to face him, pulse unsteady.

“Samael.” I kept my tone level. “Do you make a habit of stalking unsuspecting students, or am I just special?”

His mouth curved — not a smile exactly, but something more elusive, like he was tasting the shape of a secret he wasn’t ready to share. The morning light caught along the edge of his jaw, too sharp to be beautiful, too beautiful to be safe.

“Only the interesting ones,” he said, voice quiet enough that no one else could hear. “And you, Elvana Vale… you’re more than interesting.”

A flicker of heat rose unbidden in my chest, tangled with unease. Around us, students passed in waves, unaware of the tension coiling between our bodies like a live wire.

“I was admiring the architecture,” I said, tilting my chin up. “Drakestone has a way of looming.”

He didn’t laugh, but the look in his eyes deepened — dark, assessing.

“Or maybe the shadows are drawn to what they recognize.”

His gaze dropped to the amulet, resting against the hollow of my throat. I resisted the urge to cover it.

“Maybe,” I said, steadying myself. “But not all of us are waiting to be rescued by some charming phantom.”

Samael stepped closer, so close I could feel the heat of his breath, the weight of his gaze. It wasn’t kindness in his eyes — it was curiosity sharpened into a blade.

“I’m not here to save anyone,” he murmured. “And charming’s just a word people use when they don’t know what else to call the thing that scares them.”

Something inside me twisted — fear, or something too close to want. I took a step back before I meant to, heart thudding painfully beneath the amulet.

His smile didn’t follow.

Only his eyes.

His gaze was penetrating, arrogant in its assurance yet teasingly intimate.

I felt the pull of his magnetism, dangerous and thrilling, a challenge that stirred something darkly enticing within me.

Samael smoothly moved past me and continued towards the dormitories, without so much as a glance back in my direction.

My hands moved to smooth out my skirt as I let out a deep exhale. After taking a second to collect myself, I continued towards the dining hall.

Lydia was sitting at a table in the center of the room with her bag resting on the seat beside her.

The dining hall was filled with scents of cinnamon, coffee, fresh bacon, and the repetitious clatter of silverware on ceramic dishes.

I took the seat on the other side of Lydia, placing my bag at my feet.

“Good morning! I am so sorry to keep you waiting I—”

“What happened to you, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” she cut me off before I had a chance to explain.

I let out a soft chuckle, “So I’ve been told. I had an odd exchange with Samael Norwood in the courtyard.”

Her eyes widened at the mention of his name, and she took a long sip of her water.

“Samael Norwood?” Lydia leaned in, her voice dropping, eyes flicking toward the far end of the hall like just saying his name might draw him out of the shadows. “You’ve officially stepped into dangerous territory.”

I raised an eyebrow and reached for my toast. “What do you know about him?”

She tucked a loose strand of white-blonde hair behind her ear and stirred her coffee with unnecessary precision.

“Only what anyone with ears in Mystral whispers. The Norwoods aren’t just old money—they’re old magic.

They collect secrets the way other families collect heirlooms. And Samael… isn’t exactly theirs.”

I paused mid-spread, the butter knife hovering. “What do you mean?”

Lydia’s lips quirked. “He’s adopted. It’s not exactly a scandal, but it’s never talked about, either. Supposedly, he was found wandering near the edge of the Saturnine Woods when he was a child—barely three, maybe younger. No records. No surviving family. Just… there.”

My appetite vanished as the image bloomed uninvited: a little boy alone in the mist, silence pressing in like a second skin. “That’s horrifying.”

She nodded. “Some say it was a storm that killed his parents. Others whisper about a shadow beast. No one’s ever confirmed what actually happened.

” Her voice lowered further. “But the Norwoods took him in, raised him as their heir. Which makes sense, I suppose—they’ve always had a taste for things with sharp edges. ”

I swallowed hard, the toast forgotten. “And he remembers none of it?”

“If he does, he doesn’t speak of it.” Lydia’s tone turned gentler. “People say he’s brilliant, volatile. Haunted. There’s something in him that doesn’t quite belong here—and not just in the academy.”

A chill settled along the back of my neck. “You sound like you believe it.”

“I don’t believe everything,” she said, sipping her coffee. “But I pay attention to patterns. And he moves like someone who’s spent his life being hunted by silence.”

I stared at my toast, the mundane act of breakfast suddenly charged with the weight of hidden histories and whispered tragedies.

The toast turned to ash in my mouth as I remembered the sudden warmth of my amulet, the whispered warning. Death returns, he searches...

"What's that look for?" Lydia asked, her analytical gaze missing nothing.