Page 3

The stone path leading to the Academy curved beneath a canopy of moss-draped branches, glowing softly with the lingering threads of morning magic.

Keegan walked beside me, quiet and steady, the sleeve of his coat brushing mine with each step.

I didn’t need to look at him to feel the calm he carried.

The grand doors of the Academy loomed ahead, with their carved wood lined with silver inlay, glowing faintly now that the Wards had fully awakened around Stonewick.

Above us, the stained-glass windows gleamed with shifting color, light playing across them like the sky itself was applauding.

And apparently, we weren’t the only ones with that idea.

A loud, unmistakable clap echoed from somewhere overhead.

Then another.

I tilted my head just in time to see two very familiar faces peeking out from one of the upper windows.

Nova’s raven hair was pinned up today, though a stubborn strand curled across her cheek.

She clapped with exaggerated flair, an almost regal, slow-motion approval, while Stella, bright-eyed and entirely too pleased with herself, had somehow conjured a tiny flag that read Finally in glittering script.

I groaned, and Keegan just chuckled, with his mouth twitching as if he were holding back something smug.

“You two are insufferable, ” I called up to them, folding my arms.

Nova grinned like a cat caught in the cream. “Admit it. You love us.”

“I tolerate you,” I teased and narrowed my eyes at her. “Shouldn’t someone be researching how to stabilize the gateway by strengthening the Wards with moonlight? Moonbeam will be here before we know it.”

Nova shrugged, wholly unbothered. “This was just as important. Trust me. Besides, class is about to start.”

Stella gave a two-fingered salute out the window, turned, and disappeared, with her shawl floating behind her. Nova winked and followed her lead.

I sighed and looked over at Keegan. “Why do I feel like they’re plotting something?”

“Because they usually are.”

We paused just before the doors, the morning mist still lingering around our feet. Keegan glanced at me.

“You ready?”

I looked up at the Academy, and the warm pulse of its presence vibrated softly beneath my palm as I pressed a hand to the wood.

It felt right again. There were no tremors or pulling shadows. The Academy just held the steady, thrumming magic of a place slowly coming back to life.

And maybe I felt a little more like myself again.

Between the doors opening, students flooding the Academy, decoys being sent, diving into the Hedge, I’d be lying to myself and everyone around me if I didn’t admit that I’d been a little overwhelmed recently.

But I smiled at Keegan and nodded. “I am.”

The doors creaked open with a gentle push, welcoming us inside.

The air smelled of old parchment, sunlight, and the faint scent of honeyed tea from the kitchen down the corridor.

Warmth spread through me, and I exhaled the last of my nerves.

The entry hall shimmered softly, lit by floating sconces and swaying lanterns.

It was beautiful, the kind of magic that didn’t demand attention.

The space simply existed, like it had always been waiting.

And on some level, it had.

“I keep thinking it’s going to stop feeling like this,” I murmured as we stepped over the threshold. “But it never does.”

Keegan glanced up toward the high, vaulted ceiling, where threads of light danced lazily above our heads like silver ribbons.

Grandma Elira waved from the top of the grand staircase. “Good morning, you two.”

“Morning.” I smiled at her and my dad, standing next to her, on all four paws.

One day, he would be standing taller than she was, but not yet…

Soon, though.

“Feels like a heartbeat,” Keegan said softly. “Alive and steady.”

We didn’t speak as we walked deeper inside the building. The halls, though ancient, gleamed with quiet purpose. Previous students had left behind hints of life, and new students filled the place to the brim.

Shimmering shawls on hooks, purses overflowing with freshly picked wildflowers, and the faint echo of laughter from a distant classroom flooded the air.

“It feels like the Academy is about ready to burst with happiness,” I said as a chalkboard floated past an open doorway.

“It knew it was time.” Keegan nodded.

But this morning, I wasn’t here for classes or dormitory updates.

I was here for answers.

“The library first,” I said. “Moonbeam will be here before we know it, and I only know bits and pieces.”

“I’ll give you some space. You have that look in your eyes.” Keegan nodded and peeled away, but he’d be nearby. He always was.

I walked to the main library, and inside, the light shifted immediately, with a golden spray of a stained-glass forest.

Rows of ancient books lined the towering shelves, some humming softly, others glowing faintly. The familiar hush wrapped around me like an old cardigan, comforting and filled with the scent of pressed petals and ink.

I loved spring in the Midwest.

And then…

A fluttering.

The first book sprite appeared over my shoulder, zipping in a quick, tight loop around my head. A few more joined with nothing more than wisps of translucent color on wings like tissue and eyes far too knowing for something the size of a teacup.

I didn’t flinch. I’d learned better than to swat them away.

“Alright,” I whispered to them. “Show me what I need to know.”

They chirped in unison, a sound like glass wind chimes, then darted toward the back corner of the library to a space I hadn’t yet explored, which wasn’t too unusual considering the scope of the space.

The air shifted as I followed them, cooler but not cold.

The sprites hovered near a narrow spiral staircase, beckoning me upward.

I hesitated.

The staircase wasn’t just old. It was ancient . Its steps were etched with runes I couldn’t read, and the iron railing pulsed faintly with protective magic.

But the sprites waited, patient and persistent.

I climbed.

The landing opened into a small alcove. Dust motes drifted in the air like lazy orbs, and only one small window cast light across the room.

In the center, a lone table stood beneath a low-hanging chandelier, its crystals glittering faintly with trapped starlight. It wasn’t unlike the other library loft I’d met staff in, but this one felt more…regal.

And on the table lay one book.

It didn’t glow or hum, but it called to me.

I stepped forward and laid a hand on the worn leather cover. The texture was smooth in places, rough in others. This was a book well-loved, or, at the very least, well-used.

The title etched into the spine read, Lunarisum: Magic of the Moonbeam.

I let out a breath and felt a sudden surge of adrenaline.

This was it.

This was where I’d start to focus on the next steps.

As I opened the book, the runes shifted slightly under my fingers, rearranging themselves like they were waking from a decade-long slumber. The first page was blank, but then ink bloomed across it.

The Moonbeam was more than a magical alignment.

It was a bridge.

A moment where all things magical could touch, merge, and if needed… heal.

And suddenly, I knew that I was on the right path.

The circle wasn’t broken; it was merely bent.

I remembered those words as if I saw them yesterday.

Below, I could hear faint laughter from a few students, a clatter of books being set on a table, and the rustle of students moving through the shelves.

The Academy was alive and ready to defend itself. Curses were meant to be broken.

And I was exactly where I needed to be.

The light in the alcove changed as I turned the page. Clouds moved over the sun, producing a softening of silvery light through the single arched window, spilling across the table.

The book Lunarisum: Magic of the Moonbeam pulsed faintly beneath my fingers. Its old pages were feather-light, yet rich with the scent of ancient magic and knowledge.

More inked sketches appeared, featuring things like phases of the moon, ancient Ward circles, and tangled knotwork that resembled constellations when I looked too long.

But it was the next section that stole my breath.

When the Moonbeam crosses the Veil, the threads between realms quiver.

Some will fray, and some will strengthen.

Those attuned to the Wards may sense the thinning long before it begins.

It is not a breaking, but a brushing of one world against another.

Of time folding in on itself. Of echoes waking from long sleep.

Step into the sparkling rays and ensure you know where you want to go or how you plan to arrive, or you just might find yourself where you never meant to be. ”

I whispered the words aloud again. The sound filled the tiny chamber like a forgotten hymn.

The Moonbeam wasn’t just about celestial alignment.

It was a threshold and an invitation that held great risk.

And yet… a chance.

Beneath that passage, written in a hand different from the rest, more hurried, more jagged, was a scribbled note:

In times of great sorrow, the Veil has brought shadows. In times of great hope, it has brought light. Both are possible. Both are watching. Both are waiting.

The fine hairs along my arms lifted. I brushed my fingertips along the note, wondering who had written it and what they had seen. The pages shimmered faintly, as though the book remembered the moment it was marked.

A shadow… or a light?

A sharp flutter near my ear broke the spiral of worry I found myself in.

Three book sprites returned with their translucent wings, buzzing like dragonflies on honey.

One hovered inches from my nose with an expression that could only be described as exasperated.

Another tugged at the corner of the book like it was ready to be replaced, but I barely had time to shut Lunarisum before the third sprite dropped a new book into my lap with a thud that kicked up a puff of dust.

“Thanks,” I muttered, coughing dust as the sprite zipped away.

This book was thicker, older, and wrapped in cracked navy leather bound with a thread of silver that glowed faintly under my touch. The front was unmarked, but as I opened the cover, the title swirled across the first page in twisting, handwritten ink.

Shadowick: A History.

I stared at it for a long moment, with my heart caught in my throat.

The sprites didn’t drop things at random. They knew . They always knew.

So, I flipped the page to see the opening chapter.

It was a dry read, filled with dates, settlement names, and border changes between magical territories. A few mentions of old treaties I didn’t recognize I tucked into memory, but about halfway through, the tone shifted.

It grew darker, not in style, still elegantly penned, but in content. It was as if someone or something unseen had started leaning over the author’s shoulder.

“Shadowick did not begin in shadow,” the chapter began.

My breath caught.

“It was founded on laughter and water. Magic was plentiful, yes! But it was a quiet magic. It was the magic that grew crops in dry soil and found lost children in the woods. Shadowick was a village born of kindness, nestled between Wards. A place of protection. A place for second chances.”

A sketch bloomed across the page. It showed a village surrounded by trees, and warm light in every window as vines grew up brick walls. A river curled through the center like a silver ribbon.

It could have been Stonewick’s twin.

I read on.

“There is no clear record of when the darkness began. No single day or single spell to mark the moment that the village fell to the shadows. But magic, especially untethered, unbalanced magic, leaves impressions. It clings to grief. To envy. To hunger.”

A chill ran through me.

“And something began to feed.”

I gripped the edge of the book.

“It wasn’t a monster, certainly not at first, nor in the stories they told.

The shadows lingered in small things. Crops soured overnight.

Livestock disappeared. A growing fear of the woods, which had once sung lullabies to the villagers, spread.

At first, the fear spread slowly and patiently.

It whispered itself into hearts too weary to resist.”

“When the shadows gathered fully, many villagers left, while some stayed. But others disappeared entirely.”

A chill ran through me.

There was a note at the bottom of the page, written sideways in the margin like the author couldn’t bring themselves to include it in the main text.

“We believe it’s dormant now and that the Wards held. We pray that the curse is slow to take effect. But if it spreads… God help us. Let it not spread to nearby villages.”

My jaw dropped.

Shadowick was cursed to shadows?

I exhaled a shaky breath and looked up, blinking at the floating dust in the golden light. The sprites had disappeared, leaving me alone with the silence and the echo of the words.

Let it not spread.

Shadowick hadn’t been cursed from the beginning. It became cursed. It changed.

And it still could.

If the Moonbeam thinned the Veils, what might that let through?

I closed the book slowly, carefully, like it might unravel if I didn’t.

I’d come to believe that Stonewick was cursed from Shadowick alone, not realizing Shadowick was the first to be cursed.

The air in the alcove was still warm and the light still soft, but something inside me had shifted with a knowing I couldn’t ignore.

This wasn’t just a rescue mission.

It was a race.

Not just against time, but against the shadows themselves.