Page 8

Chapter 7

Selestina

I wake with a jolt, my body screaming in protest. Sharp pain radiates through every inch of me, as if each bruise and cut has taken on a life of its own. For a moment, I lie still, eyes closed, letting the ache wash over me. It’s overwhelming, yet familiar, a reminder of the journey I’ve just survived.

When I finally open my eyes, the massive silhouette of Obsidian Academy fills my vision. I turn my head slowly, each movement sending new waves of pain through my body.

I press my palms into the ground, feeling the rough earth beneath me, and push myself up, gritting my teeth as my muscles protest. I let the pain ground me, fueling my resolve.

I take a moment to pull out a clean set of clothes from my bag and dip a washrag into my water-sack. The cool water stings as I scrub away the grime and blood, but no amount of cleaning is going to hide the fact that I look like I’ve had my world fucking rocked. Still, as much as I’d love to march in looking like I survived a war, I know better. That piece of shit might’ve been the one to throw me into this mess, but he’d lose his damn mind if I showed up drawing any kind of attention to myself.

As I walk towards the entrance, the forest's cacophony fades, replaced by a silence that seems to amplify the weight of the academy’s presence.

Vines of obsidian and ivy weave around the stonework of the academy, blending nature with the structure's imposing architecture. Gargoyles perched on ledges glare down at me, their eyes seemingly alive with suspicion and curiosity. The massive gates, wrought from blackened iron and etched with cryptic runes, guard the entrance, their surface shimmering with an invisible barrier.

Obsidian Academy was once the heart of the entire realm of Tonalli, the grand capital where the gods themselves walked among mortals. It was here that the greatest decisions were made, where the fabric of our world was woven and unwoven by divine hands. However, La Guerra de Dioses changed everything. The cataclysmic battles left the capital in ruins, and in the aftermath, the academy was established to ensure that such devastation would never befall our world again.

Now, it serves as a place of learning, where everyone in the realm trains to harness their abilities and protect the realm, even humans. It is said that the very stones of Obsidian Academy are imbued with the residual energies of the gods, making it a place of immense power.

As I approach the barrier, I feel a slight resistance before it parts to allow me through. It only permits entry to students and their Alebrijes, ensuring that only those with a purpose within its walls can enter. The air inside the barrier feels charged, as if the academy itself is aware of my presence .

The courtyard beyond the gates is vast with paved stones leading to the various structures the academy houses. Towers rise on all sides, connected by bridges and walkways that crisscross the open space like a web.

I cross the courtyard, the weight of everything that has happened over the last few days pressing down on me with every step. There is a big building that looms ahead, a monolithic structure of dark stone and stained glass windows that glimmer with otherworldly light. The doors, carved from ebony wood and inlaid with silver runes, stand open, inviting yet foreboding.

Before I walk forward and try and figure out where I’m supposed to go, a figure materializes out of nothing. A young woman stands before me, her presence commanding and her eyes piercing. She looks no older than me, but the intensity radiating off of her makes me realize she has to be someone of importance. She is tall and regal, with an aura of power that radiates from her like a tangible force.

“Bienvenida, Selestina. I'm Headmistress Mirella, and this is Obsidian Academy,” she says, her voice echoing through the courtyard. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Her words hang in the air. She looks me up and down, noting my ragged appearance. I know no matter what I did, I would still look like I have been rung through the trenches.

She dismisses it, and gestures for me to follow, her stride purposeful as she leads me through the iron gates and into the Academy’s heart. I grit my teeth against the lingering pain and force my legs to keep up with her unyielding pace.

Inside the gates, the courtyard sprawls before us, filled with a blur of movement and life. Students roam in small groups, dressed in leather tunics, worn cloaks, and practical attire suited for a world where magic and combat are as common as the dirt beneath their boots. Some have belts weighed down with what I assume are pouches and vials, while others carry small, battered spell books. A few wear amulets or charms, the objects themselves carrying protective enchantments, most likely. I take in every face, creature, and interaction, cataloging themfor future use. Students move with a casual confidence, each face focused and intent, immersed in the strange yet familiar atmosphere of the Academy.

But it’s not just the students that make this place feel alive. Alebrijes wander freely, creatures of every shape and hue, their forms shimmering with the strange energy of beings not entirely bound to this world. Which is the beauty of them. Some lounge near the edges of the fountain at the center of the courtyard, watching as water sprites twist and spiral through the streams, their translucent bodies glowing in shades of blue and green and trying to splash any being who ventures too close to the water.

The Alebrijes forms are as diverse as the people of Tonalli—each Alebrije is unique, a vibrant patchwork of animalistic traits brought to life with an otherworldly brilliance. Feathers, scales, fur, and horns blend seamlessly into kaleidoscopic patterns that pulse with magic. Eyes that shimmer like molten gold or glimmer like the deep ocean, and seem to hold the wisdom of countless lifetimes.

Alebrijes are protectors born of fate. Born of the gods’ magic, they are crafted to shield their bonded Tonaloca from harm, whether physical, emotional, or spiritual. Their forms may vary, but their purpose is singular: ensure the survival and growth of their Tonaloca. Some are massive and imposing, with powerful limbs and razor-sharp claws, designed to stand as an unyielding wall between danger and their charge. Others are smaller and nimbler, blending into the background and striking with the precision of a blade when threats arise.

Their protective instincts go beyond the physical realm. Alebrijes are deeply attuned to their Tonaloca’s emotions and inner struggles, acting as anchors during moments of despair or doubt. They provide strength when their bond mate falters and serve as reminders of their shared resilience. In battle, an Alebrije and their Tonaloca move as one, their connection so profound that words are unnecessary, a mere glance or shift of energy is enough to coordinate their actions with lethal precision.

Alebrijes are a familiar sight in Tonalli, their vibrant forms as much a part of the landscape as the kingdoms themselves. Yet the bond they represent is anything but common. For a Tonaloca, finding their soul bond—a connection so profound it ties their essence to another being—is a rarity, often taking centuries to unfold. The journey to discovering one's Alebrije is never straightforward, winding through the twists and turns of fate, as though the universe demands patience and persistence before granting such a sacred gift.

For humans, however, the story is different. They do not meet their Alebrije in the land of the living. Their bond is given only after death, in the afterlife, where their soul’s true form is revealed and intertwined with their Alebrije’s. It is a connection that speaks to humanity’s transience, a promise that even in death, there is companionship and purpose.

But for the Tonalocas, the bond blooms in life, a vibrant thread woven into their very existence. The meeting is a gradual pull, a subtle dance of destinies aligning. The Alebrije and their destined partner often spend lifetimes searching, guided by instincts and dreams, whispers of each other echoing across time and distance. When they finally find one another, it is as though the universe itself exhales; the connection snapping into place like a missing piece of a puzzle. This union isn’t just a partnership; it’s a merging of energies, a bond as unshakable as the earth beneath their feet, powerful enough to shape the course of their lives, and sometimes, the fate of Tonalli itself. That’s what they said fated mates were, too. The same sense of familiarity, but the bond was anything but platonic with a fated mate.

In the shade of an old oak tree, a cluster of fire sprites dance, their tiny flames casting warm hues of orange and gold. They twirl around each other in a mesmerizing rhythm, leaving trails of smoke that curl briefly before vanishing into the night air. The students around them don’t even glance their way, but the sprites seem content, as they sway in the breeze.

The sprites’ laughter is light and melodic, like rain on leaves, but they pay no mind to the students or Alebrijes nearby, too caught up in their own games. The sound snaps me back to reality.

I have been doing that a lot. I need to stop letting my thoughts drift and focus.

Headmistress Mirella leads me down a cobblestone path that forks into several directions, her steps unhurried. She doesn’t look back, her words clipped and efficient, as if she has far more pressing matters than giving me a tour, which she probably does.

“The structure on your left is El Salón de Ancestros,” she says, gesturing toward a grand building draped in ivy and carved with statues of heroes and beings lost to time. Each figure watches with solemn eyes, frozen in stone but somehow alive in their presence. “It houses our library, where we keep records of every notable creature, spell, and event in Tonalli’s history. The biggest library in all of Tonalli.” She sounds rightfully proud.

My hands twitch wanting to go there first.

El Salón de Ancestros looms ahead with tall, narrow windows of stained glass that glisten with deep blues, greens, and reds. Each panel tells a story: gods clashing over mountains, magical beings emerging from seas, warriors bowing before celestial beasts. A tale of our realm’s history. The students pass by, absorbed in their own conversations or thoughts, oblivious to the history that surrounds them.

As we move deeper into the courtyard, I catch sight of a spiraling tower piercing the night sky, its top shrouded in a mist that clings to the stone like a veil. Headmistress Mirella gestures toward it with a quick nod. “The Tower of Vigilance. It serves as the Academy’s watchtower and is one of the few places where students train in combat and defense, specifically to protect the realm.” Her tone is brisk, her gaze already shifting forward.

Headmistress Mirella leads me to a grand set of double doors carved from dark wood and inlaid with silver symbols that glint in the torchlight. She pushes them open, and we step into a vast, echoing chamber, Salón de Quetzalcoatl , named after the god of wisdom and wind, a place that radiates magic.

The ceiling stretches impossibly high, painted with swirling feathers, serpents, and gods. Massive pillars line the walls, each one carved with symbols that I recognize from the tales of Tonalli’s creation.

We keep walking past throngs of students interacting. I note that mostly everyone sticks to their own. Though, I occasionally see a witch talking to a vampire, or a mage in the center of naguals, laughing at whatever their conversation is about.

And then I see them.

Rhyker, Tomas, Kaelion, and Matheus—los cuatro príncipes de Tonalli. They’re all here, scattered around the hall, each standing at opposite ends as if the space itself isn’t big enough to contain their rivalries. I freeze, unable to tear my gaze away. I’ve only ever seen them from a distance, hidden behind masks at the masquerades, or from afar during official visits when they were whisked away before I could catch a glimpse. They’ve always been locked away, kept from the public eye, sheltered by guards to secure their bloodlines, their inheritance to the throne. But here, they’re completely unguarded and alone—no barrier, no mask, and so close.

Rhyker stands closest to the door, his green eyes like molten jade, framed by wild, shaggy brown hair that falls around his face with an effortless wildness. He’s tall, his frame lean and muscled, his skin kissed by the sun. Tattoos, vibrant and green, cover his neck and arms, twisting up his jawline and down his hands. He wears a casual smirk, though there’s an intensity in his gaze that gives me pause, as if he’s sizing up everyone and everything. There’s something feral about him, a rawness that makes it impossible to look away.

I remember the first time I saw Rhyker. His gaze seared into me from dozens of feet away, and I was just as enraptured by him as he was by me. For whatever reason, we always would catch each other's gaze, anytime we were in the same room. Both hiding behind a mask. Both pretending to be something we weren’t.

Across from him, Tomas leans against a pillar, his silver curls catching the light like spun silk. His pale skin contrasts sharply with his deep red eyes, eyes that seem to pierce through the dim lighting, their gaze cold and calculating.

His features are sharp and finely chiseled, a beauty that is almost unnatural, like something out of a dream. Dressed in fitted dark clothes that hug his slender but muscular form, he radiates an air of elegance, of refined danger. His gaze flicks to me, assessing, and for a moment, I keep his gaze. His lips tilt up in a flirty smirk. I roll my eyes in response and look away. I distantly hear a gravely chuckle.

On the far end of the hall, Kaelion stands with his arms crossed, looking every bit the dark prince of legends. His sleek black hair is buzzed on the sides, his hair short but perfect. Black tattoos snake across his neck and down his hands, adding to his air of mystery, and two small black horns curl from his forehead.

He scowls openly when he sees me, his gaze lingering on my face, seeing the hues of yellow and blue mixed with deep purple from the bruises that are new and old. The disdain is palpable, his lips twisting in irritation, and I can’t help but bristle slightly under his scrutiny.

Finally, Matheus stands at the center, his towering form impossible to ignore. His wild red hair, like flames, falls in waves around his shoulders, his stature a good head taller than the rest, his frame muscular and powerful.

His skin is bronzed, a testament to a life exposed to harsh elements, and his eyes are the color of molten lava—fierce, commanding, unwavering. He radiates intensity, an energy that crackles in the air, and I find myself both intimidated and captivated. There’s an undeniable heat to him, and as his gaze meets mine, I feel a shiver run down my spine, but he quickly looks away. Reminding me of the masquerade and I smile to myself.

They’re beautiful. Each of them in a way that is raw, magnetic, and undeniably dangerous. There’s a power about them that’s more than just their royal blood—it’s in the way they hold themselves, in the subtle glares they exchange across the hall, in the unspoken hostility that fills the space between them. Their kingdoms may despise each other, but it’s clear that they hate each other just as much. They stand apart, distant and guarded. Their anger is intoxicating and mirrors my own, sending unwelcome shivers down my spin.

I can’t even hear Headmistress Mirella as she speaks beside me. The tension is almost tangible, like a spell cast over the room, pulling me into a strange, silent connection with each of them. I feel drawn to them. The realization is unsettling, and yet, I can’t shake it.

Then Mirella’s voice cuts through the haze, pulling me back to reality. She’s moving, already halfway across the hall, her steps echoing off the stone floor, and I’m forced to tear my gaze away from the princes, to break the spell. I follow her reluctantly; the moment slipping through my fingers as I turn away from the four princes. We pass through a side door, leaving the grand hall behind as she leads me down another corridor, this one dimly lit and narrow.

My heart still races, my mind whirling with the image of their faces, the intensity in their eyes, and the strange, magnetic pull I felt toward each of them.

Headmistress Mirella leads me out of the Salón de Quetzalcoatl, her footsteps echoing against the stone as we step into the cool night air. Darkness has fully settled over the Academy, and a thin mist hangs low over the ground, swirling around us.

Ahead, I see, what I assume are the six dorm buildings arranged in a half circle, their silhouettes imposing against the backdrop of the starlit sky. Each one is unique, bearing carvings and symbols that hint at the nature of those who live within.

Mirella gestures toward the dorms as we walk. “Each dorm represents a facet of our world, and here, Tonalocas and humans, live side by side,” she explains, her voice clipped and efficient.

She points to the building on the far left, its walls adorned with jaguar carvings and vines crawling up to the roof. “ Dormitorio del Jaguar, ” she says, “for strength and resilience.”

To its right, a tall structure with narrow windows and carvings of swirling flames: “ Dormitorio del Fuego, representing passion and endurance,” she continues without pause.

Next is Dormitorio de las Sombras , draped in darkness even under the moonlight, with intricate patterns woven into the stone like shifting shadows. “For stealth and secrecy,” she adds, glancing at me briefly.

We pass another building, this one carved with wings that look ready to take flight. “ Dormitorio del águila, for courage and vigilance.”

To the right of that, a smaller dorm with serpent carvings slithering up its walls, eyes gleaming like jewels even in the dark. “ Dormitorio de la Serpiente, symbolizing transformation and rebirth,” Mirella says.

Finally, we reach the last dorm, situated at the far end of the half circle. Its walls are bare, except for a carved crescent moon that shines against the stone, illuminated by the torchlight nearby. “And here,” she says, stopping in front of it, “is where you’ll stay— Dormitorio de la Luna. ”

The name resonates within me, pulling at something deep inside, and for a moment, I forget the aches and bruises that cover my body. The moons themselves seem to glow above us, casting a silvery light that bathes the building and makes it feel both welcoming and hauntingly powerful.

Headmistress Mirella opens the door and leads me inside. We pass through a dimly lit common area before heading up a spiraling staircase. The steps are carved with swirling patterns that resemble moon phases, and the air grows cooler with each step we take. I trail behind her, my fingers brushing against the stone walls, feeling the pulse of magic that seems to course through this place.

At the top of the stairs, we arrive at a narrow corridor lined with heavy wooden doors. Mirella stops in front of one marked 209 and turns the handle, pushing it open to reveal my room.

The space is unexpectedly spacious, with dark stone walls and wooden beams running overhead, lending the room a mix of coziness and grandeur. Two beds sit on opposite sides, each with its own nightstand, desk, and wardrobe. The floor is covered by a deep indigo rug.

Mirella’s gaze sweeps over the room. “Your roommate has already moved in,” she states, her eyes lingering on the bed by the window, draped in rich, fine fabrics in shades of midnight blue and silver. The bed is piled high with soft, velvet pillows and silken blankets that look like they belong in a noble’s palace. The desk beside it is meticulously organized, with a set of polished quills, a stack of leather-bound books, and a small silver lamp casting a warm, golden glow .

The contrast between her side of the room and mine is stark. I look down at my duffle—a reminder of everything I don’t have. I stare at the bag, stained and fraying at the edges, looking even more out of place next to my roommate’s opulent setup. Whoever she is, she clearly comes from wealth, a world much different from mine.

At Obsidian Academy, no one pays tuition, it’s a place where every student is given equal footing, at least on the surface. The dormitories are uniform, stark and utilitarian, with small, shared rooms furnished with the bare essentials: a narrow bed with basic furnishings like two sets of fitted sheets, blankets, and a single worn down pillow, a desk worn from years of use, and a chest for personal belongings. Meals are supposed to be simple and functional, served in a sprawling hall where the food is designed to nourish, not delight. The mere thought of food makes my stomach growl embarrassingly loud.

The education, while rigorous and steeped in the history and common knowledge of Tonalli, follows a standard curriculum, ensuring every student receives the same foundational training. Yet beneath this illusion of equality lies a system that caters to privilege. For those with wealth or connections, the Academy offers a range of coveted upgrades that transform the experience entirely. Private rooms are available for a steep price, spacious and lavishly appointed with plush furniture, enchanted lighting, and windows that overlook the sprawling grounds or the distant Dark Forest. The standard meals, often bland and repetitive, can be swapped for gourmet offerings—exotic dishes infused with magic to enhance stamina, focus, or strength, prepared by the kingdom’s finest chefs.

While Alexander could’ve absolutely afforded these amenities as my guardian, he would rather gouge his eyes out with rusty spoons than offer me any sort of comfort.

These perks create an invisible but obvious hierarchy among the students, a silent reminder that while everyone may enter the Academy as equals, power and influence always find a way to rise to the surface. It’s a subtle but pervasive truth.

I know this from the many times I’ve had missions where I had to watch targets who attended the academy from a distance.

It does surprise me that my roommate, who clearly seems able to afford whatever luxury she desires, would end up sharing a room with someone like me. The thought makes me scrunch my eyebrows.

Mirella snaps her fingers, making me flinch from the interruption of the silence, and suddenly, a stack of books, a folded schedule, and a pile of papers appear on the desk beside my bed. The scent of parchment and ink fills the air, and I stare at the items, momentarily caught off guard by the suddenness of their appearance.

“Everything you need is here,” she says briskly, gesturing to the stack. “Your books, your class schedule, and details on the dining hall and school facilities. Classes start at seven o’clock sharp tomorrow morning. The dining hall gets busy early, so if you plan to eat breakfast, I suggest you arrive with time to spare.”

She nods toward the wardrobe on my side of the room. “Inside, you’ll find five Academy uniforms in your size. They must be worn any day with scheduled classes, without exception.”

She turns to leave, her duty evidently done. Without a single word of goodbye or glance back, she exits, the door closing softly behind her, leaving me alone in the dim light of Dormitorio de la Luna, with only my thoughts and the strange, electric energy that seems to fill the air around me.