Page 6 of Shadebound (Dark Fantasy #1)

Mors only takes people who do not matter.

It takes them and proves that all their dark late-night thoughts were right.

A s soon as the carriage doors opened on their own, the pungent magic of Mors Academy tried to choke me.

My mouth almost begged for more before my brain remembered to be sensible.

The power was dense, with a low hum thrumming through the air and a metallic tang prickling my tongue.

My vision blurred at the edges whilst I fought to inhale.

My jaw tightened as I concentrated on the magic older than the Death-tinged whispers in my mind could grasp.

It coated every inch of me until goosebumps bloomed across the grey-tinged flesh of my arms.

Inhaling carefully, I slowly tasted power in the air the way others might have tasted salt. My ribs tightened in response, my heart beating a little faster.

Head tilting, I leant forward. My magic reacted before I could stop it, flaring like molten iron under my skin.

It wanted to surge out, to protect me—to protect Draven.

But at the same time, it recoiled, hesitant, as if the magic here might consume it if it dared.

Part of me wanted to go forward; the rest hesitated, fearing the price for my creatures.

For some reason, I remembered the first time my magic had betrayed me. My creatures had almost torn me to pieces when they battled against my will, not yet bowing to me as their master. Not yet realising that darkness could obey something other than itself.

But I was their master now. So it was with ease that I cautiously released a few shadows into the mist. They slid across the stones, tracing the edges of the unknown. Checking for anything hidden. Or waiting.

Anything that could harm the idiot who was smiling about our arrival.

My throat went dry as I pushed my chin up.

My creatures moved. The path arched toward the gates of Mors Academy, carved from stone and framed by cliffs that had cracked and slumped under their own weight.

The academy itself loomed in every direction, its foreboding structure a blend of ancient towers and jagged expansions.

Dark staircases curled along the exterior walls.

Stone gargoyles crouched above windows, watching.

Narrow bridges stretched across gaps in the rock, linking towers that didn’t seem architecturally possible.

My lips parted as I stared further. My heart beat even faster.

Gravestones slanted at strange angles across the grounds.

The sky above was nearly black, stained with streaks of crimson that bled through the clouds.

In the distance, metal creaked, and wind hissed through unseen gaps in the cliff side.

The air buzzed faintly, not from insects or birds—there were none—but from something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

And to top it off, the academy’s towering spires rose in silence, a monument to power, punishment, and design that was never meant to comfort.

I involuntary shivered—this place was alive and hungry.

I had no doubt it consumed most who entered its gates.

And I found it stunning .

They called Mors Academy the end for wicked souls. Yet, I had never felt more alive.

But I didn’t trust the stillness or the implications of the aesthetic. And I didn’t relax. Not when I was not alone. Not when a child without magic eagerly attempted to jump out of the carriage.

I ground my shoulders, ready to shield Draven, as I pressed my hand gently to his chest.

“You follow me at all times.” I turned so that he could read my lips. Though my eyes never left the fog, his heartbeat stuttered under my palm.

With a straight spine, I stepped out first, a brutal wind tearing my coat open. It cut straight through my cropped black denim vest, meant more for attitude than warmth. Most of my chest was exposed, and the power sank into my skin. I shivered, jaw tightening, breath sharp.

Back home, it had been snowing, but this was colder.

Cold enough to make me wonder if I truly liked the cold at all.

My boots hit damp cobblestone, slick with sea mist. Before me stretched the sheer, crumbling cliff. The drop looked deadly from every angle. Far below, a black ocean churned, waves crashing in eerie silence. We weren’t anywhere near the sea.

Magic , then. That had to be it. Warped geography, folded space—there was no other explanation.

Once more, my brain latched onto the beauty, rather than the threat of having no escape but an ocean of doom if I wanted to run away.

The horizon vanished into grey. Behind us, the road we’d travelled stretched back into the mist, barely visible now. There was no sign of the town we’d passed through, and nothing else beyond it. No villages. Settlements. Life . Just stone, fog, and silence. It didn’t feel distant—it felt erased .

Whatever existed outside this space didn’t matter. Mors was its own world now. Like the land itself had been exiled.

A smile ghosted my lips as I exhaled slowly, tasting the void. Dead trees twisted from the rocks like claws, and iron gates loomed at the end of a shadowy path. One creaked.

This was meant to be a punishment? For a crime I didn’t regret committing. Apart from the tiny issue that my brother wasn’t supposed to be here, I wasn’t exactly suffering.

I only smiled broader as I pulled my hand away from Draven’s chest and finally tore my gaze from the mist and stone long enough to face him. With my hands raised, I signed, Stay quiet. I’ll get you sent home before we do anything else.

He nodded sharply, even though his eyes rolled.

I could see the fear in his stare—very much real—but it wasn’t everything.

There was something else, too. A flicker of curiosity.

The kind of wonder that shouldn’t have existed in a place like this.

The design here was meant to intimidate, to hollow you out from the inside. And it was working on him.

Just not enough.

That worried me. This wasn’t supposed to be his punishment.

But it wasn’t supposed to be a fun adventure for him, either.

This place broke people; it didn’t impress them.

And knowing Draven—how reckless he could be with protecting me —I had a sick feeling that jumping into that carriage magic to help me was only the first in what would become a long line of mistakes he was about to make.

I took a slow step forward, heading toward the vast staircase that led up to the academy’s entrance. The cold bit more with every movement, but I didn’t stop. I just powered through the goosebumps, searching for a sign of life.

Behind the iron gates, the path seemed to stretch and twist through the fog. And as I neared the first step of dozens, movement stirred.

Hooded figures emerged—towering, robed silhouettes, perfectly eerie.

My breath hitched as they glided forward as if they’d been waiting for us.

They were silent, faceless, and enormous, their black hoods deep enough to swallow any features.

Far too quickly, one of them reached forward and took my case with unnatural care.

Another drifted toward the carriage and, with a single sweep of its arm, closed the door.

When the door clicked shut, the carriage dissolved in a swirl of mist.

Draven flinched behind me as an icy voice cut through my awed silence.

“Jinx Draconis.”

I swept my gaze across the mist, searching for form. Before following the sound up grey and black stone steps, my jaw rigid.

Why hadn’t my shadows sensed anyone there? They should’ve warned me. They should’ve picked up even the faintest trace of another presence. But there had been nothing. No movement. Not even a flicker, or sound.

I twisted my head, hands clenching.

She stood still at the top of the steps: an East-Asian woman in a bone-white pantsuit so pristine it looked like it could draw blood. Iridescent wings shimmered behind her, catching every scrap of light and scattering it in pale sparkles across the stone.

She was tall—easily over six feet without the heels.

Her posture was perfect. Her expression was not unkind, but it wasn’t soft either.

And her ears tapered to elegant points beneath a sheet of silvery-white hair, and her features were sharp enough to slice—high cheekbones, narrow eyes, lips tinted just slightly violet.

The kind of beauty you’d stare at too long before realising it had teeth.

My ribs pulled tight like they could feel her authority settle in the air. With a single breath, I knew I would hate her.

There was only one kind of creature my magic couldn’t automatically sense.

Angels.

They were the opposite of everything I was. The opposite of everything a shadebound held dear.

Their magic could cleanse corruption, strip curses from the bone, and purify a bloodline all the way back to its roots.

One touch, and they could make you new. Or at least new enough to be useful again.

But in the same breath, that same magic could blind you.

Burn straight through your veins. Tear the truth out of your mouth whether you wanted to give it or not. It could hurt. A lot.

People called it holy. Said angels existed to do what was best for the magical world. To keep it safe. Balanced.

But holy didn’t mean harmless . And what was ‘best for the magical world’ didn’t always include the people who actually had magic.

They judged. Constantly. Quietly. Like they were the only ones qualified to decide who was broken and who deserved to be fixed.

I’d never met one who didn’t look at me like I was a mistake still walking.

She stepped forward at last, white heels clicking sharply against the stone. Her smile followed a beat later—small, sweet, and disturbingly out of place.