The Luna Academy

What Remains

“Told?”

“I had a dream the night of the ceremony instructing me to give you this.”

“But why?”

“How am I supposed to know? I only do what I’m told as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone,” Viola answers.

The sky outside slowly shifts from midnight black to a fading violet, giving way to the orange hue of sunrise.

“I’d better get going. I don’t want Elder Yona finding out I’m not in my room when it’s time to wake up.”

“Wait. I have so many questions.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be around to answer all of your questions… That’s what friends are for, right?” Viola chimes, waving a noisy goodbye from her bracelets rubbing together.

“Right…” The bracelet!

As the door to my room shuts, Elder Barrett’s voice echoes in my head, “If it’s important, it will appear.”

My pulse quickens with every step toward the dresser. Yanking open the drawer, my fingers search and hit the rigid carvings in the wood of the lockbox. I sit down and set it on my lap, the weight of it heavier than I remember. Taking a slow breath, I flick open the lid only to find it empty. I tilt it upside down, shaking it, but only hollow silence stares back at me.

“No, no, no,” I mutter, running my hands through my hair, nearly pulling it out by the roots.

The f*****g key!

Shooting to my feet so fast the chair topples behind me, I tear through the drawers, papers flying and scattering across the floor. I search the nightstand, under the bed, even the closet, but nothing. Desperate, I rip the blankets off the bed, sheets sprawling across the carpet and burying the mess beneath them. Thoughts crash over one another as my heart races like it’s trying to win a marathon.

“Think, Alyssa, think.”

The ceremony... The woods... The shower! I sprint to the bathroom, flinging open the door so hard it bounces off the wall. The hamper sits there, taunting me. I dig through the musty, damp clothes until my fingers brush the fabric of my old pants. I shove my hand into the pocket when something small tumbles out onto the tile with a sharp clink.

“Found you,” I half-laugh, snatching it up as my chest heaves and hair sticks to my forehead.

“Please work,” I whisper, scrambling back to the room.

The open, empty lockbox waits on the floor where I dropped it. Picking it up, I slip the key into the lock, my heartbeat ticking with every click. Then, c***k. I freeze. The lid quivers, a faint shimmer curling along its edges. Slowly, I lift it open, revealing Dad’s letters tied with the same blue ribbon I’d used so long ago.

Tracing the burnt edges and dried dirt, I feel the frayed silk beneath my fingertips. My mind drifts back to that day. After Mom tore my room apart looking for money she thought I’d had, she’d found the letters taped beneath my desk. Her eyes, fueled by rage, hardened as she grabbed her lighter and burned them in front of me before dropping them into the trash bin.

I remembered shoving her aside and dragging the bin outside to throw dirt over the flames until only smoke remained. I’d dug out what I could from the warm, semi-smoldering can, then tied the letters together with the ribbon I’d worn in my hair before hiding them away once more, in a place she would never find.

The sun’s first rays pierce through the window, catching on something bright inside the box, forcing me to squint away. When my eyes adjust, light dances over a curve of gold. I set the letters aside and reach in, uncovering a golden bracelet. I lift it into the light.

The weight of it in my palm tells me it’s real gold, but otherwise it’s plain — no markings or gemstones. Still, there’s something about it that kind of feels alive. I swallow hard and put it back. Whatever this is, it feels too valuable to wear out in public.

I pick up the letters once again and untie the ribbon, carefully opening the first one. Part of it is burned away, leaving behind only short, smudged, half-readable pieces.

My darling Ali, if this reaches you, then the bond…lives. The bracelet was forged with the essence of the…Luna herself. It will offer…when others of mixed blood draw near…it will see the threat before you do…only guards the heart that stays pure. Should anger rule, its light will fade…and no magic will save you then.

Footsteps echo in the hallway outside. Tucking the letters back inside, I lock the box and slide it beneath my pillow for later before racing to change into my gear and head toward the training grounds. On the way there, I spot Viola already watching me, smiling.

A strange sensation overtakes me, leaving me a bit unnerved, in both good and bad ways. I shake it off and focus on one thing, kicking ass. If people are going to watch, then I can’t be the scared little girl I’ve always been. I need to be brave. I need to become the girl I always wanted to be.

These people don’t know who I am or what I am. Which means I can be anybody. So why not a badass? Confidence carries me all the way to the field until I freeze. No one’s here. Panic spikes, apparently, my badass era didn’t include being on time. I’m about to sprint off toward the running path when Oliver’s golden eyes catching the morning light perfectly, stop me in my tracks.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I figured you’d be out here since you didn’t know the schedule yet,” Oliver answers. “We learn about it during orientation, while you were doing whatever the witches do.”

“Do you know why we are kept separate?”

“What we do is entirely different,” Oliver explains. “Witches use magic and channel their powers, while we rely on our wolves, mindlinking, and Alphas. It’s only after the apprentice stage that we’re finally brought together, so we can learn to coexist and fight side by side if we have to. There’s also the chance of finding our mates, so the Elders do it to keep us from getting distracted.”

“Mates?”

“Story for another time. For now, we have to get to the combat training.”

Combat? I can do combat.

We walk together toward the building across from where Elder Yona showed me the library. Inside, a low buzz of conversation dies down as heads turn, eyes following us with curious interest, or judgment, I can’t tell. Sun spills through the windows, shining down beautiful rays of yellow.

The thick scent of sweat and body odor clings to the air, filling the cavernous room. We weave through clusters of students until we reach the back corner, where mats worn from use lay. I barely find a spot to stretch before my foot catches on someone’s bag, sending me pitching forward and slamming face-first into the floor, with the impact echoing around the room.

Instant laughter erupts, shattering the fake, badass persona I built and dragging me back to the scared little girl I used to be. No. Pushing myself up, I focus on the sting in my knee, using it to drown out the laughter around me. Gritting my teeth, I brush off the dust like it’s nothing and square my shoulders, forcing myself to look unfazed.

I catch a glimpse of Oliver. He isn’t laughing like the others, but there’s something off about him. His golden eyes sharpen, flickering with sudden alarm. The color drains from his face as he stumbles back, breath catching like his body’s warning him to stay away.

The reaction stings deeper than the scrape on my knee. I take a step toward him, confused, but he flinches again, this time slower, like he’s fighting against his own instincts. My heart pangs, but like the dust, I brush it off, clenching my fists.

I can’t look weak.

If I’m going to do this, I was always going to need to do it by myself.