The Luna Academy

Cursed

I chase after Oliver, catching only a fleeting glimpse of people in matching workout gear stretching and preparing for the session ahead in what must be the training grounds, before pulling my focus back to his retreating figure. He’s moving fast, each stride longer than the last until it’s practically a sprint.

My breath quickens as I push to keep up. Then, as he reaches the edge of the forest, he stops and turns around, as though suddenly aware I’ve been following him.

“What are you doing?” Oliver’s words sting, but he’s right. What am I doing?

“I—I… don’t know,” I admit, defeated.

I have no idea why I chased after him, or why I even care. I should be furious. After all, he’s the one who led me back here.

“Leave me be and meet up with the others before you get in trouble,” Oliver warns.

My body, almost instinctively, obeys him and begins to move backward against my will. With each step away, the pain grows in his eyes, compelling me to stop.

For a heartbeat, we stare at one another, an invisible thread stretching taut between us. His jaw clenches, his chest rising and falling like he’s fighting something inside. I nearly speak, but my throat closes, unsure if he’d listen to me. The air between us becomes charged, like the moment before lightning splits the sky.

“Come with me,” the words escape my lips before I can choke them down.

Oliver turns away from me to face the forest, leaving me to drop the hand I stretched out for him. What am I thinking? As he walks into the treeline, I force myself to pivot toward the training grounds.

“Wait,” Oliver snaps through the stillness, stopping me cold.

The sound of his footsteps crunches on the fallen leaves as he approaches behind me.

“I’ll come with you,” he mutters, brushing past me as he continues walking forward.

Falling in step behind him, we head toward the training grounds together, trying to blend into the crowd, but failing miserably. The closer we get, the more it feels like we’re under a spotlight with a giant sign above our heads screaming, Look here. Whispers ripple around us, threading through the herd in hushed tones which sends heat rushing to my cheeks.

Instinctively, my shoulders hunch, desperate to disappear, convinced the stares are meant for me. I consider breaking away so Oliver won’t have to bear the weight of everyone’s judgment. Until it hits me that no one is even looking at me. The students aren’t edging aside to sneer at me, they’re moving to avoid him.

Their gazes slice past me, landing sharp and deliberate on Oliver, like arrows loosed in perfect aim. A strange sense of relief flickers through me as it sinks in. The whispers and stares aren’t about me. It’s him they can’t stop watching.

We fall in behind a group of guys joking and punching each other’s hands, their laughter echoing through the air. The noise dies the instant we appear, swallowed by a silence so sudden it feels heavy. They drop their stances and scatter, practically running from us like we’re contagious. I glance at Oliver, one brow raised, and he answers with a sheepish smile.

“I guess we’d better warm up,” I suggest awkwardly.

“Don’t bother. We start with a ten-mile run before combat skills. Those tools were only trying to show off to them,” Oliver remarks, jerking his chin toward the girls who glare daggers at me while openly devouring him with their eyes.

“Ah, got it… Either way, stretching might come in handy if we have to run for a long period.”

As if my suggestion offends him, he sneers a sound halfway between disbelief and mockery, like I’ve suggested we braid each other’s hair instead of train. His shoulders tighten, muscles shifting under his shirt, and the edge of his mouth twists into something not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. It reminds me of the look he wore the night I saw him naked.

“What?” I snap at his arrogance.

Oliver leans closer, his eyes glinting with something sharp.

“Why are you here and not with the witches?” he asks, his tone edged with dismissal and a trace of suspicion, like he’s testing me.

“I—I…” I trail off, unsure what to say.

My throat dries, words tangling before they can even form. I don’t have an answer to that, and if I did, how would I even respond? Elder Yona hadn’t been trying to be cryptic, but her words still left me with more questions than answers, much like her talk with the other Elders. So if even they don’t know what I am or where I belong, how could I?

“I didn’t—”

“There you are,” a familiar voice calls out, drawing my attention.

A hand lands on Oliver’s shoulder, startling him. He shifts aside, making way for the woman behind him to come into view. Her eyes widen when she spots me opposite him. She pushes past Oliver, planting herself between us as if she’s trying to guard him.

Seeing her clearly now, she hardly looks real. White hair sways over her shoulders, and her eyes, which are violet, sharp, and completely intoxicating, pin me in place. Her beauty is striking, reminiscent of the Headmaster, but colder. The longer she stares, the heavier my chest feels. It’s like I can feel her peeling back my skin and looking inside. My knees threaten to buckle, but I lock them in place. I won’t bow.

“Who is this, Ollie?” Her voice coos.

“Nobody,” Oliver answers swiftly, causing a twinge in my chest, although I’m not entirely sure why.

“Must be, if she’s this close to you. Isn’t she aware of the rules?”

“You know that’s not a real—”

“Shh,” she silences him with a finger to his lips, then pulls him aside.

I can’t catch what they’re saying from their low murmuring tones, but whatever it is has to be serious enough to make the large physique of Oliver seem small. When she catches me staring, she strides toward me. Her arm slides around my shoulders, steering me away from him.

“Since you’re new, I won’t hold it against you,” she purrs, every word dripping with practiced grace. “My name is Elara. I’m the Headmaster’s daughter and Oliver’s… keeper if you will. And who are you?”

“Alyssa, I’m—”

“Alyssa, is it?” Elara interrupts.

I nod.

“Well, Alyssa, we have rules here. Most are the usual: no fighting outside training, no magic on students, and no trespassing on the grounds outside class. However, amongst us students, we have different rules we abide by…” Elara pauses while her grip tightens before snaking around to the front of me, as she keeps her hand on my shoulder.

I open my mouth, prepared to speak, but she shakes her head, stopping me.

“No, no, let me finish. This part is vital for you to understand.” Elara smiles, though it never reaches her eyes. “Oliver was cursed a long time ago. Anyone who gets too close ends up hurt—or worse. Of course, I don’t have to worry about this because I’m immune to it. But others…” Her smile hardens. “Others aren’t so fortunate. So why don’t you do yourself a favor and stay as far away from him as you can?”

The word cursed slithers through me, colder than her touch. Out of the corner of my eye, Oliver goes rigid, shame shrugging his shoulders, as if he knows what Elara has said. She releases her grip from me, and with that, the spell I felt I was under is now lifted.

Her words spin in my mind, sinking in only after a beat. Then they catch fire, and anger ignites, spreading fast until it consumes me entirely. I was never one who liked being told what to do, especially by someone who oozes entitlement.

“Thanks for the heads up,” I bite out, forcing my tone to stay even.. “But I can make my own decisions and take on whatever risks I choose.”

“Hmph,” Elara smirks, “We‘ll see.”