Whispers of the Marked

Crescent Moon Academy rose from the cliff side like a crown of shadows, carved from stone and myth. Whispers said it was built where ley lines crossed, where the veil between worlds thinned and only the powerful survived. Lyra stood at the edge of the Grand Hall, shrouded in quiet — invisible, but not unseen. Her thick, black waves fell to the middle of her back. She flipped another page in her notebook and let her eyes wander again, tracking the buzz of students moving through the courtyard. Most of them blurred together — uniforms, laughter, flashes of spell light between friends. Around her, laughter bounced off the stone walls, rich and careless. Students clustered in polished uniforms, glowing with magic and confidence. She watched them from behind a marble column, the scent of old magic and fresh ink heavy in the air. She did not move. She did not speak. She never did. "That’s the mute girl," someone whispered, just loud enough. "She hasn’t said a word since orientation. Freaky, right?" "Maybe she really is cursed." More laughter. It hit her like cold wind. Lyra lowered her eyes pale amber-gold with flecks of bronze retreating deeper into the pillar’s shadow. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, but she curled her fingers into her sleeves and stilled them. Not here. Not in front of them. Words had always failed her. But silence never had. She saw everything: the smirks exchanged between high-ranking students, the subtle power flexes flames sparked at finger tips, a shadow stretching unnaturally. Here, strength was everything. And she had no voice to wield hers. At the head of the hall, the great doors opened with a thunderous groan. All noise died. He had arrived. Alpha Kael walked in like a storm on two legs, tall and sharp in his black leather uniform, silver fastenings glinting like teeth. His dusty brown hair — slightly overgrown and tied back for training — contrasted his pristine appearance. His presence turned the air electric. His eyes, steel gray, were piercing and unreadable. He was broad-shouldered, built like a warrior, but moved with quiet restraint. Trained. Controlled. Always braced for impact. His rune sat boldly on his right temple, etched in ashen gray — a mark that dared anyone to question it. He did not speak. He didn’t need to. Every student snapped to attention. Lyra felt the weight of his aura settle over the room like fog. She dared to lift her eyes just enough to see him. Kael’s gaze swept across the crowd, calm and cold. Then it stopped. On her. She stiffened. His eyes didn’t move. Not now. Don’t see me. Don’t choose me— "You," Kael said, his voice low, crisp. "To the mat." Snickers erupted across the room. "Wait, is he serious?" "She can’t even talk. She’s probably never fought in her life." Lyra’s legs moved before her thoughts caught up. One foot in front of the other. Quiet. Controlled. Each step echoed across the now-silent room. She stepped onto the sparring mat and turned to face the instructor. Her heart thundered, but her face remained blank. This was survival. She’d mastered it before. Kael gestured lazily to a boy lounging against the wall. "Bron. You are up." The grin that spread across Bron’s broad face made her stomach twist. "This’ll be fun." The moment Kael stepped back, Bron lunged. Lyra’s breath caught in her throat. Her fingers curled reflexively, a flash of memory slicing through her composure—smoke, shouting, her mother’s voice saying don’t let them see you. Fear flared hot, but it didn’t freeze her. She moved. Lyra ducked fast, narrowly missing a wild fist. She slid back across the mat, her smaller frame light on her feet. Bron charged again, swinging recklessly. Lyra dodged, measured. Waited. His body moved too slow. Too loud. She did not need to speak to understand rhythm, distance, timing. She read his weight shifts, his overconfidence, his habit of leading left. She stepped inside his next swing and shoved her palm into his chest. Bron flew. His body crashed to the mat with a thud that drew gasps. Lyra blinked at her hand. It had glowed. Only for a second. Barely visible. But Kael saw it. The Alpha crossed the mat slowly and crouched beside Bron, who groaned. Then Kael stood and turned to her. He studied her — not like the others did. Not with judgment or disdain. With curiosity. "Everyone else — dismissed. Except her." The whispers began before the doors even closed behind the other students. Kael stepped toward her again. Slow. Careful. "You don’t speak," he said plainly. She nodded. "But you listen." She nodded again. "And that move... that was not luck." Lyra didn’t respond. Her voice might be gone, but her instincts screamed. "What’s your name?" She pulled a small notebook from her pocket. The first page read in neat script: Lyra. Kael read it once, then looked back at her. "You are not like them." She didn’t know if that was a compliment or a warning. "You’ll train with me. Private sessions. Starting tomorrow." She blinked, stunned. Why? Why her? But the words would not come. Could not. Kael stepped back. "Dismissed." Outside the Grand Hall, the cold air bit into her warm, olive-toned skin. She leaned against the nearest wall, heart still pounding. They had seen her. He had seen her. For the first time in a long while, Lyra wasn’t invisible. But being seen… might be the most dangerous thing of all.