The Chronicles Of Willow High

CHAPTER ONE

***Elyse***

The sound of the broom scraping against the wooden floorboards was the only thing keeping me from floating into the clouds again. My hands moved in rhythm, but my mind… my mind was already at Willow High.

I could almost picture it—the great towers piercing the sky, the dorm crests fluttering in the wind, students whispering spells—honing their gifts. A place where the strong were recognized, and the weak—like me—finally had a chance to prove they weren’t useless.

“Elyse,” my mother’s voice pulled me back down. I blinked and realized I’d been sweeping the same spot for five straight minutes. She stood by the window, apron dusted with flour, arms crossed. Her lips twitched like she wanted to scold me but couldn’t quite manage it.

“You’re somewhere else again,” she said softly with a tired smile.

I leaned against the broom, forcing back a smile. “You know where I am.” I muttered as I dropped my gaze, unable to keep an eye contact.

When I tilted my head back up, the warmth in her eyes made my chest heavy for a moment as she responded, “Willow High.”

“Of course.” I set the broom aside, pressing my palms together as if in prayer. “By this time next week, I could be walking their halls. Real magic, real strength—” I let out a dreamy sigh. “Not visions that come and go like smoke.”

Her expression faltered. I noticed it, even though she turned back to knead the dough waiting on the table. The silence pressed against me, heavy and unspoken.

“Mother…” My voice wavered, but determination firmed it again. “I want this. More than anything.”

Before she could answer, the air shifted. A black shadow swept past the window, wings blocking the light. A crow landed neatly on the handrail of the balcony, its glossy feathers gleaming, and in its beak—

My heart stopped—then my chest thudded loudly.

A letter.

Not just any letter. The seal burned into the parchment was unmistakable. A great willow tree, its roots wrapped around a crescent moon.

My breath hitched. “It’s here.”

The crow tilted its head left and right dramatically, then dropped the envelope onto the table before flying off.

I stared, frozen, as though the letter might vanish if I reached too quickly. My fingers trembled when I finally touched it. The wax seal was cold beneath my thumb.

Mother had stopped kneading. Her eyes narrowed, watching me.

“Well?” she said gently, but the pressure in her question still pressed me down.

I broke the seal. The parchment unfolded as it made a crispy sound, and the words blurred through the sudden rush of tears in my eyes. But I forced myself to read them aloud, voice trembling—mouth tilted in excitement.

“Elyse Thorn, you are hereby invited to Willow High Academy for the Gifted. Your training begins on Monday and make sure you bring this acceptance letter with you to the registration office for documentation.”

The broom I was holding tightly suddenly clattered to the floor where I’d dropped it. I pressed the letter against my chest, joyful laughter spilling out before I could even stop it.

“I got in,” I whispered—clenching my other fist close to my mouth, then louder, breathless, “Mother, I got in!”

Her hands flew to her mouth. Then she ran cross the room, pulling me into her arms. The smell of flour and rosemary filled my nose as she held me tight, tighter than she had in years.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered into my ear. But her voice cracked, and I felt her shoulders trembling.

I pulled back, confused. “Proud? But you’re crying.”

Her hands brushed at her cheeks, as if she could wipe away the worry I saw there. “Because I’m happy. And afraid. Elyse, Willow High is not just—school. It’s… dangerous. Every year, there are whispers, losses. Students who don’t come back.”

I swallowed hard, clutching the letter. “You think I don’t know that? But I can’t stay here forever, sweeping floors, hiding visions like they’re shameful. I want more. Father would have wanted more for me.”

The air froze between us. Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak right away as she used her palms to cover her face. She lowered herself into a chair instead, hands folded tight as if in prayer.

“You still dream of him?” she asked softly.

How could I not? I responded—eyes getting filled with tears

The memory stays unchanged. I was small, barely able to reach his knee. He had carried me on his shoulders every time, the scent of sweat and steel clinging to him, his laugh so big it seemed to shake the air. And then… silence. Blood. A scream that still haunted my dreams.

“He was brave,” I whispered. My throat ached. “He fought to the very end, even though he was only a seer, and his enemy was a gamma werewolf. People called him a fool for standing his ground, but—”

“But he was my husband,” Mother cut in sharply, tears streaming uncontrollably. “And I buried him because of that bravery. You think I want to bury my daughter too?”

The words pierced my chest deeper than any blade.

I knelt beside her, holding her hands tightly. “I won’t be him. I won’t throw myself into fights I can’t win. But Mother, I have to try. If I spend my whole life hiding, I’ll never be anything but weak and irrelevant. Don’t you see? Willow High is my chance. My chance to prove I’m more than… this.”

I gestured helplessly at myself, at the trembling hands that had contributed to anything remarkable, at the gift that came in fractured—visions I could not control.

She held my face upright with her hands, studying me with eyes that had watched me grow from infant to girl to young woman.

“You look so much like him when you speak like that,” she whispered as she forced a weak smile. Then she sighed, long and weary, as though surrendering. “Very well. You’ll go. But promise me something, Elyse.”

“Anything.” I responded sharply but calm.

“Promise me you’ll come back alive.”

The letter pressed against my chest, heavy now with her words. I nodded. “I promise.”

Her lips curved in a sad smile. “Good. Now help me finish this bread before you float away again.”

I laughed, though my chest still ached. For the rest of the afternoon, we baked together—kneading, shaping, waiting for the bread to rise. But every so often, my eyes strayed to the letter resting on the table, as though afraid it might vanish.

That night, sleep was slow to come. Excitement pulsed too loud in my veins. I lay staring at the ceilings, the letter under my pillow, whispering its words over and over again like a prayer.

“Willow High Academy for the Gifted. Training begins Monday.”

At last, exhaustion pulled me under.

And then the vision came.

The air in my dream was thick with smoke. I stood in a great hall lit by torches that flickered red, their light falling on walls slick with blood occasionally. Screams echoed, sharp and desperate. A shadow rose, vast and terrible, swallowing the light until only darkness remained.

At the center stood a figure. I couldn’t see his face, only glowing eyes—gold and crimson—watching me.

When he opened his mouth, it wasn’t words that came, but a growl, deep enough to send shivers down my spine.

I gasped and jolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat, chest thudding.

The letter slid from beneath my pillow onto the floor, its seal glinting faintly in the moonlight.

Willow High awaited me.

And so did the darkness.