Tribrid secret

The invitation

Morning sunlight burned through my curtains, painting golden lines across my room. I blinked into the brightness, half expecting to see the same shadow from last night standing by the window again. But there was nothing. Just the quiet hum of my aunt’s wind chimes outside and the faint smell of rosemary and spell candles.

I should’ve felt safe.

But I didn’t.

The memory of that whisper from the woods still echoed in my head—“Three bloods… one soul…” The words clung to me like smoke, and no matter how many times I told myself it was just a dream, I knew it wasn’t.

When I swung my legs off the bed, something caught my eye. A black envelope lay on the small table by the window, sealed with crimson wax shaped like a crescent moon. My name—Lyra Ashbourne—was written in elegant silver ink.

I froze.

My aunt never used handwriting that fancy.

My pulse quickened as I picked it up. The paper was thick, smooth, and unnaturally cold, like it had been sitting in snow. I cracked the seal open carefully, half expecting smoke or a charm to burst out. Instead, a folded parchment slid into my hand.

Ravenhollow Academy of the Arcane Arts

An invitation is hereby extended to Lyra Ashbourne for the Autumn Term.

Admission granted by special decree.

Attendance mandatory by blood right.

“By blood right?” I whispered. My voice sounded small in the quiet room.

A faint shimmer spread across the ink, and for a split second, the words seemed to change—like the parchment was alive. The letters rearranged themselves into something else:

You’ve been chosen.

Then the shimmer faded, and the normal text returned.

I dropped the letter like it burned me.

Chosen? By who?

The door creaked behind me. My aunt stood there, wrapped in her usual robe, her gray hair messy and her eyes tired. “You got the letter,” she said softly.

“You knew?” I snapped, my voice sharper than I meant.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I hoped it wouldn’t come this early.”

“This early for what? You said I wasn’t ready for the coven yet—”

“It’s not the coven, Lyra.” She walked over, her hand trembling slightly as she touched the envelope. “It’s the Academy.”

“I can see that,” I said. “But what’s blood right supposed to mean? Since when does magic have family paperwork?”

She hesitated, eyes flicking toward the window like she was afraid someone might be listening. “There are things I haven’t told you. About your parents.”

I froze. “What about them?”

“They weren’t ordinary witches,” she said quietly. “And neither are you.”

My breath caught. “What do you mean?”

Her eyes softened, full of sadness—and something else. Fear. “You’ll understand once you’re there. But you have to promise me something, Lyra. No matter what happens, no matter who you meet… don’t trust the vampires.”

“The vampires?” I almost laughed. “Seriously? They’re real?”

She gave me a look that made my stomach twist. “More real than you think.”

The room suddenly felt smaller. My heart thudded painfully in my chest. “Aunt Mira, what are you not telling me?”

Before she could answer, something hit the window—hard. We both jumped. A black raven perched on the sill, eyes like red jewels. Its talons scraped against the glass as it dropped something—a small pendant shaped like a half moon, glinting faintly with silver light.

I walked over slowly, the invitation still clutched in my hand. When I touched the pendant, warmth spread through my fingers, followed by a strange pulse in my chest.

The bird cawed once—low and harsh—before flying away, Chapter Two — The Invitation

Morning sunlight burned through my curtains, painting golden lines across my room. I blinked into the brightness, half expecting to see the same shadow from last night standing by the window again. But there was nothing. Just the quiet hum of my aunt’s wind chimes outside and the faint smell of rosemary and spell candles.

I should’ve felt safe.

But I didn’t.

The memory of that whisper from the woods still echoed in my head—“Three bloods… one soul…” The words clung to me like smoke, and no matter how many times I told myself it was just a dream, I knew it wasn’t.

When I swung my legs off the bed, something caught my eye. A black envelope lay on the small table by the window, sealed with crimson wax shaped like a crescent moon. My name—Lyra Ashbourne—was written in elegant silver ink.

I froze.

My aunt never used handwriting that fancy.

My pulse quickened as I picked it up. The paper was thick, smooth, and unnaturally cold, like it had been sitting in snow. I cracked the seal open carefully, half expecting smoke or a charm to burst out. Instead, a folded parchment slid into my hand.

Ravenhollow Academy of the Arcane Arts

An invitation is hereby extended to Lyra Ashbourne for the Autumn Term.

Admission granted by special decree.

Attendance mandatory by blood right.

“By blood right?” I whispered. My voice sounded small in the quiet room.

A faint shimmer spread across the ink, and for a split second, the words seemed to change—like the parchment was alive. The letters rearranged themselves into something else:

You’ve been chosen.

Then the shimmer faded, and the normal text returned.

I dropped the letter like it burned me.

Chosen? By who?

The door creaked behind me. My aunt stood there, wrapped in her usual robe, her gray hair messy and her eyes tired. “You got the letter,” she said softly.

“You knew?” I snapped, my voice sharper than I meant.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I hoped it wouldn’t come this early.”

“This early for what? You said I wasn’t ready for the coven yet—”

“It’s not the coven, Lyra.” She walked over, her hand trembling slightly as she touched the envelope. “It’s the Academy.”

“I can see that,” I said. “But what’s blood right supposed to mean? Since when does magic have family paperwork?”

She hesitated, eyes flicking toward the window like she was afraid someone might be listening. “There are things I haven’t told you. About your parents.”

I froze. “What about them?”

“They weren’t ordinary witches,” she said quietly. “And neither are you.”

My breath caught. “What do you mean?”

Her eyes softened, full of sadness—and something else. Fear. “You’ll understand once you’re there. But you have to promise me something, Lyra. No matter what happens, no matter who you meet… don’t trust the vampires.”

“The vampires?” I almost laughed. “Seriously? They’re real?”

She gave me a look that made my stomach twist. “They are more real than you think.”

The room suddenly felt smaller. My heart thudded painfully in my chest. “Aunt Mira, what are you not telling me?”

Before she could answer, something hit the window—hard. We both jumped. A black raven perched on the sill, eyes like red jewels. Its talons scraped against the glass as it dropped something—a small pendant shaped like a half moon, glinting faintly with silver light.

I walked over slowly, the invitation still clutched in my hand. When I touched the pendant, warmth spread through my fingers, followed by a strange pulse in my chest.

The bird cawed once low and harsh before flying away, leaving a single feather behind.

I turned the pendant over. On the back, tiny letters were engraved:

For when the blood calls.

The air in the room shifted, colder somehow. Aunt Mira’s face had gone pale.

“Lyra,” she whispered. “It’s starting.”

“What’s starting?” I asked, but my voice shook.

“The awakening,” she said, almost to herself. “Your blood knows the truth, even if your mind doesn’t.”

I wanted to scream at her to explain, but something inside me pulsed again—an ache deep under my skin, like my body recognized a sound I couldn’t hear. I clutched the pendant tighter.

Outside, the sky darkened for a moment, even though it was still morning.

A shadow flickered by the trees. I saw him—just for a second. A tall figure, black coat, red eyes glinting through the sunlight like fire.

Damon.

He was there, watching. And then—gone.

A chill raced down my spine.

Aunt Mira’s voice trembled. “Pack your things, Lyra. You’re going to Ravenhollow.”

I looked back at the letter, the seal, the mark on the pendant. Somewhere deep down, something whispered—

You were never meant to be just one thing.

And for the first time in my life, I believed it. a single feather behind.

I turned the pendant over. On the back, tiny letters were engraved:

For when the blood calls.

The air in the room shifted, colder somehow. Aunt Mira’s face had gone pale.

“Lyra,” she whispered. “It’s starting.”

“What’s starting?” I asked, but my voice shook.

“The awakening,” she said, almost to herself. “Your blood knows the truth, even if your mind doesn’t.”

I wanted to scream at her to explain, but something inside me pulsed again—an ache deep under my skin, like my body recognized a sound I couldn’t hear. I clutched the pendant tighter.

Outside, the sky darkened for a moment, even though it was still morning.

A shadow flickered by the trees. I saw him—just for a second. A tall figure, black coat, red eyes glinting through the sunlight like fire.

Damon.

He was there, watching. And then—gone.

A chill raced down my spine.

Aunt Mira’s voice trembled. “Pack your things, Lyra. You’re going to Ravenhollow.”

I looked back at the letter, the seal, the mark on the pendant. Somewhere deep down, something whispered—

You were never meant to be just one thing.

And for the first time in my life, I believed it.