The Ceremony
1054 Words
The Great Auditorium of Evershade Academy hit Ilyana the same way Chicago winters used to hit her—sharp, sudden, like it dared her to flinch.
She didn’t.
She stepped inside like a girl who had learned to walk into rooms expecting nothing but watching everything. Seventeen years bouncing around the foster system trained her well: always scan for exits, never assume the adults are safe, and trust your instincts before you trust people.
But this place?
This place felt like an echo.
Not a memory—she didn’t have memories of this school.
But something in her bones whispered: You been here before.
Velvet seats stretched across the hall, burgundy and thick like something stolen from an old opera house. Chandeliers hung heavy overhead, dripping crystal like they were showing off. Marble pillars gleamed with a golden sheen that made the whole space glow warm, rich, almost sacred.
Almost.
Because underneath the glam, the floor vibrated. A low hum. A throb. Like a heart buried beneath concrete.
Her fingers twitched.
Sometimes the past clung to places. Sometimes it screamed.
And sometimes… it whispered to her.
Echo Reading wasn’t something she asked for. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t pretty. It came in sharp flashes, migraines that cracked behind her eyes, and visions that made her nose bleed like she’d been punched.
So she kept her distance from the marble walls, even though they… pulled at her.
Something in the stone remembered pain.
Something in the stone remembered her.
She took her seat in the third row, slipping in quiet. Keep the head down, the breathing steady, and hope tonight didn’t turn into another blackout incident.
A shadow drifted across her peripheral.
She froze.
There—on the mirrored pillar—her reflection stood with its arms crossed, like an annoyed older sister waiting on her to hurry up.
Same hair. Same shape. Same clothes.
Different eyes.
These were older. Sadder. Like they carried history she never lived.
The reflection’s mouth moved silently:
Not again.
Ilyana blinked—and the reflection snapped back into normal.
Her stomach dropped. “Here we go,” she muttered under her breath.
The lights dimmed.
The crowded chatter died out slowly, like a train braking into a station.
A spotlight pierced the dark.
Headmistress Ravelle Holloway stepped onto the stage with that same smooth, self-controlled aura most politicians have when they’re lying for a living. Mid-forties, sharp bob, tailored white suit glowing under the light. Healing magic always had a shine to it.
But tonight she didn’t look healed.
She looked haunted.
“Welcome,” she began, voice steady but tense. “To Evershade Academy. Tonight, we honor the legacy that has shaped our school for centuries.”
Ilyana’s skin prickled. Legacy. The word always made her uneasy, like she was a ghost sitting in a room full of the living.
Students around her shifted—snapping gum, adjusting jewelry, tapping nails on screens. The elite of the elite. Kids from Houses with names like Vale, Rowan, Holloway—families she never belonged to.
Legacies she didn’t know she came from.
At the far side of the auditorium, a small cluster of students stood together like they owned the oxygen in the room.
Kieran Vale was at the center.
Long, brown and blonde ombré locs. Smooth smirk. Suit immaculate. Hands in pockets like he wasn’t even trying.
Everybody’s favorite heir.
When his eyes swept the crowd, people straightened. Girls tucked their hair. Boys puffed their shoulders. Teachers tracked him like he was a walking investment.
Then, for one split second—his gaze slid to Ilyana.
Not curious.
Not warm.
Sharp.
Like he knew something.
Like he recognized her.
Her throat tightened. She forced her eyes away before another Echo triggered. She couldn’t afford a vision right now—not in a room
filled with hundreds of people who’d love to see the scholarship girl embarrass herself.
Headmistress Holloway lifted her hands.
“Tonight, we begin with the traditional Oath of Evershade.”
As she spoke, the murals on the walls flickered.
Ilyana froze.
Here we go.
The shimmer grew stronger. Flames appeared inside the stone—tiny at first, then stretching, crawling like molten veins under skin.
She gripped her seat.
Her head throbbed.
An Echo surged up her spine.
She never touched anything, but the power didn’t care—it came anyway.
A whisper hit her ear:
It’s happening again.
A rush of images slammed into her skull—
• A collapsing wing of the academy
• People screaming
• Fire roaring up stone corridors
• A ritual circle carved into the ground
• A symbol burning—Cross
• A girl who looked like her screaming as flames swallowed her
Ilyana jerked forward, grabbing her head as pain burst behind her eyes.
No. Not now. Not here.
Students around her didn’t see the fire. Didn’t feel the heat.
They just stood and waited for the oath.
But the flames weren’t stopping.
They crawled across the walls—curling fingers, claw shapes, blazing mouths opened in silent agony. Memories trapped in stone for a hundred years, waking up like they recognized her.
Her breathing sped up.
“What the hell—” she whispered.
Lysandra Rowan—red hair wild, eyes sharp, sitting two seats behind—noticed first.
“Yo, you good?” she whispered, leaning forward.
Ilyana didn’t answer.
She couldn’t.
The flames surged toward her row.
And then— a presence stepped out of them.
Her reflection.
Not standing in the mirror this time.
Standing inside the fire.
Watching her through it.
Like the flames belonged to her.
Like she belonged to them.
The room twisted. The light folded. Her vision tunneled. Someone screamed—she didn’t know if it was her or someone else.
Then came the telltale warning—warm blood dripping from her nose.
“Oh no no no—damn it—” she gasped.
Lysandra lunged. “Ilyana!”
Too late.
Her knees buckled.
The Echo swallowed her whole.
The last thing she saw before the world dropped out was Kieran Vale’s face turning pale—as if he’d seen a ghost he prayed would stay dead.
Then darkness took her.
And somewhere in the fire, her reflection whispered:
Wake up, Cross. They ain’t finished with you yet.
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