CHAPTER THREE: THE ACADEMY OF SHADOWS
1168 Words
The rain had stopped by morning, but the world around Moonridge still looked washed in silver, Courtyards like lace, and faint, ghostly lights floated above the gardens as if the air itself remembered magic. Aria stood at her window, wrapped in one of the academy’s black robes. Her room was beautiful with marble floors, velvet curtains, and a balcony that overlooked the forest, but it felt too quiet, too perfect, like the walls were watching.
She could almost believe she was dreaming, if not for the faint mark still glowing on her wrist.
“Welcome to your new life,” she muttered under her breath.
A soft knock came at the door.
When she opened it, a girl stood there, maybe sixteen, small and pale, with wide brown eyes and a ribbon tied around her wrist. “You must be the new bride,” the girl said nervously.
Aria blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Oh! I mean Miss Wren, right? I’m Lira. I’m supposed to show you around.”
“Right. The… tour.”
Lira smiled shyly and motioned for her to follow.
They walked down long hallways lined with portraits whose painted eyes seemed to follow them. Aria tried not to stare, but some of the faces looked disturbingly real, as if they might blink when she wasn’t looking.
“Is this school even real?” Aria asked, half-joking.
Lira hesitated. “It depends on what you mean by real.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
The younger girl bit her lip. “Moonridge isn’t like other academies. Most of us aren’t ordinary.”
Aria frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Before Lira could answer, a cold wind swept through the hall. The candles flickered, and for a heartbeat, the shadows along the wall shifted into strange shapes wings, claws, faces.
Aria’s breath caught. “What was that?”
Lira’s eyes darted around nervously. “The school is alive,” she whispered. “At least, that’s what they say. Headmaster Vale keeps it under control, but sometimes it… remembers.”
“Remember what?”
The girl’s expression darkened. “The ones who broke their vows.”
Aria didn’t ask again.
By afternoon, she found herself standing in the courtyard among other students, all dressed in variations of black and silver. Some looked perfectly human. Others… didn’t.
A boy with white hair and silver veins running down his neck smirked at her. A girl nearby had eyes that shimmered like liquid gold. Aria swallowed hard.
Lira leaned in. “Don’t stare. Most of them are descendants of half-human, half-creatures. The Academy’s a sanctuary for those tied to the Old Magic.”
“Old Magic?” Aria repeated.
Before Lira could answer, the sound of bells filled the air, low, haunting, like the song of the moon itself.
Every head turned as Eryndor Vale stepped into the courtyard.
He wasn’t in his usual black coat. He wore a long robe lined with silver threads, and when he moved, the air seemed to ripple around him like reality itself bent to make room.
“Students,” his voice carried, calm yet commanding, “a new season begins. As always, the moon watches, the oath binds, and your hearts must remain true.”
His gaze flicked across the crowd and landed on Aria.
She felt it immediately, a weight, a pull, like his eyes could see through her soul. Her breath caught, her heart skipping in her chest.
“Some of you,” he continued, his tone softening just slightly, “come here seeking knowledge. Others come seeking redemption. Remember this — every choice you make within these walls has a price.”
He turned and walked toward the main hall.
The moment he passed her, a faint shimmer of cold trailed in his wake, brushing against her skin.
It felt like moonlight.
Later that evening, Aria wandered through the corridors, unable to sleep. The Academy at night was a different creature quiet, yet not silent. She could hear whispers between the walls, faint footsteps echoing where no one walked.
Her mark burned again, and she followed the warmth without knowing why.
The hall opened into a hidden courtyard, one she hadn’t seen before. In the center stood an ancient tree, leaves glowing faintly blue. The air hummed with power.
And there he was.
Eryndor stood beneath the tree, his hand resting on its trunk, silver light spilling from his palm.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said without turning.
Aria froze. “How did you know it was me?”
“I always know,” he said quietly.
She stepped forward, curiosity beating back her fear. “What is this place?”
“The Moonroot,” he answered. “The oldest tree in this world. It connects everything that once belonged to the realm of light and everything that fell from it.”
Aria frowned. “You talk like you’ve seen it all yourself.”
His lips twitched. “I have.”
She studied him, the silver glow outlining his profile, the calm sadness in his eyes. “You said I belong to you. Why?”
He turned to her then, and for a second she saw something behind the cold pain, deep and ancient. “Because the moon chose you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” he agreed softly. “But it’s the only truth you’re ready for.”
Her frustration rose. “You can’t just trap me here and feed me riddles! I deserve to know what’s happening!”
The air shifted. One of the branches above them cracked, and the shadows seemed to curl inward. He stepped closer, eyes glowing faintly.
“Careful, little mortal,” he murmured. “The Academy listens. It doesn’t like raised voices.”
Something in the ground trembled. The tree’s roots pulsed, and for a heartbeat Aria saw a faint figure in the glow, a woman’s shape, blurred and sorrowful, whispering her name.
“Did you see that?” Aria gasped.
Eryndor looked at the tree but said nothing. His hand brushed her shoulder briefly — a touch that sent a shock of warmth through her body.
“Go back to your room,” he said softly. “Before the night sees you.”
She hesitated. “You’re not human, are you?”
He gave a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Once, maybe. Before the moon cursed me to remember everything I’ve lost.”
Her breath caught. “What did you lose?”
He looked at her then, and for the first time, his voice broke. “Someone who looked just like you.”
That night, Aria couldn’t sleep again. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the glowing tree, the ghostly woman, and the sorrow in Eryndor’s silver gaze.
Something in her chest stirred, fear, curiosity… or something dangerously close to compassion.
And outside, beneath her window, the moon rose full and cold, spilling light across the academy’s towers.
- Writer
