The halls of Blackthorn Academy were unusually quiet after lunch, the usual hum of student activity replaced with an eerie stillness. It wasn’t just the warning Professor Elara had delivered earlier—it was the air itself, thick with an almost tangible unease.
I didn’t have a plan when I approached her office. My feet seemed to carry me there on their own, driven by a gnawing need for answers.
The heavy wooden door loomed before me, its iron hinges etched with arcane symbols that pulsed faintly in the dim light. I hesitated for a moment before knocking, the sound echoing down the empty corridor.
“Come in,” her voice called, sharp and clear.
Pushing the door open, I stepped inside. The room smelled of aged parchment and the faint metallic tang of magic. Shelves upon shelves of books line
