Chapter 1 – Bought to Serve
Chapter 1 – Bought to Serve
The wind did not merely blow in the northern fjords—it howled.
It screamed across the frozen cliffs like something alive, carrying shards of ice that stung against the skin like needles. The sea below crashed violently against jagged black rocks, waves breaking into white foam beneath a sky that never seemed fully bright.
And at the edge of it all, rising above the storm like an unyielding ruler, stood Magnus Academy of Magic.
The castle was massive.
Ancient.
Beautiful in a way that felt almost cruel.
Dark stone walls climbed toward the sky, layered with silver frost that glittered faintly under the pale sunlight. Tall spires pierced through drifting clouds, their tips disappearing into the gray horizon. Massive stained-glass windows reflected cold light, casting faint colors across the snow-covered courtyards.
Golden lights glowed inside.
Warm. Inviting.
Untouchable.
It looked like a place meant for royalty.
A place for power.
A place where only the chosen belonged.
Lyra Valen stood at the foot of the stone bridge leading to the grand gates, her thin cloak fluttering weakly in the wind.
She had never seen anything so magnificent.
Or felt so out of place.
Her boots were worn, her hands rough from years of labor, and her cloak—if it could even be called that—was barely thick enough to keep out the cold. Snow clung to her dark hair, melting against her pale cheeks.
For a moment, she didn’t move.
She simply stared.
This is… where they train witches…
Her chest tightened.
Not just witches.
Noble witches. Pure-bloods. The elite.
And her.
A mistake.
“Move.”
The voice came from behind her—sharp, impatient.
Lyra startled and stepped forward instinctively, nearly slipping on the frozen stone.
“Don’t just stand there blocking the path,” another voice added, laced with annoyance.
She turned slightly.
Three students stood behind her, dressed in elegant academy uniforms. Dark cloaks lined with silver threads, polished boots, and insignias pinned proudly to their chests.
Pure-bloods.
You could tell just by looking.
Their posture was confident. Their expressions bored, as if the world existed purely to entertain them.
The girl in the center tilted her head, eyeing Lyra from head to toe.
“…You’re new,” she said.
Lyra lowered her gaze immediately.
“Yes…”
“Servant?” the girl asked.
The word hit harder than it should have.
Lyra hesitated.
“…Yes.”
A smirk curled on the girl’s lips.
“Figures.”
One of the boys stepped closer and nudged Lyra’s shoulder as he walked past, not even bothering to hide the force behind it.
She stumbled again.
“Try not to get in the way,” he muttered.
Laughter followed them as they disappeared across the bridge.
Lyra stayed still for a second longer.
Then slowly… she moved forward.
The gates of Magnus Academy were enormous, carved from black iron and etched with ancient runes that shimmered faintly under the frost.
As she stepped inside, warmth wrapped around her like an illusion.
The grand hall was breathtaking.
Marble floors stretched endlessly beneath her feet, polished so perfectly they reflected the towering chandeliers above. Golden light spilled from enchanted crystals, illuminating the space with a soft glow.
Students walked past her in groups, their voices echoing lightly.
Laughter.
Conversations.
Confidence.
They belonged here.
Lyra kept her head down as she walked.
She could feel their eyes on her.
Not curious.
Not welcoming.
Judging.
“…Who is that?”
“A servant?”
“She looks pathetic.”
The whispers were quiet—but not quiet enough.
Lyra tightened her grip on the edge of her sleeve.
Don’t react.
Just walk.
“Name.”
The man behind the desk didn’t look up.
Lyra stood before him, small against the vastness of the hall.
“Lyra Valen,” she said softly.
That made him pause.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze.
His eyes scanned her like she was something unpleasant.
“…Valen,” he repeated. “Half-blood?”
Lyra nodded.
The air seemed to shift.
“Of course,” he muttered under his breath.
He flipped through a stack of documents before pulling one out.
“You are not registered as a student,” he said. “You have been transferred under a labor contract.”
He slid the paper toward her.
Lyra didn’t need to read it.
She already knew what it said.
“Kitchen staff,” he continued flatly. “Full-time.”
Her throat tightened.
“You will not attend classes. You will not participate in training. You will not interact with noble students unless instructed.”
His gaze hardened slightly.
“You are here to work. Nothing more.”
Lyra lowered her head.
“…Yes.”
The kitchens were hidden beneath the castle.
Far from the golden light.
Far from the warmth.
A stone staircase led downward into a different world entirely.
The deeper Lyra went, the colder it became—not in temperature, but in feeling. The walls were rough, the air heavier, the light dimmer.
Gone were the chandeliers.
Gone were the polished floors.
Here, everything felt… real.
Harsh.
Unforgiving.
The kitchen itself was large, but not grand. The floors were worn, stained from years of use. The walls were darkened by smoke and heat. Pots clanged constantly, steam filled the air, and voices barked orders without pause.
“New one?”
Lyra turned.
A middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and a permanently irritated expression approached her.
“Yes—”
“Don’t talk. Listen.”
Lyra fell silent immediately.
“You’re on cleaning duty,” the woman said. “Floors, dishes, waste. You’re slow, you don’t eat. You break something, you pay for it. Understood?”
“…Yes.”
“Good. Then move.”
The work was endless.
Lyra dropped to her knees, scrubbing the stone floor as fast as she could. The cold seeped through her clothes, biting into her skin, but she didn’t stop.
Around her, other servants moved quickly, avoiding eye contact.
No one spoke to her.
No one helped.
Time blurred.
Her hands turned red from the water. Her back ached. Her stomach growled painfully, but she ignored it.
She had to.
“Watch it.”
Lyra barely had time to look up before someone bumped into her.
Hard.
The bucket beside her tipped over, water spilling across the floor.
“Oh.”
A boy stood above her, looking down with mild amusement.
“Didn’t see you there.”
Laughter came from behind him.
Lyra’s heart sank.
“I—I’m sorry,” she said quickly, reaching for the bucket.
“Of course you are,” a girl added. “That’s all you people ever say.”
“You people.”
Half-bloods.
Servants.
Less than them.
Lyra swallowed the words that threatened to rise.
“…I’ll clean it.”
“You’d better.”
They walked away, leaving wet footprints behind.
Lyra stared at the floor for a second.
Then she lowered her head…
And kept scrubbing.
Night came slowly.
The castle above glowed with warmth and light, but down below, the kitchen grew quieter.
Work slowed.
Voices faded.
Lyra was finally dismissed.
“Sleeping quarters are down that hall,” someone muttered.
She nodded and followed the direction.
The corridor was narrow.
Dark.
Cold.
Nothing like the grand halls above.
At the end of it, she found a small wooden door.
She pushed it open.
And stepped inside.
The room was barely a room.
A thin mattress lay on the stone floor. No bed frame. No blankets—just a rough piece of cloth folded in the corner.
The walls were bare.
The air was damp.
Cold.
So cold it felt like it seeped into her bones.
Lyra stood there for a long moment.
Upstairs, nobles slept in warm rooms, surrounded by luxury.
Down here…
This was where she belonged.
She closed the door quietly.
Slowly, she sat down on the mattress.
It was thin.
Uncomfortable.
But she was too tired to care.
Her hands trembled slightly as she wrapped her arms around herself.
The silence pressed in.
No voices.
No laughter.
No warmth.
Just her.
Alone.
Lyra lay down, staring at the ceiling.
Her body ached.
Her mind wouldn’t stop.
This is my life now…
A servant.
A nobody.
Someone who would live and disappear without anyone ever noticing.
Her fingers curled slightly.
“…I just need to endure,” she whispered.
It was the only thing she could do.
Endure.
A sound broke the silence.
Soft.
Almost too soft to notice.
Lyra’s eyes snapped open.
She held her breath.
There it was again.
A faint noise… from outside.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Not like the hurried steps of servants.
Not like the careless walk of students.
Something else.
Lyra sat up slowly, her heart beginning to pound.
The corridor outside was supposed to be empty at this hour.
No one should be here.
The footsteps stopped.
Right outside her door.
Her breath hitched.
Silence.
Heavy.
Waiting.
Then—
A faint shadow passed beneath the c***k of the door.
Lyra froze.
Someone was standing there.
Watching.
She didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t make a sound.
Seconds passed.
Or maybe minutes.
Then slowly…
The shadow disappeared.
The footsteps returned.
Fading.
Gone.
Lyra exhaled shakily, her body still tense.
“…What was that…?”
No answer came.
Only silence.
But something deep inside her twisted.
A feeling she couldn’t explain.
Danger.
Watching.
Waiting.
Far above, in the upper halls of Magnus Academy—
A tall figure paused mid-step.
Silver light from the window cast shadows across his sharp features.
His expression remained calm.
Unreadable.
But his gaze shifted slightly.
As if he had noticed something…
Or someone.
“…Strange.”
Kael Draven turned his head toward the lower levels of the castle.
And for the first time that night—
He stopped walking.
