The ghost of Shadowvale

The New Arrival "Move out of the way!" One of the students yelled, shoving Nyx aside. She had been standing still, mesmerized by the magnificent architecture of Shadowvale College, which loomed over the Howling Hills. Nyx was a transfer student—a replacement, really. Following the tragic suicide of the previous transfer student at the basketball court, allegedly triggered by academic pressure and a looming police report, the administration was desperate to cover the scandal. They needed a fresh face to bury the past. Nyx adjusted her platinum-blonde hair, which was pulled into a high bun with loose, bouncy curls grazing her shoulders. Her slim waist was accentuated by a shirt tucked neatly into a fitted skirt, paired with black pop socks. She approached the front desk, where a receptionist sat glued to her phone, giggling at the screen. Nyx rapped her knuckles against the wood. The woman looked up, her expression shifting instantly. "Hi... how can I help you?" she asked, her voice airy and laced with an affected accent. "I’m a transfer student. Nyx Claire." The receptionist clicked her mouse, staring at her monitor while mouthing the name as she typed it in. "Well, welcome to Shadowvale College," she said, giving Nyx an unconvincing smile. "You need to head to the administration office right behind you." Nyx turned, located the office, and completed her registration. After being allocated a locker, she began stowing away her belongings. Just as she moved to lock the door, she caught a mysterious movement in the reflection of the locker’s metal surface. She jumped, startled, and spun around. A boy was leaning against the adjacent locker. He wore a "probation" tag pinned to his shirt, which was haphazardly tucked into his trousers. His tie was half-knotted, as if he’d been forced to wear it at gunpoint. He grinned at her, showing far too many teeth. "Hello! I didn't mean to startle you," he said, waving with a frantic energy. "Hi," Nyx replied, her tone guarded. "You must be the transfer student, right?" He flicked his fingers at her, his grin never faltering. 'Bloody hell, who the hell is this?' Nyx thought. "I’m Aiden, your tour guide!" He stretched his hand forward. Nyx let out a sharp, incredulous laugh that bordered on mocking. "I don’t need a tour, Aiden. I’ve read enough about Shadowvale to know my way around. I just need to find my class. Thanks for the offer, though." Aiden sighed in frustration. "Wait! I promise I won't take much of your time." He stepped into her path, blocking her exit. Nyx exhaled, her patience wearing thin. She stepped close, tapping his shoulder before rising on her toes to whisper in his ear. "You look like someone who needs saving, not someone doing the saving," she said with a cold, sarcastic smile. The smile vanished instantly, replaced by a stony, unreadable expression. Aiden blinked, his confidence faltering as he looked down at his shoes. He stepped aside, and Nyx walked past him without a backward glance. Using the map from the school magazine she’d received at the admin office, Nyx navigated the halls. It was empty—likely due to the prep session listed on the class timetable. The classroom was exactly as she’d imagined, but the technology was far more advanced than she’d expected. She found her assigned seat, number thirty-two, at the very back of the room. She was just settling in when she heard a low murmur of noise behind her. A clique of four walked in. Two boys were sweating profusely, and a girl was clinging to a third student as if they were tethered together. As they entered, their eyes locked onto Nyx, filled with a mixture of terror and confusion. "Is she a ghost?" one whispered to another. Nyx sighed. "Okay, let’s get this over with." She stood up, moving toward them. They instinctively recoiled, backing away as she approached. "I'm just a new transfer student. Nyx Claire," she said, trying to ease their visible anxiety. She clasped her hands in front of her, still advancing. "Is my face so haunting that it warrants this reaction?" "Why..." a student stammered, pointing a shaking finger at her. "Why do you have Freya's face?" Freya. The name hung in the air, heavy and significant. The others nodded in unison. Nyx froze, trying to process the name. Before she could press for answers, a man stepped into the room. He appeared to be in his early thirties, with a neatly trimmed beard, striking hazel eyes, and an imposing height. He cleared his throat, and the room fell into immediate silence. The students scrambled to their seats. The man stopped in front of Nyx, his expression mirroring the shock of the students. He studied her—the shape of her lips, her skin tone, her eyes. The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine. Shy and unnerved, she looked down at the floor. "It seems you've already met Ms. Claire," a woman’s voice cut through the tension. The receptionist from earlier appeared in the doorway. "Ms. Claire, please meet Mr. Creed, one of our volunteer literature teachers and Mr. Creed met Nyx Claire, a new transfer student" 'A volunteer teacher?' Nyx thought to herself, her heart racing.