Fog and Stone
1445 Words
🩶 Isla
The car stopped with the kind of silence that makes you notice your heartbeat. No engine sputter. No brake squeal. Just… stillness. Heavy. Final.
The kind of silence that belongs in graveyards.
I glanced at Eva beside me, her head resting against my arm, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. She looked even smaller than usual in her oversized hoodie, hands tucked into her sleeves, knees drawn close. Pale skin. Shallow breaths. She hadn’t said much since we passed the iron gates.
Neither had I.
I told them she was just here to help me move in.
One week, I said. That was the lie.
They didn’t ask many questions.
That was the scary part.
The doors of the car opened with a soft click. Cold air rushed in—damp pine, old stone, and something sharp beneath it. Not the clean kind of forest air. The kind that carried secrets. Graves. Magic that had once bled.
We stepped out.
I expected the driver to speak. Maybe welcome us. Maybe tell me to enjoy my future.
He didn’t.
He just tipped his cap, climbed back in, and drove into the fog like we’d never been there at all.
I watched until the trees swallowed him whole.
“Creepy,” Eva mumbled.
“Yeah.”
Then I turned around and saw it. More like analyzed it.
Ebonridge Academy.
It wasn’t a school.
It was a cathedral of shadows.
Towers speared into the sky, draped in ivy that pulsed like veins. Symbols were carved into every archway—moons, runes, eyes, wolves frozen mid-howl. Some windows weren’t even glass. They were obsidian, black and gleaming.
The front doors alone looked older than civilization. Iron-banded wood. Deep scars. Above them, carved into the arch, ancient words:
Scientia, Luna, Sanguinem.
Knowledge. Moon. Blood.
Eva squinted up at it. “Is this… really a school?”
“Looks more like a cult headquarters,” I muttered.
But the joke tasted sour.
Because something under my skin was tightening.
A low, pulsing hum I couldn’t place. A warning.
--------------------------------
The doors opened by themselves.
No hands. No push. Just a long, echoing groan as the ancient hinges moved.
A wave of warmth hit us—firelight, leather, aged books, and the dry sting of something herbal. Sage. Iron. Salt.
Weird.
The foyer loomed massive and cold. Twin staircases coiled up like ribs. The chandelier overhead wasn’t glass—it looked like crystal and carved bone. Bookshelves lined the walls, broken by thin mirrors that didn’t reflect us quite right.
Eva stepped closer to me, her fingers tight around my coat.
A woman appeared from the left hall—severe posture, pale gray blazer, matching eyes, hair tied so tightly it looked painful.
“Miss Carter,” she said, then looked at Eva. “And your guest.”
My stomach turned.
“She’s just here to help me move in,” I said quickly. “My sister. She’s catching a train tomorrow.”
The woman’s eyes didn’t blink. Didn’t narrow. But they lingered.
“Of course,” she said coolly. “I’m Head Liaison Mirrow. I’ll escort you to your quarters and provide your orientation materials.”
She turned and began walking without waiting for a reply.
I exchanged a glance with Eva.
“She believed that?” Eva whispered.
“No idea.”
I didn't want to question it. If we're lucky, she can hide out here.
We followed Mirrow down a long corridor that smelled of wax, dust, and old ink.
“There are thirty-seven active Legacy Scholars currently enrolled,” she explained. “You are one of three selected this term. Your schedule, campus map, and access credentials are in your suite. Public areas are marked. Restricted areas are... not.”
Not?
I blinked, but said nothing.
Paintings lined the walls. Not modern portraits—these were old. Faded. Regal. Strange. One man wore six rings on one hand. Another had a stitched tattoo across his throat. Their painted eyes followed us.
“They’re watching,” Eva whispered.
I didn’t tell her she was wrong.
-----------------------------------------
The East Tower sat alone—half-forgotten, ivy-choked, and stone-cold.
We climbed a narrow spiral staircase. The deeper we went, the more the walls seemed to breathe around us. I could feel the weight of the academy pressing inward, like we were descending into a place not meant for people anymore.
Mirrow stopped at a heavy oak door and handed me a single brass key.
“You’ll have privacy,” she said. “This wing is… unused. No other students reside here. Staff will not enter unless requested.”
I froze. Why have I been given a private area? That's odd, right?
I'm not sure whether I should be grateful that Eva will be able to hide out here safely and I won't have to tip toe around over students. Or worried that if something happens, no one is around to help.
Before I can decide, Mirrow turned on her heel and left. No goodbye. No smile. Just the fading click of heels on stone.
I turned the key, pushed the door open—
And blinked.
The suite was... beautiful.
Dark wood walls. A grand fireplace already burning low. Velvet curtains over massive windows. A canopy bed that looked like it had devoured smaller beds to reach its final form.
Eva moved through the rooms slowly, touching things like they might vanish.
She found a phonograph in the corner and wound the handle experimentally.
“Do you think they have Wi-Fi?” she asked.
I stared out the window. Fog clung to the trees like breath on glass.
“Honestly? I don’t think they believe in the internet.”
Eva snorted and vanished into the adjoining room.
I drew the curtains farther back.
Beyond the courtyard, the trees were thick and sharp. Reaching. Ancient. The fog pulsed between them like something alive.
Then—movement.
Just there. A figure between the trees.
Too tall. Too still.
I froze.
“Isla?” Eva called softly.
I didn’t answer.
The shadow didn’t move. It just stood. Watching.
Chills ran down my spine.
“Are you okay?” Eva asks.
“I’m fine,” I said, forcing my voice calm. “Just tired.”
I yanked the curtain shut.
----------------------------------
I couldn’t sleep. I always struggle to sleep, but this was different.
I couldn’t stop thinking about that... thing in the trees.
Around 2 a.m., the wind changed.
Voices. Dozens of them. Twisting through the branches outside. Calling. Waiting.
The lights flickered once.
Then again.
Then blackness.
I sat up, the blanket clinging to my legs. The fire died instantly, plunging the room into cold.
Outside my door—footsteps.
Measured. Slow. Heavy.
I slid from bed, heart hammering. I moved silently to the hearth, grabbing the iron poker. Bare feet touched freezing stone.
The footsteps stopped.
Just outside.
Silence.
Then… a soft thump.
Something left at the door.
No knock. No voice.
Then the retreat. Fading steps swallowed by the dark.
The fire roared back to life.
The lights surged.
I crept forward, hand trembling, and opened the door.
The hallway was empty.
Except for a box—small, black, sealed with red wax in the shape of a crescent moon.
-----------------------------
Inside: a pendant. Obsidian. Etched in runes that looked like they’d bled.
It was warm. Too warm.
Not like fire.
Like skin.
I turned it over.
Scratched into the back were faint words:
For protection. When the bond begins to burn.
The breath left my lungs in one sharp exhale.
What bond?
Why did this feel like it already belonged to me?
And why—when I glanced toward the window—did I feel eyes on me?
------------------------
I opened the window for some fresh area.
The night air hit me like a slap. Fog curled low over the grass, dense and silent.
The trees pulsed.
A shape moved.
Not tall.
Low. Broad. Feral.
A wolf.
Massive.
Its eyes gleamed gold. Not the gold of sunlight. The gold of possession. Of warning.
It didn’t move.
But the pendant on my neck flared with heat.
And deep in my chest, something ancient stirred—
Pulling. Wanting. Claiming.
Then the wolf turned and vanished into the trees.
-----------------------------
I didn’t sleep.
When Eva woke at dawn, I was already dressed, standing at the window like I’d been turned to stone.
She didn’t ask questions.
I touched the pendant at my throat.
Something had changed.
Something I didn’t choose.
And I could feel it—
In the trees.
In the shadows.
In me.
Something was watching.
And worse…
It was waiting to come closer.
- Writer
