Morning came reluctantly, cloaking Blackthorn Academy in a somber haze. Pale sunlight filtered through the warded windows, glinting off frost-covered branches like scattered shards of glass. The west tower still smoldered beneath protective barriers, now sealed under a shimmering dome of enchantments to prevent curious eyes from prying too closely. Even from the safety of the dormitories, Selene could feel the residual heat in the air—a restless kind of magic, scorched and sour, like burnt incense and old blood.
The fire had changed everything. Or perhaps it had simply revealed what had been simmering all along.
Word of the blaze had spread like rot, feeding the academy's unrelenting hunger for scandal. Whispers clung to every corridor like cobwebs: theories of sabotage, rebellion, ancient curses rekindled by careless hands. Everywhere Selene walked, eyes followed her—some wide with fear, others narrowed with suspicion.
She sat in her room now, the ancient tome Aurelian had pulled from the flames resting on her desk like a sleeping beast. Its scorched leather cover flaked at the edges, blackened by smoke, but the sigil etched into its center—the unmistakable Raventhorn crest—remained untouched, gleaming faintly under the soft light.
Her fingers hovered over the seal. It pulsed faintly beneath her touch, warm and familiar in a way that sent chills down her spine.
Why had this book been hidden? And why had someone gone to such lengths to destroy it?
A knock at the door startled her. She turned quickly, tension still coiled in her chest like a spring. Matthew stood in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space. His usually neat hair was tousled, and a faint bruise colored his cheekbone in dusky purple.
"You alright?" he asked gently.
Selene gave a small nod. "Didn't sleep."
"Didn't think you would." He stepped inside, letting the door close softly behind him. His gaze drifted to the book. "You opened it yet?"
"Not yet," she murmured. "I think it belonged to my family. Aurelian said someone wanted it destroyed for a reason."
Matthew's jaw tensed. "Then they'll know he saved it. And that you have it."
Selene ran her thumb along the edge of a page, the parchment dry and brittle under her touch. "Which means they'll come looking. For answers… or for blood."
"You're not alone, Selene."
She looked up sharply, startled by the softness in his voice. His dark eyes were steady, earnest. "Aurelian risked a lot last night. You did too."
"I don't trust him," Matthew said, voice low but firm. "But I trust you."
The words lingered between them like breath in the cold. Selene's chest tightened, something unspoken blooming and curling behind her ribs. She looked away first, heart beating louder than she liked, and gently broke the seal.
The moment the wax cracked, the air shifted.
A cold gust spilled from the book's spine like an exhale. The nearby candle extinguished in an instant, plunging the room into a flickering half-light. Strange symbols inked themselves across the first few pages, shifting and rearranging until they formed legible script. The writing pulsed softly, like veins beneath translucent skin—alive, and ancient.
Selene's breath caught. "It's blood-bound."
Matthew stepped closer. "Can you read it?"
She nodded slowly, eyes scanning the lines. "Some of it. It's old Raventhorn dialect. These are records—rituals, family secrets, bloodlines. This… this could change everything."
"Be careful," he warned. "If it's bound to your blood, it might respond only to you. Or punish anyone else who tries."
Before she could answer, the door burst open with a dramatic sweep of wind and fabric.
Professor Lysandra stood there, her cloak swirling behind her like a storm cloud. Her expression was unreadable, but her tone left no room for discussion. "Miss Raventhorn. Mr. Duskbane. You're wanted in the Headmaster's chamber."
Selene stiffened. "Why?"
"The Council sent a messenger," Lysandra replied, gaze flicking to the book. "They believe the fire was intentional. And they suspect it was meant to destroy something… or someone."
Selene exchanged a glance with Matthew. Her pulse quickened. If the Council was already moving, they were running out of time.
The Headmaster's chamber was colder than usual. Shadows clung to the high corners, and the ever-burning hearth offered no comfort. Headmaster Caldus stood behind his desk, grim and silent, flanked by two figures in long crimson robes—emissaries from the High Council. One male, one female, their expressions carved from stone. Their presence felt like pressure, heavy and absolute.
"You were present during the fire," the male emissary said without preamble.
Selene met his eyes. "We helped a student escape the flames. And recovered a book. A relic of my family's."
"How convenient," the woman murmured, her gaze cutting through the room like ice.
Matthew took a step forward, the faint bruise on his cheek catching the light. "Are we being accused of something?"
"Not yet," the woman said coolly. "But suspicion blooms like wildfire. And the Trials are approaching. The Academy cannot afford uncertainty."
Caldus finally spoke, voice grave. "You are not under arrest. But you are under observation. Every action you take now carries weight. Choose your allies wisely, Miss Raventhorn. Your name stirs echoes... and unrest."
When they were dismissed, Selene's hands were shaking. Outside, the hallway felt colder, emptier. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.
"They don't trust me," she whispered.
"They fear you," Matthew replied. "There's a difference."
She opened her eyes to find him watching her closely. "I don't know who to trust either. But I know I can't stop now. Whatever's in that book... I need to know the truth."
Matthew nodded, something resolute behind his gaze. Then, quietly, he reached for her hand. Their fingers touched—brief, but deliberate. Not quite a promise. But something close.
That night, after everyone had gone, Selene sat at her desk again, the book open before her. The candle burned low, shadows dancing along the walls. As she turned the pages, a passage caught her eye—scrawled in red ink, set apart from the rest.
> "When the blood of the last true heir runs unbroken, the Forgotten shall awaken. Bound by silence. Freed by fire."
Her breath caught. Her fingers trembled over the words.
The Forgotten.
A myth. A bedtime warning. A whispered curse.
Or a prophecy.
If this was true—if she was the last heir—then the fire hadn't just been an act of destruction. It had been a message. A warning.
Or a beginning.
And someone, somewhere, wanted her erased before she could uncover the truth.