Ophelia Moore never knew magic was real until her shadow magic exploded out of her, shattering her life in one terrifying moment.
Now, she's been thrust into the mysterious and gothic Hallowgate Academy, where students master dangerous powers, and...
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I sit at the back of the Runes and Enchantments class, staring blankly at the textbook in front of me. The old pages are filled with diagrams of intricate symbols, lines crisscrossing and spiraling into perfect formations, but I can't focus.
My eyes blur over the lines of text, not really absorbing anything. All I can hear is the quiet hum of whispers from the other students around me and the heavy tick of the ancient clock mounted on the far wall.
The room smells like old books and chalk dust, the kind of scent that gets into your lungs and settles deep, making you feel like you've been here forever—even if you've only just arrived.
Dark wooden beams stretch across the ceiling, their shadows casting long, foreboding lines across the floor. It's cold, but that's probably just because the windows are thin and the stone walls seem to trap the chill in the air.
Professor Rowan Gale stands at the front of the room, scribbling something on the blackboard. He's tall, his posture straight and precise, like everything about him.
His dark brown hair is short, his beard neatly trimmed, and his hazel eyes flick from the board to the class with sharp attention. He's probably the youngest professor I've seen on campus so far.
There's something about him that screams precision and discipline—he's the type who expects everyone to be just as focused as he is.
Which means he's probably not a fan of me right now.
I'm trying to care about whatever rune he's drawing, really. But my mind keeps drifting, my eyes sliding from the board to the window where thick, dark clouds are rolling across the sky.
Is this typical Hallowgate weather?
Gloomy, cold, suffocating.
"Runes," Professor Gale's voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp and commanding. "Are the foundation of magical control. They're not just symbols. They're the language of power. Master them, and you can master your magic."
My stomach tightens. Master your magic. Yeah, sure. Like I'm ever going to get control of mine.
"As many of you are aware, some wielders possess a natural affinity for runic magic. This doesn't mean they hold exclusive rights to its use; rather, it makes their runes more potent, more alive. Certain runes, of course, will remain beyond the grasp of those without the affinity. However, with dedication and practice, even those without this gift can learn to work with runes and, if they're skilled enough, create runic objects of their own."
I glance down at my hands, fingers curling into my palms. The shadows are quiet for now, but I can still feel them.
Restless.
Waiting for the smallest crack in my concentration to slip free. Just like in that first class, when everything went wrong.
I can still feel the sting of embarrassment from this morning, when my magic had surged uncontrollably, wrecking the classroom and earning me a reputation as a walking disaster.
