The Crowned Shadow

9

The prophecy haunted my dreams that night—fragments of ancient words mixing with Makalai's warnings until I couldn't tell which was more dangerous. When dawn finally broke, I found myself staring at my notebook where I'd copied both the prophecy and my poem, the words seeming to whisper connections I couldn't quite grasp.

My first class was Advanced Combat Theory, and for once, I was grateful for Professor Theron's tendency to drone on about historical battle techniques. It gave me time to think, to piece together everything I knew. The torn page from the Founder Families book couldn't be a coincidence, not with everything else that was happening.

I'd written the names "Ruler" and "Destroyer" in the margins of my notes, circling them repeatedly as Professor Theron discussed ancient warfare. The terms felt significant, like titles rather than mere descriptions. My mind kept returning to the conversation I'd overheard about Makalai wanting to "bring back the founders' legacy." Was he the Ruler mentioned in the prophecy? Or perhaps—my hand tightened around my pen—the Destroyer?

"Miss Blackwood?" Professor Theron's sharp voice cut through my thoughts. "Perhaps you'd care to demonstrate the defensive stance we've been discussing?"

I stood, cheeks burning as several students snickered. As I moved to the front of the classroom, I caught sight of Makalai in the back row. He wasn't laughing. Instead, his dark eyes followed me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

"The Aegis Shield stance," Professor Theron continued, "was historically used by the founder families to protect against both physical and magical attacks. Miss Blackwood, if you please?"

My heart skipped. The founder families again. I took the stance, feet planted firmly, arms raised in the traditional position. As I held it, something felt oddly familiar, like my body remembered a motion it had never learned.

"Interesting adaptation," Professor Theron murmured, circling me. "Your form... it's almost identical to the original stance used by the Blackwood family themselves." He paused, studying me more closely. "Most curious."

I nearly lost my balance. "The Blackwood family?"

"One of the lesser-known founder families," he explained, his voice taking on the tone he reserved for particularly fascinating historical details. "They were known for their defensive magic, particularly their ability to shield others at great cost to themselves. Though they disappeared along with the other families centuries ago."

My arms trembled, but I maintained the stance. From the corner of my eye, I saw Makalai lean forward, his expression unreadable.

"That will be all, Miss Blackwood," Professor Theron said finally. "Take your seat."

The rest of the class passed in a blur. My surname was common enough that it had never seemed significant before, but now... I thought of my poem, the words that had flowed through me without conscious thought: *"Ancient names echo, reaching high."* Had some part of me known?

After class, I hurried to catch up with Makalai, but he was already gone. Instead, I found Miranda waiting in the corridor.

"We need to talk," she said, her usual confidence replaced by something closer to fear. "Not here."

She led me to the academy's old greenhouse, a place students rarely visited since the new one had been built. Dead vines clung to cracked glass panels, and the air inside was thick with the scent of decay and abandoned growth.

"I've been doing some research," Miranda said, pulling a worn journal from her bag. "After what you showed us yesterday... I couldn't sleep. This belonged to my grandmother. She was a historian here at the academy before..." She swallowed hard. "Before the accident that caused them to seal off the east wing."

My mouth went dry. "What accident?"

"Twenty years ago, something happened in the old archives. A student claimed they'd found proof of their founder family lineage and tried to access some kind of sealed power. Three people died. The academy covered it up, said it was a magical experiment gone wrong." She handed me the journal with trembling hands. "My grandmother was there. She wrote everything down."

I opened the journal carefully, its pages brittle with age. Neat handwriting filled each page, interspersed with diagrams and what looked like family trees.

"Look at this," Miranda said, flipping to a marked page. "The prophecy you found? It's not the whole thing. There's more."

My eyes scanned the page, landing on a passage that made my blood run cold:

"When blood of old returns anew,

The Ruler rises from shadow's hue.

In darkness deep the Destroyer sleeps,

Until the ancient promise keeps.

Two paths forward, one path back,

Power blooms in twilight black.

Choose with care the legacy's crown,

For one choice burns the academy down."

"Miranda," I whispered, "why didn't you show this to everyone yesterday?"

She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Because I recognized your stance in class today. The way you held it without being taught. The Blackwoods weren't just any founder family, Isa. They were guardians, chosen to protect the balance between the Ruler and Destroyer lines." She took a shaky breath. "And I think you're their descendant."

The greenhouse suddenly felt too small, too close. Through the dirty glass, I could see students passing by, living their normal lives, unaware of ancient prophecies and deadly legacies.

"That's impossible," I said, but even as I spoke, I remembered the way the stance had felt natural, the way the poem had flowed through me, the way secrets seemed to find me whether I wanted them or not. "I'm no one special."

"Neither was Makalai, until he discovered his heritage." Miranda's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "The student who died twenty years ago? It was his older brother."

The revelation hit me like a physical blow. Makalai's words from our confrontation took on new meaning: *"Sometimes, it's the curious who pay the highest price."* He hadn't been threatening me—he'd been warning me, speaking from bitter experience.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" I asked, clutching the journal.

"Be careful," Miranda said. "If you really are a Blackwood, and if Makalai is planning what everyone says he is... you might be the only one who can stop him. Or," she added quietly, "the only one who can help him succeed."

A shadow passed over the greenhouse, and we both jumped. But it was just a cloud crossing the sun. Still, the moment of darkness felt symbolic somehow, like the calm before a storm.

"Keep the journal," Miranda said, heading for the door. "But Isa? Whatever you decide to do... remember what happened to the last person who tried to reclaim their founder family legacy."

I stayed in the greenhouse long after she left, reading entry after entry in her grandmother's journal. The prophecy. The founder families. The accident. It was all connected, a web of destiny and danger that I'd somehow been born into without knowing.

My poem sat in one pocket, the torn prophecy page in another, and now this journal in my hands—three pieces of a puzzle I wasn't sure I wanted to solve. But as I watched the sun set through the greenhouse's grimy windows, I knew I didn't have a choice anymore.

I was part of this now, whether I wanted to be or not. The real question was: what was I going to do about it?

And somewhere in the academy, Makalai was asking himself the same question.