After what happened last year, the doors of Thornwick opened again. The iron gates groaned. The banners were raised. Laughter and nervous chatter flooded the courtyards as carriages arrived and boats docked along the black cliffs below. New students stepped across the threshold with bright eyes and trembling hands, unaware of the secrets stitched into the stone beneath their feet. The Academy breathed as it always did. Asher Graves returned. Second year. But this time, he did not walk in as just another student. He walked in as the boy the roots had chosen. The one the ancient chair had bound. The one titled Villain. The word followed him through corridors like a whisper that never quite faded. Why him? Why was he chosen? What, exactly, was he? There were gaps in the story. Shadows where answers should have been. And somewhere beneath it all, something deeper stirred…older than Thornwick itself. But most of all, he could not explain this: Why did his gaze keep drifting toward the Witch’s Tower? Again and again. More than necessary. More than safe. The Academy’s law still stood carved into obsidian: Opposing Orders must remain apart. Interaction is forbidden unless destiny permits it. And destiny, Thornwick had learned, was rarely merciful. Yet this year, the sea beneath the cliffs does not rest. At night, it hums. A low, mournful sound…like something ancient dragging its chains along the ocean floor. Professors speak in quieter tones. Restricted wings are sealed…Among the new students who arrived with trunks and textbooks, one did not come to learn spells or earn a title. One came with a purpose. A purpose tied not to the sky like the Starfall…but to the deep. To the lament echoing beneath the waves. And when truths begin to surface…about Asher’s blood, about the Witch, about the balance they must maintain. Last year was only the beginning. Because villains are not born in silence. They are called. And the deep has started calling back.

Thornwick Starfall is not a school you choose. It is a threshold that chooses you back. When Asher Graves steps into its dark, breathing halls, the stone remembers him. The blood remembers him. Tied by lineage older than the towers themselves, he is dragged into the abyssal chamber where roots coil like veins around a single chair... an ancient seat meant to read a soul's past, present, and unspoken future. Few are ever placed there. Fewer survive it unchanged. No one in his bloodline had ever been titled. Until Asher. What the roots see brands him with a name Thornwick has not spoken in generations... The Villain. Not born of cruelty, but of prophecy. And then there is... The Witch. Silent. Watchful. Always in the corner of the room. Her eyes find Asher the moment he crosses the threshold, as if she has been waiting through lifetimes for his shadow to touch the floor. In Thornwick, where every magical order is bound to its Opposing Order, she is everything he must never touch. Because the Academy survives on rules carved into law and bone: Opposites must remain apart. Distance is safety. Connection is catastrophe. Interaction is forbidden... unless destiny intervenes, unless faculty permits fate to breathe for a moment. But destiny does not ask permission. Between villainy written in roots and a witch born to oppose him, Thornwick Starfall trembles. Because when rules are broken not by rebellion, but by inevitability, magic does not punish. It remembers. And it collects.

The world had already ended once in Raccoon City. Seven days ago, Agent Stark disappeared there. No calls. No signals. Only silence. Her father is a powerful man. Rich enough to shake governments. When the agency failed to answer him, the world heard his fury. Newspapers spoke of nothing else but the Lost Daughter. But money cannot fight the dead. So he calls the only man who has walked through hell before. Leon S. Kennedy. Thirty-seven. Cold. A man who has seen cities fall and people turn into monsters. The deal is simple. Find his daughter. In return, Leon can ask for anything. But Raccoon City is not empty anymore. Something is growing there. Something breathing under the ruins of the Umbrella Corporation. And the deeper Leon walks into the dead city, the more he realizes the truth... Aaira Stark was never just kidnapped. She was taken for something worse. Now Leon must cross a city of evolving horrors, each more terrifying than the last. Because if he doesn't reach her soon... She might become one of them.

They came to write a story. Sylvermere had other plans. When five young journalists arrive in the forgotten town of Sylvermere to investigate the ruins of Castle Greystone, they expect whispers, legends, and eerie locals. What they find is a house that breathes, weeps, and watches. Its halls remember everything... especially them. "If I met you in another life, I would've written you poems instead of warnings. I would've kissed you in the rain instead of vanishing into it. But time hasn't been kind to me. I've lived in silence so long, even my heart forgot how to beat. Yet you..." he paused, voice low, breaking like old glass... "You made the air feel warm again. You smiled at the cold and touched it like it wouldn't hurt you. Maybe that's why I wanted to protect you. Maybe that's why I fear what loving you might cost." Aaron Greystone, the castle's only heir, lives among silent maids and unanswered questions. Cold. Beautiful. Untouched by time. Drawn to HER, he warns her to leave before it's too late. His gaze held hers, one eye storm-grey, the other night-black... timeless, tragic, eternal. But the house has waited too long. And it doesn't like letting go. "Even if I don't belong in your world, my heart has already chosen you. And some loves," he whispered, "don't need life to live." These are the Eyes of Greystone. ── ᯓᡣ𐭩 ── Started: , 2025, . Ended:

Every night Exactly at 05:22 AM, something unexplainable happens... sometimes a whispered name, a shadow slithering through the tents, or a missing performer. The circus itself seems to be alive, feeding on its own performers. ── ᯓᡣ𐭩 ── Started: , 2025, . Ended:

The 𝒲ℯ𝓈𝓉 𝒲𝒾𝓃𝓰 remains shrouded in silence, its doors forever closed, its secrets buried in darkness. 𝒦𝒾𝓂 𝒯𝒶ℯ𝒽𝓎𝓊𝓃𝓰 walks its halls like a man haunted, his every move careful, his every word measured... 𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝒻 𝓈ℴ𝓂ℯℴ𝓃ℯ 𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓰... The maids whisper of strange melodies drifting through the night, of a presence lingering in the shadows. But no one dares ask why... 𝒽ℯ 𝓃ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇 ℴ𝓅ℯ𝓃𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈... ℴ𝓇 𝓌𝒽ℴ 𝓌𝒶𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝒷ℯ𝓎ℴ𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓂. ── ᯓᡣ𐭩 ── Started: , 2025, . Ended: