Blackthorn Institution

Blackthorn Institute was never meant to rehabilitate anyone.

On paper, it was an exclusive reform school for the supernatural elite-a last chance for those who had strayed too far, a place to correct the path of society's most privileged delinquents. The sons and daughters of ancient vampire houses, heirs to sprawling wolf packs, fae-born aristocrats, and warlocks with blood soaked legacies.

In reality, it was a prison with golden bars.

A place where the powerful dumped their unwanted, their uncontrollable, their violent-far enough away to ignore, but still under careful watch.

To the outside world, Blackthorn was an institution built to fix those beyond saving. In truth, it existed to contain them.

Nestled in the heart of an untamed, mist-choked forest, the school was surrounded by wards older than any student within its walls. There were no fences, no barbed wire-because nothing got in, and nothing got out. The towering castle-like structure loomed over the landscape, its gothic spires vanishing into a sky that was always a little too dark, no matter the time of day.

Here, power reigned