Lyra Vex didn't remember falling asleep.She remembered the
ceiling of her bedroom — the crack in the plaster shaped like a bird, the hum
of her fan, the way her thoughts kept looping like a broken record. But she
didn't remember closing her eyes. And yet, here she was, standing in front of a
gate that shimmered like glass dipped in moonlight.
The sign above read: Academy of Evershade. The letters
rearranged themselves when she blinked.
A bell rang somewhere far off, deep and hollow, like it was
underwater.
She clutched her suitcase tighter. It wasn't hers. The tag
read "Lyra Vex" in looping silver script, but she'd never seen it before. Her
fingers trembled as the gate creaked open, not with hinges, but with a sigh —
like the place had been waiting for her.
The Academy looked like a dream someone had half-forgotten.
The buildings were tall and pastel, with staircases that floated midair and
windows that blinked. Students walked in slow motion, their uniforms shifting
color as they moved — pinks, blues, silvers, like mood rings with legs.
Lyra stepped inside, and the world felt... soft. Too soft.
Like she was walking through velvet.
A girl passed her, smiling too wide. "Welcome," she said,
her voice echoing twice.
Lyra didn't reply. Her throat felt tight.
She was escorted — silently — to the Headmistress's office.
The woman behind the desk looked like she'd been sculpted from porcelain and
grief. Her eyes were pale and cracked, like frost on glass.
"You've been selected," she said, without looking up. "Class
Obsidian."
Lyra blinked. "I don't understand."
"You will."
Class Obsidian was the Academy's elite. Everyone knew that —
even Lyra, who didn't know how she knew. Maybe the knowledge had been planted
in her head like a seed.
There were four of them:
- Zephyr Vale, who never blinked and spoke like he was
quoting forgotten poetry.
- Cassian Thorn, golden and cruel, with a laugh that made
people flinch.
- Nova Quinn, who dressed like a dream and moved like a
secret.
- Riven Lux, silent and strange, rumored to control dreams.
Lyra was to be their fifth.
Her dorm room was a cube suspended over a koi pond. The fish
whispered things she couldn't quite hear. Her bed was made of clouds. Her
uniform hung in the closet, already tailored to her shape, already pulsing with
color — stormy gray, like her mood.
She didn't unpack. She didn't know what she'd find.
At breakfast, the food changed flavor mid-bite. Lyra sat
alone until Nova Quinn slid into the seat across from her, their hair glowing
faintly in the morning light.
"You're new," Nova said, sipping something that sparkled.
"You smell like reality."
Lyra frowned. "What does that mean?"
Nova smiled. "It means you haven't broken yet."
Classes were strange.
In Emotional Alchemy, they bottled feelings into glass
vials. Lyra's first was labeled "confusion." It pulsed.
In Social Warfare, they danced to manipulate each other.
Cassian Thorn spun her too fast and whispered, "You'll learn."
In Dream Theory, they studied nightmares like textbooks.
Professor Umbra asked them to describe their recurring dreams.
Lyra hesitated. "I'm in a hallway. The walls are closing in.
I run, but the doors keep disappearing."
Umbra nodded. "A classic. You're resisting."
After class, Lyra wandered into the Mirror Garden. The
reflections whispered secrets. She found Zephyr Vale staring into a mirror that
showed him as a child.
"You don't belong here," he said.
Lyra crossed her arms. "Neither do you."
Zephyr turned. His eyes were too still. "Some of us
remember. That's the difference."
"Remember what?"
"That this isn't a school. It's a test."
That night, Lyra dreamed of her bedroom. But the walls were
velvet, and her mother's voice came from the ceiling: "Don't trust the ones who
smile."
She woke in a classroom. Her dorm was gone. Students slept
at their desks. The chalkboard read: Lesson 13 — How to Forget.
Cassian Thorn stood at the front, writing names in red ink.
Hers was next.
She ran.
She found herself in the basement — a place she hadn't known
existed. The air was thick. Clocks ticked backward. Doors led to nowhere. In
the center stood a mirror that didn't reflect anything.
She touched it.
And something inside her shifted.
She wasn't supposed to be here. She hadn't chosen this.
Someone — something — had pulled her in.
The Academy wasn't what it seemed.
And Lyra wasn't the same girl who'd arrived.