I wake to the soft hum of magic flowing through the walls, a subtle vibration beneath the floorboards of my dorm. The sun has just begun to rise, painting the towers of Obsidian Crown in molten gold. I sit up, adjusting the thin blanket around my shoulders, trying to shake off the lingering tension from yesterday. My muscles ache, but I push it down. I need to survive, not just endure.
The corridor outside is quiet. I step carefully, satchel in hand, listening to the soft echo of distant footsteps. Other students move about already, polished shoes glinting on the marble. They are effortless in their elegance, their wealth apparent in the way they walk, in the way doors open for them before they even reach them. I tuck my shoulders, pretending not to exist, fading into shadows.
The first class is Magical Theory and Contracts. I slip into the back row, trying to merge with the other scholarship students, the ones who never get noticed. Our professor glides into the room, robes rustling, aura brimming with authority.
"Contracts are alive," he says, voice reverberating through the chamber. "Every bond, every agreement carries energy. Wealth, intent, power, they respond to those who understand. Misstep, and consequences follow. Observe, feel, and survive."
I nod, scribbling notes furiously I glance at the others. They already know things I cannot. They whisper, smirk, glance at me with amusement or disdain. I keep my head down.
Across the hall, through the tall window, I catch a glimpse of him, Kael Morvane. He is moving with that same effortless precision, robes gliding like liquid shadow. Students part for him, almost unconsciously. I shrink against the wall, hoping he does not see me, but something in me knows he notices. I catch the way his head tilts, just slightly, the faintest observation, and then he is gone, swallowed by the corridors, leaving me wondering if my mind is playing tricks.
A girl with golden hair and sharp eyes leans over my desk. "Is this the new charity case?" she hisses, her nails brushing my parchment deliberately. Ink smears beneath her touch. I freeze, heart hammering, but force a small smile.
"Sorry," I whisper, trying to clean the mess.
Her laughter is sharp, a blade across my ribs. "Don't apologize, darling. You might break your little scholarship fingers."
I bite back tears, swallow the heat rising to my cheeks, and continue to write. The professor does not notice. Nobody notices. I feel the familiar weight of being invisible, an outsider, a nonentity.
Lunch is no different. The grand dining hall stretches endlessly, tables gleaming, floating silverware dancing above plates. Students flaunt wealth and status, tossing glances like daggers. I carry my tray to a quiet corner, hoping to avoid attention.
Of course, I fail. A boy at a nearby table nudges his friend toward me. A slice of bread flips from my tray and lands on the floor. Laughter erupts.
"You don't belong here," he says, loud enough for others to hear. "Go back to wherever they dragged you from."
I lower my eyes, jaw tight, pretending not to hear. My fingers grip the tray so hard it leaves white marks. I tell myself I am invisible, that their mockery cannot reach me, but every word lands like a stone.
From the balcony above, I sense movement. Kael appears again. He does not approach, does not speak, does not interact. My stomach tightens. I want to run, hide, pretend I have not noticed him noticing me. And yet, something in the pit of my stomach coils in anticipation.
The afternoon is a blur of lessons I struggle to follow. Magical contracts are alive, shifting as I try to copy them onto my parchment. My ink smears inexplicably. I glance at my neighbor for guidance, only to find a smirk and a whispered, "You really shouldn't be here."
I grit my teeth, forcing my hands to obey, focusing on the task even as a small voice in my head whispers that I am failing. Every failure is visible to everyone, magnified. Every small misstep is fodder for ridicule.
By late afternoon, I am exhausted. My feet ache, my back burns from sitting straight, my fingers cramp from endless notes. I carry my satchel across the hall, avoiding eye contact with the laughing clusters of students. I pass the high windows and catch him again—Kael, moving between groups, eyes sweeping, noting without acknowledgment. He is always just beyond reach, untouchable, and yet somehow aware. The awareness is unnerving.
In the library, I sit at a small table tucked between towering shelves. I attempt to study in silence, leafing through heavy tomes, trying to make sense of what I cannot yet understand. There's a slight shift in the air above the pages, glowing faintly, reacting to my touch. I freeze, hand hovering. Magic is alive here. It watches. It tests.
A hand flicks my hair, pulling a strand across my face. I swipe it away, glare at the shadowed figure beside me.
Even as I try to focus, I feel it again. The subtle shift in the air, the faint ripple across the library, like a heartbeat I cannot place. My pulse quickens. My gaze flicks to the balcony where Kael has been standing. He is not here. But the feeling persists. Something watches me, evaluates me, measures me. I pretend it is paranoia, but I know better.
The bell rings, dismissing us for the evening. Students flow like a river toward dormitories, laughing, chattering, leaving me behind. I drag my feet, satchel heavy on my shoulder, still feeling the weight of eyes I cannot see.
Back in my dorm, I collapse onto the edge of my bed, staring at the ceiling. My fingers trace the faint carvings above, each rune glowing slightly in the dim candlelight. I am utterly alone. I have no friends, no allies, no protection in this world of wealth and power. I close my eyes, and the image of him drifts into my mind, Kael, distant, unacknowledging, yet aware.
I feel a strange pull towards him and I have no idea why, I need to always keep in mind that I'm low class and it'll be a cold day in hell before someone like Kael notices me.
The hum of magic from the walls of Obsidian Crown lulls me into uneasy thought. I know I am being observed, but by who? I am left with the uneasy, twisting mixture of fear and curiosity.
Outside, in the corridor, the candlelight flickers. A draft moves across the floor. Somewhere, far above, a shadow passes silently. I do not see it, but I feel it. And as the first night at Obsidian Crown settles in, I realize I am already tangled in something far larger, far older, and far more dangerous than I ever imagined.