Chapter 3

A New World

I didn’t know what I expected Duskmoor Academy to feel like. A castle in the clouds? A trap? Another cage with prettier walls?

But the moment I crossed the threshold, I knew this place wasn’t like anything I’d ever known.

The first breath I took tasted of salt and wildflowers. The air shimmered with magic, tangible and alive. It wrapped around me like a blanket, curious, testing, almost sentient. It wasn't just a place, it was aware. And somehow, it was aware of me.

Theo pulled his truck to the edge of a cobblestone roundabout, just beneath an arched stone gate where glowing glyphs rotated slowly in the air. I slid out, my legs stiff from hours on the road, and took it all in. The scent of freshly turned earth. The distant hum of energy vibrating through the stone under my boots. Every inch of Duskmoor thrummed with life and mystery.

“You’ll be safe here,” Theo said, hopping out and grabbing my bag from the back. “Or at least, safer than you’ve ever been.”

I nodded, barely managing to whisper a thank-you as I clutched the entrance medallion to my chest. It was still warm. Or maybe it was reacting to me.

Students were arriving from all directions, through portals that shimmered like pools of quicksilver, sleek enchanted cars that parked themselves, even the backs of winged beasts that landed in the open fields beyond the trees. It was surreal. A vampire girl in a plum velvet blazer glided past me, her eyes gleaming like polished silver. A boy with horns and fiery tattoos carried three suitcases with one hand and a glowing tablet in the other, arguing with a floating imp that corrected his grammar.

I tugged at the sleeves of my oversized sweatshirt, feeling small, ragged, and completely out of place. My boots were scuffed, my jeans threadbare. My entire wardrobe looked like it belonged in a donation bin, not the most elite supernatural academy in the world.

"New student?" a calm voice asked.

I turned. A tall woman in a deep green coat stood at the top of the gate stairs, a clipboard in her hand and a golden pin shaped like an open eye fastened to her collar. Her presence was commanding, her eyes sharp but not unkind.

"Yes. Riley Bennett."

She checked her list, nodded. "Right on time. Welcome to Duskmoor. I'm Professor Lysandra Vale. I oversee transitional affairs for magical hybrids and high-risk entries. You'll be staying in Dormitory Vesper, east wing. We've placed a warded charm on your door, just for safety. Nothing personal."

Nothing personal. My stomach twisted. It was always personal.

I followed her through the outer gardens, trying not to stare at the massive obsidian towers or the willow trees that whispered actual words in the breeze. Every time one bent toward me, I heard fragments—"lost blood," "moon fire," "returning line."

I pretended not to hear.

The dormitory was a long, vine-draped building that curved like a crescent moon against the hillside. Inside, warm lanterns floated near the ceilings, drifting slowly as if caught in a lazy current. Students lounged on velvet couches; a dragonet the size of a housecat curled lazily around the chandelier above the stairwell. Music played softly in the background, a harp, or maybe wind chimes played by unseen hands.

Everything smelled like cinnamon and old spellbooks.

My room was at the far end of the third floor. Professor Vale opened the door with a murmured spell, and the air inside shifted, sensing me. It felt... expectant. Like the room itself had been waiting.

The room was simple: a neatly made bed with soft gray linens, a carved desk with a crystal lamp, shelves already filled with blank notebooks and quills, and a tall arched window with a view of the glowing orchard that stretched toward the mountains. Pale blue light shimmered from the walls, subtle and calming.

But it was mine.

“Orientation begins tomorrow morning,” Professor Vale said, pausing at the doorway. “Uniforms will be delivered tonight. You'll find your class schedule in your binder. Breakfast is served from six to eight in the main hall. And Riley?”

I looked up.

She gave me a long look, kind, but guarded. "You've survived a lot, Miss Bennett. That alone says something. Don't let anyone here make you forget that."

And then she was gone.

I stood in the quiet room for a long time. My fingers trembled as I unpacked my meager belongings—Emma's pendant, still warm from being held close. The crumpled fairy tale book with the worn leather cover. The rain-stained photo of the two of us, taken with a disposable camera under the old birch tree when we were nine.

The silence wasn't heavy. It was sacred. Like a breath I'd never been allowed to exhale.

I wandered over to the window. Outside, the orchard glowed softly beneath the rising moons. Pale blue fruit swayed from branches that sparkled with dew. Something fluttered between the trees—not a bird, but something with wings and a cloak.

I didn't cry. I didn’t know how to anymore.

Instead, I curled up on the bed, the linens cool and clean against my skin. I clutched the pillow to my chest and whispered into the dark, "I made it."

And deep inside, in that quiet place where fire once burst free, something answered:

Not yet. But soon.