They had been traveling the entire day.
By midday, long creeping shadows moved lazily across the cabin floor as the sun shifted overhead. The salty smell of the ocean filled the room, carried in through enchanted vents as the ship gently rocked atop the waves. A faint hum thrummed beneath the floorboards—the steady pulse of wards protecting the ship from harm.
The children were starting to feel the hunger set in.
Then—almost as if summoned by fate—a familiar figure rolled down the hallway, knocking on doors and peeking in through the cabin windows.
It was Madam Shelly, the school caretaker.
She was a short witch with long black hair, though streaks of grey now crept along the sides. Her eyes were a dazzling jet black, sharp as obsidian and twice as unreadable. But the most eye-catching thing about her was her dress—far more colorful than the rainbow itself.
Birds were embroidered all across the fabric, flapping and flying around the hem as if alive, chasing each other in endless loops.
A soft chime followed her every step—tiny enchanted bells woven into her sash that whispered secrets only she seemed to hear.
Madam Shelly never raised her voice. She didn't need to. Wherever she passed, children instinctively sat straighter, tucked in their shirts, and silenced their chatter.
Her presence demanded order—but not out of fear. There was something magically binding about her authority, like the ship itself obeyed her.
"No running in the halls," she said without looking up, tapping on a cabin window as two younger boys froze mid-chase. "And if I catch anyone conjuring candy charms again, I will confiscate your Sigrods."
A mechanical parrot perched on her shoulder gave a squawk of approval.
Just then, a voice echoed magically through the hallway.
"Students, it is time to put on your school uniforms!"
It was the head prefects making their announcements.
The children scrambled out of their cabins and into the changing stalls just beside their rooms.
"Do you want to play Guess What?" Fred asked eagerly, glancing around the group.
Everyone agreed at once.
Fred pulled out a small wooden box shaped like a question mark. It clicked open with a hiss, revealing a deck of shimmering cards and a tiny enchanted hourglass that flipped itself upright.
"Same teams?" Fred asked, grinning.
James nodded. "Obviously. We're unbeatable."
Aurora rolled her eyes, smirking. "Not with those questions you aren't."
Fred picked the first card and turned to James with a wicked grin. "You remember the rules, right? I read it, you guess. No talking, only hints."
"What kind of hints?" James asked, already laughing.
Fred mimed flapping wings and made a ridiculous screeching noise.
Aurora laughed. "No way that's allowed."
"Totally allowed," Fred insisted. "As long as he doesn't say the word."
The card in Fred's hand pulsed with blue light.
"Okay, ready?" he said. "Here goes—What has four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs at night?"
James's eyes sparkled. "A person!"
The card glowed gold and flipped itself, revealing an ancient statue with a cane, symbolizing the answer.
"That was easy!" James crowed.
Fred turned smugly to Aurora and Annie. "Punishment time."
"Oh no," Annie groaned.
James held out the Mimic Bean Jar—a squat glass container with shifting colors and an ominous hum.
"You can skip the punishment… if you dare eat one," he said, voice theatrical.
Aurora and Annie shared a glance, then grabbed a bean each.
The moment they bit down, their eyes widened—and they both started meowing. Loudly. Involuntarily.
Fred and James collapsed in laughter, nearly falling off the bench.
The game continued with noisy guesses, strange charades, and the occasional squawk, hop, or oink as more Mimic Beans took effect. Laughter echoed through the cabin.
Then it was Aurora's turn.
Annie held up the next card. "Who won the duel of Eclipse during the Ephimor War?"
Aurora froze. Her eyes darted around the room nervously, the weight of the question pressing on her.
The hourglass emptied.
"Time!" Fred and James shouted in unison.
Aurora sighed. "I... I don't know."
"Darian Valde," Annie groaned.
Fred reached for the bean jar.
But before he could—
It was so abrupt that James nearly tumbled off his seat. A loud metallic thud shook the floor.
The cabin fell silent.
Then came the sound—a horrible, high-pitched screech that echoed through every corridor of the ship.
The children stopped playing at once. Some screamed. Others clutched their ears. The joy of moments ago vanished.
Fog began creeping into the hallway, curling like a living thing around the walls and floor.
James leapt up, heart pounding, sweat prickling at his brow. The soft hum of the ship's wards grew erratic, as if straining against something unseen.
He pushed through the crowd pouring out of their cabins. The corridor was packed—filled with panicked voices and startled gasps.
Then a booming voice rang through the decks:
"Calm down, lads! This'll be over in a jiffy!"
"Captain! It's the Sirens! They're trying to break the ship!" someone shouted above the noise.
James remembered rumors whispered in the common room—about the Sirens, ancient guardians who would attack any ship carrying secrets not meant for mortal eyes.
Then—
BANG!
Something slammed into the hull again. The floor trembled. The walls groaned.
And whatever was out there in the mist… wasn't done yet.
The ship began swaying violently.
Voices muttered of a burst of fire erupted from the hull as the crew returned fire— of red, gold, and blue flashing like light flew across the thick fog illuminating it creepily.
Inside, chaos erupted.
Children shouted, jostled, and surged through the corridors, trying to glimpse the battle through the enchanted portholes.
James was caught in the flood of bodies. He tried to get out of the way, to push back—but it was no use. He was swept deeper into parts of the ship he didn't recognize.
Fog seeped through cracks in the walls, curling around his feet. Cold and slow, like it was alive.
Then he heard it.
A voice.
Feminine. Alluring. Distant—but somehow inside his mind.
James froze, scanning the mist.
The voice came again—this time speaking in verse. Old. Rhythmic. Haunting.
"When you gaze into the abyss, it gazes back…
And it tells you what you are made of.
You might be surprised…
That within light, there is dark.
And within dark, there is light.
There is no good without evil…
No evil without good.
For both must exist—
To keep the world stable."
The words echoed through him like bells in deep water. They filled his chest, pressed against his ribs.
His eyes glazed over, and a wave of awe and confusion swept across his face.
His lips moved, murmuring the verse as it repeated.
"Within light… there is dark…
Within dark… there is light…"
"James! James!"
A different voice now—real, panicked, familiar.
Annie.
James blinked. The trance shattered.
He gasped, breath catching in his throat, and looked around.
The ship had stopped swaying. The lights had steadied. The sirens… were gone.
"James! Where are you?" Fred's voice called from the hallway.
James, who had somehow ended up on the floor, scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off. His heart was racing. He had no idea how long he'd been there.
He hurried toward the sound of his friends.
"There you are," Annie said, relief in her voice. "We couldn't find you."
"I... I had to go to the bathroom," James said quickly, forcing a weak laugh.
He didn't tell them about the voice. About the trance.
About the pull.
They'll think I've gone mad, he thought.
So he stayed quiet.
But deep down, he knew—it hadn't been in his head.