Riven Thorne sat in the back of the classroom, pretending not to notice the glances. In a school where every young witch had bonded with their magical familiar by the age of thirteen, Riven was sixteen and still alone. No owl. No cat. No shadow fox or talking toad. Just him—and the quiet crackle of magic beneath his skin, unruly and unexplained.
"Maybe his magic's broken," someone whispered.
He heard them, as always. Riven kept his eyes on the chalkboard and his mouth shut. If he'd learned anything growing up in Virelle Academy for the Magically Gifted, it was this: different meant dangerous. And being queer, magic-lonely, and cursed with violet eyes that shimmered in moonlight? That was a triple threat.
After class, he slipped out before anyone could corner him. He didn't need another run-in with Aldric Holloway, the golden-haired prodigy who'd once hexed his robes mid-exam so they vanished entirely.
Outside, the woods surrounding the academy hummed with energy. Riven wandered into the treeline, following instinct more than thought, until he reached the old boundary stone——half-buried, moss-covered, and pulsing faintly beneath his fingertips.
And then he heard it: a voice, sharp and silver-sweet. "You really shouldn't be here, mortal."