The sun barely kissed the horizon when Nykara and Sybil woke to their first day at Obsidian Academy. The room they shared was dim, the dark curtains drawn tight against the outside world. Dust motes danced lazily in the slivers of light sneaking through the cracks. It was cold, the stone walls of the academy pressing in from all sides, as if the very castle itself were watching them. Nykara's eyes, bright and sharp, flicked around the room, taking in every detail. The walls were lined with ancient runes, glowing faintly, though the magic seemed more ominous than welcoming. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," Sybil's voice broke through the quiet, her words playful but edged with a hint of amusement. Nykara groaned, throwing the blankets off and sitting up in one fluid motion. "What the hell is the point of a bed if it's just going to make me cold?" she muttered, rubbing her eyes. She cast aside ways glance at Sybil, who was already up and pulling on her clothes.
Her friend's perfect posture, her calculated movements—it was enough to make Nykara feel like a tornado in comparison. Sybil turned to ward her with a smirk, her long wine-red hair falling over one shoulder as she tied it up. "You're just grumpy because you're not used to the luxury of a real bed. You should've tried the floor last night. At least then you'd be complaining about the right thing." Nykara snorted, standing to stretch, her lean muscles rippling beneath her dark skin. She was still getting used to the feel of the thick stone beneath her feet, the chill in the air that never seemed to lift, no matter how many fires they lit. Everything in the academy felt... off, like it was both too old and too new at the same time.
Sybil's eyes gleamed with an intensity that was almost as sharp as Nykara's. Her sea green gaze flicked over her with an unreadable expression, but it wasn't out of judgment. It was curiosity, a sharp, calculating glint, as if she was trying to figure out what made Nykara tick—how the girl could carry so much fire and rage with her wherever she went. Sybil's red hair was still perfect as it cascaded around her shoulders, and her beauty was deadly, in a way that made Nykara's stomach turn with envy and respect. Nykara, on the other hand, looked like a goddess from the underworld—tanned skin, straight black hair hanging to her waist, and those eyes.
Those fucking eyes. Golden brown with threads of crimson running through them, shifting when she was angry, when she was emotional. Not even she knew why they were like that, but she knew they terrified people. Sybil, ever observant, caught Nykara's gaze and grinned. "You're still pissed about those eyes, huh?" "Shut up," Nykara shot back, brushing her hair over her shoulder, but she couldn't hide the sharpness in her tone. "We need to get moving. Academy's not going to impress itself." Sybil gave a short laugh. "You've got a way with words, as always. But let's get some thing straight, Nykara—you might think this place is some haunted castle, but you're here now. And this academy? It's the only thing that's going to make you into something more."
Nykara's lips curled into a smirk as she threw on her dark leather jacket. "More? I'm already a lot, don't you think?" "Just don't get cocky," Sybil teased, her voice light, but her eyes narrowed. "There's power here, real power. And you'll have to learn to control it, or it'll swallow you whole." "Nothing's gonna swallow me," Nykara muttered as she grabbed her pack. "Not today. Let's get the hell out of this room. I want to see the rest of this place before they make me sign some damn contract." Sybil raised an eye brow. "We're already signed in, remember? And it's time for breakfast." The two of them exited the room, the heavy door creaking shut be hind them.
The halls of Obsidian Academy were cold, dark, and lined with stone that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Ancient carvings covered every inch of the walls, symbols Nykara didn't under stand but knew enough to recognize as magic—ancient magic. The air hummed with power, and a shiver ran down her spine every time she passed a glowing rune. As they walked, students filtered in and out of the hallways. Most were first-years, like them—nervous, excited, and clutching their belongings like lifelines. The older students mostly ignored them, walking with a sense of purpose, a confidence that came from surviving whatever trials this place had thrown their way. Soon enough, they reached the cafeteria. The doors opened before them with a heavy groan, and the first thing Nykara noticed was the smell—food that smelled better than anything she had ever eaten in her life.
The cafeteria was a large, gothic space, the ceiling high and adorned with banners depicting strange creatures and arcane symbols. Long tables stretched across the room, filled with students of all ages. The food was laid out in abundance: meats, breads, fruits, and dishes she didn't even recognize. "Holy shit," Nykara muttered under her breath, her mouthwatering. "This is better than the tavern food back home." Sybil smirked. "Told you this place wasn't so bad. Now, eat up. You need to stay in shape for whatever twisted tests they're going to throw at us to day." They found a table near the corner, and Sybil quickly pulled out a seat for herself. Nykara dropped into the chair across from her, still eyeing the food hungrily.
The students around them murmured to one another, some exchanging looks, others glancing over at them with a mix of curiosity and caution. Nykara could feel their eyes on her, trying to gauge her. She didn't care. They wouldn't last long if they under estimated her. As they ate, a few second-year students came over. They were tall, with cold expressions and eyes that carried the weight of experience. Their clothes were slightly more refined, darker, and there was a confidence in their posture that screamed 'we run the show.' One of them, a tall boy with icy blue eyes and dark hair, leaned in close to their table.
"Well, well, fresh meat," he sneered, the words laced with mockery. "You two looking to make an impression or just survive?" Sybil's eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything at first. Nykara, on the other hand, leaned forward, a smirk tugging at her lips. "We'll do both. You've got a problem with that?" The boy's smile faltered for just a second, but here covered quickly. "No problem. Just keep in mind that not all of us are here to play nice." Before he could turn away completely,
Nykara slipped a knife from her belt and drove it into the wooden table with a sharp thunk, the blade sinking deep. The sound cut through the murmurs of the cafeteria, drawing a few glances. She leaned for ward, resting her arms lazily on the table, but her eyes gleamed with something far from casual. "And who the fuck said I was here to play nice?" she asked, her voice smooth, almost amused. The boy hesitated. His confidence wavered for just a heartbeat, but he was smart enough not to challenge her outright. Instead, he gave a curt nod, then turned on his heel and disappeared with his group.
Nykara watched them go, rolling her shoulders before pulling her knife free from the table. She twirled it between her fingers, satisfaction curling in her chest. She didn't like the way they looked at her, the way they sized her up. But she wasn't afraid of them—she was ready for whatever came next. Before Sybil could say anything, the air in the cafeteria shifted. A hush fell over the room as the large double doors at the far end swung open. Zephiron entered.
Nykara felt a jolt in her chest. She wasn't sure why, but there was something about the man that made the air crackle. Tall, radiating authority, Zephiron moved with the sort of confidence that came from years of power. The room itself seemed to shift in response to his presence, as if the very shadows leaned in to listen. His dark eyes scanned the room, pausing for a moment when they locked onto Nykara's. Her breath caught in her throat. He was fucking attractive, no doubt about it—tall, broad shouldered, with the kind of muscle that made his suit look even better.
Tattoos peeked from beneath his collar, dark, serpentine marks that seemed to shift when you weren't looking. He moved through the cafeteria with effortless authority, his presence commanding the space, forcing conversations to hush as he passed. When he reached the center of the first year section, he stopped, letting the silence settle before he spoke. "Welcome to Obsidian Academy," Zephiron said, his deep voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Most of you won't make it past your first year. Some of you won't make it past your first week." His gaze swept over the gathered students, assessing them like a predator sizing up its prey. "This academy does not tolerate weakness. Your lessons will push you beyond your limits—physically, mentally, and magically. And if you fail..." A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Well, let's just say failure isn't an option."
The room was deathly silent, tension rippling through the first-years. Some looked nervous. Others, like Nykara, held his gaze with unflinching defiance. Zephiron continued, "If—against all odds—you survive this year, you will face the ceremony. A test of your abilities, your strength, and your worth. That will determine if you truly belong here." His eyes flicked over the students once more, lingering on Nykara for the briefest moment before he turned. "Until then, consider every lesson a battle. If you're not prepared to fight for your place, you don't deserve to be here." With that, he moved on, leaving a heavy silence in his wake. Nykara exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the table. "Well, fuck," she muttered.
Sybil let out a low whistle. "Well, at least he doesn't sugar coat shit." Nykara's eyes followed him as he disappeared into the second-year section. There was something about him—something unsettling. And she hated that she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Sybil leaned in, her voice quiet but teasing. "You know... you're not the only one who can't take their eyes off him." Nykara scowled, dragging her gaze away. "I'm not interested. I just don't trust him." Still, deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that Zephiron was more dangerous than he let on. And if this academy was as ruthless as he claimed, she needed to be ready for whatever the hell was coming. The buzz of the cafeteria was still heavy in the air when a sharp, commanding voice cut through the noise. "First-years, move out! Classes begin now!" A tall, armored figure stood at the entrance, expression impassive as they swept a gaze over the students.
The air in the room shifted—whatever chatter remained died quickly as students scrambled to their feet. Sybil leaned over to Nykara. "Guess playtime's over." Nykara rolled her shoulders. "Good. Let's see what this place has to offer." They followed the flow of students through the dark, twisting corridors of the academy, the stone walls humming with latent energy. The path eventually led them to a dimly lit chamber, lined with shelves of vials filled with substances in every colour imaginable. The air is thick with an acrid scent, a mix of herbs and something far more sinister. At the front of the room stands Professor Vaelith, a tall, ethereal-looking woman with sharp, angular features and pointed ears. Her eyes are an unnatural silver, cold and dis tant.
She barely acknowledges the first-years as they enter, her slender fingers tracing the rim of a glass bottle filled with a dark, sludgy liquid. When the last student takes their seat, she finally speaks, her voice smooth but void of warmth. "You will not impress me. You will not charm your way into passing this class. You will either learn... or you will die." A few students shift uncomfortably, but Vaelith doesn't seem to care. She steps closer, eyeing them like one might observe insects trapped in a jar. "Poison is an art. A precise, delicate, and lethal craft. But teaching it to first-years? A waste of my time." Her lips curl in dis dain. "Most of you will be dead before you ever master a single dose." A few students exchange uneasy glances. Sybil, on the other hand, smirks. "Well, then you better make sure your lessons aren't boring."
Vaelith's gaze snaps to her, and for a brief moment, there's an eerie silence. Then, a slow, sharp smile spreads across the professor's face. "You. Step forward." Sybil shrugs and does so without hesitation. Vaelith pulls a vial from her pocket, the liquid inside a sickly green. "Drink." A few gasps ripple through the class. Sybil doesn't flinch. Instead, she studies the vial, swirls the contents, then sniffs it slightly before grinning. "Death blossom. Slows the heartbeat, causes temporary paralysis, then a slow, painful death. And it smells like rotten citrus." Vaelith raises a brow, clearly intrigued. "You may sit."
The professor turns her cold gaze back to the rest of the class. "Let this be a lesson. If you do not learn fast, you will not last long." The lesson passed quickly, though not because it was particularly engaging. Most of what Professor Vaelith explained, both Nykara and Sybil already knew—basic toxins, slow-acting venoms, and a brief overview of antidotes. It was clear the professor had little patience for first-years, her voice flat and unimpressed as she went through the motions. Sybil leaned over halfway through, whispering, "We could've taught this damn class ourselves." Nykara smirked. "Yeah, but at least we got to see who's dumb enough to ask stupid questions."
As if on cue, one of the students—some wide-eyed boy who reeked of naivety—raised a hand and asked about a common household poison. Vaelith barely spared him a glance before rolling her eyes. "If that's the level of your curiosity, you won't last the year," she said dryly, turning away. When the lesson finally ended, she dismissed them with a flick of her wrist. "That's enough for today. If you were paying attention, you might live long enough to be worth teaching." A few students exchanged nervous glances, some relieved to leave. Then, the moment they stepped out of the room, a deep, booming voice echoed through the halls—one that promised their next class would be anything but dull.
"First-years! To the training grounds. Now." Nykara barely had time to exchange a glance with Sybil before a wave of students surged forward. "I swear, they're not even giving us time to breathe," Sybil muttered, cracking her knuckles. "Good," Nykara replied, a smirk tugging at her lips. "I was getting bored." The group moved through the academy's labyrinthine halls, until the dark, enclosed spaces gave way to a massive open chamber—an arena lined with weapons, the ground scuffed and stained from years of battle. And at its center stood something far more terrifying than any poison. Commander Rathorn, a towering beast of a man—not quite human. His skin has a faint, rough texture, like stone cracked with veins of molten lava. His eyes glow ember-red, and when he speaks, it's with the gravelly weight of someone who has seen more death than life.
"There's no point in pretending," Rathorn growls, pacing before the first-years. "Some of you have been trained. Some of you are useless. Today, we find out which one you are." He turns sharply. "Pair up. If you don't have a partner, I'll choose one for you." The training grounds were pure chaos. Students clashed in pairs, some with raw, untrained aggression, others with chilling precision. The air reeked of sweat, blood, and magic. Some fought with weapons—daggers, short swords, even claws or fangs for those who weren't entirely human. Others relied on their fists, feet, or whatever instincts kept them alive.
A girl with silver hair ducked under her opponent's punch, pivoting smoothly before landing a brutal kick to his ribs. He crumpled, but she didn't stop—her next move had him flat on his back, a dagger pressed against his throat. On the other side of the arena, a massive boy caught his sparring partner by the throat and slammed him into the ground with enough force to crack stone. No one interfered. Nykara's fingers twitched at her sides. This wasn't training. This was survival. Sybil nudged her, a smirk playing at her lips. "Well, at least it's not boring." A few students were already limping off, their fights lost before they even began.
The instructor, arms crossed, simply watched—un moved, unimpressed. He wasn't here to guide them. He was here to see who would last. Then his cold, predator-like gaze locked onto Nykara. "You. Step forward." She rolled her shoulders, stepping onto the fighting ground as her opponent did the same. The moment their eyes met, she saw it—the slight smirk, the confidence, the assumption that she'd be easy to put down. She was about to enjoy proving him wrong. Her opponent struck first, lunging at her with speed that would've caught most off guard. But Nykara was already moving. She dodged left, twisting around him before landing a sharp kick to his ribs. He stumbled but didn't fall, recovering quickly and charging at her again. This time, he was smarter—he feinted high and swept his leg low in an attempt to knock her off balance. Too slow.
Nykara leapt over his leg, twisting midair. By the time she landed, she had already drawn her dagger. A flick of her wrist—sharp, precise. The blade buried itself in his side. Silence rippled through the students. Blood seeped through his uniform as he staggered back, clutching the wound. His confidence vanished, replaced with wide-eyed shock. For a brief moment, Nykara hesitated. She hadn't meant to go that far. Or maybe she had. The instructor didn't even blink. Instead, a smirk tugged at his lips. "This is what you signed up for. There are no rules here," he said, voice low, edged with approval.
"Either you learn that now, or you don't make it past the year." He gestured to the wounded boy. "Get up. If you can't, then you don't belong here." Nykara exhaled slowly, pulling the dagger free as her opponent groaned in pain. He was still standing—barely. She met his gaze, watching the flicker of something new in his eyes. Fear. Her lips curled into a slow smirk. Now they knew exactly who they were dealing with. Nykara and Sybil made their way to the library. The day had already been taxing, but Nykara couldn't shake the feeling that some thing was missing, that there was something she was meant to discover.
As they walked through the stone halls, Sybil fell silent, her eyes darting around, as if trying to pick up on something hidden. "I don't know why," Sybil muttered, "but I feel like we're being followed." Nykara raised an eyebrow. "Sybil, you're imagining things." "I don't know," Sybil said, her voice lowering. "It's not like anyone's actually following us. It's more like... something's wrong. Something's off." Nykara didn't argue. They continued in silence, the hum of magic in the air getting heavier with each step. The library loomed before them, a quiet sanctuary where the weight of knowledge hung in the air like the scent of old leather-bound books. Sybil, always the curious one, had pulled Nykara aside after class one day, a glint of intrigue in her eyes. "You feel that?" she had asked, her voice barely a whisper. "There's something here. I'm sure of it."
Nykara had followed her without question, and together, they found their way to a section of the library that was cordoned off with thick curtains of dust and cobwebs. A sign above the entrance read Restricted Access, but that only made Sybil more determined. "No one's ever told us about this place," Sybil said, her voice half-embarrassed, half-excited. "What do you think's hidden here?" Nykara asked, her voice barely audible. The lock didn't take long to break. Sybil, with her uncanny knowledge of wards and magic, quickly worked her way through the runes. As the door creaked open, they stepped inside. Sybil didn't answer right away, instead pushing past the curtain and leading Nykara into a small, dimly lit section of the library.
The air was thick with the scent of old paper and ink. Shelves lined the walls, but there were no signs or labels marking what was kept within. Rows upon rows of old, forgotten records lined the shelves. The air smelled like dust and parchment, and Nykara's heartbeat quickened as she sifted through the pages, searching for something—anything—that could tell her more about what was going on at Obsidian Academy. They sifted through the shelves, their fingers brushing over the old tomes and dusty scrolls, until they found something that caught Sybil's attention. Then, she found it. The book. The records of the students who had attended Obsidian Academy.
But the names... something was wrong. Some of them had been completely erased, entire pages torn out, and others had odd markings on them. When Nykara flipped through to the last few pages, a chill ran down her spine. The last record was marked with a symbol, one that seemed almost familiar to her, but she couldn't place it. "Something's not right," she whispered, scanning the pages. "These names... they're gone. Why would they be erased?" Sybil leaned over her shoulder. "Maybe they never existed to begin with." Her voice was barely a whisper . Nykara frowned, taking a step closer to look. The pages were filled with names of students, most of them from years ago. But next to each one, there was a single red line drawn through their name.
It was as though they had been erased from history—wiped from memory. She traced her finger over one of the names—Marion Calloway. There was no other record of this person in the academy, and it seemed like they had never existed at all. "Who were they?" Nykara asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Why were they erased?" Sybil didn't answer. Instead, she continued to flip through the book, her eyes scanning for more. It wasn't until they reached the last page that Nykara saw it—Azrael Wren—the name that stopped her in her tracks. She felt a chill run down her spine as she read it aloud.
"Azrael Wren... this is the rogue mage's name," Sybil muttered, a sudden realization in her voice. Nykara's eyes widened. "How do you know?" "Because the rumors..." Sybil trailed off, looking around nervously as if someone might be listening. "Azrael Wren was the mage who disappeared years ago. He was connected to Obsidian Academy somehow, but no one ever talks about him. It's like they erased him from the history of this place." They heard footsteps then—footsteps that echoed in the silence of the library, a warning that they weren't alone. Before they could retreat, a second-year student appeared, his eyes cold and calculating. He was leaning casually against the shelf, arms crossed.
"You're digging where you shouldn't," he said, his voice smooth but with an undeniable edge. "This isn't the kind of place you want to dig into." Nykara met his gaze, unflinching. "We were just... curious." His smile was thin, almost predatory. "Curiosity can be dangerous, especially when it involves things better left alone." His gaze flickered over to Sybil, then back to Nykara. "Keep poking around, and you might not like what you find. Trust me. You don't want to get caught in things you can't undo." He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His voice dropped to a low growl. "I suggest you forget everything you saw here. For your own sake." The weight of his words hung heavy in the air as he turned and disappeared into the shadows. Nykara stood frozen, her breath shallow, her heart pounding.
There was something about him—something dangerous—and his warning felt more like a threat. But she wasn't going to be scared off so easily. If anything, it only fueled her determination. Whatever secrets Obsidian Academy was hiding, she was going to uncover them.