Elowen's train rattled through the countryside, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels blending with the soft sigh of the autumn wind. She pressed her forehead against the cold glass, watching the landscape blur into a haze of amber leaves and skeletal trees. Ashcroft Academy had always existed in stories whispered among ambitious students like her-an institution so prestigious, so forbidding, that it had become a legend in its own right. And now, at seventeen, she was part of that legend.
The station was a small, forgotten thing, perched on the edge of a forest so thick it seemed alive, as though it had been standing guard for centuries. smoke from the distant chimneys curled into the evening sky, and the fading sunlight painted the horizon with bruised purples and fiery golds. Elowen lifted her bag from the luggage cart, her fingers trembled slightly. There was a weight to the air, a sense that she had stepped into a world deliberately built to intimidate, to awe, to separate the ordinary from extraordinary.
As she walked along the cobblestone path leading to the academy, the Gothic towers loomed overhead, their spires clawing at the sky. Gargoyles perched along the rooftops, staring down with stone eyes that seemed to follow her every step. Ivy crept along the walls, thick and tangled, swallowing bricks and mortar alike. She pulled her coat tighter around her, as much against the chill as against the unease creeping up her spine.
A group of students passed her on the path, their laughter sharp and quick. They moved with a strange confidence, heads held high, voices clipped with the refinement of endless tutoring and expectation. Elowen noticed their eyes lingered just a moment too long, a careful calculation in their gaze, as if measuring her worth without words. She felt herself shrink under the invisible scrutiny. Here, mediocrity has no place.
The main doors of Ashcroft Academy swung open with a heavy groan, revealing a grand hall bathed in flickering candlelight. The walls were lined with portraits of long-dead headmasters, their eyes oddly lifelike, following her entrance. The floor was a mosaic of dark marble, polished until it reflected the chandeliers above like pools of liquid gold. Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of piano keys echoed through the corridors, a solitary melody that felt both uninviting and foreboding.
"Miss Elowen?" A voice called. She turned to see a man in a sharply tailored coat approaching, his expression unreadable."Welcome to Ashcroft. I am Mr Whitaker, your liaison and mentor during your first term." His handshake was firm, almost too firm, as if testing her resolve.
Elowen nodded, her voice caught somewhere between awe and apprehension. "Thank you, sir." He led her thought the hallways, each corridor more elaborate than the last. Tapestries depicted hunting scenes, ancient battles, and scholars locked in deep study. Some images seemed familiar, as if they had belonged to dreams she'd forgotten. The scent of old paper, polished wood, and a faint trace of something metallic hung in the air. Elowen wondered how many secrets these halls had witnessed, how many ambitions had flared and died within them.
Finally they arrived at a room tucked in the corner of the east wing. It was modest compared to the grandeur outside- a simple four poster bed, a desk cluttered with books, anda wardrobe large enough to swallow her entire trunk. A window overlooked the forest, where shadows stretched and twisted as the sun disappeared behind the trees.
"This will be your room for the term." Mr. Whitaker said. "Dinner will be at seven. I suggest you familiarize yourself with the library before then. Ashcroft rewards the curious."
Curious. The word sent a shiver down her spine. Curiosity, she knew, often demanded a price.
Once the door clicked behind him, Elowen moved to the window. The forest outside was alive with movement-leaves rustling without wind, the distant flicker of candlelight in what must have been other dormitories. Somewhere deep into the shadows, she thought she glimpsed a figure, pale and still, watching her. When she blinked, it was gone.
The first night at Ashcroft was quiet but unrelenting. Elowen unpacked slowly, arranging her books and papers in careful stacks. She read by the dim light of her desk lamp, each word carrying a strange weight, as though the sentences themselves were alive and observant. Hours passed. Outside, the academy exhaled into the darkness, whispering secrets only the walls could understand.
And then, a sound. A soft, deliberate tap against her window. Elowen froze, heart hammering. The forest beyond seemed empty—yet the sound came again, slower this time, deliberate. She leaned closer, straining to see through the thick ivy. Nothing. Just the endless night and the whisper of trees.
Her first thought was to dismiss it, a trick of nerves, or perhaps a branch brushing against the glass. But deep down, she knew this was only the beginning. The academy had eyes, and it had ways of letting newcomers know they were being watched.
Elowen closed her notebook, extinguished her lamp, and crawled under the covers, staring into the shadows that pooled in the corners of her room. She could feel the pulse of Ashcroft Academy around her, like a living thing, breathing and waiting. And as she drifted toward an uneasy sleep, she vowed silently: she would not be swallowed. She would learn its secrets, no matter the cost.
Outside, the wind whispered through the spires. Somewhere, hidden in the dark, someone—or something—smiled.