I took a slow breath, the air cold and sharp in my lungs. When the door opened again, I turned too fast, and the room tilted as dizziness swept through me.
The man who entered was tall and lean, dressed in black that seemed to swallow the light rather than reflect it. His hair was silver-grey, not from age, but as though the colour had been drained from it. His eyes, a muted blue or grey depending on the light, held a quiet gravity. The kind belonging to someone who had seen too much and survived anyway.
"Serra," he said. His voice was soft, measured, speaking my name like it was something fragile.
I nodded, my throat too dry to answer.
"I'm Instructor Kael," he continued. "Please, sit."
I obeyed, lowering myself into the chair across from him, my hands clasped tightly in my lap.
"Did Lyla explain the process?" he asked as he settled into his own seat, resting his hands loosely on his knees.
"Somewhat," I murmured.
He offered a faint smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Then I'll only say this: nothing you see can harm you. You may experience emotions, perhaps memories, but they cannot touch you physically. It's important that you stay calm as you move through the process."
He spoke with practiced gentleness, like someone who had said these words more times than he could count.
I swallowed. "You'll see my memories?"
"Yes," he said simply.
Kael lifted his hands, and a faint silver glow gathered around them, not warm like fire, but cold and luminous, like distilled moonlight. He reached for my wrist, brushing his thumb along the pulse point. The touch sent a chill racing up my arm. My hand jerked reflexively, but he caught it again, steadier this time, grounding me.
The glow brightened as he worked, threads of silver drifting beneath my skin, following the riverpaths of my veins.
"Each person's core carries an emotional signature," he said. "The Unveiling lets us witness its source — the moment of ignition, and the emotion it bonded with. That's how we determine your House."
I nodded faintly, though my heart was pounding against my ribs hard enough to bruise.
Kael raised his other hand, hovering it just a breath from my face. "May I?"
A moment's hesitation. Then I nodded.
His fingers brushed my temple and warmth surged through me. Not gentle warmth. Something alive, like it was searching for something, burrowing deeper, curling behind my ribs.
"Close your eyes," Kael murmured.
The light swelled. Then everything broke apart.
I wasn't sitting anymore. I was falling. Air screamed past my ears, colours and sounds smeared together in violent streaks. Voices tore through the noise — mine, Eli's, my mother's — tangled and distorted. I reached for something, anything, but my fingers sank through smoke.
Then, impact.
I was standing in my old kitchen.
The smell of burnt toast.
The click of cutlery.
Eli's laughter echoing down the hall.
He was there, alive, smiling, golden in the morning light. My chest ached with something bright and unbearable.
But then the light shifted. The walls stretched. Darkened. Rotted. The floor split under my feet. The air thickened, humming with a low, hungry vibration that grew into a scream.
"Serra," Kael's voice drifted toward me, warped and distant, like he was calling from underwater. "Focus and breathe."
The kitchen dissolved into mud. Rain hammered my skin. I was running, lungs burning, feet sinking into the earth. I didn't remember this. Where was I? What was I running from?
The world lurched again. The old house. Dust and damp wood. The hallway that had always felt haunted.
Then... the gunshot.
It cracked through the air like lightning. But it didn't stop this time.
It looped. Again. Again. The same deafening burst, pounding against my skull until I thought my mind would split. I fell to my knees, hands clamped over my ears. "Make it stop!" I screamed.
Kael's voice strained, no longer calm, struggling beneath the distortion. "You're resisting. You need to let it show you."
"I can't—"
"You must."
The world convulsed. Sound collapsed into suffocating silence. Colours bled away until nothing remained but blinding white.
And there, at the center of it, was me.
Not the girl sitting in the chair.
A figure of trembling light, hands pressed over her heart, something raw and unstable burning in her chest.
I felt the pull before I saw it. A deep intake of breath from the world itself. The air fractured. Memories spilled open like wounds:
Eli's laughter.
My mother's voice.
The smell of gunpowder.
The sound of rain.
They merged, spiraled, collapsed into each other until nothing made sense.
The light started swelling from my chest, blinding me, even with my eyes closed. It crawled across the floor like veins, reaching toward Kael's presence somewhere beyond the brightness.
"Serra, focus!" His voice snapped sharper now.
The world buckled. Suddenly I was back in the house. Running. Rain smearing the sky. The gunshot again, relentless, shattering every breath.
"What are you feeling?" Kael demanded. His voice was close now, tinged with panic beneath the calm. "Tell me, Serra!"
"I—" My throat closed. My chest splintered with pain. "I'm scared!" I choked out. "I'm fucking terrified!"
The word split the white open. Light erupted from my chest, rippling outward like the beat of a giant heart. The gunshot shattered into dust. The house faded. The rain dissolved. Eli's laughter, the firelight, my mother's voice, all folding in on themselves like burned paper.
And then I was back.
The Hall of Mirrors reassembled around me in jagged pieces. I was still in the chair, shaking. My palms were slick with sweat. Across from me, Kael sat frozen, staring at the glass panel beside him. Strange symbols flickered across its surface, gold lines, then blue, then a deeper shade that vanished before I could see it clearly.
He touched the panel, brow furrowing. "Stronger than expected," he murmured.
"What... what did you see?" I whispered. My voice sounded scraped raw.
Kael looked up, face unreadable. "Fear," he said at last. "Your core is Fear-aligned. Deep resonance. Potent, but stable now."
"Fear," I echoed. The word sat heavy and wrong in my mouth.
He hesitated before adding quietly, "Fear isn't weakness, Serra. It's survival. It keeps us alive when nothing else will."
His tone softened, but something behind his eyes flickered, doubt, concern, something he quickly smothered. He brushed the panel again as if quickly reassesing and then he straightened abruptly, composure snapping into place. "The session is complete. You did well."
I tried to nod. My limbs felt unsteady, my pulse drumming unevenly. The air still buzzed faintly beneath my skin.
"You'll receive your placement shortly. Rest, Serra. The Unveiling always takes its toll," He was already moving towards the door.
It closed behind him, leaving only the echo of my heartbeat. When I finally stood, my legs wobbled. My reflection in the nearest panel shimmered like water disturbed. Light pulsed faintly under my skin, soft, trembling.
I stepped into the corridor. Noise washed over me in a quiet rush, murmured voices, distant footsteps, the low hum of Velanor everyday life. I half expected to see Lyla waiting, bouncing on her heels, ready to demand every detail.
But the hall was empty.
Of course it was. She had her own life, her own House to return to.
I moved slowly, my thoughts still tangled, fragments of memory and white light twisting together until I couldn't tell what was real.
I hadn't gone far when a voice called out, deep and calm. "Serra, right?"
I turned, startled. A boy stood at the end of the hall, a little older than me, relaxed posture, but sharp eyes that seemed to take in everything. His uniform was trimmed in deep blue, not Lyla's violet.
"The Headmistress sent me," he said as he approached. "Instructor Kael reported your alignment. I'm to take you to your new quarters — the House of Fear."
He sounded proud when he said it.
But something inside me still recoiled at the word Fear.
"Come on," he added, a soft laugh under his voice. "You look like you're about to fall over."
He wasn't wrong. Every step felt like moving through water.
The walk through the Academy was long, a labyrinth of grand corridors that curled into one another, endless and disorienting. Not ideal, I thought, when your mind had just been dragged through every memory you wanted to forget.
He told me his name was Ryn. He didn't talk much, which I appreciated. Every sound felt too loud. My head still echoed with Kael's voice, the gunshot, the white light.
As we walked, the architecture shifted.
Marble gave way to darker stone veined with silver.
The air thinned and cooled.
The hum of the Academy changed pitch, settling into something steadier.
"What is this place, really?" I asked quietly.
Ryn looked over. "Velanor?"
"Yes."
He shrugged. "Depends who you ask. Sanctuary for some. Cage for others. Most of us fall somewhere in between."
"And you?"
A soft, humourless laugh. "I haven't decided yet."
We turned down a hall lined with tall windows of blue and silver glass. The fractured light painted Ryn in shifting colours.
"Is it normal to feel like this after the Unveiling?" I asked.
"Like you're still falling?" he said without hesitation.
I blinked. "Yes."
"Normal enough. The core wakes quickly. Your body takes longer to catch up." He glanced at me again, voice softening. "You'll get used to it."
Eventually, we reached a set of double doors made of dark metal, engraved with winding lines that looked almost alive. When Ryn pressed his hand against them, the engravings glowed a cool blue, stirring like breath.
Above the arch was a single word:
Metus.
Latin for fear, I recognized.
"This is us," Ryn said. "Fewer people than in other Houses. Quieter."
"Quieter sounds nice," I murmured.
The doors opened without sound.
Cold rolled out to greet us.
Inside, blue candles flickered in glass orbs along the walls. The ceiling arched high above us, disappearing into shadow. Silver veins pulsed faintly across the dark stone floors, as though the building itself carried its own heartbeat.
Strangely, it was beautiful, not warm or soft, but honest. A place that didn't hide what it was.
Students passed by occasionally, all wearing blue-trimmed uniforms. Some nodded at Ryn. Others looked at me with quiet curiosity before turning away.
We reached a door near the top of the stairs. The sigil engraved on it pulsed softly when Ryn approached.
"This one's yours," he said. "You'll get your schedule later and meals are downstairs in the Atrium."
I hesitated. "You live here too?"
He nodded. "End of the hall. If you need anything, just..." He paused, searching for the right words, then offered a small, genuine smile. "Just knock."
"Thank you," I said.
He left with quiet steps.
The door opened under my hand with a soft sigh.
I froze.
The room wasn't cold or harsh or empty as I'd feared.
It was... beautiful.
Tall arched windows draped in sheer smoke-coloured fabric filled the space with muted light. The walls were dark stone, threaded with silver veins that pulsed faintly beneath the surface. A narrow bed stood near the center, deep blue sheets stitched with silver thread that shimmered when the light touched them.
Above it, delicate lanterns hung at different heights, their soft blue glow breathing in and out like a living thing.
Fear had an aesthetic, I realized.
Elegant. Honest. Unapologetic.
I stepped inside. The door whispered shut behind me.
My reflection met me in the small silver-framed mirror across the room. Pale. Uncertain. Light flickering faintly beneath my skin, soft now, almost pretty.
I sank onto the bed, fingertips brushing the silver embroidery on the blanket. The threads shimmered delicately, like something that might unravel if I pushed too hard.
Outside, fog pressed against the windows, drifting slow and quiet, like a living thing waiting for me to breathe.