I woke up feeling utterly drained, my muscles heavy with fatigue. My head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache as I struggled to sit up.
"Fuck!" I muttered, clutching my temples.
"You're awake," an unfamiliar male voice said.
I looked up, squinting through the dim light. Standing before me was an old man with crisp, white hair and a face etched with deep wrinkles.
"Who the hell are you?" I asked, my voice cracking. "And where the fuck am I?"
I scanned the small space. It wasn't my bedroom. I was in a small wooden cottage where the ceiling was a patchwork of straw and timber. The walls were made of rough clay, and the small wooden windows were draped with short, aged curtains that looked dusty
"My name is Astor," he began, his voice dry. "Your mum is away. She has gone to search for your sister. In the meantime, she asked me to take care of you. How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," I lied, the memories of the attack flooding back. Those horrible, guttural creatures... even in sleep, they had haunted my nightmares. "What is this place?"
"You are in Yzer," Astor replied. "It's a small kingdom, part of the Witch Realm."
I stared at him, sure I had misheard. "I'm sorry... the what realm?"
"The Witch Realm," he repeated, sounding incredibly bored, as if he'd explained this a thousand times. He turned away, stroking toward a wooden cabinet. He pulled out a bundle of clothes and dropped them unceremoniously onto the bed.
"You stink, my friend," he said bluntly. "You have the odour of a dead rat. Have a shower. Food is almost ready, join me for dinner when you're done. And if you don't take a bath, don't come close to me—and don't expect any food." the old man grumbled, his voice trailing off as he retreated toward the kitchen.
What the hell? Did he seriously just compare me to a dead rat? My first instinct was to lung across the cottage and punch the arrogance right out of his wrinkled face. Who did he think he was? I didn't smell that bad... did I? I lifted an arm and took a cautious sniff. I nearly choked.
God. Okay, maybe "rotten pig" was more accurate. My skin felt tacky with sweat and grime, and my hair was a bird's nest of tangles. "Where's the shower?" I muttered to the empty room. I spotted a low wooden door tucked into the corner and forced myself to stand. My legs felt like jelly—weak, clammy, and barely capable of holding my weight.
The next thirty minutes were a special kind of torture. There was no "shower," only a weathered wooden tub filled with water that felt like it had been scooped directly from a glacier. The soaps were grey, hard blocks that smelled of nothing at all. Shivering violently, I scrubbed until my skin was raw, desperate to wash away the scent of the monsters and the smoke of my old life.
I emerged draped in a loose, sapphire-blue robe, leaving my long black hair to hang wet and heavy down my back. I stepped back into the main room and saw him—the old guy. What was his name again? Asher? Dammit. I was never good with names, even when the world wasn't ending.
"Hurry up," he ordered, not even looking up as he gestured toward a scarred wooden chair at the table. I sank into the seat, my body still trembling from the cold. He began ladling a portion of rice onto a battered metal plate, the steam rising between us like a white flag of peace then added a strange, black jelly liquid to the centre of it.
Gross, I thought, staring down at the shivering dark mass. I took my spoon and poked at it, my appetite fading.
"Taste it. It's delicious," he said, not even looking up from his own meal.
"When is my mom coming back?" I asked instead, ignoring the food.
"When is my mom coming back?" I asked instead, ignoring the food.
His face went grim. "I don't know," he said, stuffing a large bite into his mouth.
"Have you known her for long?" I pressed. "Has she lived here before?"
He swallowed slowly before answering. "Your mom is a powerful witch, Vivian. I've known her since she was a little girl." He paused, his eyes softening just a fraction. "I knew your dad, too."
"You knew my dad?" I shrieked, nearly knocking over my chair.
"Yes." His voice was suddenly thick with sadness.
"Mom never talks about him," I whispered.
"Because the memories are too painful," Astor said simply, his eyes meeting mine. "Now, eat up to gain your strength. You're going to need it".
Almost unconsciously, I lifted a spoonful of the rice and black jelly to my mouth, my mind spinning with thoughts of a father I had never met—or perhaps, just didn't remember him.
"Mmm," I involuntarily moaned. The food was incredible.
"This is so good!" I said, my reservations vanishing as I began shovelling the meal into my mouth, especially that bizarre black stew.
The old man actually smiled, continuing to eat his own portion. "I told you".
In minutes, I had licked the plate clean. I mean, literally.
"Did you cast a spell into the food or something?" I asked, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. "This is better than eating at any five-star restaurant back home."
Astor's eyes shined with a mischievous glint. "It's just a simple recipe... I boiled the rice with cow pee; that's what gave it the slight yellow color. The stew itself is a delicate blend of fermented lizard and rat droppings. I believe I tossed in a dash of chicken poo at the end, just for a bit of extra kick".
He smiled sheepishly at me, his blue eyes glowing in the dim light of the cottage.
"What?!" I breathed. I wanted to gag. "What the fuck? Why would you—"
I grabbed a napkin and started frantically scrubbing my mouth. Eww! Good lord, what the fuck. Why me? I stood up, jumping frantically, wanting to puke up everything I'd just eaten.
"I think I also mixed pig semen with the meat," he added casually.
I glared at him, my eyes welling up with tears of pure disgust. "What the fuck? That's so disgusting. Aargh!"
But he only laughed at my reaction, a deep, wheezing sound. I knew right then that this was going to haunt me for the rest of my life.
"It's very nutritious," he said, still chuckling.
"Don't you dare!" I warned, pointing a finger at him.
He just stood up, taking our empty plates and dumping them into a basin of water, still grinning like he'd just pulled off the greatest prank in history.
"Your mother has gone back to the human realm to look for your sister," Astor said, his playfulness vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "I warned her that it could be dangerous, but she never listens."
My heart sank at his words. Janette. Where could she even be? Was she safe… or dead?
"Your sister might be dead for all we know," he continued bluntly. "If not, she's being held as a captive. The Nephilim are dangerous creatures. The Shadow Prince created them for one purpose—destruction."
"Who is the Shadow Prince?" I asked, the name sending a cold shiver down my spine.
"He is the King of the Shadow Realm. He's recklessly determined to rule all the nine realms of the universe. No one knows why he suddenly struck, but he is very dangerous."
"Nine realms?" I repeated, trying to wrap my head around the scale of it.
"Yes," he said, leaning against the counter. "There are nine realms in the universe, each containing many kingdoms. We have the Fae Realm, the Lycan Realm, the Vampire Realm, the Witch Realm, the Elemental Realm, the Shadow Realm, the Mortal Realm, the Beast Realm, and lastly, the Glass Realm."
He paused, letting the weight of the names settle in the quiet room. "People belonging to each realm have a defined power. It's only those from the Mortal Realm that are powerless. Your mother is a witch because her family hails from the Witch Realm. Your father was also a witch."
"So… does that mean I'm a witch?" I asked, the realization of everything dawning on me. I couldn't believe my mother had hidden this from me my entire life.
"Yes," he said simply. "I wish I could elaborate further on the history of the nine realms to you, but I'm afraid I can't."
"I'm needed urgently at the palace court," Astor said, his voice tightening with a sudden seriousness. "And your mother won't be coming back anytime soon. I won't be able to take care of you here, and I certainly can't leave you alone. It's too dangerous."
"So what are we going to do?" I asked, my anxiety spiking.
"We need to leave," he said, slinging a white satchel over his shoulder.
"But it's late!" I protested, looking toward the dark windows.
"I know. Better late than never."
I followed him outside, frowning, and my jaw dropped when I saw what was waiting for us. We climbed into a heavy wooden carriage, but there was no road. The air outside was chilly, and Astor tossed me a thick blanket.
"Embrace yourself," he warned, grabbing the reins.
It was pitch black as we sat secluded in a thick, gloomy forest. Then, before I could even anticipate what was happening, I heard the thunderous flapping of massive wings. Suddenly, the ground vanished. We took off into the sky.
I started screaming like I was raving mad. "The fucken horses are flying in the sky! They are fucken flying!"
The G-force hit me like a physical blow. Finally, my stomach gave up. I puked all over, the mess disappearing into the open air below us. Everything came out. I was so sick. Fuck!
I don't know when I finally dozed off from the exhaustion and the motion sickness. But when I opened my eyes again, the world had changed. The sun was rising—not from the East, but from the North.
Fuck! That can't be right.
"Good morning, child!" Astor called out over the rushing wind.
"Where are we?" I asked, squinting against the breeze. We were still high in the air, the wind blasting furiously into my face.
"Behold," he cried, gesturing to the sprawling horizon. "The great city of Irackus!"
"I-ra-c-ku-us!" I said, tasting the strange and rich syllables in my mouth.
From this height, the view was staggering. Below us lay a metropolis teeming with life, punctuated by colossal statues of ancient warriors that seemed to keep watch over the crowds. But my eyes were drawn to a dark, jagged castle hovering miles away, its spires clawing at the sky and its base shrouded in a dense, primeval forest.
Astor guided us down, landing with surprising grace right before the fortress's massive gates.
"Is that the palace?" I asked, my voice barely a breath. The sheer scale of the stone walls and towering battlements made me feel like an ant.
"What? No!" Astor gasped. "This is M.O.S.U"
"M.O.S.U!" I repeated, confused.
A big, tall, burly guard with an intense moustache and beard, wearing black armour, said something to Astor. The old man showed the guard a golden badge, and the guard nodded.
"Open the gates!" the guard bellowed.
"Yes, M.O.S.U.—the Mother of Souls University," Astor said as we passed through the massive gates. "A college where students from across the nine realms study and harness their powers. It is a safe place. The Headmistress is an immortal, powerful witch, and she has set enchanted golems everywhere. The Nephilim cannot enter here." he said firmly as the flying horses galloped inside the compound.
The place felt like a living, ancient artwork. The compound was vast, filled with lush gardens, vibrant flowers, and towering trees that seemed to hum with energy. I gasped as I saw the people walking the grounds. They weren't like anyone I had seen in the mortal realm they all had beastly, beautiful characteristics.
I saw a boy with long, curved horns protruding from his head. He was walking and laughing with a girl who had massive, feathered wings tucked against her back. Her nose was shaped like a sharp, black protruding beak.
Everything felt surreal.
The walls of the school were old with age, the stones weathered and covered in a fine layer of moss that seemed to glow faintly in the northern sunlight. It looked more like a fortress than a university, a place built to withstand centuries of war.