EPISODE TWO: THE DARK MATRON

PROLOGUE TWO: THE WOLF

Thirty Years Ago

Marcus

I dashed across the rooftops, gasping for breath as the icy air whipped against my face, each sharp inhale a jolting reminder of the horror surrounding me. The rhythmic thud of my feet striking the shingles harmonized with my heavy panting, creating a bizarre cadence of fear and adrenaline.

Squinting into the distance, I spotted Volcan and Victoria ahead, shadows moving with purpose against the black sky. Even further ahead, looming ominously, was the Werewolf—a monstrous silhouette hunched over something at its feet.

As I caught up with Volcan and Victoria, a wave of dread washed over me; there, beside the werewolf’s feet lay a fresh kill: the lifeless body of a young woman, not even twenty.

Victoria’s curse slipped through clenched teeth like hot steam in the frigid air. With determination, she clapped her hands together; as she spread them apart, a shimmering silver spear emerged from between her palms. Her gaze was locked onto the beast, charged with a seething mix of hatred and sorrow. With a fierce grip, she drew back her arm and released the spear, which soared through the air, cutting through the night with a vibrant whistle before embedding itself into the wolf's left shoulder blade.

The creature recoiled, its skin sizzling as it howled in agony, ravenous eyes darting toward us. It clawed at the spear, yanking it free before snapping it in two, like a twig, the remnants dissipating into a glimmering cloud of vapor.

Unfazed, Victoria summoned another identical weapon with a swift clap, launching it again with an echoing battle cry. But the beast, now fully aware of our presence, swatted the spear aside with alarming speed, its impact resonating through the desolate town like a thunderclap. The spear clattered on a nearby rooftop, the sound echoing throughout the dark town. The massive wolf lowered itself onto all fours, foamy drool dribbling from its snarling jaws as it lunged toward us. Volcan lowered himself into a crouch, seeming to be preparing for battle with a steely resolve.

He tightly gripped his sword, closing his eyes as if centering himself in the chaos around us. I was immobilized by sheer terror, unable to tear my gaze away as the beast charged, its ferocity palpable. In an instant, the creature leaped high into the air, poised to land upon Volcan with the intent of tearing him apart. But before I could blink, Volcan's eyes snapped open. A flash of movement, and suddenly he was behind the beast, as if defying time itself.

The Werewolf crashed down onto the rooftop where Volcan had stood moments before, sending a shower of shingles flying like confetti in the wake of its violent descent. The monster’s wretched whimper mingled with the cacophony, and I was stunned to see blood seep from its belly, glistening under the faint glow of moonlight.

Volcan stood tall, his blade now a dark crimson, dripping with the beast's blood. Had he really sliced it that swiftly? I could barely fathom what had just happened.

The Werewolf, still struggling to regain its footing, looked around frantically, as if searching for solace amid the chaos. For just a heartbeat, its eyes met mine, and I saw a flicker of humanity, a brief glimmer of desperation that tugged at my heart before it vanished, consumed by the monstrous rage once more. The beast crouched low, claws bared with malevolent intent, its focus shifting entirely to me.

My heart raced uncontrollably, pounding like a war drum in my chest, yet my limbs felt as heavy as stone, frozen in a paralyzing grip of fear. Silhouetted against the dim light, it surged forward with astonishing swiftness, its eyes glinting like shards of obsidian. I could see its sharp teeth gleaming as it curled its lips back in a menacing snarl, muscles rippling under matted fur as it descended upon me, a whirlwind of primal fury. Time slowed to a crawl; in those agonizing moments, I felt trapped in a nightmarish tableau, acutely aware of every detail—the acrid scent of its breath and the ground trembling beneath its powerful strides—yet utterly powerless to escape.

Present Day

Olivia

“On the count of three,” Claire yelled, her voice resonating through my head.

My eyes were shut tight, and I could barely hear anything over the loud buzzing in my ears, yet her voice was in my mind clear as day. I gripped Hector’s hand tighter. I could feel his warm presence approaching like a protective aura, along with Claire and Lucas. They surrounded the thing inside of me, the source of all my pain. They were ready to strike. But no. At that moment, I knew it wouldn’t work. He wouldn’t allow it.

“One… two… three…” The world fell silent.

A gentle wave of warmth enveloped my body, wrapping me in an embrace that seemed to dissolve the tension clawing at my temples, allowing my headache to dissipate like morning mist under the sun. The air around me smelled rich with the comforting aroma of cinnamon, mingling with the earthy undertones of incense, creating an inviting atmosphere that felt like a soothing balm for my senses. As I shifted slightly, the melodic tick-tock of an aged clock punctuated the tranquil silence. I opened my eyes.

I found myself in a small crimson room. The room was entirely circular, with one door on the far end and just one window covered with a deep red velvet curtain. It was about the size of my own bedroom but bursting with intricate detail that captivated my senses. The walls, adorned with sumptuous woven red wallpaper, shimmered with delicate patterns of glossy leaves that seemed to dance in the soft light. At the heart of the room stood an elegantly crafted wooden table, its surface covered with a silk tablecloth, showcasing a stunning tea set. The porcelain pieces, with their intricate floral designs and gold trim, sparkled enticingly, inviting me to sit and savor the moment. The room was exquisitely illuminated by a tapestry of flickering candles, artfully scattered across the polished wooden floor and nestled within ornate holders. Each candlewick flickered with a life of its own, casting soft, warm glows that shimmered like tiny stars against the walls, creating intricate patterns of light and shadow. The golden flames swayed gently, their captivating dance stirring a sense of serenity, while the delicate scent of melting wax mingled with the incense, enveloping the space in a cozy, intimate embrace.

On the wall opposite the covered window, a magnificent clock commanded attention. Crafted from rich, dark mahogany, the timepiece exuded an air of elegance with its glossy finish that caught the light. Elaborate carvings of seven humanoid, horned figures adorned its frame, each caught in mid-dance, their expressions frozen in joyful exuberance, as if time itself had paused to capture their lively movements. The centerpiece of the clock was a large, lustrous gold pendulum, which swayed gracefully back and forth, featuring an intricately carved image of a serene, beautiful woman whose flowing dress seemed to flutter with every swing. Strangely, the clock's face was devoid of any numbers or hands—an empty expanse of pristine white that presented a stark contrast to the ornate artistry surrounding it. Yet, as if independently of its face, the clock continued to tick steadily, the rhythmic sound echoing softly in the room, while the pendulum swung with a hypnotic precision, marking the passage of time in its own enigmatic way. The door swung open, and I turned my attention toward it.

“Good evening, Olivia,” a voice said from the darkness. A figure emerged from the dim shadow of the door frame, stepping into the warm, flickering glow of candlelight that danced across the room. My breath caught in my throat, as though a weight had settled upon my chest. Gazing upon him, the first word that surged through my mind was “Devil.”

He towered over me, an imposing seven feet tall, his crimson skin glistening like freshly spilled blood in the soft light. His head was adorned with formidable horns that jutted skyward, casting imposing shadows against the walls, while his long, silky hair spilled down his back, dark as the night but glimmering with an otherworldly sheen. His features were a striking blend of beauty and menace—high cheekbones carved like sculptures, an angular jawline that seemed too harsh for anything mortal, and eyes that burned like twin pools of molten red, devoid of any hint of humanity, swirling with an unsettling depth. He wore intricately beaded formal robes of deep black, the fabric rich and heavy, though age had etched itself into the threads, fraying slightly at the edges as if whispering tales of long-forgotten grandeur. Despite the terrifying aura he exuded, a pulse of recognition tickled at the back of my mind, a stubborn thought insisting that I had encountered this figure before—perhaps in a dream that danced just out of reach of my memory.

“Wh—what are you?” I stuttered, stumbling back against the wall.

“Please don’t be frightened,” he said, extending one of his hands. His fingernails were like sharp black claws. Though his gesture was meant to be comforting, I couldn’t help but imagine him slicing through my skin. “I have no intention of hurting you.”

With a graceful flourish of his hand, he executed an intricate gesture that seemed to dance through the air; in response, the chair closest to me glided backward on its own, the wood whispering softly against the floor as it positioned itself invitingly. “Please have a seat.”

I took a deep breath and slowly lowered myself onto the chair, my eyes locked on him. He swiftly pulled out the chair across from me and sat down gracefully.

“You’re a demon, aren’t you?” I said, my voice trembling. He let out a small chuckle, revealing a mouth full of pristine white, albeit sharp, teeth.

“I’m not, if you would believe it,” he said softly.

“Then what are you?” I asked.

“A friend,” he said. “Unfortunately, that’s as much as I can say for the time being.”

He reached for the gleaming teapot, its surface glinting softly in the muted light, and expertly tilted it, allowing a fragrant stream of warm, golden-brown tea to cascade into the delicate porcelain cup positioned nearest to me. The steam from the cup wafted up as he filled his own cup with the same care. I leaned closer, mesmerized, as the liquid danced and swirled in my cup like warm silk, its surface reflecting the rich amber hues of the tea. Each gentle ripple seemed to tell a story, inviting me to lose myself in its warmth and comfort.

“It’s just tea,” he remarked, a soothing smile spreading across his face like the morning sun breaking through the clouds. He lifted his porcelain cup to his lips, the cup dwarfed in his massive hands, savoring the rich aroma that wafted toward him before taking a long, deliberate sip. As he swallowed, the warmth seemed to embrace him, prompting a contented sigh to escape his lips; he carefully set the cup back onto its ornate saucer with a gentle clink. Raising his eyebrows playfully as he met my gaze, his eyes sparkled with an inviting charm, as if encouraging me to share in this tranquil moment.

Gingerly, I lifted my delicate porcelain cup, the faint clinking sound echoing in the stillness as my hands trembled with anticipation. Bringing it to my lips, I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, allowing the intoxicating aroma of fresh jasmine blossoms to envelop me like a warm embrace. It was my absolute favorite, a nectar of tranquility from my childhood memories. With a deliberate slowness, I took a small, measured sip; the velvety warmth of the tea cascaded down my throat, spreading a soothing glow throughout my body that melted away the tension I didn’t realize I was holding. He relaxed with a satisfied smile.

“My name is Kai-Linder,” he said. He raised one finger and etched neatly drawn letters that lingered in mid-air with a red glow.

K-h-x-l-y-n-d-’-r.

“I’m Olivia,” I said, feeling a pang of foolishness, realizing he had already said my name.

“Where are we?” I asked, looking around. “Where are my friends?”

“This is my home,” he said, spreading his arms, the fabric of his robes flowing gracefully. “I’ve been here for millennia,” he said, his brows furrowing. “But that doesn’t really answer your question.”

He waved his hand, and the curtains in front of the window slowly began to draw themselves. I peered through the glass and saw… myself. The first-year lounge was in a state of disrepair, and I was standing in the middle of the room, arms spread with a blank look on my face. My mouth was agape, and my eyes were the same blood-red as Khxlynd’r’s. Time outside of the room seemed to be completely frozen.

“We are still in the school. Your friends are alright.”

“Why are we here? What is this?” I asked as he drew the curtains to a close again.

“I am here to protect you,” he said, leaning in closer. “and to warn you.”

He looked me directly in the eyes, his stare piercing through me like a red-hot knife.

“The Blood Moon is rising,” he said in a hushed tone. “You, your friends, and everyone at your school are in grave danger.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my heart beating faster. “How are we in danger?”

“The Dark Matron,” he said, his words barely above a whisper. “The creator of all black-hearted monstrosities in your world. She will rise again. The key to her resurrection lies in her last creation, a creature who is currently attending your school.”

“Who is it?” I asked, my mind buzzing.

“I can’t tell you because I do not know,” he said in a serious tone. “Someone who has been touched by darkness, a child of the Dark Matron herself. She will send her assassins. Protect the child at all costs. If the child dies, she will rise again.”

He looked up at the faceless clock on the wall and turned back to me.

“I’m afraid we are out of time,” he sighed.

“Wait,” I pleaded. “What do I do? How do I find them?”

“Trust your instincts,” he said, lifting a finger and pointing it toward me. “You are more powerful than you realize. I will be here to protect you.” He reached across the table and gently tapped his finger on my forehead, and with a flash of red light, everything went dark.

I woke up with a start, squinting against the blinding white light that seemed to pour in from every direction. My heart raced as I took in my surroundings and realized I was nestled in the school’s infirmary. The sunlight streamed through the open windows, casting bright patterns on the sterile white walls, which were dotted with clinical decals that felt out of place in this sea of brightness. It was such a stark contrast to the dim, comforting space I had just left behind. My mind raced, trying to reconcile the shift as I rubbed my eyes, still feeling the remnants of whatever had pulled me into this surreal wakefulness.

I lay on a stiff, starchy bed next to the window, a thin white curtain casting a delicate divide between my little sanctuary and the rest of the brightly lit room. Rubbing my forehead gently, I could still sense the lingering warmth of Khxlynd’r’s touch; yet, to my surprise, my headache had vanished like a fleeting dream. It felt as if my entire being had been refreshed. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and planted my bare feet on the cool floor, which sent a slight shiver up my spine. Only then did I spot Hector sleeping soundly in a chair beside my bed, his head leaned back at an awkward angle, blissfully unaware of the world around him. I couldn’t help but wonder if he'd stayed there all night, sacrificing his comfort for my peace. As memories from the previous night danced in my mind, I felt a mix of curiosity and fright swirl together, prompting me to reflect on what had happened.

What was that? It seemed like a dream, and I probably would have written it off as one if I couldn’t still feel Khxlynd’r’s touch and taste the jasmine tea on my tongue. Hector’s eyes blinked open.

“Olivia!” he said suddenly, jumping out of his chair and causing me to nearly jump out of my skin. He placed his hands on my shoulders and examined my face. “Are you all right?” he asked, pulling me into a tight hug.

“I'm fine,” I said with a smile. “Better than fine, actually; I feel great.”

“Olivia?” I heard Claire's voice say from the other side of the curtain. She quickly drew it open, and she and Luke rushed in.

“We were so worried about you,” she said, joining our hug.

“I’m so sorry, guys,” I said, my voice thick with emotion and a lump forming in my throat. Grabbing Luke’s arm, I pulled him into our tight hug, the kind that says more than words ever could. We stood there for what felt like an eternity, the warmth of our embrace soothing the raw edges of yesterday's chaos, letting the weight of it all slowly melt away.

I let out a deep sigh and pulled away. “Listen,” I said, taking a deep breath. “We need to talk about what happened yesterday.” I carefully drew the curtain to a close and pulled the trio in tight.

“What exactly was that?” Claire said in a hushed tone.

“If I may,” Luke said, a somber look in his eyes, “I think it was somewhat of a prophecy. Before my parents died, my father used to have episodes like that, but his were far less… powerful.” He winced as if recalling a bad memory.

“I think you’re right,” I said. “When the three of you touched that thing inside me, it unlocked something.”

I closed my eyes for a brief moment, trying to find the right words to say. “I met someone, or something, in my dream last night. Only it wasn’t quite a dream; it felt so real. This creature may have been a demon or a devil, but he told me that someone in the school is going to die. I think he spoke the prophecy through me.”

“Do you believe it?” Hector asked, a look of shock on his face. “If it’s a devil, it can’t be trusted.”

“I do,” I said, looking up at him. “It feels like things have been going this way for a while—the nightmares I’ve been having; visions of the Blood Moon. It’s all starting to add up.”

“The prophecy did say that the ‘harbinger of doom’ will come when the Blood Moon rises,” Claire said inquisitively.

“Yeah, but the last blood moon was like thirty years ago,” Luke said. “There’s no evidence that it’ll rise again any time soon.”

“It’ll rise,” I said, placing my hand on my chest. “I can feel it.”

“What do we do?” Hector asked.

“Well, the only other clue in my dream was the Vampires. I’m positive they have something to do with it. Khx—the creature I met told me that ‘the Dark Matron’ will rise again.”

“The Dark Matron?” Luke asked. “The mother to all monsters in the world? My parents told me stories about her, but I always thought she was just a myth.”

“Maybe,” I said, biting my lip. “But if she’s said to have created all monsters, and if they, including the Vampires, are all her children, they might just be ready to kill for her.”

“So what can we do about it?” Hector asked, folding his arms.

“I think it’s obvious,” Claire said, raising her eyebrows. “We have to find out more about them.”

All three of them fixed their eyes on me, and in that moment, it felt as if we were all connected by an unspoken understanding. A churning nervous pit settled deep in my stomach, intensifying as the weight of the situation bore down on me. It dawned on me, with a sinking feeling, that I was the one who would have to do it.

Niles

“This is horrendous!” Ella exclaimed for the thirteenth time as she swept the dusty floor of our cramped little dorm room. Calling it a dorm felt like a stretch; it resembled more of an ancient shed than a living space. The walls, made of thin, weathered wood, did nothing to keep out the wind and were so poorly insulated that it felt like we were living outside half the time. We did not feel cold or heat to the extremes, but we appreciated living in comfortable spaces. The floor was a patchwork of rough, unfinished wooden planks, layers of dirt clinging stubbornly to them as if they had never been cleaned. Cobwebs hung in the corners like tattered curtains, while a thick layer of dust rested on every surface, giving the whole place a lived-in feel that was anything but homey. Its only redeeming quality were the windows, or lack thereof. A singular tiny rectangular window was the only source of light, but Ella wasted no time covering it with a black sheet as soon as we arrived. Our little shed was nestled in the woods that lay just outside of the school.

“Don’t worry,” Duncan said, wiping off the small square table in the center of the room. “If we play our cards right, we’ll be out of here in no time.”

I neatly arranged three rickety chairs at the table, aligning them directly in the center of each table edge, and blew the dust off of them. There were no beds, only an ancient sofa in one of the corners of the room. Last night Duncan and I had slept on the floor, while Ella had taken the couch. Ella let out an annoyed sigh as she set the broom aside, her shoulders tense as she made her way to the tiny kitchenette tucked away in the back of the room. The small metal sink was stained with age, and the old wooden cabinets, with their chipped paint and warped doors, seemed not to have been used in decades. There was a singular small minifridge, which we had found empty last night aside from a single handwritten note lying lonely on the cold metal bottom.

My dears,

Regrettably, I must inform you that your shipment of freshly donated human blood has encountered an unforeseen delay and will not arrive until the following week. While we recognize the pressing nature of your needs, it's important to acknowledge that such delays, although regrettable, are sometimes unavoidable within the complexities of our arrangement. We hope you can manage this temporary inconvenience, as we strive to uphold the integrity and delicate balance of our blossoming relationship.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Sincerely,

Deputy Headmistress Victoria

Blood Moon Academy

“She’s definitely testing us,” Ella said, her arms crossing tightly over her chest, a telltale sign of her agitation. We had expected as much before we came to the school. Our arrangement with the school board, along with housing, promised us a regular supply of fresh blood, a sort of macabre meal plan that was supposed to simplify all of our lives. It offered us convenience while giving the faculty a sense of security, ensuring them that they knew exactly where the blood came from. This arrangement would, however, be immediately terminated if any of us were to bite a student or member of faculty. Yet, as the lingering hunger gnawed at my insides, I couldn't shake the anxiety that their true intention might be to starve us out. It had been too long since we last fed; while we could survive for days—every three at most—the relentless ache inside me was a reminder of our fragile state. Just beneath the surface, my instincts screamed at me to hunt, to tear into something warm and vibrant, and I could tell the two of my companions felt the same.

“We have to endure,” I proclaimed, suppressing the urge within me. “We must exercise self-restraint.”

“Agreed,” Duncan responded. “We’ll just have to be resourceful for a while.”

Ella inhaled sharply, frustration evident in the way she clutched the freshly wrapped school uniform from the countertop, the crisp fabric rustling in her grip. She shot a glare at Duncan and me, her brows furrowing in annoyance as if we were the reason for our predicament.

“It’s time to head out,” she declared, marching purposefully toward the bathroom, her footsteps echoing softly against the floor. “Wouldn’t want to be late for the first day,” she added, her voice a mix of annoyance and a slight bit of determination, as she slammed the bathroom door behind her.

Olivia

Perched nervously on the edge of my chair, I clasped my hands tightly in my lap, feeling the cool fabric of my uniform against my palms. Convincing the school nurse to allow me to attend classes today had been no small feat; she had scrutinized my every symptom before begrudgingly conceding to my plea, her eyes widening questioningly at the remarkable improvement I’d displayed since the incident.

The atmosphere in Advanced Magic II was particularly enchanting. As we gathered in the dimly lit room situated within the school’s east tower, the air was thick with anticipation. Soft, flickering green candles adorned each corner of the room, their flames emitting a gentle glow that pulsed rhythmically, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls, which seemed to breathe in sync with the magical energy. I had planned to quietly observe the enigmatic Red Pearl student from the back of the classroom, but to my astonishment, Professor Hawthorne had arranged the chairs in an inviting circle, eliminating any chance of retreat. His usual demeanor was amplified today; an unusual twinkle sparkled in his eye as he flitted back and forth at the front of the classroom, his voice a mixture of excitement and nervousness as he rambled on about our new student, the words spilling out like a torrent of bubbling enthusiasm that filled the room with an electric charge.

He wasn’t here, though. His chair, at the front of the classroom, directly next to Professor Hawthorne's, and several others dotted around the circle, were left completely empty. Hawthorne, however, was undeterred by the lack of students in the classroom and continued his ramblings about how rare and wonderful this educational experience was for all of us.

I thought back to the moment my friends and I had linked our minds. Our new classmate was a male; I knew that much from Professor Hawthorne. But I couldn't help but wonder which one it was: the tall blonde one or the black-haired one that trailed behind.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Hawthorne nearly jumped out of his skin with excitement. He quickly hurried to the door and swung it open.

“It’s so wonderful to see you again!” he exclaimed to a figure just out of my view.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” a soft voice said, barely above a whisper.

“No need for apologies,” Hawthorne said casually, making his way back to the circle with an air of confidence. As he did, his hand hovered just behind the shoulder of a captivating boy who had stepped into my line of sight. The boy’s stark black hair was striking against his porcelain-like skin, and he stood slender but looked notably taller than he did when beside the blonde Vampire. His eyes, shifting around the room with calculated precision, appeared almost pitch-black in the dim green lighting, though I could catch flickers of deep red glimmering within them.

Hawthorne guided him to the front of the classroom, and it felt as if a switch had flipped—every student stiffened in their seats, aligning with an unspoken command. The boy stood there motionless, almost like a statue come to life, letting his gaze sweep over each one of us. My heart raced as our eyes locked for a brief moment; a chill of nervous energy shot through me before he continued scanning the room.

“Please introduce yourself,” Hawthorne said, flashing a wide, welcoming grin.

He hesitated for just a moment, his crimson eyes scanning the classroom filled with curious faces before he took a slow, deliberate breath.

“My name is Niles,” he said softly, bowing his head slightly in a gesture of respect. “Thank you for allowing me to join your class.”

He spoke in a slow, near-monotone voice—almost as if speaking was painful to him. A heavy silence settled among the students, the air thick with anticipation, as they processed the sight of the strange boy in their midst.

“I think this is a wonderful opportunity for both you, Niles, and the rest of our class,” Hawthorne declared, his enthusiasm breaking the stillness. With an encouraging gesture, he motioned for Niles to take a seat.

Niles lowered himself into a chair, his movements fluid yet deliberate, giving him the appearance of a statue poised in contemplation. He straightened his back, maintaining a dignified posture. Hawthorne, now seated beside him, crossed his legs and leaned slightly closer, ready to bridge the gap between worlds with a friendly demeanor. The other students shuffled uncomfortably, not picking up Hawthorne’s energy.

“I believe this would be the perfect time to get to know you,” he turned toward Niles, who stared ahead blankly. “Most of the class doesn’t have any experience with Vampires, and first-hand knowledge is just about as valuable as it gets. I say we have ourselves a little Q and A so your classmates can get to know you better.”

Niles gave a quick nod and a hint of a smile, though it seemed like it took a little effort for him.

“I would like to go first, if there are no objections,” Hawthorne said, pausing for a brief moment. He cleared his throat. “So, I’ve heard from Headmaster Volcan that you are attending this school as a second-year student, correct?” he asked.

“Yes,” Niles said softly.

“Now admittedly I don’t know much about Vampires, but magical ability is fairly uncommon, is it not?” Hawthorne placed his hand on his chin. “For you to be in a third-year class, your magical ability must be very strong.”

“Yes, I believe it is,” Niles said. “Most Vampires do not possess any magical skills. The transformation usually completely overrides the ability to use magic. In my coven, I’m the only one with magical gifts.”

“Fascinating!” Hawthorne responded. “Do you know why?”

Niles thought about it for a long moment and then furrowed his brows. “My mother was exceptionally gifted with magic,” he said. “I only have a fraction of it left, though…”

“She must have been incredibly powerful,” Hawthorne said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Anyone else want to throw some questions Niles' way?”

He gestured around the room, encouraging participation. But the silence that followed was palpable, stretching out like an unwelcome guest. I glanced around; most students had their heads bowed, fixated on their hands in their laps or turning away as if the air itself was tainted with an unspoken anxiety. My gaze landed on Niles, who sat there with a neutral expression, but there was something deeper lingering just beneath the surface. It wasn't discomfort, but perhaps a quiet, pensive sorrow that seemed to cloud his otherwise stoic demeanor.

Hesitantly, I raised my hand.

“Ah Olivia!” Hawthorne said, beaming, “Our youngest and brightest.”

Niles looked up at me, his eyes locking onto mine. I could feel my heartbeat begin to pick up speed.

“Olivia is a first-year, but like you, has an exceptionally strong gift for magic. What’s your question, dear?” Hawthorne asked.

In truth, I wasn't sure whether I had a question or just a million jumbled thoughts swirling around in my head, each one struggling for attention but none making any sense in the moment. It felt like trying to solve a puzzle while locked in a stare with a Vampire, his piercing gaze making it hard to think straight.

“How old are you?” I blurted out, the words escaping before I could second-guess myself. Niles’ eyes widened for a moment, then he let out a short, quiet laugh.

“That’s a bit embarrassing for me,” he admitted, glancing away, as if the prospect of revealing his age was somehow more daunting than facing eternity.

“I am also curious to know,” Hawthorne remarked.

“Eternally, I am seventeen, but…” He paused briefly, as if he had to think about his answer. “In Human years, I’ll be seventy-one this year.”

The whole room let out a collective gasp, and chatter began to buzz around the classroom.

“Amazing!” Hawthorne breathed. “You’re older than most of the faculty at the school and older than my own mother.”

“Why are you in the second-year class?” another student, Elliot, piped up without hesitation. “I mean, I heard the other two are third years; how do they determine where you go?”

“Well,” Niles said, “none of us have had any form of education quite like Blood Moon Academy. The board originally wanted us all to start as first-years, but we preferred to join in line with our eternal ages. My companions are both eternally eighteen.”

“What about partners and Weapons?” another student chimed in. “Will you have those?”

Niles blinked, turning his head slightly.

“As far as I know, no,” he replied. “My companions and I will work as our own team of three, though I don’t suspect we’ll be sent out on assignments any time soon. As for Weapons, we are all skilled in our own unique arts, so for the time being, there is no plan for us to receive them.”

“Do you miss being Human?” a girl, Beth, asked.

Niles winced, as if the question had stung him.

“I don’t remember so much about my humanity,” Niles said. “I can only just remember brief bits of my family, but since I turned, my coven has been my family.”

“Was it painful?” Beth asked. “Becoming a Vampire?”

“Excruciatingly so,” Niles remarked. “Though that pain hasn’t really subsided. It fades, but is always lingering there.”

He placed his hand on his chest, and his brows knitted together into a thoughtful crease. It seemed like he was on the verge of sharing something, the words practically hanging in the air, but then he hesitated, a fleeting flicker of uncertainty passing over his face as he held back whatever was on his mind.

As the class progressed, we found ourselves enveloped in a whirlwind of curiosity, with students bombarding Niles with an avalanche of questions, each one more eager than the last. His responses, though tinged with a hint of discomfort, provided us with a glimpse into the intricate tapestry of his life—his enigmatic coven, the diverse personalities of his companions, and the unconventional arrangements they had negotiated with the board of education. He shared with us his deeply personal motivations for attending the academy, revealing snippets of ambition and hope that painted a strangely Human picture of his aspirations. While initially, he seemed hesitant, as the conversation flowed, a flicker of confidence emerged within him, hinting that perhaps the apprehensions I had harbored about his presence among us were unfounded. The tension in the room slowly melted away, replaced by an unexpected camaraderie that left me curious to learn more about the world Niles inhabited.

Niles

As the lesson wrapped up, students practically streamed out of the classroom, the air much lighter than when they first settled in. Laughter and chatter filled the hall, but no one seemed inclined to stick around, except for her. The first-year. Olivia—that's what her name was.

I recalled seeing her during the Weapon ceremony. With Duncan, Ella, and myself tucked into a shadowy corner of the balcony, we observed as the first-years drew their Weapons. And there she was, revealing Fundans Ferrum, the very blade that belonged to the founder himself. It was stunning, just as my coven leader had described it—intricate and fierce, a true masterpiece. I watched her now, carefully packing her bag with an air of determination. Her sword in a separate holding case by her feet.

Her sleek black hair framed her delicate features in a blunt bob, highlighting her striking deep black eyes and full, rounded lips. The rhythm of her heartbeat was steady now, a stark contrast to the flurry of nerves that rippled through her at the start of class. But beneath that calm exterior, I sensed something else, a shadow—an undercurrent of something deeper that hinted at the powerful magic within her, just as Professor Hawthorne had noted. I glanced over at him, still buried in a chaotic pile of papers at his desk, looking a bit bewildered. He was supposed to guide me to my next class, but it seemed he might need a moment to regain his focus amidst the clutter.

I took a hesitant step toward the girl. She remained oblivious to my presence, her attention consumed by her belongings.

“Olivia?” I said, taking another step forward.

She glanced up at me, her eyes widening with shock, almost as if she couldn’t quite process what she’d just heard. With her heartbeat picking up speed, her mouth opened slightly, but the words seemed to stick in her throat, leaving her looking both stunned and a little lost.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” I said, maintaining a safe distance between the two of us.

“I—” she started. “It’s no problem,” she replied, with a shaky voice.

I paused for a moment.

“It’s a comfort to know I am not the only non-third-year in this class,” I said. Her heartbeat steadied a bit.

“Though I’m sure you probably don’t feel the same,” I added.

To my surprise, she let out a small chuckle.

“It’s comforting to not be the only ‘odd one out,’” she said with a smile.

“I think I solely have that title now,” I said with a smile of my own.

The air in the room suddenly felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted.

“You two would make a good pair,” Professor Hawthorne said. I had barely noticed him approaching. “Perhaps you could help Niles catch up,” he said, winking toward Olivia.

“Well,” he said, clapping his hands together, “we’d better be off. Wouldn’t want Niles to be late for his next class.”

“Me too,” Olivia said. “I’d better head to my next class as well.”

“Ah yes!” the professor exclaimed, a twinkle in his eye. “First day of Weapons training? Best of luck! But with the founder's blade in your hands, I’m sure you’ll handle it like a pro.”

She smiled, swinging her bag over her shoulder, followed by her blade in its sturdy carrying case. She began heading toward the door.

“In the depths of shadows, whispers weave the threads of truth,” I murmured as she walked past.

She halted abruptly, her eyes locking onto mine with a look of confusion.

“What?” she asked, curiosity piqued.

I gestured toward her sword, its hilt barely visible from the end of its case.

“That’s what’s written on the blade,” I explained. “A reminder that even in darkness, the truth finds a way to reveal itself.”

Olivia

Hector, Claire, Lucas, and I all sat in one row in the gymnasium. We sat cross-legged on woven mats with our Weapons on display in front of us. Hector needed a little extra room for his enormous ax, as it took up his entire mat and then some. The entire gymnasium was filled with about half of the first-year class. The other half would do their training in the evening. Hector was sitting to my left, and Claire to my right. Even farther down was Luke.

The room sprawled beneath soaring ceilings, with expansive windows that allowed a cascade of sunlight to flood the space, drenching the polished hardwood floors in warm, radiant hues of gold. At the forefront of the grand chamber loomed the formidable statue of an enormous Elven figure carved with exquisite precision, every muscle and contour meticulously crafted to convey strength and nobility. Aged stone glinted in the light, and a plaque inscribed beneath his feet proclaimed his name: Founder Ruven Blackburn. He was a distant relative to Headmistress Victoria and the architect and founder of Blood Moon Academy.

Centuries ago, during an era teetering on the brink of chaos, Ruven and his kin rose to combat what they referred to as the “black-hearted creatures.” His heart heavy with sorrow after the brutal murder of his beloved wife, Lydia, at the hands of a merciless Vampire. Ruven established the academy as a bastion of hope and knowledge, dedicated to disseminating his family’s teachings and eradicating evil from the world. For years, the Blood Moon Hunters valiantly hunted these dark entities, ultimately driving many to the precipice of extinction. I stood transfixed before the statue, my gaze drawn to the intricately designed sheath hanging at his hip, which housed the ornate handle of a sword—its unmistakable grip familiar to me. This was the very sword that now awaited me, resting upon my mat in quiet reverence.

I looked down at my sword and studied the strange symbols carved into the blade. “In the depths of shadows, whispers weave the threads of truth,” I repeated over and over in my head. I ran my fingers along the divots in the symbols.

Was that really what it meant? I said to myself, and how did he know?

My Weapon was in its case the entire class, so how did he even know it had words written on it? I let out a confused sigh and studied the letters again. They were not in any language I could place, but the words had a familiar feeling to them. Though they seemed ancient, otherworldly even, something about the way the letters slanted and curved made me feel like I had seen something similar before.

“So how did it go?” Claire whispered, leaning toward me and snapping me out of my daze.

“What?” I said, a little confused.

“You know…” she looked around and leaned in even closer, “The Vampire.”

“Ah. It was alright.” I said, straightening my Weapon on the mat. “He seemed a bit more normal than I expected.”

“Normal?” Hector scoffed.

I ignored him.

“Which one was he?” Claire asked, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

“The one with black hair,” I said. “His name is Niles.”

“Niles,” Claire repeated.

“Do you think he’s our guy?” Luke said, leaning in closer to Claire.

“I’m not sure. He seemed to—“ I started.

“No talking, please,” said Bruce, the student teacher. He was a striking figure, tall and well-built, his blonde hair catching the light in a way that amplified the stern expression etched on his face. Despite his muscular frame and authoritative position as head of the second-year class, there was an undeniable sadness lurking in his blue eyes, a silent testament to the profound loss he suffered with the passing of his partner just a year prior. I fell silent as Bruce, along with his mentor, Professor Wolfsbane, prepared to lead the lesson. My shoulders hunched slightly, retreating into my own thoughts, while Claire offered me an apologetic glance, her eyebrows knitted in concern.

“Let us begin,” the professor said, her voice echoing throughout the room.

In perfect synchrony, the first-year students extended their hands over their Weapons, a collective breath held in anticipation.

“Veni ad me,” we intoned together, an incantation that resonated in the air like a harmonious echo.

Before me, my sword began to levitate, its silver gleaming under the bright lights of the gymnasium. A surge of electric energy pulsed from the blade, coursing through my fingertips as it ascended to eye level. I glanced around, noting that most of my classmates had succeeded in lifting their Weapons from the ground, their expressions a mix of awe and determination.

“Aperi oculos tuos,” we continued in unison, and the Weapons began to shimmer, glowing brilliantly in hues of silver and vibrant purple. The luminous aura wrapped around each Weapon, a magical cocoon that hinted at the power within.

With my heart pounding, I muttered, “Loquere ad me, Fundans Ferrum,” and shut my eyes tightly. A cold chill crept up my spine, causing goosebumps to rise on my arms as a vivid image materialized behind my eyelids—a dark figure robed in a long, flowing black cloak, its hood casting a shadowy veil over a face that remained hidden. The air crackled with unspoken words as the figure loomed, its presence both foreboding and strangely familiar, stirring a sense of both dread and curiosity deep within me. This was it. Fundans Ferrum in its true form.

“Speak to me,” I thought, but the figure remained unmoving.

“Speak to me,” I repeated, in a louder voice.

The figure did not respond. It only stood silently.

With a slow, deliberate motion, it lifted its hand from beneath the shadows of its black sleeve, revealing five elongated, claw-like fingernails that glistened with an eerie sheen in the dim light. Each finger moved with a grace that belied its menacing appearance, as it flicked its wrist in an almost mocking gesture. A shiver ran down my spine, and my eyes shot open wide.

I looked around; Hector, Claire, and Luke were still in deep meditation, focusing their energy on their Weapons. Most students still had their eyes closed, except for the few that failed to make their Weapons rise.

I felt a soft hand on my shoulder and jumped.

“It’s alright,” Bruce said. He was crouching down next to me. “Try again.”

Lucas

Claire, Hector, Olivia, and I were squeezed into the cozy confines of Olivia's room, a charmingly chaotic blend of childhood treasures and quirky knick-knacks that told stories of years gone by. The walls were adorned with faded posters, and the shelves were crammed with an eclectic mix of trinkets—everything from old concert tickets to whimsical figurines. Though I hadn’t spent much time here before, the familiar scent and the faint hum of muffled music pulled me back to our carefree days as kids, racing through Olivia’s mother’s house, giggling and plotting our next big adventure. It felt like stepping into a time capsule, each cluttered corner sparking memories that danced just out of reach but filled the room with warm nostalgia.

Aside from the rare moments when Olivia’s mom was around, the three of us pretty much raised ourselves. Claire’s parents were always off on some assignments for the Academy, leaving us to navigate our own little world. I lost my parents when I was just a kid, so it was really just the three of us against the world. Our temporary headquarters was cramped, but we made it work; it was definitely more private than the lounge, which was still a mess—broken windows and furniture thrown about.

“I think I found something!” Claire exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she pointed to a passage in the thick, dusty tome spread open before her. A wave of anticipation washed over us.

We had all eagerly combed through shelves at the library earlier, scouting out every book we could manage to haul back to Olivia's room, diving deep into the mysteries of the blood moon and the Dark Matron. As she began to read from the page, her voice rose and fell with the rhythm of the text, infusing the dimly lit room with a surging energy that made the air around us feel electric. We leaned in closer, each of us hanging onto her every word, ready to unravel whatever secrets lay ahead.

The Dark Matron, often referred to by various names across cultures, embodies the archetype of darkness and chaos. She is believed to have emerged from the god Et’r, as his only creation. As a demoness, her legacy is intertwined with the creation of numerous mythical beings, including Vampires, Werewolves, Hellhounds, Changelings, Mermaids, Sirens, and Skinwalkers, each representing the duality of beauty and terror woven into the fabric of the world. Her existence, shrouded in mystery, resonates deeply within the folklore and mythology of many societies, influencing the narratives surrounding fear and the unknown. She is often seen as a malevolent entity woven into the fabric of ancient lore and is depicted as a shadowy figure of unparalleled cruelty and malice. Legends speak of her insatiable thirst for suffering, as she would lure unsuspecting Humans into her dark embrace, offering deals adorned with glittering temptations, only to extract their very souls as payment. During the Dark Ages, countless tales of her wicked machinations spread like wildfire across the lands, warning of her ability to corrupt the hearts of mortals, turning them into conduits of evil. The Dark Matron’s influence persists through time, crafting a legacy of terror that continues to haunt the collective psyche of humanity, ensuring her dominion over darkness remains unchallenged.

“The Spawn within these hallowed halls shall meet their fate,” Hector echoed.

“It must be one of the Vampires,” Olivia noted.

“Unless there’s a Werewolf walking around the school,” I remarked.

I gazed intently at the illustration adjacent to the block of text, captivated by the stunning figure of a woman with cascading waves of lustrous black hair that shimmered under the silvery light of the full moon. Her pale eyes seemed to hold ancient wisdom as she glided barefoot across a forest floor carpeted with moss, the ethereal fabric of her flowing white gown billowing gently in the night breeze. Flanking her were two creatures: a Vampire with sharp, angular features and a werewolf whose muscular frame exuded both menace and sorrow. Their expressions were a mix of despair and reluctant loyalty. Deeply carved into their skin was a mark that appeared to pulse with an ominous glow, the intricate symbols glowing faintly like embers, emanating a power that was both alluring and terrifying. The markings were inscribed in an arcane language unfamiliar to me, evoking an unsettling sense of foreboding that lingered in the air.

“What’s that?” I said, pointing to the mark.

Claire studied it intently; she traced her fingers down the adjacent page and stopped about halfway through. She read aloud from the book again.

The Dark Matron wielded a terrifying power to brand her most formidable subjects with a sinister curse mark, a symbol of their eternal servitude to her dark will. This mark, a twisted emblem of anguish and loyalty, coursed with otherworldly energy, binding the afflicted souls to her merciless command. Those bearing the curse found their will stripped away, replaced by an insatiable compulsion to obey her every word, even when such obedience led them to the brink of their own destruction.

Olivia glanced briefly at the page and then let out an audible gasp.

“What is it?” Hector said.

Olivia got up, ran to her bed, and grabbed her Weapon case. She quickly pulled out her sword and set it next to the open book on the ground.

She traced her fingers along the symbols carved into the blade. I could see, as clear as day, the realization she had.

They were the same.

The words carved into her sword and the curse mark were clearly of the same language.

“In the depths of shadows, whispers weave the threads of truth,” she said, looking up at us. “That’s what this means.”

She took a deep breath.

“I know because Niles told me.” Her brows furrowed and a look of worry spread across her face. “It’s him. He’s the spawn.”