I woke up feeling like a mummy in a sarcophagus. The bed was firmer than a resurrected golem, and the pillows had the texture of enchanted cinder blocks. My room was nice enough—wooden paneling, an ornate wardrobe, even a little writing desk in the corner—but everything screamed "antique." As a guy used to creature comforts, I missed my memory foam mattress and hot chocolate machine back home.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I staggered to the window and peeked out. The grounds of Bothwell School of Witchcraft stretched out like an enchanted postcard: misty hills, spellbound forests, and stone towers poking up like the teeth of a gigantic, magical dragon. The view was great, but it did nothing to help the crick in my neck.

With a yawn that could have woken the dead, I shuffled out of my room and into the common area of the Wisenforth House. Where the space had changed. Now, with a more lived-in feel, with threadbare rugs and shelves groaning under the weight of a million dusty tomes. It reminded me of an eccentric grandmother's living room—if she were a witch and had forty-seven grandkids.

That's when I saw Jessica. She stood near a podium, an enormous book open in front of her. The thing looked heavy enough to crush a small familiar, but she flipped through its pages with the ease of someone perusing a magazine. Jessica Wisenforth was the real deal: sandy blonde curls, piercing blue eyes, and the kind of presence that made you stand up straighter just by being in the same room.

"Good morning, Tyler," she said, not looking up from the book. Her voice was the exact right blend of warm and authoritative, like a headmistress who genuinely cared about her delinquents.

"Morning," I croaked, scratching my head. My hair was doing its best impression of a magical forest after a lightning strike.

"I hope you found your accommodations comfortable," she said, still engrossed in the tome. A flick of her wrist, and the pages turned on their own. Maybe there was a spell for sore necks in there.

"Yeah, super comfy," I lied. "Like sleeping on a cloud. Made of bricks."

She smiled at that, a small curve of the lips that suggested she knew exactly how I felt. "You'll get used to it. Tradition is important to us, and that includes the furnishings."

I shrugged. "Can't argue with tradition."

Jessica closed the book with a thunk that echoed through the room. "This is the Codex of Aegis. It contains the history of our House and the school. If you're going to be one of us, you should familiarize yourself with it."

Her voice was the caffeine shot my brain needed. I stood there, watching, feeling the first warm tendrils of belonging curl around me.

"We have high hopes for you, Tyler," Jessica said as she led me down a winding staircase. "Being a Fetch is never easy, but the skills you learn here will serve you well in any endeavor."

I tried to suppress the yawn building in my chest. The rest of the house was just as old-timey as my room: more creaky wooden floors, flickering lanterns, and enough cobwebs to knit a spooky grandmother’s shawl. "So, what exactly is the difference between a Fetch and, you know, a wizard?"

Jessica paused at the bottom of the stairs, turning to face me. "A Fetch is an aide, a guide, a partner. You are not born into magic, but you live alongside it. Your role is to assist, to learn, and perhaps one day to master."

That sounded ominously like a life sentence of unpaid internship. "Assist, learn, master. Got it."

We entered a large room that looked like a cross between a library and a war room. Massive bookshelves lined the walls, and a large table in the center was covered with maps and scrolls. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting an otherworldly glow on the clutter.

Three people were already in the room, each absorbed in their own tasks. Jessica motioned for me to stay back, then stepped forward.

"Riley, Mari, Tilda," she said. "Meet our new Fetch, Tyler King."

The first to look up was Riley. Her hair was a medium-length mess of fiber optics, currently cycling through shades of turquoise and purple. She had a rebellious streak written all over her, from the multiple piercings to the magi-punk necklace that crackled with tiny sparks of energy. "New Fetch, huh?" she said, rising from her seat. "Let’s hope he lasts longer than the last one."

I gulped. Longer?

Riley sauntered over, her hair now a disinterested green, then stretched out a hand. "Riley Eckstein. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll do just fine. Probably."

I shook her hand, hoping she didn’t notice the sweat. "Tyler. Nice to meet you."

Next was Tilda. She had the kind of cheekbones that could cut glass and a perpetually calculating expression. Her lips were the only part of her face that ever seemed to move, the rest frozen in an unflinching gaze. "We could use someone reliable," she said, not quite coming over but not quite staying put either. "Can you be that, Tyler?"

"I can try," I said. "I'm pretty good at trying."

The last was Mari, a petite yet strong-looking girl with shoulder-length dark brown hair. She didn’t say anything, just gave a small wave and a knowing smile. In her other hand, she held a wand, twirling it with the casual dexterity of someone born to it.

"Advisors," Jessica said, drawing my attention back to her, "I need to prepare for the Founder’s Feast. Will you bring Tyler up to speed?"

Riley’s hair flashed a conspiratorial yellow. "Oh, we'll take good care of him."

Jessica nodded and left the room. I felt like a first-level adventurer who’d just been abandoned by his only ally in a room full of dragonkin.

These were the people I was supposed to learn from. The idea both excited and terrified me.

Riley hopped up on a table, crossing her legs and arms in a way that screamed rebellion-with-a-purpose. "So, Tyler, do you even know what you're getting into?"

"Into?" I said, playing dumb. It was a skill.

"Joining the oldest and most respected house at Bothwell," Mari cut in. She had returned to her stack of papers, casually flipping through them as if they held the secrets of the universe. Knowing this place, they probably did. "We’re not just taking you on a joyride. This is a commitment."

Tilda was silent.

"I get that," I said. "Jessica already explained a lot."

Riley snorted. "Jessica can explain until the wyverns come home, but it's different hearing it from us. We're in the trenches."

Great, more war metaphors. I braced myself for the onslaught.

"First," said Mari, "Wisenforth stands for wisdom. That means we value knowledge above all. A well-informed decision is always better than a hasty, emotional reaction."

"So," I said, "books before bros?"

Mari gave me a look that could curdle milk. "Something like that."

"Then there’s strategy," Riley said, her hair shifting to a thoughtful mauve. "It’s not enough to be smart; you have to know how to use that knowledge. Every action has a consequence, and every consequence can be predicted."

"Fortune-telling is part of the curriculum?" I asked, only half-joking.

Riley shrugged. "More like really good chess playing. Life is a series of moves and countermoves. You’ll learn to think ten steps ahead."

"Last is diplomacy," said Mari. "Wisenforths are mediators, not warmongers. We aim to build alliances, not armies."

I glanced at Tilda, expecting her to chime in, but she remained as mute as a cursed frog. I started to wonder if she'd taken a vow of silence—or if someone had put a hex on her.

"So that's it," I said. "Wisdom, strategy, and diplomacy. Sounds... reasonable."

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Riley uncrossed her legs and hopped off the table. "Don't get us wrong. It's not going to be easy. Fetches have to balance the mundane and the magical. You’ll be expected to support us while also improving yourself."

"We’re stretching you because we believe in you," Mari added. "A Fetch who can think like a Wisenforth is more than just a helper; they're an asset."

An asset. The way she said it made it sound like they were investing in me, like I had potential stock value. It was strangely flattering.

"We'll make sure you’re ready," Riley said, and for the first time, I noticed a hint of genuine encouragement in her eyes—or maybe it was just the LED hair playing tricks on me.

"We need to be ready," Mari corrected, looking up from her papers. "The Covenant is coming up."

The Covenant. Jessica had mentioned it, but only in passing. Something about an important ritual.

Riley's hair flared crimson for a brief moment, then settled into a cautious green. "Yeah, and with the VVitch stirring, we’ll need every bit of wisdom we can muster."

"We?" I said, daring to interrupt their little tennis match of words. "So, I'm part of this now?"

"If you survive," Riley said with a grin.

"If you thrive," Mari corrected again.

"For now, consider yourself one of us," Riley finished.

For a moment, I actually believed it.

"We have traditions," Mari said, "and a history that's as deep as the school itself."

I looked around the room, noticing for the first time the various banners and plaques adorning the walls. One banner displayed an owl clutching a scroll, the Wisenforth emblem, while another showed a golden goblet with names etched into it.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing to the goblet. "Some kind of magical punch bowl?"

Riley laughed, and even Mari allowed herself a smirk. "That's the Cup of Contention," said Mari. "It’s awarded to the house that wins the most points each year."

"Points?" I said. "Like in a game?"

"Everything at Bothwell is a game," Riley said, her hair sparking with electric blue. "Classes, duels, extracurricular activities. You earn points for your house and for yourself. It's all part of the competition."

I squinted at the goblet, trying to read the names. "So, who’s winning this year?"

"MacNewthorn, as usual," Mari said, the disdain in her voice unmistakable. "They always manage to pull ahead at the last minute."

I remembered the tall, brooding figure of Damien MacNewthorn from my first day seeing his picture. He had the look of someone who starred in his own dark fantasy series. "Let me guess, by ‘winning’ you mean they cheat?"

Riley shrugged. "They bend the rules. MacNewthorns are experts in subterfuge and cunning. What can you expect from a house founded by a spymaster?"

"And yet," Mari said, "we respect them. Cleverness is a form of wisdom."

"Sounds like you guys have it all figured out," I said, noting the tension that had crept into the room. "So where do the Boyeswicks fit into all this?"

Riley rolled her eyes. "The Brave Brotherhood. They’re the easiest to understand. Simple minds, simple goals. They rush in where wiser folks would tread carefully."

"Like a pack of loyal hounds," Mari said. "Brave to the point of foolishness, but utterly predictable."

I thought about the different houses and how each seemed like a clan straight out of a historical epic, each with its own strengths and glaring weaknesses. "And the Tabwen? The doll house?"

"They’re not just all girls," Riley said, her hair flickering with what I could only describe as annoyance. "Tabwen is a House, and they’re some of the most cunning and charming witches you'll ever meet."

I filed that piece of information away. Harper had mentioned the difference between houses, but it still seemed like a big, gendered divide since Wisenforth and Tabwen were all girls, Boyeswick was all boys and MacNewthorn was the only co-ed mix.

"So," I said, "you guys have rivalries with all the other houses, but you get along with the Tabwen?"

Mari set down her papers, giving me her full, calculating attention. "It’s not about getting along. It's about understanding where everyone stands. The Tabwen may be a rival House, but they share our values. That makes them—"

"Allies," Riley finished.

"For now," Mari added.

I took one last look around the room, at the banners and the Cup of Contention. The Wisenforths had a long history, and I was starting to see just how complicated it all was.

Maybe Jessica was right; I needed to understand the full story if I was going to survive this magical soap opera.

Riley stretched her kinetic energy too much for any one person to contain. "Tyler, you have to understand that all this," she gestured wildly around the room, "is just the surface. The real game is much deeper."

"Speaking of deeper," I said, "Jessica mentioned something about the Eclipse Covenant. What’s that about?"

The room went silent for a beat too long. Even Tilda, who I'd almost forgotten was there, looked up with a flicker of concern in her eyes.

"It’s a ritual," Mari said slowly. "A very old and important one. Each house sends representatives to bind their magic and create a protective aegis around the school."

"A ritual," I repeated. "Like, with chanting and robes?"

Riley's hair shifted to a somber blue. "It’s more than just pageantry. The Covenant happens once every hundred years, during a solar eclipse. It amplifies our magic, but it also puts us at risk."

"At risk of what?"

Tilda spoke up, her voice soft but clear. "The VVitch."

All eyes turned to her, as if amazed that the mute girl could speak.

"The VVitch?" I said, the name sounding ridiculously ominous.

"The Dark Sister," Tilda continued, gaining a bit more confidence. "She seeks to absorb the magical energies we create. Each time the Covenant is performed, she awakens."

Riley added, "It’s a time of great power and great danger. The Covenant tests our unity and our strength."

I let that sink in. This wasn’t just some magical Model UN; it was life and death. "And you think I’ll be ready for something like that?"

"We hope," Mari said, not unkindly. "But you have time. The Covenant is still months away."

"Plus," Riley said, her hair perking up with a tinge of hopeful green, "you won’t be going in blind. We’ll make sure you know what you're up against."

"Wonderful," I said, not feeling wonderful at all.

Riley started for the door. "I’ve got to prep for the parade. Don’t scare him off, Mari."

Mari ignored her and beckoned me to follow. I hesitated, then moved closer as she pointed to a large tapestry on the wall. It depicted a scene that looked straight out of an illuminated manuscript: witches and warlocks standing in a circle, hands raised, with a blazing sun and a dark figure in the sky.

"The Eclipse Covenant," Mari said. "This tapestry is enchanted. It shows the ritual as it was performed by the founders. Look closer."

I leaned in, tracing a finger over the woven fabric. The faces of the witches and warlocks were eerily lifelike, their expressions a mix of determination and fear. The dark figure in the sky had eyes that glowed like hot coals, and I could almost feel the heat of their malevolence.

"It's beautiful," I said, because it was. It also scared the living daylights out of me.

Mari stepped back, her posture less rigid than usual. "Tyler, do you understand now why we take this so seriously? This is more than just a school. It’s a lineage, a legacy."

"I get it," I said, still lost in the tapestry. "I think."

"One more thing," she said, and I turned to see her hesitating, as if weighing whether to share a crucial piece of intel. "You called the Tabwen a doll house. There’s been talk they are more than that. Talks of them forming a Coven over a House. Covens believe in a different way of doing things. They see magic as a collective effort, where you are ruled. Whereas a House... we focus on the individual, more like a diplomatic assembly."

"Does that mean they don't work together?" I asked. "Inside the covens, I mean."

"They collaborate," Mari said. "When it's necessary."

I looked back at the enchanted fabric, imagining the faces morphing, the hands shifting, the dark figure growing ever more ominous. It was a lot to take in. The history, the expectations, the very real dangers—they were stacking up like a teetering tower of enchanted bricks.

"We'll leave you to explore," Mari said, breaking the spell the tapestry had cast over me. "The more you understand, the better prepared you'll be."

I turned to see Tilda already at the door, her small frame almost disappearing behind the ancient wood. Mari gathered her papers and started to follow, then paused. "Tyler," Mari said. "We’re all hoping you’ll succeed. Remember that."

"Come to the gardens when you are ready," Tilda added, her voice gentle.

With that, she was gone, leaving me alone with the ghosts of Wisenforth past.

***

I wandered the room, running my fingers over the spines of old books and the surfaces of worn tables. Every object seemed to hum with history, like a choir of magical artifacts all singing different verses of the same long-forgotten song. I found another tapestry, this one showing a younger Jessica, her curls less defined but her eyes just as piercing. She stood with a group of students, all of them holding books and wands, a silver badge in the shape of an owl’s head clasped to her robe.

Fetches have to balance the mundane and the magical. That line stuck with me. How was I supposed to balance anything when I felt like I was drowning in the deep end of a very enchanted pool?

I thought about Riley's comment regarding the last Fetch. What had happened to them? Had they been sent packing because they couldn’t handle the load, or had something more sinister befallen them? The way Jessica, Riley, and even Mari had skirted around certain topics didn’t fill me with confidence. There was a lot they weren't saying, and it was the unsaid things that worried me most.

My eyes drifted back to the Cup of Contention. The idea of earning points and competing in some grand, magical game was actually appealing. If nothing else, it provided a framework, a way to measure progress. I liked games. Games had rules, and rules could be learned and mastered.

But this was more than a game. The houses, the rivalries, the impending Covenant—it all felt like the setup for a novel-length prologue where the real plot was just about to kick off.

I thought about Damien MacNewthorn and his house's "bending the rules." About the Boyeswicks rushing headlong into danger. About the Tabwen coven, cunning and charming. Each had their own way of doing things, their own playbooks. And then there was Wisenforth, with its emphasis on wisdom, strategy, and diplomacy.

Which side would I be on when the threads started to unravel?

I didn't have the answers, but for now, I had the questions. And sometimes, that was enough to get started.

I looked at the tapestry, at the faces frozen in time, and wondered which side I’d be on when the threads started to unravel.