The silence of the old house was broken only by the faint rustle of paper and the occasional scratch of pencil on notebook. Outside, Mystic Falls slept under a blanket of humid August air, the scent of pine and river moss seeping through the open window. Crickets chirped faintly. Somewhere far off, a dog barked once and then went quiet again.
Inside, under the flickering halo of a desk lamp, Aiken Hill was reading.
The chemistry textbook lay open in front of him—Chapter 24, the last chapter in the standard second-year program. Thermochemistry. Exothermic reactions, enthalpy changes, bond energies. It was all familiar already, but he refused to cut corners. One more pass, just in case.
Tomorrow was the first day of school.
Mystic Falls High School.
New town, new school, new faces. Aiken had transferred over the summer with minimal paperwork and zero fanfare. He hadn't even picked up a copy of their curriculum. It didn't matter. He'd already pulled together the national program for the entire previous year and started grinding through it piece by piece. If Mystic Falls had any surprises in store, he wouldn't be caught off-guard.
Not that he was particularly worried.
He leaned back in the creaking chair, stretching slightly, eyes scanning the final page with practiced ease. His fingers flipped the page automatically, though he already knew the content. The formulas and principles were stamped into his memory—clean, precise, permanent.
Aiken Hill didn't forget things.
He didn't struggle with concepts or fumble with half-understood theories. Information clicked into place for him like pieces of a machine sliding into perfect alignment. And with his photographic memory—his little, unfair advantage—he could afford to study late into the night and still walk into the classroom with answers on his tongue and nothing but calm in his veins.
He didn't need to be the best. But he refused to be unprepared.
Aiken Hill. Seventeen.
With pitch black, silky, tousled hair that always looked like he'd just rolled out of bed—stylishly, somehow—he could be considered quite handsome. Not like the boys who tried too hard with product in their hair and smug grins pasted on their lips. No, Aiken had a different kind of charm. Quiet, sharpened, untouchable.
His eyes, deep and jet black, carried a weight most people didn't notice until they were caught in them. Not just depth, but coldness, and something else—awareness. Intelligence that unsettled. Girls either avoided him or obsessed over him. There was rarely any in-between.
Not that he cared.
He marked his place in the textbook and stood up, stretching once more, the floorboards creaking beneath his bare feet. The room was simple—books stacked in neat towers, a clean desk, an old leather chair by the window, and a bed that looked barely used.
Outside, the trees shifted in the night breeze. Mystic Falls was quiet, for now.
...
The sun had barely risen above the Virginia treetops when Aiken Hill stepped through the front gates of Mystic Falls High School.
Dressed in layered black—fitted shirt, casual jacket, jeans that hugged his long legs just right—he looked like he'd stepped out of a photoshoot without even trying. His tousled black hair swayed gently in the morning breeze, and those dark eyes, cold and unreadable, swept over the hallway like a blade.
And just like that, he was the center of attention.
Girls turned. Whispers stirred.
"Look... another super hot guy," someone muttered from behind a locker door.
He didn't flinch. Didn't glance. Didn't care.
Aiken just kept walking, eyes fixed on the hallway ahead, weaving through the morning chaos of first-day reunions and rushed schedules. Backpacks slammed into lockers, sneakers squeaked on the floor, and laughter echoed like static. But to him, it all sounded distant. Muted.
He had a destination: the front office.
He passed a group of upperclassmen who slowed their steps just to get a better look at him. More whispers followed, but Aiken didn't acknowledge them. He was used to the stares. He knew what people saw when they looked at him—mystery, confidence, danger. It didn't matter.
But just as he neared the office, his steps faltered. His breath caught.
His eyes, cold and calm, suddenly sharpened.
Magic.
Someone in the hallway ahead radiated it—not overtly, not like a raging storm, but like a simmering ember, pulsing softly beneath the surface.
A girl.
Short, brown curls framed her soft features, and her warm brown eyes sparkled with curiosity as she stared at something—or someone—in the office. She wore a denim jacket over a pale green top, casual but neat.
Aiken's eyes narrowed.
A witch? Here? In this town? In this school?
He sighed through his nose, long and controlled.
And then—thud.
A blur of motion collided into him, knocking his shoulder slightly off balance.
"Ah, sorry," a girl's voice said quickly.
She was already walking away, long chestnut hair swaying behind her. Her voice was soft, distracted, and she didn't even turn to look.
Aiken blinked, then looked forward again with another soft sigh.
And that's when the witch turned.
He felt her gaze before he saw it—sharp, curious, searching. Her attention, drawn by the bump, now fully focused on him.
He could practically feel her thoughts crawling across his skin.
He stepped closer to the office door, letting his eyes flick to her at last. Her brow was furrowed faintly, her lips slightly parted, as if something about him confused her. Or maybe intrigued her.
She didn't stop looking.
Aiken turned to face her properly, voice even and cool.
"Could you please stop looking at me?" he said.
Her eyes widened.
"It makes me uncomfortable," he added, not cruel, just distant.
"Oh," she stammered, startled. "Y-Yes."
She looked away immediately, her face flushing in embarrassment.
Aiken stepped into the office.
The space was quiet, cooled by humming air conditioning and the faint clatter of keys as the secretary worked at her desk.
Talking with her was a tall, clean-cut guy with sharp features and an almost too-composed posture. His black jacket fit snugly around broad shoulders, and his perfectly styled brown hair framed a face that looked like it had been carved from quiet confidence. His eyes—an intense green—swept the room as if calculating everything.
The moment Aiken saw him, his steps slowed again.
His eyes narrowed, then widened ever so slightly.
Magic.
Not the kind he had felt from the girl outside—the soft, flowing current of a witch's blood.
No, this was something else.
Aiken stared for a moment longer, processing the feeling coiled under the guy's skin. His instincts itched. It was faint, well-contained, but still there. Something inhuman.
A vampire? he thought. Or... a werewolf, maybe?
First a witch.
Now a supernatural being cloaked in the shell of a teenager.
This town... there's something off...
Without a word, Aiken waited his turn, keeping one ear tuned to their conversation ahead—something about "new student forms" and "returning after years abroad."
To be continued...
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This is the first chapter? How was it?
If you guys have any suggestions, please share them, I'll be very thankfull.