Empire High's walls whispered louder after midnight.
Seraphina couldn't sleep, not after the mirror showed her Amara's face, not after the whispers turned into voices.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, book of shadows in her lap, a candle flickering on the windowsill. The flame twisted in odd directions, as if it were resisting the wind from a world she couldn't see.
Amara Thorne. Her name repeated in Sera's thoughts like a prayer or a warning.
Who had tried to erase her? And why did the curse bind them?
On impulse, Sera turned the book upside down. The margins bled strange runes—ones that hadn't been visible before. They glowed faintly under the candlelight, shifting like reflections on water.
The shadows weren't just whispering anymore.
They were watching.
In the morning, the crack in her mirror had vanished.
Not repaired. Gone.
She stared at her reflection, unsure if she was relieved or terrified. The only proof that anything had happened was the sigil on her palm, now slightly darker, like it had sunk into her skin.
When she stepped into the hallway, Nyra was waiting.
"You saw her, didn't you?"
"Amara."
Nyra nodded solemnly. "Then it's beginning."
Sera frowned. "What is?"
"The unraveling."
Before Sera could ask more, Nyra pressed something into her hand.
A ring.
Silver, old, etched with the symbol of the moon cradled by shadows.
"Amara wore that," Nyra said. "You should too. It might protect your thoughts."
"From what?"
"From the ones who listen when you dream."
They met in the clock tower again, this time with a second visitor.
Elijah.
He stood by the window, arms folded. "So we're forming alliances now? I thought you preferred shadowy solitude."
"She needs more than riddles," Nyra shot back.
Sera raised her hand. "Hey. Still in the room."
Elijah turned to her. "Something changed."
She nodded. "The mirror. The shadow. Amara showed me a word last night."
"What word?"
"Run."
Silence.
Nyra broke it. "Then we're out of time."
Sera felt something unspoken pass between them. A warning. A shared memory.
"You both know more than you're saying."
Nyra bit her lip. Elijah didn't speak.
"If I'm in danger, tell me now."
"You are," Elijah said flatly. "We all are."
Classes became stranger after that.
In Binding & Lore, the chalkboard wrote by itself. In Combat, the dummies began bleeding from invisible wounds. In History, the professor read from a book that wasn't there, eyes glowing faintly violet.
Sera found herself drifting during lectures, sensing magic in the air that others didn't. Books whispered. Spells misfired around her. Candles bent toward her when she passed.
It wasn't just the curse anymore.
She was changing.
Her next challenge came during the House Trials—a ceremonial test where new students were observed and sorted.
Except Sera wasn't sorted.
She stood on the marble dais as the school gathered in the courtyard. Four house banners flapped above: Fire (Ignis), Water (Naiad), Earth (Terra), and Aether (Caelum).
One by one, new students stepped forward. The banners reacted—lighting up, pulsing with magic.
Then Sera was called.
She walked to the center. Waited.
Nothing.
The banners didn't move.
The wind fell silent.
Then—the sky darkened.
Not from clouds.
From shadow.
A deep echo rang across the courtyard like a bell. All four banners shivered... and then burned black at the edges.
Gasps. Screams.
Elijah stepped forward from the crowd, his voice sharp. "Take her inside. Now."
Professor Vellum moved toward her, wand raised, murmuring a spell to shield her.
But she wasn't afraid.
The shadows had greeted her.
She felt it in her bones.
She belonged to something older than the Houses.
Something buried beneath them.
She woke later in the infirmary.
Nyra sat beside her bed, flipping through a banned book like it was a fashion magazine.
"You burned all four banners," she said without looking up. "That's never happened."
"I didn't mean to."
"Of course not. But neither did Amara. Or the others. The curse manifests during the Trials. It always has."
Sera groaned. "Do they hate me now?"
"Hate is generous. They fear you."
Elijah entered, tossing an apple onto the bed. "Welcome to being infamous."
She sat up. "What happens now?"
"You're House-less," he said. "Technically. But you've been given a private wing in the East Tower. Where they put students who... don't fit."
"Like the Shadowbound."
"Exactly."
The East Tower was cold. Silent.
She moved into the suite that once belonged to Amara Thorne. The nameplate had been scratched off, but the walls remembered.
Inside her wardrobe, she found a note etched into the back wall:
If you found this room, it means the curse has begun again. I hope you're braver than I was. — A.T.
Sera traced the letters.
She didn't feel brave.
But something inside her whispered:
You don't need to be. You just need to survive.
The next few days passed in a blur of caution and unease.
Students whispered when she passed. Professors paused during roll call. Even the statues seemed to turn their heads when she walked by.
She noticed things others didn't.
The dead girl in the old yearbook who looked just like her.
The carved symbol under her desk that matched the one on her palm.
The librarian who flinched whenever she entered the room.
And then there were the dreams.
Long corridors. Eyes without faces. A door marked with blood.
Always the same phrase etched in flame:
Open me. Or we all fall.
On the seventh night in the tower, the bell tolled thirteen times.
It wasn't supposed to.
Sera sat up, heart hammering.
Thirteen tolls meant only one thing:
A soul had been lost.
A message appeared on her mirror:
The Vault is waking. Come.
She didn't wait.
Elijah met her at the garden path, Nyra trailing behind.
"You saw it too," Sera said.
"We all did," Elijah replied. "The Vault hasn't been opened in over a hundred years. Not since the last Shadowbound vanished."
"What is it?"
Nyra answered. "A chamber beneath the school. Where the founders sealed their greatest secrets—and their worst mistakes."
They walked quickly. Past the statues. Past the whispering trees. Into a mausoleum that didn't exist during daylight.
They descended.
Stone turned to obsidian. Walls turned to runes.
The air smelled like fire and salt.
At the end of the staircase: a door. Ancient. Breathing.
It pulsed like a heart.
Sera stepped forward.
The mark on her palm began to glow.
The door recognized her.
It opened.
Inside the Vault was a circular chamber filled with glass coffins. Each one contained a figure shrouded in darkness, perfectly preserved.
There were seven.
Six were sealed.
The seventh—empty.
Nyra gasped. "That one belonged to Amara."
Elijah stared at the sigils on the walls. "These are containment spells. Designed to hold corrupted power."
"And now one is missing."
A low hum began.
Sera turned slowly.
From the far wall, a mirror emerged.
It wasn't her reflection in the glass.
It was the other her.
Older. Hollow-eyed. Drenched in shadow.
"She's not just watching anymore," Sera whispered. "She's waiting."
The mirror cracked.
And the shadow behind it smiled.