The sun over Blackmoor School was dim that morning, filtered through heavy clouds that refused to let any warmth pass. It cast the entire campus in a dull grey tone—fitting, considering the mood. Richard was still missing, his absence stretching into its third day. What had begun as an alarming mystery now weighed like a curse over the school, pulling shadows out of corners that were once safe.
Hope stood by the ancient oak tree near the training grounds, arms crossed, lips pressed into a tight line. Her yellow-glowing eyes, a signature of her tribrid nature, flickered subtly beneath her lashes as she scanned the horizon.
"He's not coming back on his own," London said quietly from behind her, his voice low and certain.
She turned slightly, just enough to glance at him. He was standing in the light mist, hands in the pockets of his jacket. There was a faint mark on his collarbone from the encounter with Trent—still healing. The look in his eyes was calm, but underneath, Hope could feel the storm he was holding back.
"I know," she whispered. "But I want to believe."
London walked closer and stood beside her. "Sometimes believing is the most dangerous thing we can do."
Their eyes met. There was silence between them again. Thick. Heavy. Electric. Hope could almost lean forward, pulled by the magnetism that had been simmering for weeks. Her breath caught—so did his.
But just before their lips met—
"HOPE!" Raphael's voice cut through the moment like a blade. He jogged toward them from across the field, his dark hair tousled, his shirt damp with sweat from sparring drills.
Hope blinked and turned. London let out a small exhale, stuffing his hands back into his pockets and looking away, his jaw clenched in frustration.
"What is it?" she asked, her voice returning to its usual composed tone.
"We've found something. Jessa's calling everyone. The library. Now."
Within minutes, the key students had gathered in the ancient library, the air thick with dust and old magic. Jessa was pacing near the fireplace, her long auburn hair pulled back into a messy bun. Her sister Celeste sat off to the side, quiet—too quiet. Daemon leaned against a shelf, arms folded, watching Celeste from the corner of his eyes. Stephen, on the other hand, was perched on the back of a chair, eating a peeled orange like it was a grenade he'd just defused.
"So what's the deal?" Stephen asked with a grin. "We tracking down the headmaster with a spell or just bribing the ravens with shiny objects?"
"Neither," Jessa said sharply. "I found a map in Dad's old study. One he never showed us. It's got markings... tunnels that lead beneath Blackmoor. And something labeled The Hollowing."
Daemon finally stepped forward. "That's an old term. Used in some ancient vampire texts. Refers to a place where memories are stripped—where spirits lose what made them... themselves."
Hope frowned. "Why would Richard have anything to do with a place like that?"
"No clue," Jessa replied. "But his mark—the one he uses to sign magical documents—it was on the back of the map. I think he went down there. And I think something followed him."
They decided to split into three search groups, each taking a different route based on the tunnels on the map. Hope, London, and Raphael would take the western path through the underground garden ruins. Jessa, Daemon, and Stephen would go east through the collapsed amphitheater. Celeste, still unusually quiet, volunteered to search the southern wing's abandoned potions chamber with a few other students.
But Celeste had a secret.
The night before, a shadowed figure had appeared to her at the edge of the woods. Cloaked in magic, their face hidden. They had whispered to her about betrayal, about how the school didn't care about her, how Daemon only tolerated her, and how Jessa always took the spotlight.
"You could be powerful," the figure had said. "You could have purpose, Celeste. If you only stop following shadows and start casting your own."
She hadn't told anyone—not even Jessa. And she didn't plan to.
Back in the ruins of the garden tunnel, Hope was using her magic to light their way. The air was damp, and the walls seemed to breathe as roots cracked through stone.
London kept glancing at her from time to time. "You okay?"
"Not really," she admitted. "But I will be."
Raphael scouted ahead silently, his nose twitching from time to time. "Someone's been here recently."
Hope's eyes glowed. "Can you track them?"
He nodded once, then stopped. "Wait. Hear that?"
They all froze. From deeper in the tunnels, a soft melody was playing—like a lullaby. Faint and old. It made the hairs on Hope's neck rise.
London took her hand without thinking. "Let's stay close."
Hope didn't let go.
They followed the music, deeper and deeper, until they reached a carved door covered in strange glyphs. As Hope reached for it, Raphael pulled her back.
"I smell blood."
London stepped forward. "Then we don't waste time."
With a burst of magic, Hope forced the door open—and what they saw froze them in place.
The chamber was round, filled with glowing blue crystals... and in the center, floating above a cracked pedestal, was Richard's coat—torn, bloodstained, and surrounded by a spectral fog that hissed like a living thing.
Hope gasped. London held her tighter. Raphael's eyes turned golden.
"He was here," Hope whispered. "But where is he now?"
From the shadows, a deep growl echoed.
To be continued...