Jasiel Thorn arrived at Arcadium Academy with frost in their boots, blood on their sleeve, and a letter that might as well have been a death sentence.
The gates of the Academy loomed like jagged fangs against the mist-choked sky, ancient stone carved with runes so old the wind dared not whisper their meanings. A procession of golden carriages streamed through the arched entrance, their glass windows glinting with enchantments. Laughter echoed from within—smooth, polished laughter that had never known hunger.
Jasiel trudged past them on foot.
They clutched the leather satchel tighter, the scholarship letter folded inside so many times it was nearly pulp. The seal—an ouroboros eating its own tail—was cracked. It didn't matter. The ink still read: Accepted by mandate of Arcadium's Charter. One full term. One chance.
Their only chance.
The gravel path bit through their boots as they passed the statue of Solareth the Wise, her obsidian eyes trained upward toward the floating spires of the school. Jasiel didn't look up. They'd seen enough gods gaze toward heavens that never looked back.
Inside the Admissions Hall, everything was too white—gleaming marble floors, towering crystalline columns, and staff robes starched so stiff Jasiel feared they might cut skin. A row of students waited before glass registration orbs, each pulsing with cold blue light.
Jasiel approached an orb. It pulsed. A voice echoed from within.
"Name?"
"Jasiel Thorn." They kept their voice level.
"Bloodline?"
They hesitated. "Half-blood."
The orb dimmed slightly.
"Magical Aptitude: Undeclared. Provisional Placement. Error: Discrepancy detected. Family lineage unverified. Please stand by."
The student in line behind them—a pale-haired boy wearing golden cuffs and a grin like a scalpel—snorted. "Scholarship rat, are you? Can't even pass a blood test."
Jasiel said nothing. Not because they were afraid, but because there were too many people watching.
A professor in violet robes strode over, checking a floating scroll. His eyes barely flicked to Jasiel. "Scholarship student. Thorn, yes?" His voice oozed disdain like syrup. "You'll be housed in Dusk Dormitories. Subterranean level. Class schedule will be sent by crow. If it bites you, do not retaliate. It's enchanted."
Jasiel blinked. "Do… I get a wand?"
The professor sighed. "Your type always asks that. No, Mr. Thorn. You get tested. If you survive your first month, perhaps you'll earn one."
With a flick of his finger, the orb pulsed, and a shard of quartz floated into Jasiel's palm. Their key. It was cracked.
---
The Dusk Dormitories were a maze of damp halls carved into the mountain's roots. Shadows moved strangely there, always a second late or early. Their room smelled of damp ink and broken spells. A single bed, a cracked mirror, and a desk nailed to the floor.
Jasiel touched the mirror. Their reflection stared back, pale-skinned, coal-eyed, and sharper than it should've been. Something flickered behind their own gaze—like the mirror remembered them before they arrived.
They pulled their coat tighter and muttered, "Not going back."
---
Their first class was Foundations of Runic Law—a required course. The lecture hall was cathedral-sized, filled with stair-stepped rows of velvet chairs, and floating glyphs that danced between stained-glass chandeliers.
The professor, a thin man with eyes like rusted coins, spoke with the tired authority of someone who knew no one was listening.
"Runes," he said, "are the immutable laws that bind magic to reality. Each spell you perform—each flick of your wand, gesture of your hand, or contract of your soul—must follow Runic Law. Break them, and you break yourselves."
He waved his hand, and a glyph appeared in the air—a clean, perfect circle.
"This is the Rune of Balance. The foundation of every controlled spell. Symmetry, intention, restraint."
Jasiel's eyes narrowed. The rune pulsed slightly off-beat.
They raised their hand.
"Yes?" the professor drawled.
"That rune's wrong."
A silence followed, sharp and immediate.
The professor blinked. "Excuse me?"
"It's off by a hair," Jasiel said, standing. "The right edge curves too steep. It won't channel the leyline correctly—it'll echo."
The professor frowned. "Impossible. That rune is projected directly from the Academy's primary node."
Jasiel shrugged. "Then the node's misaligned."
The silence deepened. A few students snickered. The pale-haired boy from earlier leaned over and whispered, "Hope you packed for expulsion."
The professor's lips twisted. "Very well. Approach. Show me."
Jasiel hesitated. Then stood, walked forward, and reached out. The rune hovered inches from their palm.
They didn't have a wand. But they had something older.
They breathed.
And the rune moved.
Just a hair. Just enough.
Gasps rippled through the hall.
The glyph stabilized—then cracked, split, and folded inward, forming a mirror of itself. A new rune formed. Older. Forbidden.
The professor stumbled back. "That's… impossible. That's Mirror Law—"
Alarms blared. The floating lights turned red. Glyphs swirled violently in the air.
Security wraiths descended through the ceiling.
Jasiel raised their hands, heart thudding. "I didn't mean— I was just showing—"
A hand grabbed their shoulder.
"Run," whispered a voice. Smooth, amused, and far too calm.
Jasiel turned—and saw him.
Thorne Kael.
Smiling like a devil in the wrong heaven.
"You're not the only one who likes to cheat," Thorne said.
Then the world exploded into shimmering glass—and the chase began.