Chapter Two: The Veil Doesn't Knock
Elara had expected a lot of things from her first day at a secret magical academy — maybe a grand welcome feast, floating candles, even a talking cat named Gregory.
What she got was a dorm room that looked like it had been decorated by a gothic librarian with a candle addiction.
The room was all dark wood, velvet curtains, and a bed that could double as a haunted throne. There were exactly twelve mirrors, and they all reflected slightly different versions of her, which was definitely not creepy at all.
She dropped her suitcase at the foot of the bed and let out a slow breath.
"So," she muttered, looking at the mirror version of herself with slightly longer hair. "This is my life now."
The mirror version smirked.
Elara backed away slowly.
Before she could dive headfirst into a panic spiral, a knock came at her door. It opened before she answered — apparently, privacy was not a thing here — and in stepped a girl who looked like she walked out of a moonlit fairy tale and possibly stabbed someone on the way.
Pale skin, black lipstick, platinum hair in two long braids, and eyes the color of frostbite.
"Elara Wynn?" she said.
Elara nodded. "You must be my roommate or my assassin. Either way, hi."
The girl's mouth twitched. "I'm Caelin. You've been summoned."
"Summoned? That sounds very dramatic."
Caelin shrugged. "Everything here is dramatic. Follow me."
---
The walk through Nymeria was like stepping through a dream someone wrote while half-asleep and deeply unhinged.
Staircases twisted upside down, lanterns whispered secrets, and a boy walked by holding a jar with his own reflection trapped inside. He winked at Elara.
She did not wink back.
They passed a massive hall with stars swirling on the ceiling and a fountain that poured what looked suspiciously like stardust. A floating sign read: Caution: Enchanted Water May Induce Existential Dread.
At last, they reached a towering obsidian door carved with runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. Caelin knocked once.
The door opened on its own.
Inside was a circular room filled with candlelight, books stacked in impossible places, and at the center — Headmistress Arvyn.
She sat on a chair that was less chair and more tree throne, roots curling down into the floor. Her crimson robes glowed faintly.
"Elara Wynn," she said without looking up. "The Veil whispered of you last night."
"Cool," Elara said. "That's not terrifying at all."
Caelin disappeared without a word. The door shut with a soft boom.
The Headmistress finally looked up. Her eyes were molten gold.
"You were not meant to be late."
"There was traffic," Elara offered. "And indecision. And snacks."
The woman ignored her. "Your arrival set things in motion. The Veil has thinned further. Something...is watching."
"That sounds bad."
"It is. Tell me—what did the raven say?"
Elara blinked. "You mean the one that caught on fire? It didn't say anything. The second one just stared at me like I owed it rent."
The Headmistress frowned. "No message?"
Elara hesitated. "Wait. There was another raven. Right before I stepped through the mirror. It said something weird."
She recited it slowly: You will arrive at Nymeria. The Veil will not wait forever.
Arvyn stood abruptly, and all the candles in the room flared. "It spoke?"
"Yeah. That's not normal?"
"No," the Headmistress said, voice tight. "That's prophecy."
"Wonderful," Elara muttered. "Because I love mysterious bird prophecies that might lead to my doom."
Arvyn's eyes narrowed. "You've seen the mirror versions already, haven't you?"
Elara tensed. "Wait—what? You mean the ones that move wrong? That's a thing?"
"The reflections are thinning," Arvyn said. "This academy exists on the edge of magic and madness. Most who are Chosen must prove their minds strong enough to withstand the breach."
"The breach between what and what?" Elara asked, heart rising in her throat.
Arvyn's expression darkened. "Between here...and what should never come through."
---
Later, back in her room, Elara found a note pinned to her pillow. It wasn't there before.
It wasn't written in ink.
It was carved — scratched — into the paper.
"Midnight. Don't trust the mirrors."
Elara stared at it, throat dry.
Behind her, one of the mirrors Blinked