The classroom was vast.
This is going to be fun, he thought.
And then he strolled through the gates.
Vaulted ceilings soared overhead, their heights lost in shadow. Stained glass windows lined one wall, casting colored light across rows of floating desks—each one polished oak, each one hovering a foot above the floor, each one equipped with an inkwell that never ran dry and a quill that never needed sharpening.
At the front of the room, behind a lectern carved from a single block of obsidian, stood the Headmistress.
She was tall. Impossibly tall, her figure draped in robes of deep crimson that seemed to shift and flow like liquid fire. Her hair was silver, pulled back in an intricate arrangement that probably required magic to maintain. Her eyes were the color of amber, and they swept across the assembled students with the weight of centuries.
Twenty-nine students sat in the floating desks.
Twenty-nine students in perfect uniforms, with perfect posture, with perfect wands laid precisely before them.
Twenty-nine students who turned as one to stare at the latecomer shuffling through the door.
Darc paused.
He looked at them.
They looked at him.
"Well," he said. "This is awkward."
The Headmistress's eyes narrowed.
"Mister Escaron." Her voice was like honey poured over thunder. "How kind of you to join us. I trust your journey from the village was... educational?"
"Very," Darc said. "I learned that walking uphill both ways is actually impossible. The villagers lied to me."
Someone snickered. Quickly stifled.
The Headmistress's expression did not change. "Take your seat, Mister Escaron. We have much to cover, and you have already wasted precious time."
Darc looked at the classroom.
Front row? Absolutely not. Too close to the teacher, too much attention, too easy to see when he inevitably failed at everything.
Second row? No. Middle row? Definitely not.
Back row. The back row was where he belonged. The back row was safe.
He spotted it—the far corner, right by the window, with a perfect view of the Blackwood countryside stretching toward the Haunted Wood. Fresh air. Distractions. Minimal teacher visibility.
Perfect.
He walked toward it.
The other students watched him pass. Some with curiosity. Some with disdain. One—a boy in the front row with sharp features and colder eyes—watched with something that looked almost like recognition.
Darc ignored them all.
He reached the back corner. He dropped into the seat—
And landed on something soft.
Very soft.
And warm.
Darc froze.
"What the—"
He reached down, patting the apparently empty seat. His hand touched something that felt like fabric, felt like flesh, but looked like nothing at all.
He patted again.
A voice spoke directly into his ear.
"Don't you dare."
Darc shot out of the seat like he'd been stabbed.
"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!" he shouted, diving behind a nearby desk and using his book bag as a shield. "EVERYONE TAKE COVER! IT'S INVISIBLE! IT COULD BE ANYWHERE!"
Twenty-nine students stared at him.
The Headmistress stared at him.
The empty seat—the one he'd just vacated—stared at him too. Probably. It was hard to tell with invisible people.
"Mister Escaron." The Headmistress's voice could have frozen the Haunted Wood solid. "What, precisely, do you think you are doing?"
"Protecting myself! And others! From the invisible threat!" Darc peeked over his book bag. "There's something in that seat! I sat on it! It spoke to me!"
"Spoke to you?"
"Threatened me, actually. Told me not to touch it. Very aggressive. Probably dangerous."
The Headmistress closed her eyes.
She took a breath.
When she opened them again, she looked directly at the empty seat.
"Miss Veyne. If you would be so kind as to reveal yourself, I believe you've traumatized your new classmate."
A shimmer in the air.
And then—
A girl.
She appeared slowly, like a painting emerging from fog. Dark hair first over her face bang hairstyle, falling in waves past her shoulders. Then sharp cheekbones, pale skin, eyes the color of twilight. A uniform identical to the others, but somehow more—better fitted, more elegant, carrying an air of ancient wealth and older magic.
She was beautiful.
She was also furious.
"That seat was mine," she said. Her voice matched the one that had spoken in Darc's ear—low, cold, dangerous. "I've like the back sit . It's my seat. And you—" She pointed at Darc. "—sat on my lap."
The classroom erupted.
Though Darc could see her,he couldn't use magic!
Laughter. Gasps. Whispers spread like wildfire.
Darc lowered his book bag.
"Huh," he said. "So that's what that was."
Miss Veyne's eyes narrowed to slits.
The student beside Darc—a boy with spectacles and a nervous twitch—leaned over and whispered, "Can't you sense her magic? She's one of the Veynes. Their invisibility is legendary. Most people can't even tell they're in the room."
Darc blinked. "Sense her... magic?"
"Yes. You know. The magic coming off her. Can't you feel it?"
Before Darc could answer, another voice cut through the chaos—louder, sharper, designed to carry.
"He can't."
The front-row boy stood.
Sharp features. Cold eyes. Dark hair swept back from a forehead that probably never sweated or worried about anything. He wore his uniform like armor, and when he smiled, it didn't reach his eyes.
"He can't sense magic," the boy repeated. "Because Darc Escaron—" He let the name hang in the air, letting everyone taste it. "—is magicless."
Silence.
Complete, total, devastating silence.
"I know him," the boy continued, stepping into the aisle, walking toward the back of the room with the casual confidence of someone who had never been told no in his entire life. "Well. I know of him. We're practically family."
Darc's stomach dropped.
"The Escaron line?" the boy said, spreading his arms as if presenting himself to an audience. "I'm the heir now. When Duke Valdus passes, the house passes to me. Because this—" He gestured at Darc. "—is what happens when the blood fails. A magicless husk. A disgrace. A commoner wearing a noble name he doesn't deserve."
The whispers returned, louder now, uglier.
Darc looked at the boy—at his replacement, at the stranger who had taken everything that should have been his.
Then he looked at the invisible girl, still glaring at him from her stolen seat.
Then he looked at the Headmistress, whose expression had shifted from annoyance to something more calculating.
Well, Darc thought. This is going well.
The Headmistress cleared her throat.
"Enough."
The word carried power. Actual power—a spell woven into sound, pressing against the room, forcing silence.
"Miss Veyne, resume your seat. Mister Escaron—" She looked at Darc. "—find somewhere else to sit. And you." Her gaze shifted to the front-row boy. "Return to your place. We have lessons to begin, and I will not have my classroom turned into a circus."
The classroom had finally settled.
Darc sat at the very back, in the row beside the invisible girl. Not the window seat—that was still hers, apparently—but close enough. Close enough to feel her presence like a warmth in the cold air. Close enough to catch the faint scent of something floral whenever she shifted.
His eyes, though.
His eyes kept drifting to that corner. The window. The light. Freedom.
He didn't notice her watching him watch it.
"As the atmosphere of Magic began"