THIRD PERON'S POV

The torches in the West Wing never flickered.

They simply burned-steady, silent, unnatural.

Deep inside the forbidden halls of Ravenshade Academy, past the warped corridor where time hung heavy like soaked velvet, the Masked Man stood alone in a wide stone chamber. Around him, twelve masked figures knelt in a circle, heads bowed low. The air smelled of old parchment and scorched magic.

A thick iron table stood in front of him, cold and blackened. Laid neatly across its surface were five aged leather files, each one sealed in red wax with the sigil of the raven-its wings outstretched, one eye missing. The man didn't touch them. He only watched.

"The circle is incomplete, yet it begins tonight," he said, voice deep and distorted beneath the porcelain plague mask he wore. It was the kind that never blinked.

One of the kneeling servants raised their head. Their mask was simpler, smoother. "What if they fail again?" The voice was soft-female, or something pretending to be.

The Masked Man tilted his head, slowly.

"Then," he said, "Ravenshade will feed again."

A moment passed.

"Bring them."

At once, the circle of followers rose without a word and disappeared into the shadows, vanishing down the cold, winding halls of Ravenshade-each of them assigned to a name, a room, a soul.

The Masked Man stepped forward and ran a gloved finger across one of the files-IRA KARKI etched in silver.

His hand paused.

The file was warm.

ATO'S POV

The car was too quiet.

I sat in the backseat of the black sedan as it sliced through the dense forest road. The windows were tinted, but the light had already died. The trees pressed in from all sides - thick-barked, gnarled, and wrong somehow. The air smelled green, but not alive.

I hadn't spoken since we left the last checkpoint.

Neither had the driver. The man hadn't even looked at me. Just handed me a sealed envelope when I got in, with a wax-stamped raven across the back.

I hadn't opened it.

My fingers curled against the worn denim of my jeans. My spine stayed straight. Too straight. I could feel it-the heat behind my ribs, the edge of the beast inside me shifting, alert.

The forest outside twisted subtly the deeper they went. No other birds only crow. No sound. No curve in the road.

I pressed my hand to the window. Fog clung to the glass like breath.

And then-

A flicker.

My eyes narrowed.

For a second, I saw a man standing between the trees, face completely covered in a bone-white mask.

The same shape as the one from that night.

That night.

My heart began to pound, slow but deep. Not fear. Something older.

A flash-my mother's scream.

The growl of my wolf.

The hand that pulled my father into the black.

The crest on that man's glove.

Ravenshade.

I snapped my eyes shut, jaw locking.

This place. This school. They were part of it. And now I was here.

I opened my eyes as the car slowed. Ahead, a vast iron gate loomed in the darkness, crawling with ivy and carved with runes too worn to read. Two stone gargoyles perched above, each with wings half-broken, mouths open in silent laughter.

The gate opened without a sound.

The car rolled through.

Ravenshade Academy stood at the end of the drive-a towering, black-stone fortress cut from the cliffs. Its windows were all too narrow, like slits. The moon above hung bloated and yellow.

The car stopped.

The driver stepped out but didn't open the door for me. Just stood by the hood and waited.

I stepped out alone.

The second my boot hit the gravel, I felt it. A tremor-not beneath the earth, but beneath the world. A quiet shift.

Something ancient had just noticed me.

~

Inside, the halls smelled like forgotten ink and limestone.

A masked servant in black robes walked ahead of me, saying nothing. The floors creaked in places that looked too new to creak. On the walls, portraits of students stared with blacked-out eyes-every face scratched, every frame flawless.

We walked past an arched hallway lit with blue flame sconces.

And then I saw her.

At the far end of the corridor, walking alone, was a girl.

Petite. Pale.

Long black hair tied in a loose, low knot.She was dressed in all black-a long coat that brushed her knees, layered over a high-neck top and loose black trousers. Her shoes were polished and sharp, clicking softly like quiet warnings with every step.

Her eyes were dark. Really dark-black, deep, and unreadable, like they were hiding something only she understood.

She walked like she didn't care who watched-but knew they did.

And then-her scent hit me.

It wasn't perfume. It wasn't anything worn.

It was her.

Ash. Clove. Lightning caught in silk.

Warm, sharp, a warning and a pull all at once. It wrapped around me, sank into the back of my throat, made my pulse stutter.

It smelled like power barely contained.

Like magic with fangs.

My body stilled.

My breath caught.

I stopped.

The masked escort kept walking.

The girl glanced sideways-just for a second.

Our eyes met.

And something inside me lunged.

My stomach turned molten. My vision tunneled. My wolf pressed forward, claws against my ribs. A low growl started in my chest before I swallowed it back.

Mate.

No.

No, not now. Not here.

I clenched my jaw and looked away, but too late. She had seen it. Every part of it.

She raised one eyebrow as she passed me, eyes flicking from my chest to my lips.

She didn't smile. Didn't slow.

Only said, "You're not the first dog to stare."

A masked servant following her gestured toward the next hall.

"This way, Miss Karki."

My chest tightened.

Karki. Ira Karki.

I didn't know how I knew the first name. I just did. Like it had been waiting.

Then she vanished down the hall.

I stood frozen, pulse in my ears.

The air felt colder where she'd walked.

~

Room 34-A was in the western boys' wing, three floors up from the courtyard. It had one small window that looked out over the mist-drowned woods-and a door that clicked when it closed, like a whisper snapping shut.

I didn't knock. I just walked in.

A pair of legs stuck out from behind one of the beds. "Don't step on the speaker!" a voice called.

I froze mid-step.

The guy popped his head up with a grin so wide it almost looked cracked. Brown skin, black curls, grey hoodie already stained with something red. Eyes bright with exhaustion, like he hadn't slept in a week and liked it that way.

"Arav Ray," the boy said, holding up a hand like a peace sign. "Odisha. I talk too much. You're welcome."

I blinked.

"Right," Arav said, climbing to his feet. "You must be my soulmate-slash-roommate. What's your name, or do I have to give you one?"

"Ato."

"Cool. Sounds like a curse word. I like it. You don't talk much, huh? Brooding type? Tortured past? Deep internal monologue?"

I stared at him.

"Got it. Tall, dangerous, mysterious. Girls love that. I, on the other hand, am emotionally fragile, clingy, and extremely likable."

He turned back to his bed, humming something that sounded like an old lullaby in reverse.

I set my bag down and finally spoke. "You... sleep with your eyes open?"

Arav grinned over his shoulder. "Only when I dream about dying. Which is... a lot."

I didn't respond. He didn't care.

We coexisted in the same room like opposite charges. And somehow, it worked.

SONAM'S POV

I hated heels.

Which was why I wore boots.

Heavy, steel-lined, click-clacking against the Academy's marble floors as I dragged my duffel into Room 19-D western girls' wing.

Two beds. Two desks. One mirror. One cold girl.

My roommate was already there, sitting cross-legged on her bed, flipping through a tattered book with no title. She didn't look up when I entered. Her presence filled the room anyway.

No posters. No photos. Just that tattoo.

I saw it-just under the edge of her collar, peeking like a whisper.

A circular of ink.

It looked like a trap disguised as a symbol-like something that didn't just watch you, but remembered you

"Cool ink," I said, dropping my bag on the other bed.

She didn't look up. "I didn't get it for the aesthetic."

There was a long pause. The kind that made you sweat even in cold rooms.

"I'm Sonam," I tried again.

"Good for you," she murmured.

Another pause.

"You gonna tell me your name or should I just call you Tattoo Girl?"

She closed her book, finally meeting my eyes. Her gaze was sharp. Unreadable. Measured.

"You can call me Ira," she said. "But not twice.

I didn't flinch. "Why? Do you bite?"

"No," Ira said softly, "I burn."

A beat.

I didn't smile. "Let's see who gets scorched first."

THIRD PERSON'S POV

Farhad was sweating.

He had three bags: one with his clothes, one with his books, and one filled only with snacks-Khakhra, Thepla, Chivda, Mango Papad, and chocolate wafers.

He had no idea where he was.

"Okay," he whispered to himself. "This hallway looks exactly like the last two. Did I circle back? How is this place still going?"

He stopped outside a room. 19-D. He squinted at the number.

"Boys' wing, right? Right?" He knocked anyway, balancing his snack bag awkwardly.

The door opened.

It was not the boys' wing.

Two girls stared at him.

One looked like she could delete his existence with a keystroke.

The other looked like she'd enjoy it.

Farhad tried to smile.

"Hi. Uhh. I think I'm lost?"

Ira didn't blink. "You're in the wrong wing."

Sonam sighed, grabbed his arm. "Come on, Snack Boy. I'll guide you before you start crying."

Farhad followed her, flustered and fascinated.

"Thanks. You saved my life."

"I should've let you suffer," she muttered.

"You could've," he said brightly. "But you didn't. That's growth."

FARHAD'S POV

The boys' wing was a lot quieter than the girls'.

Okay-technically, I wasn't supposed to know that. But after barging into what was very clearly not my room and facing down a girl with eyes like murder and another with a stare that could probably boil water, I figured anything else would be an improvement.

Sonam walked fast. Didn't look back. Just muttered, "You're lucky she didn't kill you," and dropped me off at the hall with a sarcastic bow.

I managed to croak, "Thank you," without dropping my snack bag, which had become my emotional support item by now.

Room 34-B.

That was mine.

I opened the door slowly, praying to all snack gods that this time I'd gotten the right one.

The room was dark, but not empty.

A tall guy was already unpacked-his bed perfectly made, his books stacked by size on the desk, and he was currently lining up colored pens on his shelf. Like, by color gradient.

He turned, stared at me.

Didn't smile.

Didn't blink.

"Oh," I said. "Hi. I'm Farhad. You're... wow. Tall."

The guy just gave me a short nod. "Dev. I study alone. Lights out at ten."

"Cool, cool," I said, already knowing I was going to eat Khakhra in the dark under my blanket like a shameful raccoon.

I dropped my bags and opened the window for some fresh air-and that's when I noticed it.

Next door.

I could hear a laugh.

A real one.

Like someone was actually having fun in this cursed grave of a school.

I pressed my ear to the thin wall. Another voice-a deep, tired one. Then something crashed. Then laughter again.

Two guys. One sounded intense. The other like he'd just failed a math test and decided to dance about it.

I smiled.

I didn't know who they were yet, but I already liked them better than Dev.

I took out a Thepla, chewed it slowly, and whispered to myself,

"At least I'm next to the fun dorm."

____________________________________

✦ Author's Note ✦

You've stepped through the gates. You've met the cursed. You've heard the first truth.

But Ravenshade doesn't reveal itself all at once.

Every shadow has a name. Every whisper is a warning.

And what waits beyond this chapter... watches you too.

Be careful where you read next.

- Authorechha