Sunlight spilled gently through the curtains, painting soft golden patterns across Aurora's blanket.
A warm hand shook her shoulder.
"Hey, sleepyhead" her brother said softly. "You've been in this room for two days. We're going out."
Aurora groaned and buried her face in the pillow. "Out where?"
"Anywhere. Everywhere. You need air. You need to move. I don't know what's going on with you lately, but you're… not yourself." He hesitated, then added with a hopeful grin, "Come on. I'll buy you bubble tea."
She don't want to further disappoint or hurt him.
"…Fine" she muttered. "Give me ten minutes."
---
She dressed quickly—comfortable jeans, a soft tee, hair brushed just enough to feel decent. In the mirror, her reflection looked pale, but she forced a smile.
Just one normal day. One day to pretend everything was fine.
They started with her favorite café, grabbed warm pastries, and wandered aimlessly through bookstores. They tried on ridiculous sunglasses from a street vendor, chased each other across the crosswalk when the light turned yellow, and laughed too loudly when a squirrel darted off with someone's fries in the park.
And for a little while, she really felt it—that old self. The girl before everything cracked open.
At one point, her brother nudged her side. "You're smiling."
"I am?" she blinked. Then smiled wider. "Guess I missed this."
He looked at her for a long moment. "You sure you're okay?"
Aurora met his gaze. It was full of quiet worry.
She reached over and squeezed his arm. "I will be," she said. Not a lie. Not the full truth either. But enough.
---
They returned home just as the sky turned peach-orange.
The house smelled like something warm and familiar. Their parents were in the kitchen, soft music playing from the little speaker tucked above the spice rack.
Aurora started humming as she entered, the melody stirring something calm inside her.
She moved to help, but her mom waved her off gently. "Hands first."
Aurora smiled and headed to the sink. Her mom joined her, and they washed side by side, water running warm over their fingers, the silence companionable.
Her dad was already at the table, laying out the dishes. He looked up as they joined, eyes lingering on Aurora a moment too long.
They all sat down. For a moment, everything felt like it used to.
Then her father cleared his throat. "Aurora… you've been quiet lately. Not just tired—different. You're hardly eating. And…" He glanced at her brother, then back. "He says you talk in your sleep."
Aurora tensed, fork paused mid-air.
Her mom added gently, "If something's going on—anything—you can talk to us. Please don't shut us out."
"I'm not," she said quickly. Then softened. "I just… I've been overwhelmed. Trying to figure some things out."
She didn't lie. But she didn't give the truth either. Not yet.
Her dad studied her a moment, then gave a small nod. "Alright. Just know we're here. Always."
Her mother reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind Aurora's ear. "You don't have to carry it all alone."
Aurora looked down at her plate, blinking quickly. "I'm trying."
They finished dinner in soft, comfortable quiet. No pressure. Just love.
Later, as dusk deepened into evening, Aurora stood by the window, watching the horizon melt into night. Somewhere far away, something stirred—like a whisper against the edges of her mind.
But for now, she let it go.
That night, the calm didn't last.
She lay in bed, the weight of sleep tugging at her limbs, but something pulled harder—something older, colder, and waiting.
A soft chime echoed from the watch on her wrist.
It glowed faintly, the light pulsing like a heartbeat. Then a voice, distant but clear, echoed in her mind:
"Return. You need to know WHO YOU ARE."
She sat up slowly. The room was still, her family asleep. But the air around her felt charged.
She hesitated only a moment before whispering, "Alright. Take me back."
The glow flared, and the world blurred.
---
When her vision cleared, she was no longer in her bedroom.
Stone walls stretched upward, towering like a cathedral. Eldridge Hall. Its halls shimmered with faint moonlight, cloaked in the same eerie hush she remembered.
But something had changed.
Waiting at the base of the spiral stair was Lady Mairead— calm, regal, her deep violet cloak sweeping the floor like mist. Her silver eyes caught Aurora's immediately.
"You've came" she said.
Aurora folded her arms, steadying her voice. "You called. I want answers. About me. About what's happening."
Lady Mairead studied her for a long moment, then turned.
"Follow me."
They walked in silence, their footsteps echoing down the marble corridor.
Finally, Mairead spoke, "Not every truth is safe to tell. But you've earned more than silence."
They turned a corner, passing ancient portraits and glowing sigils embedded in the walls.
"I saw someone," Aurora said quietly. "A woman. In the Forbidden Wing. She knew me. She knew how to hurt me."
Mairead's gaze sharpened. "And did she?"
Aurora hesitated. "She tried."
Mairead stopped before a tall, arched door carved with thorns and flame. "Then you've seen the edge of it. The reason you were chosen."
Aurora's heart pounded. "What am I?"
The doors creaked open with a shudder.
Inside, the circular chamber flickered with low candlelight. Three figures stood waiting—Master Carven, his expression unreadable; Professor Nyx, arms folded, eyes sharp; and a fourth figure, cloaked and unfamiliar, face half-shadowed.
Lady Mairead gestured for her to enter. "Tonight, Aurora, you will learn. Not all of it. But enough."
Aurora stepped inside.
And the door shut behind her with a final, echoing thud.
The chamber was colder than she expected.
Candlelight flickered along the walls, casting the professors in stark relief. Master Carven stood like stone, his hands clasped behind him. Professor Nyx's expression was razor-sharp, her robes whispering as she turned to face Aurora.
The fourth figure—hooded, face hidden—remained silent by the far wall, a faint hum of power radiating from them.
Aurora stood in the center, pulse hammering in her ears.
At Eldridge Hall's silent command, the very air shimmered—and the stone floor beneath them softened into a ring of velvet-cushioned seats, appearing with a whisper of mist, urging everyone to sit, as if the Hall itself wished to cradle their frayed minds in calm.
Lady Mairead broke the silence. "Aurora has returned by choice. She seeks the truth of why she was brought to Eldridge Hall."
"She isn't ready," Professor Nyx snapped. "She can barely control her powers, let alone handle what's coming. You've all seen it—her energy flares with emotion. She's volatile."
"She's human," Master Carven said evenly. "And still learning. As we all once did."
"She's more than human," Nyx retorted. "And you know it. That flare in the Forbidden Wing nearly shattered a ward that's held for centuries. You think that was coincidence?"
Aurora's jaw clenched. "I didn't mean to—"
"You didn't have to," Nyx cut in, eyes blazing. "You walk like a child among blades, and sooner or later, someone will bleed for it."
"That's enough" Mairead said sharply.
But Nyx wasn't finished.
"You brought her here without knowing the full weight of what she carries. And now she's being hunted by something that speaks her name in shadows. If she loses control again, who will protect this Hall? Who will protect us?"
Aurora's fists clenched. "I didn't ask for this."
"No one asks to be dangerous," Nyx hissed. "They just are."
For a breath, the chamber held nothing but silence.
Then the hooded figure stepped forward.
Their voice, low and smooth, rang with an otherworldly edge. "She is the key. You argue over her like she is a weapon or a mistake. But she is both—and more. Bound to life and death, shaped by emotion. You fear her because you do not understand her."
Aurora turned sharply. "Who are you?"
The figure slowly pulled back the hood.
It wasn't someone she knew. But their eyes—
Gold and storm-grey. Familiar and not.
The figure offered a small, unreadable smile. "Call me Professor Aridan. I've been watching you from beyond the gate. And I know exactly what you are and who you are." she said with a sweet little smile.
Everyone went still.
Even Nyx.
"What do you mean?" Aurora whispered.
Aridan stepped closer, their gaze steady. "You carry something older than this Hall. A power thought lost—a connection to the First Flame and the Last Breath. That is why the shadows seek you. That is why he—" they glanced briefly at Carven, "—feels the need to shield you."
Mairead's tone was steel. "That knowledge was sealed."
"And now it stirs again," Aridan said. "Whether we like it or not."
Nyx looked furious. "You're making her a target."
"She was a target" Aridan said quietly. "From the moment she touched the boundary between realms. We cannot protect her by hiding her. We must teach her."
Carven finally stepped forward, his voice grave. "Then we must decide. Tonight. Do we bring her into the old truths—or cast her out before the storm finds its way in?"
All eyes turned to Aurora.
No longer just a guest. No longer a child.
She swallowed hard, then lifted her chin. "I won't run from this. Teach me."
The flame in the torches flared higher, as if in answer.
As the council chamber doors shut behind her, Aurora exhaled slowly, her nerves still buzzing from everything she'd heard.
But then—
A sharp crack echoed down the hall.
Not from her footsteps.
A voice. Stern. Cold.
"Restraints. Now."
She turned toward the side corridor just in time to see a flicker of flame—and then, a flash of silver chains lashing around a figure.
Her breath caught.
Caelum.
He was on one knee, his coat scorched at the edges, eyes glowing faintly as two enforcers held him in place with glowing cuffs. Professors stood nearby, her arms folded, expression like ice.
"What are you doing?" Aurora stepped forward before she even thought.
Nyx didn't flinch. "Disciplining a student who disobeyed direct orders. Again."
Caelum didn't look at her. His gaze was locked on the floor, jaw clenched.
"He crossed the wards during your last flare" Nyx went on. "Entered a sealed section. Burned through three layers of protective sigils to reach you. That kind of unrestrained power is a threat—to you, to the Hall, and to himself."
Aurora's voice shook. "He saved me."
Nyx's eyes narrowed. "Yes. And in doing so, broke every containment law we have. Eldridge Hall is not a playground for reckless guardianship. He wasn't assigned to you—he chose to interfere."
Aurora stepped between them. "So punish me, then."
That made Caelum look up, eyes blazing. "DON'T."
"NO" she said, turning toward Nyx. "You keep saying I'm dangerous. That I need control. So why punish the only person who helped me survive long enough to hear it?"
The enforcers hesitated.
Nyx's expression flickered—just a moment. Then her tone shifted, quieter.
"He didn't just break a rule, Aurora. He broke a binding. He used fire meant only for the defense of this Hall, and he used it against the hall. For You."
She let that hang in the air.
"You think that's noble. But here, it's dangerous. Because power used without order always comes with a cost."
She turned to Caelum. "Three days of confinement. Powers sealed. You'll answer to the Magelock Court at week's end."
Aurora stepped closer to him, but the enforcers had already moved, pulling him away with glowing sigils swirling at his wrists.
He didn't resist.
But as they turned the corner, he looked over his shoulder—and met her eyes.
He didn't speak.
He didn't have to.
The flicker in his eyes said what the words couldn't: It was worth it.
And Aurora was left alone in the hallway, fists trembling, heart splintering, caught between gratitude and fury.
Aurora remained frozen long after Caelum disappeared down the corridor.
The air was heavy with burned magic and bitter silence.
She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop the shaking—not from fear, but fury. Not at Caelum. At Eldridge Hall. At the laws that punished loyalty and silence that followed cruelty.
He broke rules to save me.
And I stood there while they chained him for it.
Her watch pulsed faintly on her wrist, responding to her spiraling thoughts. The glow deepened—no longer a soft light, but a sharp, cold pulse. It throbbed once… twice… and then faded again, as if warning her.
Or responding.
"I'm not going to let them do this," she whispered.
A voice behind her spoke, quiet as a breeze.
"You won't win by rushing in with fire."
She turned sharply.
It was Professor Aridan.
"I'm not asking for your advice," she said stiffly.
"No," Aridan said, "you're asking for a way to protect the people you care about. You just don't know it yet."
Aurora stared at them, her pulse still racing.
"If you want to change the rules of this Hall," Aridan added, stepping past her, "you'll need more than power. You'll need control. Knowledge. And allies who haven't yet turned their backs on you."
Their words echoed down the corridor as they disappeared into the dark.
Aurora stood alone in the quiet that followed.
Not broken. Not safe. Not sure of anything anymore.
Except this:
She wouldn't let this be the end of Caelum's story. Or hers.
And the next time Eldridge Hall tried to silence her, they'd find they'd taught her too well.