My heart raced. That was the last time I'd dressed up like this. I wanted to tear the dress off, smash the mirror, destroy everything in sight—but I held it in.
If this were a new beginning, I wouldn't ruin it on the first day.
"I don't want to have a breakdown... I hate breakdowns," I muttered, quickly brushing my hair. I didn't even try to perfect it. I just turned around and left the room.
I kept pacing until I realized I'd reached the hallway. I froze. People were watching me—really watching me. As I glanced around, I saw every eye on me. I just stood there, awkwardly, at the top of the four steps leading down.
A woman with a golden French twist stepped up beside me.
"Zinnia?" she said. I turned, surprised.
"I'm the Headmistress of Blackridge Academy—Evangeline Leonardo," she introduced herself, extending her hand.
There was a strange sparkle in her eyes, her voice laced with excitement.
I noticed her hair wasn't entirely golden—dark roots faded into light brown, then yellowish-golden tips.
"I like your hair," I said without thinking.
"Thank you," she smiled as we shook hands.
"I really wanted to meet you," I told her.
"I know. But you were exhausted, and I wasn't here then. It was better that you rested." She turned toward the hallway, picking a drink from a passing waiter. "At least we finally met."
"Why is everyone staring at me?" I asked, scanning the room.
She smiled. "Isn't it obvious? You're new, you're pretty, and so is your dress."
"Aww, baby dearest is wearing her mommy's gown tonight?" A voice sliced through the calm moment, exactly who I expected. I turned around. It was Robin.
As I swallowed the bitterness in her voice, her words finally hit me.
"What?" I blinked. "My mother's gown?"
I looked down at my dress, stunned.
When I lifted my eyes, Mrs. Leonardo was shooting Robin a sharp glare before turning to me with a gentle smile.
"Yes, Zinnia. It was your mother's," she said softly, then sighed.
I had so many questions, but before I could speak, four hands landed on my shoulders—my friends. They pulled me into their chatter, and just like that, Mrs. Leonardo disappeared into the crowd. I tried to catch one last glimpse of her, but she was already gone.
Turning back, I noticed Dorian. His gaze was fixed on me, though he kept trying to look elsewhere. His eyes bounced around the room, only to land back on me again and again.
I clasped my hands, suddenly nervous. When I tuned back into the conversation, Cris was in the middle of complimenting me.
"Thanks," I murmured, then added, "but am I the only one worried about our families? I've called my aunt a dozen times—she's not picking up. I did talk to my mom, though." I shrugged.
"I called my Nana," Cris said, "and Shawn got through to his parents. We told them we're on a research trip, posing as archaeologists." She and Shawn laughed. "Hey, maybe your aunt's just busy," Cris added, touching my shoulder gently.
"And you, Don?" I turned to Dorian. His expression shifted—his face long, eyes empty.
"Remember the car crash I told you about? My mother and father died in it, too."
His words hit hard. I felt ashamed—this was the second time I'd brought up something that hurt him.
"I'm sorry, I…" I started, but he cut me off.
"It's alright. I've learned to live with it," he said with a shrug. "Anyway, what was Mrs. Leonardo talking about?"
"She said this dress belonged to my mom." I glanced down at it. "It's surprising. She never told me anything about Blackridge Academy."
Ryan snapped his fingers. "We might have a way to get answers," he said, stepping forward. "Remember the mage I told you about?"
Before he could continue, Cris jumped in. "Oh, that scary guy? I'm so ready to meet him," she said with a frown.
"I'll take you to him, but you should know—he might scare you," Ryan warned.
"Ugh! Not this again," Cris groaned, facepalming.
"No, seriously. This isn't a joke anymore. He does have answers, but when he reads… It's like something takes over. He creeps me out every time," Ryan added, shaking his head with visible discomfort. This time, he looked genuinely uneasy.
We finally agreed to go. Ryan led us to the far left end of the corridor, where a small door opened into a stairwell. There were so many steps, just looking at them made our legs ache.
"I'm not going up there," Shawn muttered, staring at his leg like it still hadn't healed.
"It's okay. Everyone, hold onto my arms," Ryan said, stepping between us. We didn't know why, but we did as he asked.
As we stepped onto the first stair with him, he began to whisper something. Then we felt it—a sudden gust of wind against our faces, strong enough to toss our hair, even though the stairwell was completely enclosed.
Looking down, I realized the stairs were moving—folding into each other, lifting us upward.
Before we knew it, we were at the top. Honestly, we were all impressed by whatever Ryan had just done.
In front of us stood a small wooden door. When we opened it, we entered a room that looked like an attic. Tall windows stretched across the walls, except for one shadowed corner, which remained engulfed in darkness.
We stepped inside. The clouds shifted, and moonlight poured through the windows, finally reaching that darkened corner.
That's when we saw him.
A man locked inside a cell. He had a long white beard and mustache, and wore an overcoat, oddly designed, with too many pockets to count. I couldn't help but wonder what he kept in them.
He was sitting on a bench, head resting against the wall, eyes shut. For a second, we thought he was asleep.
But then he took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes.
"Ahh… isn't the moonlight beautiful?" he said, standing and stepping forward. When he came into the light, we saw his eyes, white as pearls.
"How—" I barely spoke before he interrupted.
"Zinnia, my child, you finally came!" A wide smile lit up his face, genuine and strange. How did he know me? And why was he so happy to see me? *How can he see me?*
"I know you. I knew your father. I knew your family," he said, as if answering my thoughts before I could speak them.
"I cannot see what's around me, but I see what was—what's within, and what hides beneath. Like the moonlight—I feel it on my skin, I absorb it in my soul. And just like that, I can see you." He gripped the cell bars.
His expression shifted. "I sense another presence… strong." He paused, then pointed at Cris. "Wait. Who's the other girl? I can't read her name. Come here, child."
Cris hesitated but stepped forward, visibly shaking. The moment she was close enough, he grabbed her hands.
"Ah… I know you," he whispered with a strange smile. Then his face turned sharply to the side, as if listening to something only he could hear.
"A harbinger of death," he murmured. "Born from the ashes of Death Valley. You are the first of your bloodline."
It was as if he was staring straight into her soul.
"What are you saying? I don't understand!" Cris said, her voice tight with fear.
"Listen to me—you didn't kill him. You *predicted* his death. What you experienced was an episode—your powers were triggered by coming close to the school. You're a Harbinger of Death."
He paused, eyes steady on Cris. "I recognize you. Before you were even born, you had a rare disease, incurable by any normal means. Your parents came to me, desperate. They asked for a flower that only blooms once a year in Death Valley."
"I warned them: it would cure the illness, but curse the child with a heavy fate."
He smiled faintly. "I see now… you'll carry that burden with grace."
But his smile faded quickly, replaced by tension.
"There's more. Listen closely. *Don't fall for false promises.* Not every hand reaching for you is a friend! Master your gifts before they consume you!"
His eyes began to turn red, his voice rising with urgency, and his grip on Cris tightened.
"I'll support you as much as I can!" he said sharply, then turned to me. "Zinnia, she *must* survive. She'll be your crutch when you can't walk… your light in the dark."
The moment he said it, both he and Cris dropped to their knees. They looked up—eyes turned completely white—then collapsed, unconscious.