5. Aria

5

ARIA

I jolt awake, a scream dying in my throat. The shadows in my room seem to writhe, and for a moment, I'm not sure if I'm truly awake or still trapped in the nightmare. My heart pounds as I try to shake off the lingering terror.

It's the same dream, night after night. I'm back home, living my normal life, when suddenly everything starts to unravel. My skin peels away, revealing shadows underneath. My friends and family turn into grotesque monsters.

And always, always, I hear Kieran's laughter echoing in the background.

I stumble out of bed, my legs shaky. The cold stone floor of my Ravencrest dormitory room grounds me in reality – or what passes for reality in this nightmare realm. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and barely recognize the gaunt, haunted face staring back at me.

"Pull yourself together, Aria," I mutter, splashing cold water on my face. "You have classes to survive."

As I dress in the dark robes of a Ravencrest student, I can't help but glance at the empty bed on the other side of the room. Lyra, my roommate, disappeared three days before I arrived. The official story is that she's on a special assignment, but the whispers in the halls tell a different tale.

They say she failed her final exam – fatally.

I head to my first lesson of the week. Necromantic Theory with Professor Dearborne. The classroom is a vast, dimly lit chamber, the walls adorned with skulls of various creatures, their empty eye sockets seeming to watch our every move.

Professor Dearborne, a gaunt figure with skin like parchment and eyes that glow with an eerie, otherworldly light, stands before us. "Today," he announces, his voice dry as ancient bones, "you will attempt to forge a connection with the realm of the dead. The student who establishes the strongest link will be rewarded. Those who fail... Well, let's hope none of you do."

My stomach churns as I take my place in the circle of students. We've studied the theory before, but we've never attempted to actually reach beyond the veil. I close my eyes, trying to calm my racing heart as I recall the techniques we've been taught.

I reach out with my senses, not physical but ethereal, feeling for the boundary between life and death. At first, there's nothing but a vast, cold emptiness. Then, slowly, I become aware of... whispers. Countless voices, just beyond my perception, a cacophony of the departed.

I push deeper, searching for a singular presence I can latch onto. Suddenly, I feel something – a tendril of spectral energy, cold and ancient. Without thinking, I grasp it, drawing it towards me. The sensation is overwhelming, a rush of otherworldly power that leaves me gasping.

When I open my eyes, I'm no longer alone. A translucent figure hovers before me, its features indistinct but unmistakably sorrowful. Around me, my classmates are in various states of concentration or distress. Some have managed to manifest wisps of spectral energy, others seem to be struggling against unseen forces.

A sylph-like fae girl, curled up on the floor, sobs uncontrollably, surrounded by a swirling vortex of angry spirits, but the teacher doesn't seem to mind too much, snapping his fingers and leaving her to cry it out, stepping over her to get to me.

"Impressive, Miss Aria." Professor Dearborne's voice cuts through my shock. He's standing over me, a rare look of approval on his face. "It seems you have a natural affinity for communing with the dead. But be warned – such gifts often come with a heavy price."

As the spectral figure before me begins to fade, I'm left with a mixture of exhilaration and dread. I've touched the realm of the dead, drawn forth a spirit from beyond the veil.

I should feel proud, but all I feel is sick. As we leave the classroom, I catch the fae girl's eye, and she looks different… changed.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of disturbing lessons and unsettling encounters. In every shadowy corner, I feel eyes watching me. More than once, I spin around, certain I've caught a glimpse of Kieran's imposing figure, only to find nothing there.

Am I going mad? Or is this all part of some twisted test?

My last class of the day is Advanced Herbology, held in Ravencrest's sprawling twilight gardens. The air is thick with the scent of otherworldly flora and pulsing with fae magic. Rows of strange plants stretch as far as the eye can see, their forms shifting and twisting in ways that defy mortal botany.

"Your task," our instructor, a changeling named Ms. Thornweave, announces, her voice as melodious as wind through reeds, "is to harvest the twilight mandrakes. But be warned – they do not appreciate being uprooted."

I approach my assigned plot, trying not to shiver as tendrils of mist curl around my ankles. The mandrakes look deceptively ordinary at first glance – just another root vegetable nestled in the loamy soil. But as I look closer, I notice the leaves shimmer with an unnatural iridescence, and did that one just... twitch?

Ms. Thornweave glides between the rows, her skin shimmering with an otherworldly pallor, hair like living vines framing her ageless face. "Remember," she cautions, "these are not your mundane mandrakes. They prey on the unwary who mistake them for common roots. Approach with caution and purpose."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself as I reach for the first mandrake. As my fingers brush its leaves, I feel the winter court magic building within me. It's terrifying, yet also... exhilarating.

I grasp the mandrake firmly and pull. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, with a shriek that sets my teeth on edge, the creature erupts from the soil. It's a twisted thing, its root-like body writhing as a maw full of crystalline fangs snaps at my hand. Eyes – far too many eyes – open along its length, all fixing on me at once.

I've barely registered my success before it lunges, faster than thought, its teeth sinking into my arm. Pain explodes through me as its icy bite sears my flesh.

I scream, unleashing a burst of power I didn't know I possessed. The mandrake freezes solid, shattering like black ice as it falls from my bleeding arm.

"Interesting technique, Miss Aria," Ms. Thornweave says, suddenly beside me. Her eyes glitter with curiosity and something else – approval, perhaps? "Unconventional but effective. You may go to the healing glade now."

As I clutch my wounded arm, Ms. Thornweave adds, "The Grimoire of Twilight Flora, pages 30-97 for tonight's reading. Mind you, keep up. Next class we tackle the whispering willows, and they have so many fascinating secrets to share."

I nod, still shaken, and make my way to the healing glade. As I leave, I can't help but look back at the twilight garden. The remaining mandrakes seem to watch me go, their leaves rustling in anticipation or hunger. This is a far cry from the botany classes I once knew. In the fae realms, it seems even gardening is a perilous endeavor.

Clutching my injured arm, I stumble out of the rime-covered chamber, eager to reach the healing glade. But before I can get there, an unfamiliar figure blocks my path.

"Well, well," a voice drawls, dripping with disdain. "What do we have here? Kieran's new pet human, I presume?"

I look up to see a changeling girl standing before me. She's breathtakingly beautiful in that otherworldly fae way - tall and willowy, with skin that shimmers like moonlight on water and hair that seems to be woven from living shadows. But her perfect features are marred by a sneer of disgust as she looks me up and down.

"I'm Vesper," she announces, as if bestowing a great honor upon me. "Daughter of the Twilight Court's ambassador. And you... You're the hexblood upstart everyone's been whispering about."

Her eyes, which shift color like oil on water, glitter with cruel amusement. "I heard you had a little accident in Twilight Herbcraft. Tsk, tsk. Can't even handle a simple mandrake? How pathetic."

I try to push past her, but she grabs my injured arm, sending waves of pain through me. Her grip is surprisingly strong, her nails digging into my flesh like icy needles.

"Listen carefully, half-breed," she hisses, her beautiful face twisted with malice. "I don't know what Kieran sees in you, but know this. You don't belong here. This is a place for true fae, not some dirty hexblood playing at magic. You'll never be one of us."

Something in me snaps. All the fear, all the pain, all the pent-up emotion of the past weeks comes surging out. "You know nothing about me," I snarl, feeling that same dark power rising within me. "I belong here more than you know."

I don't consciously cast a spell, but suddenly Vesper is flying backward, slamming into the wall with a sickening crunch. She slumps to the ground, her perfect form crumpled like a discarded doll, unconscious or worse.

Before I can react, a thunderous voice echoes through the corridor. "What is the meaning of this?" Professor Thornweave materializes between us, her usual ethereal grace replaced by a terrifying intensity.

Her eyes, now swirling pools of midnight, dart between me and the prone form of Vesper. "Explanations can wait," she says, her voice cold as midwinter. "Both of you, to the infirmary. Now."

With a wave of her hand, Vesper's unconscious form rises, floating eerily beside us as Professor Thornweave marches me down the winding corridors of Ravencrest.

The infirmary, when we arrive, is like something out of a mad scientist's fever dream. Gone are the sterile whites and antiseptic smells of mortal hospitals. Instead, the air is thick with the scent of herbs both familiar and alien, undercut by a metallic tang that makes my stomach churn.

The flesh-crafters who staff the place are disturbing amalgamations of healers and butchers. One approaches me, her six arms moving in perfect synchronization as she examines my injured limb. Another tends to Vesper, his eyes – all dozen of them – blinking in unsettling patterns as he assesses her condition.

"Tsk, tsk," my attendant clucks, her voice a discordant harmony as if multiple beings are speaking at once. "Simple mandrake wound, exacerbated by... Oh my, what delightful chaos magic!"

She begins to patch up my arm with a mixture of spellwork and bizarre stitchery. The thread she uses seems to be alive, wriggling as it weaves through my flesh. All the while, she and her colleagues discuss my case as if I'm not even there.

"Look at this latent structure," one says, pointing at something I can't see. "With a few adjustments, we could significantly enhance her magical conductivity."

"Oh yes," another chimes in, "and perhaps an extra limb or two? For improved spellcasting, of course."

"Now, now," my attendant chides, though I detect a note of reluctance in her voice. "You know we can't make improvements without consent. More's the pity."

I shudder, suddenly very glad for whatever rules are holding them back. Across the room, I see Vesper stirring, her perfect features marred by a spectacular bruise blossoming across her cheek.

As the flesh-crafters finish their work, Professor Thornweave reappears. "You'll both report to the Headmaster's office tomorrow morning," she announces. "I suggest you spend the intervening time reflecting on the consequences of your actions."

With that ominous pronouncement, we're dismissed. As I hurry out of the infirmary, my newly healed arm itching in a way that suggests the healing is more cosmetic than complete, my mind races.

I've made an enemy today, that much is certain. But I've also discovered a well of power within me that I never knew existed. I can't go back to my room, not yet. I need... something. Answers, maybe. Or just a moment of peace.

My feet carry me to the library, a vast, labyrinthine space where the books sometimes rearrange themselves when you're not looking. I wander deep into its depths, past sections marked with warnings I can't even read.

A book catches my eye, its spine adorned with a symbol that looks oddly familiar. With a start, I realize it's the same mark I've had on my palm since birth – the mark I always thought was just a strangely shaped birthmark.

Heart pounding, I pull the book from the shelf. Its title, written in script that seems to writhe on the page, reads "Hexeblood: The Forbidden Lineage."

I lose track of time as I pore over the book, my mind reeling with each revelation. Hexebloods, it seems, are rare beings born of the union between humans and powerful magical entities. We have the potential for immense power, but at a cost – we're drawn to darkness, to chaos and destruction.

Is this why Kieran brought me here? Why he seems so invested in my progress? Am I just a weapon he's forging for some larger plan?

The weight of it all – the nightmares, the brutal lessons, the constant fear, and now this knowledge of what I am – comes crashing down on me. I curl up in a corner of the library, the forbidden book clutched to my chest, and finally, let myself break.

I didn't sign up for this.

I just wanted to live my life and finish college.

And now I'm this…

I sob until I have no tears left, my body shaking with the force of my despair.