Chapter Thirty
The cool night air pressed against the windowpane as I stared outside.
This wasn’t possible.
Nobody— nobody —was allowed on Academy grounds unless they were invited or accepted . The magic here was ancient and stubborn, its barriers absolute.
Twobble had tried once, grumbling about the rules, and the Academy had promptly launched him miles away like a leaf caught in a whirlwind. Nova, as powerful as she was, could only reach the edge of the Wards—no closer. Even the gargoyles, formidable and stubborn, had refused to take a single step past the Butterfly Ward, their expressions wary as they left me to continue alone.
And yet…
Here she was.
A fox.
A stunning, impossibly beautiful fox peeked her slender nose out from between the vines that curled along the outer wall of the Academy’s courtyard.
My breath hitched as I watched her move. Her long, fluffy tail bobbed behind her like a slow, steady metronome. She was pure elegance, her gold-and-silver-tinged fur glistening in the moonlight as she stretched. Winding herself along the enchanted plants like a cat slinking along a windowsill was a delight to watch.
She didn’t look lost.
She didn’t look confused.
She looked completely at home .
“How?” I whispered, pressing my fingers to the glass.
The fox’s ears twitched, hearing me. She tilted her head, sharp amber eyes flicking toward me, curious but unafraid.
I barely dared to move or breathe , afraid I might startle her into disappearing.
Because she shouldn’t be here.
The Academy did not accept intruders. It had rules so old they were stitched into the very stone. And yet, the fox was curled into the vines, inside the Academy’s grounds, the tendrils of magic brushing against her fur like affectionate fingers.
The weight of realization pressed against my ribs.
If the Academy had allowed her in, it meant something.
It had to mean something.
She was no ordinary fox. The tips of her fur glistened a golden hue that shimmered from the moonlight. Her confidence edged Keegan’s, and it made me smile.
I took a slow step back from the window, my mind spinning. The flickering candlelight in the library cast golden shadows against the bookshelves, the magic thick in the air, waiting to see what I would do next.
I had to tell my grandma. Turning away from the window, I walked toward the back of the library, where my grandmother sat in a rocking chair, reading a book so large it looked like it could crush a small table.
Her silver-streaked hair was gathered in a loose braid over one shoulder, and the firelight made the deep green of her robes shimmer slightly. She didn’t look up as I approached, but I knew she was aware of me. She always was.
I hesitated before speaking, unsure how to ask what I needed to ask without sounding ridiculous. But then I reminded myself—this was Elira. My grandmother. The only real tether I had to this place, to my past. If I couldn’t ask her, who could I ask?
"Grandma," I started carefully, my voice quiet in the vast space. "Is it possible for any of the magical creatures inside the Academy to, you know… leave ? Escape, possibly?"
She stilled for only a fraction of a second before turning a page in her book. Her expression didn’t change, but the slight shift in her posture told me she was listening.
"Escape?" she repeated, still not looking at me.
"Yeah," I said. "Like, could anything bound to the Academy ever get out?"
She finally looked up, her bright eyes studying my face the way she always did when she thought I was up to something.
"No," she said simply. "It’s impossible."
I frowned. "You’re sure?"
She gave me a small, knowing smile and closed her book, resting her hands atop the thick leather cover. "Maeve, the Academy is its own world, bound by magic older than you and I. The creatures here are tied to it just as much as I am. The Wards won’t allow anything—or anyone—that belongs to it to leave."
Her answer was so matter-of-fact and absolute that it left little room for doubt.
Except…
"Why do you ask?" she added, observing me.
I hesitated. I could lie. I could make up some excuse about curiosity or pretend it was just a stray thought. But as I stood there, looking at her—the woman who had been trapped in this place for decades, the only family I had in this strange, ancient world—I knew I couldn’t keep this from her.
Because, in the end, she was all I had.
"I saw something," I admitted. "Outside."
Her expression didn’t change, but I saw how her fingers curled slightly against the book’s spine.
I stepped closer, offering my hand to her. "Come see."
She studied me for a long moment before sighing softly and placing her hand in mine. I helped her up, and together, we walked to the window.
I felt the anticipation thrumming through my veins, my heart picking up speed as I scanned the courtyard below.
Only…
The fox was gone.
The vines were still undisturbed. The soft patches of moonlight cast no shadow of a retreating figure. It was as if she had never been there at all.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. "She was right there," I whispered, my eyes darting to the places where she had moved, where I knew I had seen her.
My grandma didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she gave me a long, measured look, then gently tapped my arm.
"It happened to me, too," she said softly.
I turned to her, startled. "What?"
She offered a small, sympathetic smile. "Delusions," she murmured. "Seeing people and things that weren’t there. It’s only natural when you’re cut off from the outside world. Your mind craves connection, Maeve. I like to call it my little delulues."
I opened my mouth, then closed it, shaking my head. "No, that’s not—" I stopped, breathing deeply. "It wasn’t a delusion."
My grandma didn’t argue with me. She simply gave me a look that said I’ve been where you are before reaching out and smoothing a stray curl from my face.
"I know how it feels," she continued. "You start to see things, hear things. The mind can fill in the gaps where loneliness sits."
I swallowed, nodding slowly, pretending to consider her words.
But inside, I knew.
I knew .
This wasn’t loneliness. It wasn’t some trick of my mind trying to compensate for isolation.
The fox had been real.
And I was going to find out what she meant.
The Academy was different at night.
Or maybe it was different because I was walking it alone.
After my grandmother had retired to her chambers, I could not settle. The weight of the fox’s disappearance still pressed against my mind, lingering like an unsolved puzzle piece that wouldn’t quite fit. I knew what I had seen, and no amount of logical explanation would shake that.
And if the Academy had allowed her inside, if she had somehow belonged here… then I wanted to know why.
So I wandered…
I let my feet carry me down dimly lit corridors, past flickering sconces and arching stone doorways, past murals that shifted when I wasn’t looking directly at them. I felt like a little girl running the hallways, my fingers flying along walls, my hair swooshing behind me as if I’d just been released into my personal maze. For the first time in a long time…
I felt free.
The halls hummed with magic, and the air smelled sweet with candle wax and something deeper—something alive .
At first, I tried to keep track of where I was going, mentally mapping the twists and turns, but it didn’t take long before I realized how useless that was. The Academy had a mind of its own and wasn’t interested in being predictable.
The walls narrowed at times, closing in like they were nudging me forward. Other times, staircases appeared where there had been none, leading me up, twisting in strange, impossible directions, only to vanish again when my feet left the last step.
I sighed, pressing a hand to one of the cool stone walls. "Okay. If you want me to go somewhere, just tell me."
The sconces flickered in response, and I could have sworn I felt a faint vibration beneath my fingertips.
That wasn’t ominous at all.
Still, I followed the only open path before me, making turn after turn until the hall abruptly widened into something else entirely.
I stopped.
I had found a wing of the Academy I had never seen before.
An insect fluttered before me, circling and buzzing with its translucent wings until it hovered above me.
“What?” I asked it.
The large bug turned sideways, and I realized it wasn’t an insect…exactly.
Her golden body, svelte and shiny, was shaped like a key. Instinctively, I held out my hand, and she landed on my palm.
As I brought her closer, her beady eyes locked on mine before she fluttered away to a nearby door, where she inserted herself and turned.
The large door, akin to an old-fashioned dungeon, opened slowly.
I stepped inside as she fluttered away.
Soft, golden light pooled from lanterns embedded into the walls, casting a warm glow across the arched ceiling. The space was lined with enormous alcoves, each filled with woven nests of silk, hay, and enchanted moss.
I blinked.
Another animal wing?
I had been to one before when Elira had shown me the creatures that lived within the Academy’s boundaries. But this… this wasn’t the same.
The energy here felt different.
This was something the Academy had chosen to show me.
Or maybe I was just excellent at getting lost in strange places.
I stepped forward, my boots barely making a sound against the stone. The space was quiet —not silent, but peaceful, like the steady inhale and exhale of something enormous at rest.
As I moved past the alcoves, I caught glimpses of fur, feathers, and scales—creatures curled into themselves, some blinking at me sleepily, others shifting but not disturbed by my presence.
I wasn’t sure how long I wandered, how long I let myself take in the strange, peaceful beauty of the place. But as I neared the farthest alcove, something shifted .
A weight in the air. A crackling awareness.
And then, in the dim golden light—
A pair of glowing eyes met mine.
The creature before me stirred, its radiant eyes fastening onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. I couldn’t move. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to move.
Because what I was seeing—what was curled in the alcove before me—was impossible.
It had to be.
My mind rebelled against it and grasped for logic, reason…anything that would make sense of the vision before me. It was as though I were caught between two realities, one where magic was only a figment of my imagination and another where it breathed, flickered, and lived right in front of me.
The glow from its eyes softened as the creature shifted, its tiny body stretching out in a lazy, almost feline motion. A faint shimmer of gold rippled along its scales, glinting in the lantern light as its wings—small, delicate, and webbed with thin membranes—gave an experimental flutter before settling back against its body.
Not a lizard.
Not a figment of my imagination.
A baby dragon .
I inhaled sharply, barely aware that I had been holding my breath.
The dragon blinked at me, tilting its head as though I was the strange thing at that moment and the mystery here.
And maybe, to the Academy, I was.
I took a slow step forward, still half-expecting the vision to fade, for the spell to break, for reality to snap back into place.
But it didn’t.
The dragon was real .
And it was watching me.