Chapter 6
HARPER
The passageway leading from Vireldan to Anvaris is unlike anything I imagined.
Few students even know it exists, carved long before the academy’s current walls, winding beneath the forest floor like a root system older than the kingdom itself.
Theo guided us through it with surprising assurance; though his eyes do not focus, he seems to feel the tunnels in a way that borders on uncanny.
Each turn, each fork, each staircase that curled downward and then sharply upward, he navigated as though following the memory of an echo carved into stone.
The air inside was cool and dry, tinged with the faint metallic scent of ancient wards. The lanterns lining the walls flickered with violet flames, illuminating murals etched by hands long gone, depictions of sorcery that look far too wild and raw to have ever been sanctioned by modern Vireldan.
By the time we emerge through the stone archway concealed in the hillside, daylight has stretched fully across the sky.
And there it is.
Anvaris.
The town unfolds like a tapestry of color and sound.
Cobblestone streets glisten with dew; the shop awnings ripple in the breeze; runes etched into the doorframes glow faintly with morning enchantments.
Merchants are already shouting prices, their voices mingling with the clatter of rune-forges and the hiss of simmering cauldrons from the alchemist row.
Birds flit past, carrying letters bound in enchanted twine, and the smell of honey bread mixes with the sharp tang of potion herbs.
It is… overwhelming. And yet, in a way I didn’t expect, comforting.
The academy is stone and silence. Anvaris is breath and life.
Liam inhales deeply, stretching his arms as though the air itself rejuvenates him. “I’d forgotten how much I like it here,” he says, already scanning the street with the wide eyes of a boy who never lost his sense of wonder.
Theo walks at his side, his wand glowing brightly in front of him. “The early hour is the best time to come,” he agrees. “Before the crowds thicken. The sounds are cleaner. Less… muddled.”
I step slightly behind them, pulling my cloak tighter as I take in the vibrancy, the magic crackling like static in the air. Trevor lingers beside me, closer than he was in the passageway, though still polite enough to maintain a respectful distance.
It doesn’t last.
After a few paces, he slows deliberately, allowing Liam and Theo to drift further ahead as they debate which bakery makes the best mulled pastries. Their conversation becomes a soft blur of voices, leaving Trevor and me walking side by side in a quieter bubble of sound.
“So,” Trevor begins casually, though the measured tone betrays how carefully he’s chosen the moment, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
I glance at him, brow furrowing. “And what exactly is that?”
He lifts his chin slightly, his pale green-blue eyes, unfocused but intent, turning toward me in a way that feels startlingly perceptive. “Your eyes,” he says simply. “They’re… unusual.”
Every muscle in my spine goes rigid.
“I noticed yesterday, in the common area,” he continues softly. “Most wouldn’t, not right away. But I’ve trained myself to pay attention to the subtleties people overlook.”
My breath catches, though I force my voice to remain steady. “Unusual how?”
A faint smile touches his lips, not mocking, not prying. Merely observant. “Violet. Not a shade I have encountered often. And in our world… such things carry meaning.”
My pulse quickens, heartbeat thudding a fraction too hard beneath my ribs.
“And what meaning,” I ask carefully, “do you think they carry?”
Trevor folds his hands in front of him, his voice dropping to a thoughtful murmur. “Well… violet is a color associated with deep reservoirs of magic. Untamed magic. Rare, inherited magic.” He pauses. “The kind that does not simply flow through a person, but answers them.”
His words feel like a hand pressed lightly against a bruise.
I swallow slowly. “That sounds like superstition.”
“Sometimes superstition begins as truth,” Trevor replies gently, tilting his head. “And truth, when buried long enough, starts to sound like superstition.”
Ahead, Liam laughs at something Theo says, gesturing animatedly toward a shop selling enchanted daggers. They haven’t realized we’ve slowed. Not yet.
Trevor lowers his voice even more. “Has anyone ever warned you about what violet eyes imply?”
My throat tightens. Not with fear, but with the familiar weight of secrets I’ve carried far too long. Secrets I have no intention of handing freely to someone I met only yesterday.
“No,” I lie, keeping my voice even. “No one has.”
Trevor studies me a moment longer, then nods, not accepting the answer, but respecting the boundary.
“For what it’s worth,” he says softly, “I think they’re striking.”
A flush threatens at the base of my neck, unwelcome and irritating. “I prefer not to stand out,” I mutter.
He smiles again, gentle, almost sad. “Magic rarely asks what we prefer.”
Trevor remains beside me as we weave deeper into the heart of Anvaris, our footsteps soft against the damp cobblestones.
Liam and Theo walk ahead, their voices blending with the rising chorus of the market, clinking glass vials, murmured enchantments, the warm hiss of bread pulled from brick ovens.
Every scent, every sound seems heightened here, as though magic breathes more freely beyond Vireldan’s walls.
Yet Trevor’s attention is fixed entirely on me.
Not intrusive. Not prying. But undeniably keen.
After a few moments of shared silence, he speaks again, his tone quieter, thoughtful.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” he begins, hands clasped behind him in his usual composed way, “why did you and your brother arrive in the middle of the year? It’s…
uncommon. Especially for siblings. Headmaster Brindle is not keen on mixing family and education.
” His head tilts. “Especially with Professor Locke escorting you personally.”
My steps falter, just for a heartbeat.
Of course he would notice. Kairoth students don’t simply see, they observe.
“We didn’t exactly plan it,” I say, adjusting the fall of my cloak around my shoulders, as though fabric could shield me from memories. “Circumstances changed. Quickly.”
Trevor waits, patient as ever. He does not push. He simply allows space for truth to enter if I choose to share it.
I exhale slowly.
“Our carriage was attacked,” I say at last. “Before we even reached Vireldan grounds.”
Trevor’s eyebrows lift, faint but sharp. “Attacked? By whom?”
“Not ‘whom,’” I correct softly. “What. Windigo.”
He stops walking.
Completely.
The bustling street continues around us, merchants calling out prices, a coven of young witches debating over potion crystals, the rumble of enchanted carts rolling past, but Trevor stands utterly still, breath drawn in tight, disbelief washing over his features.
“Windigo?” he repeats, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re certain?”
“As certain as one can be while running for their life,” I murmur.
His pale green-blue eyes, unfocused but piercing in their own way, shift toward me. “But they don’t attack witches. Or warlocks.” A beat. “They don’t attack anyone. They serve. They wander. They answer old magic, not, violence.”
“I’m aware,” I say quietly.
“It would take…” Trevor shakes his head slowly, mouth tightening. “It would take a significant pact to turn them toward a carriage. A forbidden one. And to do so near school grounds, near protected territory, someone would have to be either very reckless or very determined.”
My pulse beats harder at his words, though I try to keep my face unreadable.
“That’s why Locke moved so quickly,” I explain, voice low. “He didn’t want to risk another… incident.”
Trevor’s brow knits further. “Another? Do you mean-”
“No,” I interrupt gently. “Not another Windigo. Another danger. Another mistake. Another moment where we should have died.”
For the first time since meeting him, Trevor looks genuinely unsettled.
“And after that,” I continue, “Locke insisted we come to Vireldan. He said we’d outstayed our welcome among humans. That magic has a way of rejecting those who try to bury it for too long.”
Trevor absorbs that slowly.
“You lived among non-magical folk?” he asks.
“For years,” I say. “Longer than we should have. We kept our heads down. Liam adjusted better than I did. I-” I swallow. “I was beginning to feel wrong there. Like my skin didn’t quite fit.”
Trevor’s expression shifts, softening, warming, the faintest thread of empathy weaving through his voice.
“So Locke became a guardian of sorts?”
“Yes,” I answer. “He found us. Helped us. Protected us. Then he urged us to return to our kind.” I gesture around us, to the rune-glowing lanterns, the crackle of magic, the spell-weavers arguing over potion stocks. “To this world.”
Trevor lets out a slow breath, almost reverent.
“That must have been difficult,” he says. “Severing ties with one life and stepping blindly into another.”
“It wasn’t a choice,” I say quietly. “Not after the attack.”
He considers that silently, each detail arranging itself behind his carefully composed demeanor.
“In that case,” Trevor finally says, voice measured but sincere, “coming here this morning… seeking a wand… it isn’t just about fitting in.”
“No,” I whisper. “It’s about surviving.”
We continue down the bustling street, weaving through early-rising vendors and spellwrights who unload crates of glowing components onto their storefronts.
Trevor walks at my side, his hands still clasped behind him, his expression serene on the surface but taut underneath.
I can sense the weight of what I’ve told him settling over him like a heavy cloak.
Windigo. An attack that should not have happened.
He is still mulling it over when Liam and Theo slow just enough for Liam to glance back at us, casually at first, then sharply.
Liam’s gaze flicks from Trevor’s troubled face to mine, and in an instant he knows. He recognizes the subtle stiffness in my shoulders, the lingering tension around my jaw. His eyes narrow in warning even before he steps back toward us, leaving Theo a few strides ahead.
He doesn’t say a word until he is close enough that only the three of us can hear him.
“What exactly,” Liam murmurs, voice low, “are we discussing back here?”
Trevor straightens a fraction, polite but unflinching. “Only what Harper mentioned.” His tone remains steady, respectful, but refusing to pretend ignorance. “About the Windigo. And the attack.”
Liam exhales sharply through his nose, a sound I’ve heard only a handful of times, usually when danger brushes too close or when I’ve strayed nearer to the truth than is safe to speak aloud.
He steps even closer, his cloak brushing mine, the warmth of him radiating like a shield.
“Harper,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “be quiet.”
It isn’t a reprimand. It’s a warning. A plea. A protective instinct sharpened by fear.
I blink, taken aback by the urgency in his tone. “Liam-”
“No.” His hand closes around my elbow, not roughly, but firmly enough to pull me a fraction closer. His eyes dart across the street, scanning the vendors, the open shop doors, the clusters of spell-wearing locals. “Not here. Not in the open. You don’t know who’s listening.”
Trevor’s brows knit, head tilting slightly. “Listening? In Anvaris?”
“Yes,” Liam says through clenched teeth. “Especially in Anvaris. This town is a crossroads for every kind of witch and warlock imaginable. You speak the wrong name, the wrong creature, the wrong secret, someone will take note.”
My heart pounds harder. “But we haven’t said anything-”
“Harper,” Liam snaps softly, his voice controlled but tight, “you mentioned Windigo.”
Trevor’s lips press into a grim line. “He’s not wrong. Certain subjects attract the wrong attention, especially if someone paid for the attack.”
The words hit me harder than I expect, even though they echo the fear I’ve carried since the the wreck. Liam’s jaw clenches, muscles ticking with a tension born of both anger and worry.
He leans in so closely I can feel his breath warm against my ear.
“Do not mention them again,” he whispers. “Not until we’re back at Vireldan. Not unless Locke is present.”
The urgency in his voice rattles me more deeply than the memory of claws scraping along the carriage roof. My chest tightens. I nod slowly.
“All right,” I murmur.
Liam releases a breath he’d clearly been holding. He slides his hand away from my arm, though he remains close, closer than before, as if ready to intercept any threat that might slip out of a shadowed doorway.
Trevor walks a step quieter now, thoughtful, his head bowed as though memorizing every detail Liam just shared. The seriousness of it settles over him too; his usual soft composure darkens with contemplation.
Theo finally glances back at us from several paces ahead, his brow creasing as if listening for the change in our footsteps. “Is everything all right?”
Liam straightens instantly, voice smoothing into something reassuring. “Fine. Just wanted Harper closer in case the crowd thickens.”
Theo accepts this without protest, though the tilt of his head suggests he hears more than he lets on.
We resume walking, the noise of Anvaris swirling around us once more, but my ears ring with silence.
Because Liam’s warning wasn’t born of knowledge. It was born of fear.