7. Mina
Mina
The weekend slips away faster than I’d like, leaving a faint sense of dread as Monday arrives. We spent the past two days exploring the campus, mapping out the most efficient routes between buildings. It felt like a game at the time, but now, as I sit at dinner on Sunday night, the reality sinks in—I’ll only have friends with me for the first two classes each day. Cora will be by my side until the end of third period on Mondays and Tuesdays, but after that, I’m on my own at Shadowcarve Campus. The thought twists uneasily in my stomach. The student manual reassured us that books will be provided in class, with a second set arriving at the dorms by the end of the first week, but that’s little comfort when I consider how vast and unfamiliar everything feels.
-Monday—First day of classes-
This morning, I pack light—just my backpack with my leathers and a few notebooks. The uniforms aren’t exactly my style. The girls wear black dresses with waist ribbons that correspond to our designation. Mine is a green so dark it might as well be black, blending in with the dress. The boys have it slightly better, I think, with their gray tunics and matching belts. Trainers get more freedom, allowed to wear their leathers or street clothes. As for the instructors, they wear whatever pleases them. I almost envy them.
With my bag slung over my shoulder, I head out, eager to catch up with the others. The hallways are still unfamiliar, stretching out in eerie silence. That creeping feeling of being watched prickles at my skin, making me glance up. Perched on a ledge above, a raven watches me with beady, black eyes. Its presence is unsettling, though Iris seems oblivious, making her usual chattering noise before we move on. I quicken my pace, eager to be outside.
I break into a run, the chill air brushing past as I descend the stairs and burst out into the courtyard. The campus is stunning, with its towering structures and lush greenery, but it’s the sheer number of students that catches my breath. So many people, all moving with purpose, all already finding their place. I feel like an outsider in the rush.
I check my schedule and head to my first class—science. As I enter the room, relief floods me when I spot Addy and Garrett, already seated. I slide into a spot near them, glancing across the room to where Cora’s trapped on the opposite side. My relief quickly fades, though, as I spot Arista and Demi. The way they lean into each other, whispering, and glancing in my direction, sends a jolt of unease down my spine. I can already feel the tension building. Whatever happens next, I just know it’s going to be trouble.
Kai Martz, manticore. The name stares back at me from the board, stark white letters on the black surface. He speaks in a low, droning voice, but there’s an undercurrent to it, a dangerous hum like the sound of a wasp too close to your ear. He’s explaining the course structure: year one will be all about the science behind how the dragons were trapped in cursed eggs. The word “dragon” makes my pen hesitate for just a second, the image of one flashing in my mind, scales, and fire, trapped in a tiny, cursed prison. But I push the thought away and continue scribbling notes.
Arista, always trying to prove she’s cleverer than she is, starts tossing paper wads in my direction. She thinks she’s subtle, but I see them from the corner of my eye. I’m about to ignore her when I hear the unmistakable shift in Kai’s voice.
“Arista Delamore, correct?” His voice cuts through the room like a blade, and suddenly, the air feels heavier. It’s the presence of his beast, just under the surface, pushing against the human mask he wears. I can feel the shift, the way his power ripples through the room like a dangerous current.
Arista stands slowly, the legs of her chair screeching against the floor in a way that sets my teeth on edge. Every head in the room turns toward her. Except mine. I’m still writing, the scratch of my pen the only sound I can focus on.
“Yes, sir?” she says, but there’s a wobble in her voice that wasn’t there before.
Kai tilts his head, a slow, deliberate movement that speaks of dominance and power. His eyes pin her in place. “For someone who barely made it ten yards into the gauntlet, you should reconsider picking on this year’s winner.” His words are like a lash, and I hear the sharp intake of breath from those around me. “According to your brown sash, you didn’t score well enough to be placed in a program either.”
The tension in the room spikes, an almost palpable thing pressing down on my shoulders. I draw in a deep breath, listening to the humiliation sink into Arista’s skin, the way her bravado crumbles right in front of everyone. “She’s wearing a black sash,” Arista snaps, her voice sharper now, pointing at me with a sneer. “She didn’t get anything.”
I finally turn, locking eyes with her for the first time, a smirk curling at my lips. The room goes still, waiting for what comes next. Kai’s smile is slow, almost predatory. “That dark green, almost black, sash is for Shadowcarve campus,” he corrects, his voice smooth and deadly. “One place even I don’t tread.”
His words hang in the air as the bell rings, the shrill sound breaking the tension, but not entirely. People start moving, gathering their things, but their eyes keep darting between Arista and me. Kai stands at his desk, arms crossed, his gaze following me as I pack up my notebook.
“Your assignment for the next class,” he calls out, just as I reach the door, “is to think about which egg you would want and why.” I glance back once, catching the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes before I step into the hallway. I don’t need to think about which egg I want, I don’t want any.
My second-period literature class goes by in a blur, a mix of disjointed phrases and half-remembered quotes floating past me. Isobel, the green hag, drones on about how this year’s course will focus on the history of the dominant species in our society. I can barely focus; her voice sounds like sandpaper against my nerves. At least second period lets out early, giving me time to get my bearings for the next class. I head over to the Aurelian Conservatory with Cora, our footsteps echoing in the nearly empty halls.
As soon as the room opens, we dart in and claim two seats in the back. Cora settles beside me, her eyes already scanning the room, probably assessing who might be worth talking to later. I, on the other hand, can’t stop looking at the man standing at the front of the class. Stately, sharp, and eerily calm, he looks no older than we are—though there’s something ancient in the way he holds himself. His presence commands the room without a word.
He pulls a silver pocket watch from his vest, checks the time with deliberate precision, and moves to lock the doors right as the clock strikes two. The metallic click echoes, the finality settling over the room like a weighted blanket. “Rulers are considerate of others’ time. Either be early, or do not show up at all,” he says, his voice cutting through the silence with chilling finality. My stomach tightens as he writes his name on the board in an elegant, swirling script: Finlay Boaz, Phoenix.
I blink twice, stunned. My eyes flick from his name to his face—chiseled jaw, sharp cheekbones, and those eyes, fierce and blazing like embers just waiting to spark. Yeah, that tracks. Everything about him screams bird. A predator, even.
Finlay steps forward, passing out small booklets to the front row to be handed back. When it reaches me, I flip it open, my heart sinking with each page. “This is your guide for the first quarter,” he continues, his voice smooth but edged with something harder. “We will have a dinner dance at the end of the quarter to test what you and the second years have learned so far. There will be another at the end of the year as your final exam.”
I swallow hard, the words on the page blurring together as I skim through the expectations—manners, formal dining, speech etiquette, social rituals. My heart hammers in my chest as the reality of it all sinks in. This is exactly the stuff my mom tried drilling into my head for years, and I was never good at it. I can practically hear her voice scolding me, and I know, deep down, I’m screwed. And not in the good sense.
Third period ends a few minutes early, and as I step into the hallway, I spot Balor waiting. For someone as anti-social as he’s supposed to be, Cora’s brother’s friend sure has a knack for showing up at the most unexpected moments. His presence always feels like a shadow creeping up on me before I even realize he’s there. “Hi, Balor,” I murmur, eyeing him curiously as he takes my pack from my shoulder, offering me a sleek, black case in its place.
“Your betrothed asked me to give this to you,” he says matter-of-factly. “Hand crossbows aren’t permitted for this class.” His tone is casual, but the weight of his words hangs between us. Betrothed. That’s still something I’m getting used to.
I arch an eyebrow, studying him for a beat before my gaze drops to the case. It’s heavier than I expected, and as we walk, I unzip the top. Inside are three pieces of an elegant short bow. My fingers trace the carved yew limbs, their markings distinctly Elven, and I can’t help but be impressed. The riser, made of bone, is etched with intricate patterns that seem to whisper of ancient craftsmanship. It’s a stunning gift, almost too perfect.
Shaking my head, I smile, albeit faintly, as I tuck the pieces back in and reach into the front pocket, pulling out a black and green bowstring. It’s all so elaborate, so expensive. “I can’t accept this,” I protest, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s far too much.” I try to hand it back to him, but he just shakes his head .
“He’d skin me alive if I return it to him,” Balor says with a grin, though there’s an edge to his smile that tells me he’s not entirely joking. “For my personal safety, please accept it.”
I let out a sigh, reluctantly nodding. “Fine...” I mutter, clutching the case a little tighter as we approach the looming gates of Shadowcarve Campus. Its jagged silhouette cuts against the overcast sky, casting long shadows that crawl toward us. A shiver runs down my spine, not from the cold, but from the sheer foreboding of the place. I come to an abrupt stop, staring up at the ancient structure.
“Wow,” I breathe, a soft, almost incredulous laugh escaping my lips. “Reminds me of home.”
Balor glances at me, his expression somewhere between amused and concerned. “If this reminds you of home, I’m definitely concerned.” He pushes the heavy door open, and the scent of old wood and cool stone greets us like a ghost.
We step inside, and the atmosphere shifts. It’s quieter here, the quiet that hums in the background, waiting for something to disturb it. “Since you’re the only female attending, we’ve had to improvise,” Balor says, his tone light, but his words hint at the strangeness of my situation. “Here.” He turns a corner, producing a small key from his pocket and handing it to me. “This is your private space for the duration you’re here. You’ve got about twenty minutes before class starts, so get changed. There’s food and drink in the fridge.”
Balor offers me a slight bow before stepping back, leaving me alone with the key. For a moment, I just stand there, staring at it, the weight of what this means sinking in. I’m the first female to ever attend here. There’s a pressure in that knowledge, a sense of responsibility.
I unlock the door, stepping into the room. It’s simple but surprisingly comfortable—a couch, a small kitchen, and, as promised, a fridge. There’s also a desk and a bathroom, everything I need. It’s thoughtful, more than I expected. I close the door behind me and lock it, letting out a slow breath.
The realization settles in—this is just the beginning. Time to get ready. Time to write my legend.