Chapter 6 – — Professor Nestor’s private notes
Chapter Six
“Ashwell does not simply house current. It generates, circulates, and adapts it, exhibiting behavior consistent with autonomous cognition and unclear intent.”
— Professor Nestor’s private notes
“Looks like we’re neighbors. You headed to orientation?”
The pink-haired girl I noticed in the courtyard this morning stands outside her door as I shut mine. I nod and start toward the end of the hall.
“I’m Lux,” she says, quickening her pace to walk beside me.
“Maelis.” I manage a small, automatic smile, though my thoughts are still stuck on everything the headmaster said and the way this entire day keeps sliding sideways.
If anything, it only hardens my resolve.
I’m determined now more than ever to prove I belong here.
I don’t like being underestimated or dismissed because I’m human and a woman.
And I really don’t like being spoken to like I’m already doomed to fail, and that’s exactly how he made me feel in his office.
I still don’t even know why he summoned me there.
Apparently to get a look at the human girl.
“I know,” Lux says easily. “News has traveled fast that there’s a human at Ashwell, but I think it’s great. Humans are always overlooked.”
I glance over at her, surprised.
She isn’t smirking or teasing. There’s no edge in her tone, and I think she’s being sincere.
For a split-second, I don’t know what to say.
I’d always imagined fae as aloof, superior, convinced they are better than everyone else by default. Maybe that’s unfair. Maybe it’s an assumption I’ve carried without realizing it.
“Come on,” Lux says, already turning down the corridor. “It’s easy to get lost up here, but I know the way. My father’s a professor, so I’ve been wandering these halls longer than I care to admit.”
That earns a sideways glance from me. “And this is still your first year?”
She nods. “Ashwell doesn’t care about age.
It cares about readiness. Some people arrive at twenty.
Some don’t arrive until their late thirties, I’m twenty six so I guess I’m the middle of the pack.
Most of the youngest students are in their early twenties though.
” Her mouth curves faintly. “Almost everyone has some kind of medical background already. Healers, field medics, battlefield attendants. If they don’t, then they were exceptional somewhere else.
Top of their class, unusual aptitude, or they did something that caught the academy’s attention. ”
That makes my skin prickle.
We cross one of the enclosed upper walkways, the stone arches framing drifting snow and jagged mountain silhouettes beyond the windows.
The glass is rimmed with frost, spiderwebbed with thin cracks that catch the light.
Below us, I can glimpse lower courtyards and students moving all about in the distance.
“Everyone talks about this place like it chooses people,” I say as we walk. “When you say the academy, do you mean the headmaster?”
Lux slows then turns her head toward me, studying me. “No. I mean Ashwell.”
I frown. “The building?”
“This place is alive,” she says quietly. “The walls, the floors, the towers. They’re threaded with current from the core.”
“Current,” I repeat. My brow lifts.
She reaches out and gently tugs my sleeve, stopping us near one of the arched windows. “Yes, magic and current are basically the same thing. People use them interchangeably, but professors always say current.”
“Why?”
“Because magic makes it sound…mystical, like a trick.” Her mouth quirks. “Current sounds more honest.”
I tilt my head. “How?”
She blows out a breath. “Do you know the three types of current?”
I shake my head.
“Okay,” she says, leaning against the window, her blue eyes focused on mine.
“First is bloodline current. Think instinct. It’s tied to species and expressed naturally.
I’m fae, so I have fae abilities. Demons have theirs.
Vampires, angels, shifters, mages etcetera.
Every bloodline has its own way of interacting with the current. ”
That tracks. I picture Elizabeth’s bat dissolving into mist, Jace’s wings, the demon’s slit pupils. “So it’s something you’re born able to do.”
“Exactly.”
“And the second type?”
“Structured current. Learned magic includes alchemy, runes, sigils, and spoken spells. It’s built, not instinctive.”
“So Ashwell teaches medicine and structured magic on top of whatever someone already has.”
Lux nods. “That’s the idea.”
We start walking again, the sounds of voices echoing in the distance.
“And the third?” I ask.
“Core-driven current.”
The way she says it is different, quieter like it’s something to fear.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the magic doesn’t come from the world,” she says. “It comes from the caster, from the soul itself.”
I try to wrap my head around that. “How is that different from bloodline magic?”
She presses her lips together, thinking. “Okay, imagine current is a massive underground river running beneath everything. Bloodline users open channels to that river and let it flow through them. Core-driven casters are the spring, the source. They generate it.”
A chill moves through me that has nothing to do with the temperature. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It is,” she says then shrugs. “But it’s also powerful.”
She snickers, “We’ll get the official version in class. Professors explain it better than I ever could.”
“No, I appreciate you telling me,” I say. “I grew up in a tiny village. Most of what I know about magic comes from stories and rumors.”
Her expression softens. “Yeah, you’re starting on hard mode.”
We reach the top of a wide staircase carved directly into the stone wall. As we descend, Lux rests her hand briefly on the banister, fingers trailing along the surface.
“Anyway,” she says, “the reason I brought all of that up is because Ashwell has core-driven current.”
I stop again.
“The school?”
She nods. “Not enchanted or layered with spells. The heart of Ashwell is a living core. It repairs itself, regulates temperature, maintains wards, moves structures and adjusts lighting, sometimes even redirects hallways.”
It sounds unfathomable.
“And the headmaster controls all that?”
Lux shakes her head. “No, Ashwell does. The school selects its students, not the headmaster or the professors.”
Now I’m painfully aware of every wall we pass, every arch, every shadowed corner, like something is looking back at me as we pass.
“When you say it like that,” I murmur, “it’s a little creepy.”
Lux lets out a quiet laugh. “Most people cope by not thinking about it.”
“That’s worse.”
Her smile tilts. “You’ll fit right in.”
We reach a massive set of double doors as they begin to swing inward on silent hinges.
“One more thing,” I say, “is Ashwell the only place that has core-driven current?”
She sucks her teeth. “The only place, but not the only beings.”
I glance at her.
“Blood mages,” she adds under her breath, “are the only other known source.”
My mouth goes dry. “That’s why they’re such a big deal?”
“That’s why they’re terrifying and nearly extinct.”
The doors finish opening.
Warmth, candlelight, and low murmurs spill out as the Grand Hall unfolds in front of us.
The ceiling disappears into shadow, supported by massive timber beams darkened with age. Circular tables ring the perimeter of the room, arranged in deliberate arcs, leaving the center open. A long strip of dark-red carpet runs through the middle, leading toward a low stage at the far end.
Behind it rise three towering arched windows, stretching from floor to ceiling, each one revealing a sweeping view of Frostlands beyond.
Above each window, a symbol is carved into the stone and faintly illuminated.
A wolf framed by a ribcage, glowing amethyst.
A heart bound by a serpent, glowing crimson.
A bat with wings spread wide above a pair of lungs, glowing pale blue.
Those symbols really are all over this school.
Lux leans closer, her voice dropping. “This is where people find out whether they’re built for this…or whether Ashwell made a mistake.”
Great.
The room is already more than half full, tables crowded with unfamiliar faces, the air threaded with overlapping voices and restless movement. Students continue to pour in behind us, boots scraping against stone, cloaks brushing past shoulders, laughter flaring in uneven bursts.
“Come on,” Lux murmurs, fingers closing around mine.
She tugs me forward before I can argue, charting a course through clusters of bodies, offering quick smiles and murmured apologies as we pass.
We end up at a table near the front along the outer edge of the room, sliding into two empty seats beside a blonde girl with her hair braided loosely over one shoulder.
A thin silver ring pierces the center of her bottom lip, and she keeps nudging it back and forth with her tongue as she watches the crowd like she’s already bored.
“This is Ellavee,” Lux says, motioning to the blonde. “She grew up in Whitehaven. It’s one of the few villages in the Frostlands.”
Ellavee’s eyes shift to me, impassively assessing like she’s filing me away in her memory.
“Hi.” Her mouth twitches.
“Do your parents teach here too?” I ask, glancing between them. “Is that how you know each other?”
Lux shakes her head. “Nope. When my dad isn’t buried in work, we stay in Whitehaven. Been running into each other since we were little.”
“Unfortunately,” Ellavee adds.
Lux bumps her shoulder. “She loves me.”
Ellavee doesn’t deny it.
I blurt out, “So…what are you? I mean, what bloodline?”
Ellavee arches a brow.
“Straight to the personal questions,” she says. “Bold.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer.”
“I’m a demon.”
My eyes widen before I can stop myself. “You don’t have the vertical pupils like the guy I met earlier.”
Someone a few seats down snorts.
Lovely.
Ellavee leans forward, resting her forearms on the table. “You mean like this?”