30. Casandra
The edge of the woods marks the boundary between the relative safety of the academy and the controlled chaos of the Survival Challenge.
I stand with my group—Tate, Elias, Miranda, and Olivia. We are an eclectic mix of legacies and bloodlines, but we have a plan. Miranda, currently stepping into the role of leader, stands with her hands on her hips, her eyes scanning the tree line.
“Alright, the goal is simple,” Miranda says, her voice firm and practiced.
“We navigate the interior, we bypass the obstacles, and we reach the cliffs. We stick together. We move as a unit. If, for any reason, we get separated, we change strategy. Do not waste time looking for each other. Focus entirely on the exit. If we’re split up, it’s by design,
and going back for someone is a waste of time.”
“Agreed,” Elias murmurs, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.
Graves and Hawthorne stand a few paces away. Graves checks his watch, his face a mask of bureaucratic indifference.
“Your time,” Graves says, his voice flat, “starts now.”
As we take our first step past the threshold, I feel a prickle of eyes on my skin.
I don’t look back, but I know it’s Hawthorne.
I hear his voice, a low, smooth purr of malice, drifting toward me.
“Good luck. I’m sure you’ll find the terrain... challenging.”
I look around at my teammates, but sure enough, none of them pay any attention to him.
The tone is drenched in so much venom it’s almost thick enough to choke on. I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction; I just keep walking.
We move as a unit, but we aren’t sprinting. We agreed on this—speed kills in a place like this. We go slow, mapping the ground beneath our feet, scanning for the telltale shifts in shadow that suggest a hidden snare or a triggered enchantment.
The forest is usually a picturesque sanctuary.
On a normal day, the trails are well-kept, and there are even wooden benches tucked into clearings for students to rest.
But as soon as we clear the first hundred yards, the forest transforms.
A thick, roiling mist drops from the canopy like a shroud.
It’s not fog; it’s too heavy, too gray. It’s smoke.
It’s Professor Pendelton’s work. The warlock loves his theatrics.
The smoke is so dense it feels like walking through wool. I can’t see my own hand in front of my face, and the group cohesion Miranda insisted on is instantly threatened.
“Olivia,” Miranda calls out, her voice tight.
Olivia, our first-year witch, doesn’t need a second prompt.
She immediately starts murmuring a low, melodic incantation.
A pale, shimmering golden light pulses, rippling outward like a shockwave.
As the wave passes, the smoke curls back, repelled by the magic.
We now have a clear, ten-foot radius around us.
“Keep it tight,” Olivia says, her breathing steady. “The spell won’t hold if I have to cast it too aggressively, but it should keep the air breathable.”
“I should get a vantage point,” I suggest, looking up at the towering trees. “I can climb up and check our trajectory every once in a while. Make sure Pendelton didn’t loop the trail back on itself.”
Tate lets out a short, surprised laugh. “I always forget you vampires are basically overgrown squirrels. Yeah, do it. Just don’t get lost.”
“On the tree?” I ask flatly, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
I jump, my fingers finding purchase in the rough bark of a massive spruce.
I ascend with fluid, unnatural speed, my feet barely making a sound.
I break through the canopy and look out.
The view is jarring. Below, the smoke is a carpet, but above the treetops, the air is crystal clear.
I can see the cliffs in the distance, jagged and imposing against the sky.
They aren’t more than a a couple miles away, but I’m sure they’ll feel further that they are.
I climb back down to the group. “We’re on the right path.”
We continue moving. Elias, who had been quiet for most of the morning, drifts closer to me, his shoulder brushing mine. He chuckles, a low, vibrant sound that seems out of place in the eerie quiet of the forest.
“So,” he says, his voice pitched just for me. “You ready to claim the throne?”
I snap my head toward him, blinking. “What?”
He raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Come on, everyone in West Wing heard you and Nikolai earlier today. You’ll be taking your place by his side, right?”
My face burns. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks, a physiological reaction I hate. “We’ll see,” I manage, my voice sounding a bit more defensive than I intended.
He hums, his eyes twinkling. He goes to say something else, but the air suddenly shudders.
The ground begins to heave. Small, violent bumps rise and fall beneath our feet like a rhythmic, tectonic heartbeat.
“Watch your footing!” Miranda warns.
The ground beneath me suddenly splits. A massive chunk of the earth drops away, creating a trench. I lose my balance. I try to catch myself, but the ground shifts again, tossing me like a toy.
I scream, but the sound is swallowed by the thick, gray smoke as I tip backward. I roll, slamming into trees and tearing through dense brush, the descent seemingly never-ending.
I hit the bottom with a jarring thud, the wind knocked out of me. I try to push myself up, but the smoke is blinding.
“Miranda? Tate?” I call out, my voice sounding flat and muffled.
There is no answer. Just the sound of the forest, shifting and closing around me, and the distinct, cold feeling that I am now completely alone.