"Uhh, hello… hi?" a nervous voice called out, breaking the silence that had settled over the dimly lit room. Cyrus, lost in thought as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings of his new dormitory, turned his gaze toward the source of the voice. He hadn't even noticed the boy sitting cross-legged on the far-right bed. The boy's green hair, glistening faintly in the shadows, and pointed ears instantly marked him as an elf. He was dressed in the academy's standard uniform—a black sweatervest over a white shirt and dark trousers—though his hands fidgeted nervously in his lap, his fingers twitching as if battling a surge of anxious energy.
"Hello," Cyrus replied after a beat, his voice carefully measured. He wasn't sure what to make of this new dorm mate, whose wide yellow eyes were fixed on him with an odd mixture of curiosity and apprehension.
"You're the one... the one all the spirits went crazy over," the elf boy said, words spilling out in a rapid rush as if they'd been held back too long. "Aw gee, I didn't expect to be in the same dorm room as you!"
Cyrus hesitated, his mind still reeling from the events of the night. "Yes… but I think the spirits might've made more of it than there was," he said cautiously, trying to brush off the significance of the spectacle as he made his way over to the middle bed.
On the bed lay three sets of neatly folded clothing. The first was the official Tenebrae uniform—a crisp white button-down shirt paired with black dress pants, a matching tie, and a long, hooded black cloak. The house's emblem, a silver crescent moon shrouded by swirling shadows, was stitched elegantly into the cloak's front and back. The material felt exquisite under his fingertips, smooth and finely woven, a far cry from the coarse, functional garments he was used to. Beside the uniform was a set of black-striped pajamas, and finally, a casual ensemble of a black t-shirt emblazoned with the Tenebrae emblem, paired with matching trousers.
"Nice, aren't they?" the elf piped up again, his voice less jittery now, though still brimming with nervous energy. "I'm Teef, Teef Wiseborn. What's your name?"
Cyrus paused for a moment, weighing his response. "Cyrus Night... I mean, Cyrus Vale," he corrected quickly, the words slipping from him almost too easily. The near-slip of his real name sent a jolt of unease through him, but he forced it down, schooling his expression into calm indifference.
"Well, nice to meet ya," Teef said, his sharp yellow eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned forward. "You've got strange eyes and hair for a human. That white, and those red eyes… pretty rare, huh?"
Cyrus blinked, taken aback by the elf's bluntness. "I could say the same about you," he replied evenly, though there was no malice in his voice.
Teef smiled faintly. "Well, I'm not human. I'm an elf," he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as though that explained everything.
"Right. My apologies," Cyrus muttered, feeling slightly out of his depth. "I don't see many of your kind."
Teef shrugged, his earlier nervousness fading into a more relaxed demeanor. "No worries, I get that a lot. Say, where are you from?"
"Lionsworth," Cyrus answered, careful to keep his tone neutral, offering as little as possible. "And you?"
"Oh, me? I'm from the Misty Hills," Teef said, a note of pride creeping into his voice. "Though there aren't as many hills as the name suggests. It's a city deep within the enchanted forest west of here." His eyes gleamed with fondness at the memory. "I've heard of Lionsworth. A city of merchants and farmers, right? What's it like?"
Cyrus hesitated, unsure of how to describe a place that was only loosely connected to his past, a place that had served as little more than a convenient cover story. "It's... interesting," he said vaguely, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.
Before Teef could press further, the door creaked open, and a figure strolled into the room with a languid, casual air. The new arrival was tall, his long black hair spilling down his back like a waterfall of darkness. Perched atop his head was a wide-brimmed hat with a single, scruffy feather tucked into the band—a sight more suited to a gunslinger than a wizard. His pale skin gave him an ethereal quality, almost as if he belonged to another world entirely. Despite his unsettling appearance, he wore a grin that was unexpectedly warm, almost disarming.
"Howdy," the boy drawled in a raspy voice, a strange accent that contrasted with the elegant surroundings. "Name's Dale Thorneheart. Looks like we're gonna be roommates, boys."
For a moment, the room seemed to still, as if the shadows themselves recoiled from the cowboy-like figure now making himself at home. But Dale didn't seem to notice. He glanced around the room before sauntering over to the remaining bed, his movements lazy and unhurried, as though he had done this a hundred times before.
"Hi," Cyrus and Teef said in unison, both still processing the bizarre new addition to their group.
Dale grinned widely. "Aw, don't mind me. First come, first serve," he said, throwing himself onto the bed with casual abandon. He leaned back, tipping his hat low over his eyes and resting his hands behind his head. "All good, y'all."
Cyrus watched Dale for a moment longer, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of his new dorm mates. The elf with his nervous energy, the mysterious cowboy who seemed out of place, and then himself—an enigma surrounded by shadows. This was going to be an interesting year, to say the least.
"So, how y'all doin'? What're your names?" Dale asked, his voice relaxed but with a subtle curiosity that suggested he was more observant than he let on.
Cyrus, still adjusting to the strange energy that Dale carried with him, offered a measured reply. "Cyrus Vale of Lionsworth," he said, his eyes watching for any flicker of recognition or interest.
"Teef Wiseborn of the Misty Hills," Teef chimed in, sounding more confident now that the room's tension had settled. The elf's twitchy demeanor had relaxed somewhat, his fingers no longer fidgeting, though his bright yellow eyes remained wide with curiosity.
Dale chuckled, tipping his hat back a little to get a better view of his new roommates. "Lionsworth and Misty Hills. Can't say I've heard of either o' those places, but y'all look like you got your stories." His words rolled out lazily, but there was an edge of curiosity behind the easy-going tone.
Teef's curiosity was piqued by Dale's appearance, the unusual mix of the cowboy hat, long black hair, and his strange, almost ghostly pallor. "Well, where are you from, then? I've never seen anyone like you before," Teef asked, his voice betraying a genuine fascination.
Dale's grin widened, a gleam of nostalgia flickering in his pale blue eyes. "Me? I'm from Raven's Touch. It's a city way down in the far south." His voice took on a low, rhythmic tone, as though he were telling an old ghost story by a fire. "Dark, humid place, y'know? Rains a lot, but we try to keep things cheery where we can. Most folks stay away, though. Reckon it's because of the rumors—strange and mostly false, I'd say—but they keep people scared."
Teef's eyes sparkled with intrigue. "Raven's Touch, huh? I've heard of it in passing, but it's a bit too far for me to have visited. Must be an interesting place."
Cyrus remained quiet during the exchange, watching both of them closely. Teef, with his nervous energy, struck him as harmless, though his elf heritage hinted at untapped magic waiting to surface. Dale, however, was different. Beneath his casual demeanor and charming smile, there was something unspoken, some dark undercurrent that Cyrus couldn't quite place. The pale cowboy had an ease about him, but also a sense of someone who had seen too much. He was a contradiction wrapped in mystery—laid-back yet formidable, a traveler with secrets.
As the silence stretched on, each of the boys began to settle into the room, their movements deliberate but comfortable as they unpacked. The earlier tension of the day slowly began to dissipate, replaced by a quiet realization that this shared space marked the beginning of something new and unknown.
Dale, who had been lounging on his bed, suddenly sat up and reached for a weathered black guitar case leaning against the wall. The case bore the marks of long journeys, scuffed and worn but still sturdy, as though it had traveled countless miles across rough roads. He rested the case on the bed, and a soft smile tugged at his lips as he glanced over at Cyrus and Teef.
"Look here, fellas," Dale said, his tone tinged with affection and pride. "I wanna introduce y'all to my beloved Lucy."
Teef tilted his head in confusion, exchanging a glance with Cyrus. "Huh?"
Without responding, Dale unclasped the latches of the case with a practiced hand. The room seemed to grow still as he carefully lifted the lid, revealing the polished, glossy surface of a hollow-body guitar. It was a thing of beauty. The deep black body gleamed under the low light, smooth as obsidian, while gold inlays adorned the fretboard like intricate filigree, giving the instrument an almost regal appearance. Small scratches along its edges hinted at the hours Dale had spent playing, each mark a testament to the bond between musician and instrument.
"This here," Dale said, lifting the guitar gently, cradling it as one might a fragile relic, "is my true calling. I ain't here for magic. Never wanted to be a wizard. But..." He shrugged, his eyes far away for a moment. "Turns out I got a knack for it. My folks thought it best I come here, so here I am."
His voice trailed off as he strummed a few notes, the sound soft but resonant, filling the room with a melody that was both haunting and intimate. It was a sound that didn't belong in the dark, secretive world of Ebonspire Academy—yet, in that moment, it felt right. The notes lingered in the air like smoke, wrapping around the three boys, casting a spell far different from any magic they'd learned about.
Dale's fingers moved across the strings, his eyes half-closed as he began to sing in a low, soulful voice:
"I'd swim the ocean, for a mid-afternoon cuddle,
Only to trip on rainy-day puddles…"
The lyrics were simple, but they carried a weight that seemed to resonate with something deeper. The music felt like a memory of a life long gone, a longing for something just out of reach. Cyrus found himself momentarily lost in it, the melody sinking into him, filling the cracks in the armor he had built around himself.
Teef, wide-eyed and entranced, clapped his hands when the song ended. "Wow! You're really good, Dale. I've never heard anything like that before."
Cyrus nodded silently, unable to find the right words. Music had never played a role in his life; it was a foreign thing, a luxury that hadn't existed in the harsh world of Crow's End. But something about Dale's song stirred him in a way he hadn't expected, like a quiet whisper in the dark, reminding him of emotions he had long buried. For a moment, he felt warmth—an unfamiliar but not unwelcome feeling—before it slipped away, leaving him standing in the shadows once again.
Dale, catching sight of the quiet admiration in his roommates' eyes, offered a modest smile. With a practiced hand, he gently tucked his guitar back into its case, handling the instrument with a reverence that spoke volumes. He slid the worn case beneath his bed, a ritual that seemed to carry as much weight as the music itself.
"Lucy's been with me for a long while now," Dale said, adjusting the brim of his hat with a casual flick. "She's seen me through some hard times, and I reckon she'll see me through this place, too."
A stillness settled over the room as the boys began to change into their sleep clothes, the soft rustling of fabric the only sound breaking the quiet. The weight of the day pressed down on them, and the freshly unpacked Tenebrae uniforms, with their dark elegance and silver crescents, lay folded neatly at the foot of each bed, a silent reminder of the strange, shadowed path they were now treading.
Cyrus found himself lying back on his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, as the events of the day unfurled once more in his mind. His body ached with exhaustion, but his thoughts were restless, tangled in a thousand threads he couldn't quite untangle. For a brief moment, his thoughts drifted to Layla. He wondered how she was faring in her new house. The brightness in her blue eyes and the light-heartedness in her voice had always seemed so effortless, but he suspected even she must be feeling the weight of this strange new life pressing down.
He could almost hear her teasing laugh, could almost see her vibrant pink hair as she grinned at him over some shared joke. A flicker of warmth stirred within him—comforting, but fleeting, like a fleeting light in the darkness.
But just as he began to let that warmth take hold, another face slipped into his thoughts, unbidden. The elven girl from earlier, with her silvery hair and those unnerving purple eyes that had seemed to see right through him. There had been something about her—an elegance, a confidence that radiated from her like a quiet fire. He remembered the way she had smirked at him in the dining hall, her voice carrying a playful warning. Her image lingered in his mind, unexpectedly vivid, and before he could stop himself, he found his thoughts spiraling toward her.
Cyrus clenched his jaw, shaking his head sharply as if to drive the thoughts away. Distractions, he scolded himself. This wasn't like him. His mind had never wandered like this before. He had trained himself to focus, to keep his thoughts razor-sharp, honed for his mission. There was no room for idle musings about girls, music, or anything that didn't serve his purpose.
But even as he steeled himself against the unwelcome emotions creeping in, something inside him stirred—something shifting beneath the surface, something unfamiliar and unnerving. Lying there in the cold shadows of the Tenebrae dormitory, he could feel it—the subtle tug of change, like the first tremor of a storm building on the horizon.
The sounds of the room around him slowly dulled as Dale and Teef drifted off into the heavy sleep of exhaustion. Their soft, rhythmic breathing soon filled the space, signaling their descent into slumber. But Cyrus remained wide awake. The shadows around him felt more like home than the bed he lay on, and sleep refused to come. His mind, sharp as ever, whirred with plans and possibilities.
After what felt like hours, Cyrus made his move. Quiet as a whisper, he slid out of bed. His movements were fluid, practiced, as he stood, his bare feet making no sound on the cool stone floor. The drapes that hung over the room's windows were thick and black, drowning the space in nearly complete darkness, but it posed no challenge for him. The shadows were his allies, familiar and comforting, as he navigated through them with ease.
Reaching for the door, his fingers brushed the knob ever so slightly, and he twisted it just enough to crack the door open without so much as a creak. He slipped into the hallway like a phantom, pausing briefly to listen. The Tenebrae dormitory corridors were eerily quiet, the air heavy with the lingering presence of ancient magic. Occasionally, a faint snore or murmured dream would break the silence, drifting from behind one of the closed doors, but there was no sign of movement. It was as though the whole dormitory had fallen under the spell of sleep.
"This is the perfect time to check things out," Cyrus thought, his eyes narrowing as he attuned himself to the thick darkness around him. He had heard the tales—whispers exchanged in the back alleys of Crow's End about the secrets buried deep within the walls of Ebonspire. It was said that the ancient magic woven into the academy's very foundations would reveal its hidden passages only under the veil of night. Now, as the shadows pressed in closer, Cyrus could almost feel the air humming with possibilities.
He moved like a wraith through the winding corridors, his footsteps imperceptible against the cold stone floor. The flickering torches along the walls cast long, wavering shadows, their faint glow making the place seem more ghostly than real. This, the quiet isolation of night, was where Cyrus thrived. The academy might be new, but the art of stealth was not. It reminded him of missions he'd carried out for the Crow's End, slipping unseen into the guarded fortresses of rivals, gathering intelligence in the dead of night. He was in his element.
As he turned a corner, the stillness around him sharpened his focus. The air seemed to grow heavier, as though it, too, was waiting for something. Just as Cyrus scanned the hallway ahead, a light touch on his shoulder made him whirl around, his instincts guiding his hand to move in defense before he caught himself.
There, standing with a soft smirk, was the elven girl from earlier—the one whose silver hair had caught his attention in the dining hall. In the dim light, she looked almost ethereal, the moonlight filtering through the nearby window lending her an otherworldly glow. Her violet eyes gleamed with amusement.
"Careful," she teased, her voice soft and teasing. "You seem to have a habit of bumping into people."
Cyrus froze, momentarily thrown off by her sudden appearance. He wasn't used to being caught off guard, and the way she seemed to slip out of the darkness so effortlessly put him on edge. He took a breath, steadying himself, but the girl spoke again before he could reply.
"You're that strange boy who doesn't know how to walk without running into someone, aren't you?" she continued, her tone laced with playful mockery.
Cyrus blinked, unsure of what to say. This wasn't how he had envisioned his night going. "What's your name?" she asked, tilting her head as she studied him, her eyes still dancing with humor.
"Cyrus," he responded, his voice more cautious than usual. She had disrupted his focus, but there was something about her presence that made it hard to dismiss her.
"Cyrus," she repeated, as if weighing the name in her mind. "Cyrus Vale of Lionsworth, I presume?"
He nodded, trying to compose himself. "Yes. And you?" he asked, the question slipping out as if it had been waiting in the back of his mind all along.
She raised an eyebrow, as though considering whether to answer. "Lionsworth?" she echoed, a hint of amusement in her voice. "I have an uncle who visits there for trading every now and then. He tells me it's full of farmers and merchants—hardly a place where someone like you would seem to come from."
Cyrus opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, her gaze shifted toward the window. The night sky beyond was clear, scattered with countless stars, their cold light glinting off the glass panes. The soft glow of the moon bathed her in light, giving her an almost otherworldly appearance.
"It's not that interesting, really," Cyrus murmured, following her gaze. For some reason, her presence calmed him—an odd tranquility settled over him, something he wasn't used to. Here, in the dark, surrounded by secrets and shadows, the usual tension that gnawed at him seemed to ease.
He looked back at her, curiosity piquing despite himself. "And your name?" he asked, his voice quieter now, almost as if afraid of disturbing the peace of the moment.
She turned toward him, a smirk playing on her lips once more. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she teased, her violet eyes sparkling with mischief. But after a moment, her expression softened, and she answered in a quieter tone. "Siera Havengale."
Siera. The name fit her, though Cyrus couldn't quite explain why. There was something about her—a quiet confidence, a sense of hidden strength. He watched as her gaze drifted back toward the stars, her expression distant, as though she was searching for something beyond the night sky.
"Where are you from?" Cyrus asked, the words leaving his mouth before he could think better of them. He didn't know why he felt compelled to keep talking. Normally, he would have brushed her off and gone about his business. But something about Siera—about this moment—made him want to linger.
Siera didn't answer immediately. Instead, she let the silence stretch out, the soft hum of the night filling the space between them. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Far from here. A place that doesn't matter anymore."
The cryptic answer sent a shiver down Cyrus's spine, but before he could ask more, she turned back to him, her teasing smile returning. "But enough about me. What brings you out here, creeping through the halls like a shadow in the night?"
Cyrus hesitated. He had been so caught up in the strange pull of their conversation that he'd almost forgotten his purpose. He had no reason to trust her, no reason to reveal his true intent, but the words came easily, surprising him. "Just… exploring. I've heard this place has a lot of secrets."
Siera's eyes gleamed in the darkness, her smirk deepening. "Secrets, huh? Well, Cyrus Vale of Lionsworth, you might just find more than you bargained for."
With that, she turned on her heel and began walking down the corridor, her steps light and graceful, as if she belonged to the shadows just as much as Cyrus did. He watched her go, something unspoken lingering in the air between them.
Siera smiled, her lips curving into a mischievous grin as her violet eyes sparkled with amusement. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she repeated, her tone playful but layered with a cryptic edge. Cyrus opened his mouth to press for more, but before he could get a word out, her expression shifted. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze growing more serious. "What are you even doing out here this late? If you get caught, the professors won't go easy on you."
Cyrus hesitated, his mind racing to come up with a plausible excuse. He wasn't used to being put on the spot like this, especially by someone like Siera. The truth of his midnight exploration seemed too dangerous to reveal, but before he could answer, a familiar voice cut through the tension.
"We were hungry."
Cyrus spun around to see Dale and Teef emerging from the shadows behind him, both looking a little rumpled but alert. Dale's usual laid-back demeanor was present, his grin crooked and his hat tilted slightly to one side. His raspy voice carried a hint of humor as he elaborated. "Thought we'd sneak out for a late-night snack, but got a bit turned around in this big ol' castle."
Siera chuckled, clearly amused, though her eyes remained sharp. "Hungry, huh?" she said, clearly not buying their excuse but choosing not to press further. Her knowing smirk only deepened as she watched the three boys fumble their way out of the situation.
Teef, always the nervous one, was quick to follow up. "Yes, we were just… heading back," he said hurriedly, his voice a little too high-pitched, as he tugged on Cyrus's arm, nudging him to move along.
Dale wasn't far behind, stepping up and slinging a casual arm around Cyrus's shoulders, steering him away from Siera with a wink. "Come on, partner, we've got places to be. Don't want to be out here longer than we have to," he added, his tone still light, though there was a hint of urgency in his words.
"See you around," Siera called after them, her voice breezy and playful as she turned her gaze back to the night sky, her form bathed in moonlight. It was as if she were already lost in her own thoughts, no longer concerned with the boys and their antics.
As Dale and Teef led him back through the twisting corridors of the academy, Cyrus couldn't shake the mix of frustration and relief bubbling inside him. He hadn't planned on encountering anyone, much less being dragged back by his new roommates. But Siera's presence, her teasing words, and the way she had caught him off guard… it had unsettled him in a way he didn't fully understand. There was something about her—a pull, a quiet mystery—that left him feeling exposed in a way he didn't like.
"That was close," Teef muttered, glancing nervously over his shoulder as they moved through the dimly lit halls. The elf's wide eyes darted from shadow to shadow, as if expecting something to leap out at them.
"You've got to be more careful, Cyrus," Dale said, his voice more serious now as he guided them down a narrow hallway. "This place is full of secrets. Not all of them are friendly, and you don't want to make a wrong move on your first night here."
Cyrus nodded, though his mind was still tangled up with thoughts of Siera. The unexpected encounter had thrown him off balance, but Dale's words brought him back to the present. He needed to be cautious—his mission came first, and distractions, no matter how intriguing, were dangerous.
They slipped back into their dorm room, the silence settling in as they each prepared for bed. Teef, still a bit rattled, whispered, "You've got some nerve sneaking out like that. But I guess that's what makes you so interesting."
Cyrus didn't respond. His mind was too preoccupied, too caught up in the storm of emotions swirling inside him. He lay back on his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin, but sleep felt distant. His thoughts drifted to Siera, to the way she had stood in the moonlight, her violet eyes shimmering like stars. There was something about her, something that drew him in, even though every instinct told him to stay focused, to keep his guard up.
As the room fell into silence, broken only by the soft breathing of his roommates, Cyrus let his eyes close. But even as exhaustion pulled at him, the image of Siera lingered, etched into his mind. Whatever it was he felt—curiosity, intrigue, something deeper—he knew it wasn't going to fade.
Not now. Not ever.