"I'm hollow. Empty in a way I can't explain—like there's nothing inside but silence. It wasn't always this way; at least, I don't think it was. I can't remember what I lost or when, only that it's gone. Maybe I was born this way. Maybe it was taken from me. All I know is that I feel... nothing.
I've read about emotions. Happiness, anger, sadness—they're just words. I can't picture what they're supposed to feel like. Are they heavy or light? Do they fill you up, or do they hurt? It's strange, being alive but not really living. If emotions are what make us human, then what am I?"
The thought lingered as I approached the black iron gates of Blackridge Academy. They loomed high, their sharp tips piercing the pale sky like the fangs of a predator. When they opened with a slow, deliberate creak, it felt almost theatrical—like the start of a story I wasn't sure I wanted to be a part of.
The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp stone and freshly cut grass. Towering trees lined the cobblestone path leading to the school, their bare branches twisting like skeletal hands. The scene had a cold detachment to it, much like everything else in my life.
The school itself was imposing, a castle from another time. Gray stone walls gleamed faintly in the weak sunlight, ivy curling over archways and creeping up sharp spires. Immaculate windows reflected the cloudy sky, and ornate carvings of ravens perched atop shattered crowns adorned the facade. The message was clear: Blackridge Academy was a place of power, where only the best could thrive.
I adjusted the stiff uniform they'd sent me: black with crimson trim, paired with a crisp white shirt and a striped crimson-and-black tie. On the blazer's pocket was the school crest—a raven perched on a shattered crown. I ran my fingers over the embroidery, tracing the delicate threads. *Power reclaimed? Or a warning about those who reach too high?*
The Echo stirred in the back of my mind, faint but unrelenting. *You don't belong here.*
I pushed the thought aside and stepped inside.
Inside, Blackridge was just as grand as it looked from the outside. A massive chandelier dominated the entrance hall, its crystals catching the soft light streaming through tall arched windows. The floors were marble, polished to a mirror shine, and the air carried the faint scent of lemon and varnish. Every detail screamed wealth and meticulous care.
At the reception desk, a woman worked briskly, her sharp glasses reflecting the glow of her monitor. She had dark hair pulled into a precise bun, and her posture was so straight it could've been sculpted from stone. Behind her, a marble bust of some long-dead benefactor loomed, its face locked in a permanent scowl.
I stepped forward. "Excuse me. I'm Noah Carter. I'm new here."
She glanced up briefly, her eyes cool and unreadable, before returning to her screen. "One moment."
Her fingers flew across the keyboard before she handed me a packet of papers. "Schedule, rules, and a map of the school. Room 3B for first period."
"Thanks."
"The stairs are to your left," she added curtly, already moving on to her next task.
I tucked the papers into my bag and headed for the stairs. The reception staff didn't care about me, I realized. Not out of malice—they just didn't have the time. I preferred that over fake smiles and forced kindness.
The staircase spiraled upward, its iron railings intricately designed with patterns of feathers and crowns. My footsteps echoed faintly, swallowed by the vastness of the school. The second floor buzzed with activity—students rushing to class, their voices overlapping in a hum of energy. By the time I reached the third floor, the noise had faded into a distant murmur.
Room 3B stood at the end of the hallway, its tall, dark door unassuming yet somehow daunting. My hand hesitated on the brass handle, its surface cool under my fingers. There was always something about stepping into a classroom for the first time—an invisible line between the observer and the observed.
The Echo whispered again, dry and sardonic. *All eyes will be on you.*
I pushed the door open.
The room was as pristine as the rest of the school. High ceilings and large windows let in the pale November light, casting soft shadows over rows of mahogany desks. The faint scent of old books mingled with the sharper tang of fresh ink.
As I entered, the low murmur of conversation stopped. Twenty pairs of eyes turned to me, some curious, others indifferent. The teacher, a man with graying hair and a neatly pressed suit, looked up from his podium.
"You must be Noah Carter," he said, his tone even.
"Yes, sir."
He adjusted his glasses and gestured toward the class. "Introduce yourself briefly before taking a seat."
I turned to face them, keeping my expression neutral. "I'm Noah Carter," I said, my voice steady but detached. "This is my first day here. I look forward to the school year."
That was all I offered.
The teacher nodded. "There's an empty seat near the back. Take it."
I moved down the aisle, aware of the gazes following me. Some students watched openly, others pretended not to care.
The desk by the window was unoccupied, its surface clean and unmarked. I sat down, resting my bag at my feet. Outside, the skeletal branches of a tree swayed in the wind, their motion oddly hypnotic.
The lesson began, the teacher's voice droning on about the Industrial Revolution. I let my gaze wander over the room, taking in the details. Designer shoes, polished watches, flawless hairstyles—the students here were as curated as the school itself.
When the bell rang, the classroom erupted into motion. Students gathered their things, clustering into groups with practiced ease. I stayed seated, scanning my schedule for the next class.
I noticed her before she spoke. The girl with the braid. She walked over with the kind of confidence that didn't need to be loud. Her green eyes were sharp, but there was something soft in them, too.
"Noah, right?" she asked.
"Yes," I replied.
She tilted her head slightly, studying me. "You're quiet."
I shrugged. "Not much to say."
"That's unusual," she said. "Most new students try to make an impression. You don't seem to care about that."
"I'm just not really bothered about it."
She smiled faintly. "Interesting. I'm Elise, by the way. Elise Sinclair."
"Nice to meet you."
"Do you always keep people at arm's length, or is this just a first-day thing?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
I met her gaze evenly. "I'm just not good at talking to people or making friends."
"Hmm," she mused, tapping her chin. "You know, saying that is a good way to make people want to become friends with you, don't you think that defeats the point?"
I didn't respond immediately. She seemed sharper than most. I had to be wary
"I'll keep that in mind," I said finally.
She chuckled, her braid swaying as she turned to leave. "Well, good luck, Noah Carter. I hope we can become good friends."
I watched her go, her presence lingering like an echo in the emptying classroom.
The second bell rang, calling everyone back to their seats. The teacher resumed his lecture, his voice steady and measured.
Outside the window, a raven perched on the skeletal branches of the tree, its dark eyes fixed on me. It tilted its head, as if it knew something I didn't, before taking off into the gray sky.
I leaned back in my chair, letting the sound of the world fade into the background. For now, Blackridge Academy was just another place. Hopefully a step forward.