The boy in the back of a worn-out sedan gulped hard, clutching his satchel against his chest. His fingers tightened around the strap as he stole another glance at the rear-view mirror.
The same pair of ogle-eyed stares met his gaze—unblinking, unreadable, and just unsettling enough to send a shiver down his spine.
"What are you called?" The driver's voice was raspy, deliberate, his eyes never once flickering away from the mirror.
The boy hesitated, scratching his smooth chin where not even a hint of stubble had grown. He felt his throat constrict as he rushed to answer, nearly choking on the first name that came to mind.
"J-John."
Silence. The driver took a sharp turn, the tires skidding slightly against the pavement.
"John?" He tested the name on his tongue like he didn't quite believe it. The boy nodded, maybe a little too quickly.
"Then, John… you're not going to the Academy."
A sharp pang of panic shot through the boy's chest. His heart pounded against his ribs as the driver took another abrupt turn, this time veering into a narrow alleyway. Too narrow for a sedan. The walls felt like they were closing in, shadows creeping along the edges.
His grip on his satchel tightened.
"You're not gonna ask why?"
The boy didn't answer, his mind racing for a way out.
The driver sighed, then added with an unmistakable note of amusement, "'Cause I was told to bring Veyrith, not John."
A jolt went through him. His stomach knotted.
"I-I… you're not wrong," he finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I go by that name as well."
The driver let out a sharp chuckle. "Ha! I knew it. Look at you. You couldn't be a John."
Veyrith inhaled deeply, willing his nerves to settle. Without another word, he pulled a magazine from his bag and let his eyes skim the pages, tuning out the driver's presence.
'Grandpa said I got invited, but why? Just to test if a publicly taught student could compete with their elite ones?'
The car jerked to a sudden stop.
A large, calloused hand snatched the magazine from his grasp.
"I am talking to you," the driver said, his massive hand still resting atop the glossy pages.
Veyrith's gaze flicked outside.
Deserted area. No road. No signs. Nothing but trees stretching into the horizon.
His pulse quickened.
"Are we there?" he asked, voice carefully measured.
The driver shook his head. "Tomorrow. We'll reach there tomorrow."
Tomorrow? Veyrith's jaw tightened.
"And there's a particular reason we can't get there today?"
The driver licked his lips, eyes glinting with something unreadable. Before he could respond, Veyrith made his decision.
He swung his satchel straight into the man's face.
The driver cursed, momentarily blinded.
That was all the time Veyrith needed.
He yanked open the car door and bolted.
"Hey! Don't be an idiot—"
But Veyrith wasn't listening. He was already running, lungs burning as he sprinted toward the towering iron gates ahead.
Veyrith stumbled to a stop in front of Duskbourne Academy's grand iron gates, panting, bruised, and looking like he had just crawled out of a swamp.
His blazer was ruined—smeared with dirt, streaked with mud, and torn in places where tree branches had taken cheap shots at him. His right shoe was missing half its sole, making every step feel like a personal attack. His satchel strap had nearly snapped during his escape, and his arms were covered in small cuts from his run through the woods.
To put it simply—he looked like a feral animal that had lost a fight with nature itself.
But he was here.
Finally.
Victory.
Or so he thought.
Because the two guards stationed at the gate barely glanced at him before stepping forward to block his way.
Veyrith frowned, still trying to catch his breath. "I—I have an invitation," he said, fumbling through his satchel. He pulled out the crumpled, slightly sweat-stained letter and held it up.
The guards exchanged looks. One of them—a burly guy with arms the size of Veyrith's entire torso—crossed his arms. "All students arrived yesterday. Or the day before."
Veyrith blinked. "Yeah? Well, I'm arriving today."
The other guard, older and thinner, shook his head. "No late entries without prior approval."
Veyrith's eye twitched. He waved the letter at them again. "This is the approval!"
The guards didn't budge.
He wanted to scream.
He had literally escaped a near-kidnapping, run through a damn forest, gotten scratched up, lost half a shoe, and now he wasn't even allowed in?!
After a solid minute of arguing, pleading, and nearly considering a bribe, Veyrith realized something.
The guards weren't going to let him in.
So.
Fine.
He'd just have to get in himself.
Veyrith took a deep breath, slung his satchel across his back, and—
Started climbing the gate.
The moment he latched onto the intricate iron designs and hoisted himself up, the guards burst into laughter.
"Is he serious?" one of them snorted.
"He's actually climbing?" the other chuckled, folding his arms.
Veyrith gritted his teeth and kept going.
The gate was ridiculously high—easily twice his height. The metal twists and turns in the design gave him just enough grip to pull himself upward, inch by inch. His arms burned, his already-ruined shoe slipped against the bars, but he refused to give up.
By the time he made it halfway up, the guards were openly crying from laughter.
Then.
A deep rumble of an engine cut through the air.
A black limousine rolled up the driveway, heading straight for the gates.
Veyrith barely had time to process what was happening before—
The gates swung open.
…With him still hanging on them.
For one, horrifying second, he was carried along with the moving gate, legs swinging helplessly, hands clutching on for dear life.
The guards? Howling with laughter.
The driver of the limousine? Didn't even glance his way.
And Veyrith?
Officially done with this goddamn day.
He tried to adjust his grip, but his foot slipped on a carved raven's wing, making him dangle awkwardly.
The guards? Still laughing their asses off.
Then the black limousine rolled to a smooth stop beside them.
The laughter cut off instantly.
Veyrith, still gripping the gate like a cat stuck on a curtain, peeked down. The guards had straightened up immediately, fixing their postures as the car's tinted window slid down with an effortless hum.
From his precarious position, Veyrith couldn't see much, but he caught a glimpse of pale fingers tapping against the car door—slow, patient, and definitely expensive-looking.
A voice, smooth and calm in a way that demanded attention, spoke.
"Is there a reason that student is climbing the gate?"
The guards snapped to attention. The burly one coughed. "Ah—uh—there was a… misunderstanding."
The thinner guard cleared his throat. "He arrived late. We were just following standard protocol."
A pause.
Then, the voice from the car said, "Let him in."
No argument. No questions. Just a simple order.
The guards immediately stepped back and gestured for Veyrith to get down.
Slowly—because he valued his spine—Veyrith climbed down, landing on the ground with a tired thud. He dusted himself off as best as he could (which wasn't much, given he still looked like he'd survived a mudslide).
One of the guards muttered, "You could've just waited, kid."
Veyrith shot him a look. "You could've just let me in."
The guard had no response to that.
The limousine's window slid back up, and just like that, the car rolled forward, gliding through the academy's entrance with the ease of someone who belonged.
Meanwhile, Veyrith?
He limped inside, dragging his half-broken shoe behind him.
This was, without a doubt, the worst first day of school in history.