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Chapter Three: Welcome to the Madness
If Elara had been hoping for a warm, friendly orientation session, she was wildly off the mark.
Instead, she got a scroll that screamed.
Literally.
The moment she touched it, the thing let out a shriek that sounded like a banshee having a tantrum, then unraveled itself midair to reveal glowing gold ink and far too many exclamation points.
WELCOME TO NYMERIA ACADEMY OF ARCANE MISFITS!
Please do not:
Explode any towers.
Make deals with pond spirits.
Summon anything with more than five eyes.
Die before midterms.
"Cheerful," Elara muttered, already regretting every life decision that brought her here.
Behind her, Caelin snorted. "That's the short version. You should see the full student handbook — it has a kill count."
Elara blinked. "A what now?"
Caelin patted her shoulder. "Come on, newbie. Time to learn how badly you're going to fail your first potion class."
---
Nymeria Academy was chaos politely pretending to be a school.
Classrooms moved depending on their mood. The astronomy tower floated. The herbology garden bit. The cafeteria served soup that sometimes stared back.
"Don't eat the pears," Caelin warned during lunch. "They scream when you bite them."
Elara stared at her plate. "What about the bread?"
"It hisses."
"Oh, good."
Even the library was suspicious. The books moved. Some whispered, some bit, and one tried to sell her cursed bookmarks for a soul coin.
"Are these even accredited classes?" Elara asked as she side-stepped a floating chair.
"Nope," Caelin said. "But if you survive long enough, you get a diploma and a nervous twitch."
Her schedule made zero sense. She had Mirror Defense, Practical Curses, and something called Whispers 101.
"Is that like...listening to gossip?" she asked hopefully.
Caelin gave her a look. "You'll wish it was gossip."
Professor Blight, who taught Mirror Defense, had the unsettling habit of walking backward and finishing sentences before he started them.
"–or it will consume you. Rule number one: never let your reflection smile first."
Elara raised her hand. "What if it already has?"
The professor blinked. "Oh. You're that one."
"Great," she sighed. "That sounds totally normal and not like a red flag."
---
By the end of the day, Elara had tripped up three staircases, accidentally insulted a sentient cloak, and nearly set her textbook on fire just by touching it.
Magic was...not exactly flowing through her like a river.
More like...dribbling out like a broken faucet.
"Why can't I do anything?" she groaned to Caelin as they left class. "Everyone else is throwing sparks and chanting spells. I can't even make a candle flicker."
Caelin looked at her for a long moment.
"You ever heard of the term 'latent affinity'?"
Elara frowned. "Is that fancy talk for 'you suck at this'?"
"No," Caelin said. "It means...your magic's probably locked. Buried. It'll show up when it's ready — or when you're ready."
Elara sighed. "Could it hurry up? I'm already starting to feel like the plot twist in someone else's story."
"You might be," Caelin said, more serious than usual. "Nymeria doesn't choose randomly. You were brought here for a reason."
Elara didn't answer. Because deep down, she already knew that. And it scared her.
---
Later that night, after dodging a staircase that tried to eat her shoe, Elara returned to her dorm.
Her room looked the same — too many mirrors, too many shadows — but something felt...off.
She checked her bed.
Another note.
This one wasn't scratched in panic. It was written neatly in silver ink.
We're watching. Don't let them see you doubt.
The Veil chooses for a reason.
No name. No explanation.
Just a flicker of magic that made the ink vanish as she blinked.
Elara sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the floating stars drifting across the ceiling. She didn't know what the Veil was.
She didn't know why the mirrors moved, or why she'd been invited to a school for magic when she couldn't even light a candle.
But something told her...this wasn't random.
And if the Veil had chosen her?
She intended to find out why.
Even if the mirrors were already watching.
Even if the scrolls screamed.
Even if her magic was hiding from her.
One way or another...
She was going to survive this madness.
And maybe, just maybe, rewrite the story they all thought they knew.
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