The platform was too silent, though the silence felt habitual as if the place had long forgotten sound. The air itself carried a warning: this is no tourist stop.
It wasn't that the station lacked beauty; its stone arches and iron rails were crafted with care, much like any other platform scattered across the Scottish countryside. Yet something about it felt suspended, untouched by time.
Through the mist, a stern woman in a grey coat appeared. She stood with the stillness of someone expecting fate, not people. Even as the train arrived in a hiss of steam and metal, the air did not lighten. The cold was the kind that seeps beneath skin, the kind that remembers.
When the doors opened, seven passengers stepped out each carrying a suitcase, a past, and a name that had been waiting to be called.
The train had gone, swallowed by mist and distance. Only the echo of its wheels lingered a faint reminder that whatever life they left behind was already far away.
The woman in the grey coat unfolded her list. Her voice was firm, but something about the air shifted with each name she called.
"Vesper Ash."
A red-haired girl lifted her gaze. Her beauty was the kind that demanded attention that it crept up slowly, quiet and strange. Her pale grey eyes looked like they'd seen too much light and too much dark, and learned not to flinch at either. There was something fragile in her calm, like time itself held its breath around her.
"Annaya Frost."
Curly black hair framed her warm, tan skin like sunlight caught in human form. But behind that brightness was exhaustion too old for her years. Her smile, small and controlled, was the kind people learn to wear after surviving something they never speak of.
"Chinue Kael."
Tall, broad-shouldered, his presence filled the empty platform like earth after rain. His face carried strength carved by patience with beauty that came not from perfection, but endurance. His eyes were steady, but somewhere behind them lived centuries of loss that no one could name.
"Kaelen Dray."
A quiet boy with dark hair that fell over his eyes, as if he didn't want to be fully seen. His beauty was the sharp, fleeting kind . A bruise you can't help but touch again. There was music in the way he held silence, like he once belonged to a louder world that had forgotten him. He may remind you a wild cat.
"Lyra Solen."
Blonde hair glimmered even in the dull light, soft curls brushing her collar. Her beauty was almost unreal delicate, dreamlike, the kind that didn't belong in this world. Yet her eyes betrayed her: too awake, too aware. They carried the sadness of someone who dreams to escape but never truly sleeps.
"Dorian Vale."
He stood apart, his dark braids brushing his shoulders, his gaze sharp but heavy. His beauty was carved from defiance fierce, quiet, untamed. There was something haunted in him, like the world had tried to break him once and only succeeded in bending the light around him.
"Seraphine Noir."
When her name was called, silence followed. Her white-gold hair framed a pale face, features so perfectly balanced they almost seemed unreal. Her beauty was dangerous not in what it showed, but what it hid. Her eyes Pale Violet gleamed like they knew something the others didn't and maybe never would. She carry the beauty which only found in fairytales.
The woman lowered her list, scanning the seven faces before her.
"Welcome," she said, her voice softer now. "To Obscura Academy where every name has already been written once before."
" I am professor Elara morn, I am head admission and here to welcome you. Follow me. "