Part 1: The Biting Bloom
The morning fog at Venrier Academy clung to the trees like spider silk, soft and glowing, wrapping the crooked towers and soaring bridges in a silent silver. Somewhere above, floating lanterns blinked into the dawn, their light trailing like comets across the sky. Birds called out strange, echoing songs that didn't belong to the surface world—a reminder that this school existed far below the normal Earth.
George Blackwood rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed, the enchanted ceiling of his dorm still showing night, though faint blue glows now rimmed the corners like the edges of a dream fading. His sheets were tangled from tossing, and his mind was tangled from something worse: the memory of the previous night.
He had seen someone in the corridor.
He had seen a shadow.
He had seen—he thought—the faint outline of a glowing door, cold and steaming like metal sealed for centuries.
And then, the dream.
The cauldron. The whispering voice.
"Three flames. Three lives. The Fire Beast stirs…"
He had woken sweating, his pillow damp, the words still echoing in his ears.
But morning didn't wait for fear.
"Max," George said quietly, nudging the lump in the next bed. "Wake up."
Max groaned. "Unless the school's on fire or breakfast includes flying bacon, I'm staying in this blanket until someone flips me."
George chuckled. "It's Herbology. First class of the term."
That got a louder groan. "Why are we learning about plants? I already know how to avoid them. I avoid salads all the time."
---
The Greenhouse Path
Fifteen minutes later, George, Max, Anna, and Emily were walking through a gravel path behind the main building. The mist was slowly lifting, revealing rows of glass domes built along a crooked hill. Inside, warm green light pulsed behind the walls—alive and glowing, like breathing lungs.
George looked around. "I didn't know this part of the school existed."
Anna snorted. "There's a lot you don't know yet."
Max fake-whispered to Emily, "She's like a walking book. I bet she came out of the womb with a library card."
Emily gave a small smile but said nothing. She had a focused look—her eyes always scanning, absorbing. George had already learned that she said very little, but saw nearly everything.
The greenhouse door creaked open as they approached, releasing a wave of warm, sweet air that smelled like honey, mint, and wet earth.
"Welcome, young weeds!" came a voice from inside.
Standing in the middle of the greenhouse, wearing bark-covered boots and a tunic made of woven leaves, was a tiny woman with wild silver hair that looked like it had never seen a comb. Her glasses were thick as marbles and constantly slipping down her nose.
"I'm Professor Thistledown," she said. "And this—" she spun around with surprising speed—"is where magic begins. Not with spells. Not with fireballs. But with roots, petals, and patience."
Max leaned toward George and whispered, "I think she talks to her plants."
"I think the plants talk back," George whispered back.
---
The Biting Bloom
Rows of strange violet flowers sat on long tables. Each one had petals like dragon wings—wide and dark, lined with tiny thorns that shimmered with moisture. In the center of each bloom, a twitching, tongue-like tendril quivered constantly.
"These," Thistledown said cheerfully, "are Biting Blooms. You may notice they are… lively."
The flower closest to George snapped the air in front of him with a sudden hiss.
"Moon Moth nectar is their food," the professor explained. "Your job today is to feed them—without losing a finger."
Max leaned toward Anna. "Wait—she's not kidding, right? People have…?"
"Yes," Anna said without looking at him.
"Right," Max muttered. "Very encouraging."
Each pair of students received a small glass vial filled with glowing nectar and a slender silver spoon. George and Emily were paired together. Across the table, Max and Anna faced off against what Max would later call "a demon disguised as a plant."
George watched Emily approach their bloom. She moved with calm and slow precision—her spoon extended, her face relaxed. The flower hissed once… then opened slowly, revealing a soft purple center that pulsed with light.
The tongue flicked out and gently sipped the nectar.
George was amazed. "How'd you do that?"
"Breathe," she said softly. "Like it's listening to your heartbeat."
When George tried, he moved too quickly. The bloom snapped at his hand with a sharp hiss, and he jumped back.
"Again," Emily said. "Slower."
He calmed himself, steadied his hand, and reached forward again. This time, the flower trembled, tilted… and drank.
It hummed. Actually hummed.
"You're good at this," Emily said with a slight smile.
George smiled back. "We're bonding. I'll name it Clarence."
On the other side, Max was dodging wildly while his bloom lashed out at him.
"DOWN, CLARENCE! DOWN, DEMON FLOWER!" he shouted. "Anna, help me! It knows my fear!"
Anna sighed, stepped in, and fed the flower in one move.
Max stared. "You're a plant witch."
"I'm just not an idiot," she replied.