To my family, my friends, who are both my biggest supporters
"This book is represented as the High King and Queen's personal documentation of love, triumph, life, and legacy preserved in ink and memory. Long live their Majesties."
500 years ago, a revolution called the Rise of the Fair Folk was a war in which the magical fae infiltrated and overthrew the human world and their kingdoms, replacing them with the fae royalty from their world. They brought ways of using magic, which had been long forgotten by humans. Humans were quickly overthrown and forgotten, blending into the social hierarchy of Virethorn. Through the years, many humans and fae alike bonded and became families (in happier cases). While some humans did so to raise their social status, others tried to inject themselves with the blood of fae, hoping to gain the immortality and magical abilities of being fae while keeping their human flesh. To their dismay, the blood rejected their humanity and turned them into dark, rotting versions of fae, marked by what we call Xelmarks, their souls damned to Xel'vathars services forever.
My name is Serelune. I attend a magical school in the kingdom of Virethorn called Arcanum Academy and thousands of students travel from other kingdoms to go to this prestigious school. I've known Virethorn all my life. I know it's ins and outs, who I can trick, who I should stay away from. My mother has always been a hard worker, and that hasn't changed after she had me. She was a designer; she invented clothes for all sorts of people, getting commissions and outdoing herself every time. Eventually, the people were raving about my mother's beautiful works, she wanted her designs to be elegant and affordable. With thousands of orders coming in, she quickly became overworked and fell ill, even with my help in the shop. My mom slowly made her way back to full health, but she was never the same. The demands drained her as she bent over her desk, designing new gowns and other ravishing items to please the citizens. On the other hand, my father. He was around until I was about 5 years old. He was a piece of work, it's not a compliment. He was rude and uncaring, at least in my 5-year-old eyes. My mother told me he was just stressed, and that he wasn't always like this. He was thoughtful and caring and wanted the best for Mamma and me. He up and left one night and never came back. Stole 5,000 aurels with him. Mamma cried for months. I was happier now that he was gone—just me and mom. I'm now 17, and some days, I look in the mirror and still expect to see the girl who used to run barefoot through alleyways, wild hair in her face, scraped knees and all. But instead, there's her—with those high cheekbones that make me look more composed than I feel, and those eyes. People say they look like they're hiding secrets. Maybe they are. Warm brown with a hint of honey, like dusk before a storm. My mother used to say I had a "knowing" gaze, like I could see through someone with a glance. My lips twitch into that same half-smile I've worn since I learned sarcasm could be a shield — sweet enough to disarm, sharp enough to wound. My hair, thick and wild, flows around my face. Like the scar just under my jaw — faint, but there. A reminder that I bled for every ounce of strength I carry. I'm not tall, but I move like someone who knows how to take up space — and how to disappear when it counts. I don't need to shoutto be heard. I just am. And that's more than enough. It's my 3rd year at Arcanum Academy, and this year, I get a dorm to myself. The privilege of surviving 2 years, I guess.
I dress to vanish. Every stitch on me is built for movement, silence, and survival. My top's a snug, long-sleeved wrap, dark as shadow and breathable as second skin. No loose fabric to snag, nothing that makes a sound. Arm wraps cling to my forearms, flexible and quiet, but laced with slender, hidden blades sharp enough to slice without warning. Twin holsters sit snug against my thighs, fitted just right for easy draws — left or right, doesn't matter. I've trained for both. I'm not fond of coresets but my mother made it for me. It is a shade of black so dark it seems to melt into me, with 3 sheaths on either side of my ribcage. There's another dagger tucked against the small of my back, flat and cold, right where most people forget to look. No frills, no flash — but I still wear who I am. I am armed to the teeth. My schedule is laid out on my bed, the light pink covers, a sea of my favorite color behind the old-tingey looking parchment with my class schedule. I walk over and pick up the parchment.
Okay, let's see what I have in store for me this year.
1st, Poisons, Potions, and the Subtle Arts. Okay.
2nd is History, 3rd is Combat Training, 4th I have Fieldwork, 5th Old Magic. And a free period. Perfect.
Looking at my schedule, I know that the 3rd and 4th periods are going to be my favorite parts of the day. I check the time, the clock on the far right side of my room tells me I have 15 minutes to get to class before I'm late.