The road to St. Crescent Academy wound through hills like a ribbon of stone, curling higher and higher until the air grew sharp with pine and distant snow.
Anaya pressed her forehead against the shuttle bus window, watching the world shift with every turn. Fields gave way to cliffs, towns shrank into dots. Her parents' faces still lingered in her mind — Mama's anxious smile, Papa's reluctant wave, Ravi's loud, teasing cry of "Don't forget me when you become famous!"
She hadn't answered him. She hadn't trusted her voice not to break.
Now, surrounded by strangers in navy blazers, she felt the weight of everything left behind. The bus hummed with chatter — students swapping stories, comparing notes about transfers from Brazil, Kenya, Greece, Korea. Their accents laced together like a patchwork quilt, bright and alive.
Anaya sat quiet, hands folded on her lap, pulse steadying only when she reread the embossed letter folded carefully in her pocket. The seal had cracked when she opened it days ago, but she traced the memory of it like a talisman.
"First time in Crescent?"
She turned. The boy beside her had dark curls, warm olive skin, and eyes the color of sea glass. His smile was easy, natural.
"Yeah," she admitted.
"Same." He extended his hand. "Rafael."
"Anaya." Her palm brushed his, and she was relieved it didn't tremble.
"Where are you from?" he asked.
"India. Small city. You?"
"Barcelona," he said with a little shrug, as though it didn't matter, though his accent wrapped the word like music.
He leaned back. "They say the Academy is older than the city itself. Built where two rivers of destiny cross. Do you believe that kind of thing?"
Anaya's mouth quirked. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to believe yet."
He laughed softly. "Good answer."
The bus curved one final time, and the Academy revealed itself.
It rose from the hillside like a fortress carved of cream stone and ivy. Towers pierced the sky, their tips crowned with silver crescents. The main hall stretched wide, its arched windows glittering like eyes watching their arrival. Flags bearing the interlocked moons swayed in the wind.
Gasps filled the bus. Even the most confident transfers leaned closer to the windows. The Academy was not merely a school. It was a kingdom.
When the bus halted before the wrought-iron gates, Anaya's heart pounded so loudly she thought everyone could hear.
Students spilled into the courtyard. The air smelled of damp leaves and polished marble. Statues lined the path — robed figures with outstretched hands, their faces serene, their eyes fixed on horizons unseen.
A tall girl in prefect's uniform barked orders. "First-timers line up here! Luggage goes to the side, attendants will handle it. Welcome banners are straight ahead."
Anaya dragged her suitcase obediently, trying to look like she belonged. Rafael fell into step beside her. "Don't worry," he said lightly. "You're not the only one pretending not to be terrified."
She almost laughed. Almost.
The prefect herded them into the main hall. Chandeliers glittered overhead, scattering rainbows across the polished floor. Benches stretched in neat rows, and at the front stood a woman with silver-streaked hair pulled into a severe bun.
"Headmistress Vallis," someone whispered reverently.
The Headmistress stepped forward. Her gaze swept the hall like a blade, sharp and assessing. When she spoke, her voice was velvet laced with steel.
"Welcome, Transfers. Each of you has been chosen not for who you are, but for who you might be. This semester is unlike any other. You will not be tested by rote learning or empty examinations. You will be tested by the choices you make."
A ripple passed through the crowd. Anaya's stomach tightened.
The Headmistress continued, "Each of you has glimpsed your possible futures. Some more than one. These glimpses will guide you, but they will not define you. Here, you will learn to navigate the weight of decision. You will learn that a single moment can alter the course of lifetimes."
Anaya's hands went clammy. She glanced sideways. Rafael listened calmly, as though the words confirmed something he already knew.
Anaya whispered, "What does she mean, glimpses?"
He tilted his head toward her, smirk tugging his lips. "You'll see."
Her skin prickled.
After the address, groups were led on tours. Their guide, a cheerful second-year named Juno, rattled off facts with practiced ease.
"The East Wing is classrooms, West Wing is dorms. Meals are communal, breakfast at seven sharp — don't be late unless you want Mira's wrath."
"Mira?" someone asked.
Juno grinned. "You'll meet her soon enough."
Anaya followed, eyes darting everywhere. Murals painted across ceilings depicted constellations swirling above human figures making choices — a farmer leaving his plow for a battlefield, a queen laying down her crown, a child stepping into fire. The air hummed with history, alive with voices that had walked these halls centuries before.
In the library, shelves towered like cathedral walls, filled with books bound in leather, parchment, even metal. A spiral staircase wound upward into shadow. Juno lowered her voice reverently. "They say every book here is written by a former Transfer. Some lived their glimpses. Others didn't."
Anaya shivered. She felt eyes on her — not from students, but from the walls themselves, as if the Academy had already noticed her.
By evening, exhaustion pressed into her bones. The Transfers were shown their dorms — high-ceilinged rooms with stone walls softened by tapestries, two beds apiece. Anaya dragged her suitcase inside, grateful to find Rafael had been assigned as her hall neighbor.
Her roommate had not arrived yet.
She unpacked slowly: neatly folded clothes, her journal, the small silver locket her mother pressed into her hand before departure. Inside it was a faded photo of her family, Ravi mid-blink, Papa frowning at the camera, Mama smiling softly.
Anaya traced their faces, whispering, "I'll make you proud."
But the words felt fragile. Hollow.
Outside, a bell chimed across the courtyard, low and resonant. Students poured toward the dining hall. Anaya followed, clutching the locket.
She did not know yet that before the night ended, she would see something that changed everything.
The dining hall was alive with noise. Long oak tables groaned under platters of roasted meat, steaming vegetables, golden bread. Students laughed and chattered, the air crackling with energy.
Anaya slipped into a seat near the end, keeping her head down. But curiosity prickled. Conversations floated around her like sparks.
"I saw myself as a doctor — world-class, surgeries no one else could attempt.""My glimpse had me giving a speech at the UN!""I was flying. Like literally flying. Think that's even possible?"
Each voice rang with certainty, awe, excitement. Everyone here had seen their future.
Everyone but her.
She stabbed at her food. Maybe no one would notice. Maybe she could blend in long enough to figure out what was happening.
Then a girl slid onto the bench across from her.
Glossy black hair, dark eyes rimmed with kohl, smile like a polished blade. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm.
"You're new."
Anaya nodded cautiously.
"I'm Mira." The girl's smile widened, sharp and knowing. "You really are ordinary, aren't you?"
Heat climbed Anaya's neck. "What do you mean?"
Mira's gaze flicked toward Rafael at the far table, laughing easily with others. "Most Transfers arrive buzzing to share their glimpses. You? You've been quiet all day."
Anaya gripped her fork tightly. "Maybe I just don't feel like telling strangers my whole life."
Mira's laughter rang like glass breaking. "Oh, darling. It's not your whole life. It's your destiny. Unless…" Her eyes glittered. "…you don't have one."
Snickers rippled around the table.
Anaya dropped her gaze, throat burning.
She wanted to disappear.
But across the hall, Rafael caught her eye. He gave a small nod, subtle, reassuring, like an anchor thrown across a storm.
And for the first time since arriving, Anaya felt the faintest thread of belonging.