The HollowRoot village had been repurposed into a private academy—one that hailed discipline above all. Its cobbled paths and ancient stone arches now bore the weight of strict schedules and whispered rules. The air felt older than the buildings, like it remembered things the students hadn't lived yet.
A bus hissed to a halt at the iron gate.
From its shadow stepped a boy with black hair streaked in wild green. His boots hit the gravel like a challenge. One eye gleamed silver, the other emerald—unnatural, unblinking. He didn't flinch at the cold wind or the looming gate. He just stood there, like he'd been summoned.
Mrs. Graywen, the academy's headmistress, caught sight of him instantly. Her voice rang out, sharp and certain.
"You. Boy. Are you Nico?"
He met her gaze and nodded once.
She turned without waiting. "It's time for the supper bell. I'll see to it you receive your uniform and timetable by tomorrow."
He followed her through the gate, past stone gargoyles and windows that watched like eyes. The academy didn't feel like a school. It felt like a place that had rules older than people. Nico didn't ask questions. He didn't speak. He just walked.
Inside, the halls were dim and echoing. Candles flickered in iron sconces. The students moved in lines, heads down, uniforms crisp. No one looked at him. Not yet.
Mrs. Graywen led him to a small office with a desk that looked like it had never been used. She handed him a folded paper and a key.
"Dorm 3C. Supper ends at seven. You'll receive your uniform and schedule in the morning. Until then, stay out of trouble."
She didn't wait for a reply. She was already gone.
It was Nico's first time back in school in months.
He'd been expelled after the incident—one that landed him and three others in the hospital. The details were messy. The truth was worse. He didn't talk about it. Not to the counselors. Not to the police. Not to his parents. They moved after that. Said it was for a fresh start. Said HollowRoot was "structured."
Nico didn't care about structure. He cared about silence.
He'd always had a troubled side, but he liked to keep to himself. That was impossible in his old school. People poked. People pushed. And when Nico snapped, it wasn't just yelling. It was chaos. It was blood. It was glass and sirens and someone screaming his name like it was a curse.
He hoped this place would be different.
By 6 p.m., Nico had received his uniform earlier than expected. It was folded neatly on his dorm bed, black with silver trim, the academy crest stitched over the heart—a hollow tree with roots that curled like claws.
He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at it.
He didn't want a repeat of last year.
The dorm was quiet. His roommate hadn't arrived yet. Or maybe he didn't have one. The walls were stone, the window narrow. Outside, the sky was bruised purple, clouds dragging like tired ghosts.
He changed into the uniform slowly, like it might bite him. It fit too well. Like it had been waiting.
The supper hall was massive. Long tables stretched like bridges, students seated in perfect rows. No talking. Just forks and knives and the occasional cough. Nico walked in, and the silence noticed him.
He sat at the end of a table, alone.
The food was bland—potatoes, bread, something that might've been meat. He didn't eat much. He watched. The students were pale, quiet, obedient. No one had green in their hair. No one had eyes like his.
A girl across the hall glanced at him. Her eyes flicked to his silver one, then away. She whispered something to the boy beside her. They didn't laugh. They didn't smile. They just looked.
Nico kept his head down.
After supper, he wandered the halls. He wasn't supposed to, but no one stopped him. The academy was bigger than it looked. Staircases twisted. Doors led to nowhere. He passed a room with a locked iron gate and a plaque that read "Archives." Another with stained glass windows showing scenes he didn't understand—figures with glowing eyes, trees with mouths, a boy standing in fire.
He kept walking.
Eventually, he found himself outside again. The courtyard was empty. Statues lined the path—students in uniform, frozen mid-step. Their faces were blank. Their eyes were carved too deep.
He sat on a bench beneath a tree that had no leaves.
The wind picked up. It smelled like rain and something older.
He closed his eyes.
He didn't sleep much that night.
The dorm was too quiet. The walls too close. He kept thinking about the incident. About the way the glass shattered. About the way his hands moved without him telling them to. About the way the others looked at him afterward—like he wasn't human.
He didn't know what HollowRoot would do to him.
But he knew what he'd do if they pushed.