Chapter One – The Ordinary Spell
If there was one thing Carnelian Herrera hated more than early classes, it was potion fumes before breakfast.
The academy hall was already buzzing when she arrived—students levitating notebooks, muttering incantations under their breath, half-awake but fully dramatic as usual. A faint shimmer of magic hung in the air, visible only when sunlight hit the floating dust motes just right. It would've been beautiful if it didn't smell like burnt cinnamon and old socks.
She dropped her bag onto the desk and sighed. "Another day, another minor explosion waiting to happen."
"Morning to you too," her best friend Millane teased, sliding into the seat beside her. "You look like someone cursed your coffee again."
Carnelian groaned. "They didn't curse it, they replaced it with a mood potion. I laughed uncontrollably for an hour."
Millane snorted. "Well, at least you were happy."
"Until I cried about a fork."
The two of them laughed, but Carnelian's gaze drifted to the high windows, where wards shimmered faintly like spider silk. Every corner of this school was built on ancient spellwork—safe, contained, predictable. Just the way the Council liked it.
And yet… she wanted more. Something outside the circles, outside the same routines.
A life that wasn't mapped out by tradition and old bloodlines.
She rested her chin on her palm. I'm not meant for rules. I'm meant for something real.
The classroom door swung open. Professor Alaric strode in, robes swishing, and behind him—trailing quietly—was a new face.
Or maybe not new, but certainly not one she'd expected to see here.
He had that look—composed, cold, like he knew exactly where he belonged. His eyes, a shade too gray to be ordinary, flicked briefly toward her.
Something in her stomach twisted, though she quickly blamed it on the cafeteria food.
"Class," Alaric announced, "this is Evander Morrin. He'll be joining our Elemental Studies program this term."
The name hit like static. Morrin?
As in House Morrin, the one her father refused to speak of without gritting his teeth.
Carnelian's back straightened. She'd heard the stories—about power, betrayal, and a feud older than half the Council's members.
And now, a Morrin was standing in her classroom.
Evander gave a polite nod, eyes scanning the room like he was memorizing everyone's weaknesses. When they landed on her again, there was the faintest flicker of recognition. Or curiosity.
She couldn't tell which.
"Find a seat anywhere," said Alaric. "Partner up, if you can."
Evander's steps were silent as he crossed the room. The seat beside Carnelian—empty, waiting—suddenly didn't feel like luck. It felt like a warning.
He sat down without asking. "Is this taken?"
"It was," she said, then quickly added, "by my patience."
A few students chuckled nearby. He only smiled faintly, the kind of smile that could be polite or dangerous depending on the light.
"I'll try not to waste it, then."
She blinked, caught off guard by his tone—steady, calm, but carrying a quiet weight. Like every word had purpose.
She hated that.
"Don't bother," she muttered, focusing on her notes. "I'm not really good with new people."
"Good," he said simply. "Neither am I."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the hum of minor enchantments in the room. She pretended to concentrate, but her thoughts kept circling back to that name—Morrin—and the way magic seemed to shift subtly in his presence.
Something told her this semester wouldn't be ordinary at all.
And as Professor Alaric announced their new unit—"Bloodlines and Magical Bonds"—a faint spark from her ring finger flared, like static before a storm.
She didn't notice.
But Evander did.