ELERA EVELYN
The Academy of the Anchor stood as a defiant beacon of perfection against the backdrop of the normal city-a pristine, gothic monument of wealth and prestige. It was a lie. The moment i stepped onto the ground, a cold certainty settled in my gut: this wasn't a school; it was a cage.
The welcome was sterile and overwhelming. Every student was a porcelain doll, flawless and silent. They wore the standard gray uniform, but the quiet tension that clung to them was palpable. The rules were posted on iron plaques, not chalkboards.
The most unnerving feature was the massive gate. It was old-iron, grand, that stood wide open, welcoming the outside world-yet no car, student, or even stray animal ever passed through it. The barrier wasn't metal; it was something unseen, something psychological.
I know I wont last a day following orders. A strange, insistent vibe made my skin crawl, which made me react instinctively. I paused at the massive fountain in the center courtyard, a beautiful sculpture of a coiled serpent that seemed to watch every move. I reached up and deliberately ripped the required silver pin from my lapel, crushing it in the palm. It felt good, a small, reckless breath of air in a stifling room.
"A student of your ambition should understand the difference between attention-seeking and self-destruction, Miss Vance."
The voice was smooth, deep, and laced with absolute authority. It didn't belong to the elderly Headmaster, but to the most perfect-looking boy she had ever seen. Kael Thorne, The Perfectionist, stood directly in front of the open gate, framed by the impossible, empty gap between the world and the Anchor. He didn't walk; he seemed to glide silently on the stone, his eyes fixed on the crumpled silver pin in my hand. His presence was a warning sign stamped on a mystery.
The air around me suddenly dropped ten degrees. It wasn't a breeze; it was a pressurized, chilling effect that focused entirely on me. I heard a faint, high-pitched thrum and the water cascading from the serpentine fountain froze mid-spray, holding position for a terrifying half-second before gravity reluctantly reclaimed it. The subtle, non-physical display of power was unmistakable. He wasn't just a prefect; he was part of the system's enforcement.
"The silver pin is not ornamentation," Kael continued, his voice devoid of emotion, the very definition of a chillingly polite threat. "It is an acknowledgment of the Anchor's order. Disregard for it, even in this small way, is noted and recorded. I suggest you dispose of the evidence and find your assigned dormitory before you force me to apply the appropriate regulation for unauthorized destruction of mandated property."
He was treating me with an almost insulting contempt, as if I am a minor, easily corrected flaw in his perfect world. I felt the heat rise in my chest, replacing the cold he'd summoned. I look at his perfect, sculpted features—the sharp jawline, the flawless sweep of dark hair, the depthless color of his eyes—and knew he was exactly the kind of person I was destined to despise.
I let the crumpled pin drop. The silver glinted mockingly on the pristine cobblestones. "I didn't destroy anything," I said, meeting his perfect gaze with my most stubborn one. "I merely... adjusted it. And I'm quite good at finding my own way, Prefect. If you'll excuse me, I have a cage to explore."
A fractional flicker of something—not anger, but annoyance, perhaps a hint of interest—crossed Kael's face before it vanished behind his polished mask.
"The Anchor is not a cage, Miss Vance," he stated. "It is a sanctuary. And I assure you, your 'explorations' will be restricted entirely to the permitted areas." He turned his back on her, a final, confident dismissal, and started walking toward the massive main doors of the academy, leaving me alone in the immense, silent courtyard.
I watched him go, then picked up the mangled pin and pocketed it. He thinks he controls the boundaries of this place? We'll see about that. The strange vibe was no longer scary; it was a challenge. I took a deep breath of the overly clean, sterile air and headed toward the main building. My rebellion had officially begun.
I located the sparse, elegant dorm room, but the oppressive silence followed me. That night, unable to sleep and feeling the pressure of a thousand unwritten rules, I found myself wandering the echoing hallways. I was drawn, inexplicably, to a small, unassuming oak door marked Archive Annex.
Inside, the light was low, filtered through ancient stained glass. The air smelled of dust and unread secrets. A young man, barely older than the students but dressed in the uniform of the ancillary staff, was shelving a heavy tome with unnerving precision. This was Liam, the Believer. His movements were slow, deliberate, and his eyes held a calm that belied the building's tension.
He looked up, not with surprise or fear, but with a deep, knowing weariness. "The dormitory floors are monitored after curfew, Miss Vance," he murmured, his voice soft, almost swallowed by the cavernous room. "But the Archive Annex is overlooked. It's too boring for the monitors, and too messy for the Prefect."
I took a step closer, recognizing a fellow outsider, though Liam's calmness was the antithesis of my own volatile nature. "You know who I am."
"I know the Headmaster is displeased with your… adjustments to the uniform," Liam replied, tapping the spine of the book he'd just shelved. He didn't look at me, but his next words were heavy with meaning. "I've been waiting for someone with a broken pin. Most people here are too polished to even bend one."
He then slid the heavy book off the shelf again, letting it fall open to a specific, heavily annotated page. "I can't talk here. It's too risky. But if you're looking for answers about the gate, about the chill in the air when the Prefect walks by, and why no one ever leaves... perhaps you should check this out. It's listed in the catalog as 'Ancient Architecture: Fault Lines,' but it's much more dangerous than that."
Liam closed the book, pushed it into my hands, and disappeared silently down a narrow aisle of shelves, leaving me all alone with the heavy, leather-bound burden and the terrifying implication that my gut feeling was right: The Academy of the Anchor was hiding a truth that could tear the world apart.
I clutched the book, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against the silence of the Archive. The investigation had begun.