The sun clawed its way over the horizon, spilling molten gold across a world alive with fleeting beauty. Flowers unfurled their petals in a slow, sensual dance, drinking in the dawn's warmth, while birds sliced through the sky, their wings beating a rhythm of freedom. Cats slunk through the tall grass, their eyes glinting with predatory intent, and dogs bounded after invisible scents, tongues lolling in the crisp morning air. It was a peaceful day, a deceptive serenity that draped the earth like a velvet shroud, hiding the chaos simmering beneath.
Inside a modest room, David stirred from his slumber, his body heavy with the weight of a rare, unbroken rest. His eyes fluttered open, dark and fathomless, catching the light streaming through the window. "Wow," he rasped, his voice a low growl of disbelief, "after so long, I've had a peaceful nap." He swung his legs over the bed's edge, his bare feet brushing the cold wooden floor, grounding him in the moment. His gaze drifted to the calendar pinned to the wall, its edges curling with age. March 24, 2025. A day circled in crimson ink. His first day as a professor—a dark mage professor—at Henwards Magic Academy. A thrill twisted through him, sharp and electric, mingling with the ever-present shadow of sorrow that clung to his soul like damp rot.
He rose, his movements deliberate, and padded to the bathroom. The water cascaded over him in a steaming torrent, washing away the remnants of sleep but not the ache buried deep in his chest—a grief and fury that gnawed at him, unspoken, unyielding. As he scrubbed his skin raw, the world outside shifted in a brutal, cinematic tableau.
The camera of fate panned beyond David's window, soaring over the blooming fields. A butterfly, its wings a delicate tapestry of amber and black, fluttered drunkenly after sipping nectar from a flower's core. Its dance was cut short as a frog lunged, its slimy tongue snapping the insect into its maw with a wet, grotesque slurp. The scene tilted upward—a bird, sleek and predatory, swooped from the heavens, talons piercing the frog's flesh. Blood glistened in the morning light as the bird ascended, prey dangling limply from its grasp. But the sky was not done with its cruel play. An eagle, majestic and merciless, locked its amber eyes on the bird, its wings slicing through the air like blades. With a screech that shattered the stillness, it struck, tearing the bird apart mid-flight. Feathers rained down, a grim confetti, as the eagle carried its prize—the mangled bird and the frog—to its nest atop a gnarled tree. It landed with a thud, beak ripping into flesh, eyes glinting with primal satisfaction. And there, through the branches, a window flickered into view—the towering spires of Henwards Magic Academy piercing the sky.
Inside that window, the camera plunged into a classroom buzzing with youthful energy. Students lounged at wooden desks, their robes whispering against the stone floor. Ruby, Alice, and Casca sat in a tight knot, their voices weaving through the air like threads of a spell.
Ruby leaned forward, her auburn hair catching the light. "Yes, today is my master's first day as a professor," she said, pride swelling in her chest, her tone laced with reverence.
Alice, her eyes sharp and mischievous, smirked. "You said your master's become a dark mage professor, right? His first day's today, isn't it?"
Casca giggled, twirling a strand of blonde hair around her finger. "Your master's so handsome, Ruby. I bet half the class will be distracted."
"Of course he is," Ruby shot back, her voice rising with a possessive edge. "He's my master."
The door slammed open with a thunderous crack, silencing the room. All eyes turned as Leon, the ninth-circle archmage and principal of Henwards, strode in, his presence a storm of authority. His silver hair gleamed under the chandelier's glow, and his robes billowed like smoke. Behind him, David emerged, his dark cloak swirling around him like a living shadow. Ruby's breath hitched, her eyes sparkling with excitement as their gazes locked. A telepathic whisper slithered into her mind, David's voice cold and commanding: "Ruby, our student-master bond remains hidden now. I'll treat you as any other student in this class. Understood?" She nodded subtly, her lips parting in silent awe.
Leon's voice boomed, reverberating off the walls. "Good morning, my wonderful students. By now, you're all wondering about the man beside me. Allow me to introduce him. This is David, a dark magician—a master of an art so rare it's whispered about in dread. He's here to teach you magic, with a focus on the shadowy depths of dark magic. From today, he is your professor. Support him. Behave. Understood?"
The students murmured their assent, a ripple of curiosity and fear threading through the room. Leon turned to David, his stern face softening for a fleeting moment. "Good day, David," he said, then swept out, leaving a vacuum of silence in his wake.
David stepped forward, his boots clicking against the stone floor, his eyes sweeping over the class like a predator sizing up its prey. "Good morning, students," he began, his voice low and resonant, carrying a weight that made the air tremble. "As Leon has introduced me, I am a dark mage, specialized in the forbidden arts of shadow and void. Let's keep today's first lesson simple: why is dark magic so hard, so rare, that humans struggle to master it?"
Alice shot to her feet, her voice clear and bold. "Understanding the dark magic circle is hard. It's like trying to read a book written in a language that keeps changing."
Another girl rose, her tone hesitant. "Dark magic is hard to control. It's wild, like a storm you can't hold."
A boy stood next, his words clipped with unease. "Dark magic is dangerous to humans. It fights against us, like it doesn't want to be tamed."
Another student piped up, fidgeting with his sleeve. "It takes too much mana—more than any normal human can handle."
David's lips twitched, a faint, bitter smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Well, well, good answers," he said, pacing slowly, his cloak trailing behind him like spilled ink. "But none of you hit the mark I was expecting. That's fine. I'll explain." He stopped, raising a hand, and the air shimmered. A massive holographic circle erupted above the class, its edges pulsing with dark energy. Gasps echoed as a brain materialized within it, translucent and veined with light, its every crevice alive with thought.
"Dark magic," David continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, forcing the students to lean in, "is incomprehensible to most because it demands more than mana. It requires emptiness." He gestured to the hologram, and the brain flickered, its constant hum of activity slowing. "Your mind is a storm of thoughts—memories, desires, fears. To wield dark magic, you must silence that storm. You must carve out a void within yourself, a stillness so profound it terrifies the soul. Only then can the shadows obey you."
The hologram shifted, dissolving into an image of a sea—wild waves crashing against unseen shores. "Think of it like this," he said, his tone growing hypnotic, almost mournful. "A sea rages with chaos, its surface a battlefield of foam and fury. But when the waves calm, when the storm dies, you see its true beauty—clear, endless, serene. That's where dark magic begins." The hologram vanished with a snap, and the room fell silent, the weight of his words pressing down like a physical force.
"That's your lesson for today," David concluded, turning toward the door. "This applies to all magic, not just the dark arts. Start meditating. Calm your minds. Only then will you glimpse the power you seek." He strode out, the door thudding shut behind him, leaving a chorus of awed murmurs in his wake.
"Wow, he's cool," one student whispered.
"His teaching—it's amazing," another said.
"And so handsome," a third added, blushing.
Ruby sat still, her heart pounding. That's my master, she thought, fierce pride warring with a flicker of something darker—envy, perhaps, or longing. Alice nudged her, grinning. "We get it, Ruby. Your master's talented."
Outside, David entered his private office, sinking into a chair with a sigh that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken sorrows. The day had been peaceful, yes, but beneath it simmered a rage—a quiet, seething fire stoked by memories he couldn't bury. He gazed out the window at the rolling green hills, their beauty a cruel mockery of the darkness festering within him. The chapter closed on this tranquil note, but the air thrummed with the promise of horrors yet to unfold.