Rowan could feel every eye in the Great Hall locked onto him. The flames above still flickered in the air, spelling out the words THIRTEENTH HOUSE like a curse.
The silence was suffocating.
Then, all at once—chaos.
"The Thirteenth House?" a student gasped. "That's impossible!"
"That House was erased!"
"This has to be a mistake!"
The whispers turned into frantic, overlapping voices. Some of the professors looked ready to intervene, while others—particularly an older man with iron-gray hair—seemed furious.
"This cannot be allowed!" the old professor snapped. "The Sorting Tome is malfunctioning—surely!"
Professor Aldric's face was unreadable. "The Tome does not make mistakes, Headmaster."
Rowan's pulse thundered in his ears. What does this mean? Why is everyone acting like I just summoned a demon?
The Headmaster, still standing at the front of the room, seemed deep in thought. Finally, he lifted a hand. The room fell silent instantly.
He turned to Rowan, his sharp blue eyes boring into him. "Come with me."
Rowan hesitated. "Am I—" He swallowed hard. "Am I being expelled?"
The Headmaster didn't answer.
A tight knot twisted in Rowan's stomach as he followed him out of the hall, past the staring students and murmuring professors. His legs felt unsteady.
They entered a long corridor lined with portraits, their painted eyes watching Rowan as he passed. Some of them looked angry. Others… afraid.
At last, they reached a heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor. The Headmaster pushed it open, revealing an old study filled with towering bookshelves and an enormous, dust-covered painting hanging above the fireplace.
Rowan froze.
The painting was of a grand, ancient crest—thirteen wands arranged in a perfect circle, but the thirteenth wand was burned away, leaving only a blackened scar where it had once been.
"This," the Headmaster said quietly, "was the sigil of the Thirteenth House."
Rowan stared at him. "But… I thought there were only twelve Houses."
"There are. Now."
The fire in the hearth crackled, casting eerie shadows across the room.
"The Thirteenth House was erased from history after the War of the Factions," the Headmaster continued. "It was not simply disbanded—it was forbidden. No one was ever to speak of it. No one was ever to be Sorted into it again."
Rowan's mouth was dry. "Why?"
The Headmaster exhaled, looking suddenly much older. "Because the last student to bear its name started a war that nearly destroyed the magical world."
The room seemed to shrink around Rowan.
He gripped the edge of the desk to steady himself. "And now… I'm in that House?"
"Yes."
Rowan's heart pounded. His whole life, he had been nothing. A street kid barely scraping by. Now, in the span of a few hours, he had somehow become part of a forgotten legacy, a House so dangerous that history had tried to erase it.
His voice was barely a whisper.
"What happens to me now?"
The Headmaster studied him for a long moment. Then, finally, he spoke.
"You will stay at Blackthorn. You will learn magic."
A small flicker of relief formed in Rowan's chest—until the Headmaster's next words:
"But from this moment forward, you must never reveal what House you belong to."
Rowan didn't argue. What else could he do?
The Headmaster's voice had been clear—he was allowed to stay, but his Sorting was a secret. He would have to lie to the other students.
By the time he left the study, the halls were nearly empty. Most of the students had already gone to their dormitories. A few stragglers stared as he passed, their eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and unease.
Professor Aldric walked beside him, leading him toward the dorms. Or what was supposed to be his dorm.
"There was never a dormitory built for the Thirteenth House," Aldric explained. "Naturally, no one ever expected a student to be sorted into it again."
Rowan's stomach twisted. So where am I supposed to go?
They passed through several winding corridors, descending a flight of stairs that looked like no one had used them in years. The air became cooler, the walls rougher. The polished floors of Blackthorn Academy gave way to old stone, covered in layers of dust.
At last, Aldric stopped in front of a heavy iron door. It was rusted at the edges, the handle wrapped in ancient chains.
"Beyond this door is the old Thirteenth House dormitory," Aldric said. "It has been locked for over a hundred years."
Rowan swallowed. "Why?"
Aldric hesitated. Then, in a voice too calm, he said, "Because the last student to live here vanished without a trace."
Rowan's blood ran cold. "You're kidding."
Aldric didn't smile. "I don't joke about these things, Mr. Vale."
Rowan turned back to the door. Something about it felt… wrong. Like it was waiting.
Aldric reached into his coat and pulled out a small, black key. The moment it touched the lock, the chains uncoiled on their own, rattling as they fell away.
The door creaked open.
Rowan coughed as a wave of dust hit him. He stepped inside cautiously, his boots echoing in the empty space. The dormitory was larger than he expected—but completely abandoned.
A single bed sat in the corner, its sheets covered in a thick layer of dust. A massive bookshelf stretched across one wall, filled with old, forgotten tomes. There was a desk near the window, untouched for decades. And across the room—
A door.
It looked different from the rest of the dormitory. Newer. And yet, something about it sent a chill through Rowan's spine.
Professor Aldric stepped back. "You should get some rest. Classes begin tomorrow."
Rowan turned to him. "Wait—what if I have questions? About… this House? About the war?"
Aldric's expression darkened. "Some doors should remain closed, Mr. Vale." His gaze flickered to the newer door in the room. "That includes the one in this dormitory."
Rowan glanced at it again, unease creeping into his bones. "What's behind it?"
Aldric didn't answer. He simply closed the dormitory door behind him, locking Rowan inside.
Silence settled.
Rowan let out a shaky breath. His gaze drifted back to the locked door across the room. It stood there, waiting, its frame slightly crooked—like it had been forced into place.
And then—
Tap.
Rowan froze.
The sound had come from behind the door. A single, soft tap—like someone was knocking.
His breath caught in his throat.
He took a slow step forward. Then another. His fingers twitched, itching to reach for the handle.
Then, just as suddenly as it had come—the tapping stopped.
The silence felt heavier now.
Rowan took a step back. His skin prickled with unease.
Maybe Aldric was right. Some doors should remain closed.
But somehow, Rowan knew.
This one wouldn't stay closed for long.