The night in the dormitory was restless. Rowan tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, his mind was filled with fragments of the night's events—the Sorting, the mysterious symbols, the locked door in his room. And that tap.
There was something deeply unsettling about Blackthorn Academy. Despite the grandiosity of its walls, the elegance of the halls, and the apparent wealth of its students, something dark lingered beneath the surface.
Rowan's dreams didn't help. He saw flashes of fire—blue fire—and heard voices calling his name from deep within the academy's stone walls. The tapping sound came again, but this time, it was louder—closer. Relentless.
When the morning bell rang, it was like an escape from the nightmare that had held him captive. He threw on his uniform and walked down the corridors, his footsteps heavy with the weight of the unknown. The professors had made it clear that the Thirteenth House was a curse—a mistake that should never have happened—but Rowan couldn't help but feel compelled to understand what it meant.
As he walked to the dining hall, Rowan noticed something strange. Despite the whispers, the stares, the murmurs from other students, there was one girl who didn't seem to care at all.
She sat alone at the edge of the room, surrounded by the subtle flicker of flames—almost like they were her personal guardians. Her eyes met Rowan's as he passed, and she raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable.
"You're the one they're talking about, aren't you?" she asked, her voice smooth, almost too calm.
Rowan hesitated before answering. "Yeah. I'm Rowan Vale."
The girl nodded, her lips curling into a slight smile. "I'm Nira. House of Flames."
Rowan's gaze flicked to the flames dancing around her fingers, unafraid, as if they were a natural extension of her. "So, you're one of them?" he asked, nodding toward the other students.
She glanced at the room and then back at him, the smile fading slightly. "Not everyone belongs here."
Rowan frowned. "What do you mean?"
Before she could answer, a sudden shout interrupted them.
"Vale!" The voice was sharp and full of disdain.
Rowan turned to find a tall, muscular boy from one of the Houses glaring at him, flanked by two others who looked equally displeased. The boy's eyes burned with an arrogant fury, and his fists were clenched at his sides.
"What are you doing here?" the boy sneered. "The Thirteenth House doesn't belong at Blackthorn."
Rowan's chest tightened. He had seen this kind of look before—bullies, the ones who always needed to assert their dominance. But this felt different. There was a kind of fear mixed with the hatred in the boy's eyes.
"Leave it, Clinton," Nira's voice cut through the tension. She rose, her flames flickering higher in a warning.
Clinton didn't back down, though. "This isn't over, Vale." He glared one last time before storming off, his followers trailing behind him.
Rowan swallowed, trying to shake off the feeling that something was deeply wrong with the way people reacted to him.
"Don't mind them." Nira's voice was calm, almost soothing. "Some people just don't understand things they can't control."
Rowan nodded but couldn't shake the image of Clinton's eyes, filled with something darker than simple hatred.
"You're here because you're special, Vale." Nira said, as if reading his thoughts. "But there are others here who wish you'd never been sorted into the Thirteenth House. And they'll make it their mission to remind you every day."
Rowan met her gaze. "What does that mean?"
She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "There are secrets buried in this school, Vale. Dark ones. Ones that not even the Headmaster understands." She glanced around, then added, "Watch the shadows."
Before he could ask more, Nira stood and walked away, the flickering flames at her fingertips fading into nothing.
Rowan felt a chill crawl up his spine. The world of Blackthorn was becoming more dangerous with every passing moment, and he hadn't even scratched the surface.
As the day continued, Rowan couldn't shake the unease growing in his chest. He tried to focus on his classes, but his mind kept drifting back to that locked door in his room. The tapping. The whispers. The strange blue flames that seemed to speak to him in his dreams.
There was something calling him. Something that had been waiting for him to come.
He just had to figure out what it was before it consumed him.
The following morning felt like a blur. The halls of Blackthorn Academy were bustling with students, their voices echoing against the stone walls. Rowan walked through the crowds, feeling like an outsider—an invisible target painted with the weight of secrets. Most students didn't even glance at him. Some whispered and avoided him like the plague, while a few curious eyes followed his every step.
The only thing that kept Rowan moving was the thought that there was something he needed to uncover—something bigger than himself. But every time he tried to focus on his lessons, his thoughts kept drifting back to the locked door in his dorm, the tapping, the strange blue flame that haunted his dreams.
He was snapped from his thoughts when a loud voice cut through the crowd.
"Vale."
Rowan turned, his heart racing. He found himself face-to-face with Clinton, the arrogant student from the House of Flames. His followers flanked him, sneering. Clinton's eyes narrowed, his posture exuding confidence and a dangerous sense of entitlement.
"You're still here," Clinton said, his voice dripping with disdain. "I thought the Headmaster would have sent you packing by now. But I guess they like a little drama in this place."
Rowan met his gaze, trying to stand tall despite the unease bubbling in his chest. "I'm not going anywhere."
Clinton laughed, the sound low and mocking. "Good. Because we need someone to test out the newest experiment."
Rowan's brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"You'll see soon enough," Clinton said, his eyes gleaming. Then, without another word, he turned and began walking toward the exit of the hall, his followers trailing behind him like loyal hounds.
Rowan hesitated, feeling something was off, but curiosity won out. He followed them through the winding hallways of the academy, until they arrived at a hidden stairwell at the far end of the school's east wing.
The stairs led down into a cold, stone hallway. The air was thick with the smell of dampness and mold. At the end of the passage was a large iron door. Clinton pushed it open with a loud creak, revealing a cavernous arena hidden beneath the academy—an underground training space meant for duels and magical combat.
Rowan's stomach tightened. This wasn't just a regular fight. This was a challenge.
"You're the Thirteenth House, right?" Clinton said, his voice tinged with amusement as he gestured to the arena. "Let's see if you can even survive a duel. I think it'll be fun watching you fail."
Rowan's heart skipped a beat, but he didn't back down. He had been pushed to the edge too many times in his life to let someone like Clinton intimidate him.
A strange tension settled in the air as Clinton raised his hand, summoning fire in the form of a brilliant, blazing sword. The flames danced around the weapon, crackling in the damp air, hot enough to sear the stone beneath his feet.
"You should know," Clinton said, his voice laced with venom, "I'm a master of fire magic. This is going to be fun."
Rowan felt a cold sweat begin to form on his brow. He was unprepared for this. He had never learned how to control fire—especially not like this. He had barely even unleashed his own magic.
Clinton's smirk widened as he raised his sword. "You'll make a good punching bag, Vale. Ready yourself."
Rowan took a deep breath. His hands trembled slightly as he raised them in front of him, unsure of what to do. His magic was raw, unrefined—he wasn't like Clinton, who could control his flames with precision and deadly accuracy.
A low hum vibrated in the air, and the temperature around them began to rise. Rowan could feel the heat of Clinton's magic pressing in on him, making it hard to breathe. His mind raced, and before he knew it, he was backed into a corner of the arena.
Clinton raised his sword high, a wicked grin stretching across his face. "Prepare to burn."
The flames shot toward Rowan in a vicious arc. His instincts kicked in, and he threw his hands up, trying to form a shield—anything to protect himself. But as the fire drew closer, a surge of panic flooded his chest, and a sudden wave of power flooded through him. It wasn't like anything he had ever felt before—untamed and primal.
Before he could even think, the power erupted from within him, out of his control.
Blue fire.
A blaze of deep, unnatural blue tore through the arena, forming a massive wall of flame between him and Clinton. The blue fire crackled and roared, casting eerie shadows across the arena walls. The heat was intense—far more than anything Rowan had ever experienced.
Clinton's attack faltered, his sword glowing brightly as it clashed with the blue flames, but it didn't matter. The flames kept coming, pushing Clinton back, burning the ground where he stood.
"What the hell is this?" Clinton shouted, stumbling as the flames swirled around him.
Rowan could barely hear him over the deafening roar of the fire. His heart raced, his body trembling with the sheer power that surged through him. He had lost control, and now he was powerless to stop the destruction.
The flames didn't burn like fire should. They weren't hot, but they were sharp, cutting through the stone and melting anything they touched. The heat was too intense, too unpredictable. Rowan couldn't contain it.
"Enough!" Professor Aldric's voice rang out from the edge of the arena, followed by several other professors. Their commands barely reached Rowan's ears through the chaos of the flames.
With a violent explosion, the fire suddenly died down, leaving only smoldering ashes and scorched earth. Rowan collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. The power left him as quickly as it came, leaving him weak and disoriented.
Clinton stood on the opposite side of the arena, his clothes singed, his face pale. His sword had been disintegrated, and he was covered in soot.
"That magic…" Professor Aldric's voice was thick with horror. "That hasn't been seen in over a century… since the war."
The room was silent for a long moment. Then, one of the other professors spoke in a hushed tone. "The Thirteenth House… it's awakening."
Rowan raised his head, his eyes wide with shock. What had just happened? What power had he unleashed?