The morning after her arrival at Creisleigh Hall felt quieter than Isadora expected. Their dormitory room, ornate, with high ceilings and soft daylight filtering through leaded glass windows—felt far too large for just the two of them.
Three narrow sections were divided by shimmering privacy veils—thin sheets of smart-fabric that adjusted opacity at a touch, humming faintly like living silk. It was old architecture made clever with new technology, a strange balance of history and progress that felt uniquely Creisleigh.
She was still taking it all in when the heavy oak door creaked open.
Nell stepped in, her short black hair tousled from sleep, a bright smile lighting her face when she saw Isadora.
"Oh good, you're awake. I thought I'd have to drag you out."
Isadora blinked. "Roommate?"
Noelle dropped her SkyStream card on the edge of the carved wardrobe. "We're actually in a trio. The third girl hasn't shown up yet—Lady Rosier. Her name's on the housing list."
Isadora's brows rose. "Lady Rosier?"
"Mm-hm." Nell drew the curtains wide, letting pale light spill across the veiled partitions. "Old family name. They say her relatives were among the first at Creisleigh—real founders' blood. She's Primax."
Isadora frowned slightly. "I thought the primax had their own wings."
Nell nodded. turning back with a wry grin. "Normally, they do. But the school's trying this New policy. Something about 'Merit Integration.' The school wants to mix scholarship kids with founders and legacies heirs—build bridges, break stereotypes, all that glittery nonsense. It photographs well for the alumni magazines."
Isadora tilted her head. "You seem to know a lot about that."
Nell shrugged, an unreadable glint in her eyes. "I read things. And people talk when they think no one's listening."
They shared a soft laugh, the sound easing some of the tension curling in Isadora's shoulders. Still, as the laughter faded, she couldn't shake the quiet curiosity forming at the edge of her thoughts—about the unseen Lady Rosier, and about how much Naelle really knew.
After getting settled, Isadora caught sight of the large oval mirror leaning against the wall. The silvering was faded at the edges, giving it an old, worn look. The fireplace bore a stone crest carved with an open eye inside a book. Above it, a wrought-iron chandelier hung like a cage of thorns.
Once dressed in their day uniforms—structured jackets, pleated skirts, and crisp white shirts with the school insignia pinned over the heart—they stepped out into the hall.
The corridors of Creisleigh felt like something from a forgotten century. Stone gargoyles peered down from alcoves near the ceilings—some weathered to the point of crumbling, others so sharp and lifelike they seemed almost to blink.
Naelle noticed Isadora's gaze. "They say if you break House rules, the gargoyles whisper your name to the faculty."
"Really?"
"Nope," Nell grinned. "Just tradition. But it keeps people from running in the halls."
The heavy oaken doors of the dining hall groaned open, releasing a warm scent of polished wood and faint lavender. Inside, chandeliers hung like floating constellations, their light cascading over long rows of dark mahogany tables. Towering stone pillars lined the hall, their surfaces smoothed by decades of silent watchfulness. Flickering sconces cast a golden glow on the vaulted ceiling, where more gargoyle statues kept their stony vigil.
Each table gleamed beneath the chandeliers, set meticulously with silverware that caught the light in quiet sparkles. The air was rich with the scent of roasted herbs and fresh bread, weaving warmth into the grand, ancient room.
At one table, Eli leaned casually against a chair, animatedly speaking with a small group of students. His hands moved as he told a story, making a few laugh. Although engaged, his eyes flicked toward Isadora and Noelle, offering a quick smile before returning to his companions.
Nell nudged Isadora and nodded toward him. "See? Eli always knows how to find the right balance—part leader, part jester."
****
Isadora slid her card.
Croissant with smoked salmon. Herb omelette with fresh tomatoes. Honeyed yogurt with berries.
She tapped through and picked without fuss, and a tray slid out—smooth, warm, and beautifully arranged.
Beside her, Nell selected hers too, her eyes widening just slightly. "They really don't hold back here," she murmured, a hint of wonder in her voice.
"Guess that's what you get for studying at Creisleigh," Isadora said quietly, though she couldn't help being a little impressed herself.
They carried their trays to a table by the window. The dining hall stretched wide and grand, the air filled with soft music and the hum of conversation. Rows of crystal-like panels glowed faintly on the walls, casting a serene warmth over the room.
Isadora sat down beside Noelle, their trays heavy with the kind of meal that looked too perfect to eat. Around them, the murmur of students rose and fell—some chatting lightly, others just watching in quiet awe.
Leaning in, Nell whispered, "Even the food looks like it belongs in a museum."
Isadora smiled. "Then let's not waste art."
Nell continued, "You forgot the part where they warned us about the strict rules here—no laughing, no shouting in the dining hall."
Isadora smirked. "Good thing I'm already breaking rules by smiling."
She lifted her fork toward the roasted venison. The warm aroma held her attention briefly—the edges crisp and darkened, alongside a small heap of kale tossed lightly in oil and vinegar, and a thick slice of dark rye bread. Just as she was about to take a bite, the door swung open.
Her eyes caught the tall figure who entered,
Mr. Thorne.
A quiet shift rippled through the room as he walked in, hands folded behind his back, black gloves contrasting against his calm, measured steps. But beside him was the woman who instantly drew every gaze—Liora.
She moved with gentle elegance, copper-red hair falling in soft waves that framed a serene, almost delicate face. There was a softness to her beauty, like the quiet bloom of a rose at dawn, that made her seem almost fragile at first glance. But beneath that calm surface was something sharper—a subtle intensity in her amber eyes, a poised confidence that suggested she knew exactly how much power she held.
Liora's noble grace was effortless. Every movement was measured and smooth. Yet there was an unmistakable edge in the way she carried herself—a boldness that hinted she was far from the soft, pretty girl she appeared to be. She was well aware of the admirers who followed her with quiet reverence, but those who truly knew her understood the thorns hidden beneath her beauty.
Her laughter was soft but deliberate at something a polished boy with a noble crest whispered beside her. When she rested her hand lightly on Thorne's arm, it was with the surety of someone accustomed to control and influence.
The quiet confidence she exuded made it clear: Liora was a force—delicate in appearance, but fierce beneath the surface.
Nell leaned close, whispering, "That's Liora Virelle. She's been here longer than most. Everyone says she's unofficially engaged to Thorne."
Isadora looked down at her plate. The scent of the food suddenly seemed less inviting, her mind tangled in the image of the girl whose beauty and sharpness commanded the room effortlessly.
As the meal went on, she forced herself to eat—the food grounding her amid the sea of unfamiliar faces and quiet curiosity. Still, Liora's red hair and effortless smile lingered in her thoughts, a striking presence beneath the warm glow of the hall.
"Come on," Nell urged softly, tugging at Isadora's sleeve. "We have to get to the infirmary before breakfast ends."
They slipped out of the dining hall, Isadora's gaze fixed forward, her mind already spinning.
"By the way," Nell said, her voice lighter now, "you missed a bit during the Vice Chancellor's speech. He mentioned the medical intake—everyone has to go to the Infirmary House for baseline vitals, blood work, the usual."
"The usual?" Isadora asked.
Nell shrugged. "At Creisleigh, that means checking for family illnesses, posture, eye tests—and the Heritage Record."
Isadora frowned. "Heritage Record?"
"No idea," Nell admitted. "Old tradition. They keep a log of everyone's lineage. Not all noble, but it's tracked anyway. Some say it started to trace bloodlines for academic inheritance."
Isadora swallowed uneasily.
***
At the infirmary, Isadora sat quietly as a nurse drew her blood, the quick sting fading fast. The sterile room felt cold despite the faint scent of polished wood from the halls outside.
Nell leaned close, voice barely above a whisper. "They do these blood tests every year—to keep track of the old families and their heritage."
Isadora nodded, eyes fixed on the swirling red in the vial. "Feels like they're always watching."
Nell shrugged. "Most say it's just tradition. But there are rumors, strange things, people disappearing, odd noises at night."
"You think any of it's true?" Isadora asked quietly.
"No idea," Nell said. "People love stories. But here, bloodline means everything."
****
A voice crackled over a secure line, steady but cautious.
"Subject 47's blood samples have been analyzed. Markers are unusual—outside expected parameters for both legacy and non-legacy subjects."
There was a pause.
"Anomalies in sequencing. Irregularities unlike anything recorded before."
The voice softened.
"We recommend continuous monitoring. No direct intervention yet."
The room was dim, the only light from the cityscape beyond the window. A man stood silent, his face hidden in shadow, hands clasped behind his back.
The communication device crackled again.
"How are the results?" His voice was calm, but beneath it lay a trace of tension—anticipation, perhaps.
"Unusual. Anomalies beyond expected parameters. Not typical bloodline variance."
For a moment, the man's shoulders tensed. A flicker passed through his eyes—something between hope and something colder.
He inhaled slowly, exhaling with careful control, masking the flicker.
"Keep it contained. No errors, no rumors. We watch closely. Discretion is paramount."
His tone hardened.
"Let nothing slip. Not yet."
He turned from the window, his face unreadable as shadows swallowed him once more.
****
Isadora exited the infirmary with Nell close at her side, an unsettling awareness of the school's strangeness still clinging to her. Overwhelmed, she longed to find someone familiar to confide in—Malakai. She wondered where he was; he'd been absent during orientation yesterday and nowhere to be seen at breakfast. I suppose I'll have to message him once I'm back, she mused quietly.
Nell's sharp yet friendly voice pulled her from her reverie. "Now that's done, it's time to finalize your schedule," she said, slipping her hand into Isadora's.
"Schedule?" Isadora retrieved her SkyStream card from her bag, brows furrowing. "I thought we settled that yesterday."
"It's nothing major," Nell reassured, brushing her fringe aside. "The Chancellor also mentioned we need to complete a verification process to access specialized facilities and advanced labs.Forgot to add that earlier"
Isadora vaguely remembered reading something about it in the handbook she'd skimmed back home, something about the school using a sensor to read your energy pattern. It worked like a fingerprint, except it measured your body's rhythm—your natural flow. That was how the school tracked who you were and what you could do.
"The credits you earn, from classes, sports, clubs, all that, goes into your account," Nell explained as they walked. "You'll use them for meals, extra supplies, a few other things too. You'll figure it out."
"Yeah, but we… didn't even scan our cards this morning," Isadora said.
Nell gave a small shrug. "They don't bother new students right after registration. Lucky us."
****
A polished glass floor hummed with soft light. Holographic panels hovered in the air like sheets of mist. Each student stepped up, the scanner reading their energy signature, then a translucent AI figure appeared briefly to greet its new user.
"I made mine sound like my favorite singer."
"Mine auto-linked with my study notes, lifesaver."
"Haha, just wait till midterms. You'll thank your AI."
****
When Isadora's turn came, the scanner glided over her once, twice and held. The platform's hum deepened, almost inaudible but enough for nearby students to glance up.
System Voice: "Energy signature confirmed. Assistant assigned: Lyra. Tier One Orientation Model."
Her hologram flickered to life—a soft, pale-blue figure, faint compared to the rest. The image wavered slightly, as if the data stream were catching up.
Lyra (soft, calm): "Initializing… syncing neural interface… syncing stream time… complete. Connection stable. Hello, Isadora."
****
Lunch was quieter than breakfast—at least in her head.
Earlier, the sleek menu wall and soft tray slots had barely registered. She'd been too distracted, too restless to care. Now, with her stomach making its complaints known and things finally slowing down, she took a moment to notice.
The options blinked across the panel as she slid her card: Grilled chicken with lemon quinoa, Roasted vegetable salad with feta
Tomato basil soup with artisan bread,Each choice shimmered before disappearing. She scrolled through and made her choice, and a tray emerged warm beneath the panel
For lunch, she went with the grilled chicken and lemon quinoa.
Nell was already halfway through hers by the time they sat down, talking between bites about something Isadora didn't fully catch.
Which was fine. She wasn't in the mood to talk. She just focused on eating—slow, steady, more than she thought she would. Her body was clearly making up for breakfast.
It felt good. Settling. Like something had finally clicked back into place.
When they finished, Isadora followed Nell back toward their dorm wing, a lazy contentment settling in her limbs. The food had done its job.
Back in her room, she slipped off her shoes and let herself collapse into the soft weight of her bed. Her wristband glowed faintly, still synced, still alive. She blinked up at the ceiling, then remembered.
She sat up slightly and typed a message:
"Hey. You disappeared. Didn't see you during orientation. You good?"
Malakai replied a few minutes later:
"Long story. I'll tell you when I see you. You like it there?"
She replied,
"It's weird. Big. Off. I'll survive."
Mal responded quickly:
"You will. You always do."
That made her smile a little. They chatted a bit longer—nothing deep, just enough to feel less alone.
Nell passed by once, leaning against the frame of the narrow divider that separated their shared room from the short inner corridor connecting the veiled sections. "You dead yet?"
"Almost."
"Same." She grinned, then slipped back behind her section's shimmering privacy veil. The fabric rippled faintly, tinting to an opaque gray as it sealed off her space.
For a while, Isadora just lay there, letting the quiet stretch. The air had that faint hum again—soft, alive, threaded with distant voices from the corridor beyond their dorm cluster. The smart-vent lights along the ceiling dimmed slightly as her wristband blinked once, a gentle reminder.
Dinner.
She almost ignored it, but her stomach had other plans.
The veil stirred again, parting just enough for Nell's head to peek through, her hair slightly mussed. "You coming, or do I have to drag you this time?"
Isadora sighed, half-laughing as she swung her legs off the bed. "You're persistent."
"Comes with being hungry," Nell said, already pulling her jacket on.
Isadora groaned but pushed herself up. "You're persistent."
"Someone has to make sure you don't starve," Nell said, already slipping on her shoes.
By the time they got there, most trays were gone and the room was nearly empty. They ate quickly, side by side, too tired for real conversation. It wasn't awkward—just quiet, the kind of silence that didn't need filling.
When they returned, Nell flopped onto her bed with a muffled sigh. "See you in the morning, if we survive it."
"Night," Isadora murmured, kicking off her shoes.
She didn't bother with the lights. The bed was waiting.
And this time, she didn't fight it.