Chapter 1: The Shadow Arrives
The last thing I remembered from my old life was the screech of brakes and the taste of copper. Twenty-two years old, dead in a car accident on some nameless highway, and then—darkness. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that swallows everything whole.
I woke up in a body that wasn't mine.
Sixteen again, but different. Taller. Paler. Like someone had drained the warmth from my skin and left only the framework behind. The memories came in fragments—foster homes, a string of schools, powers that manifested three weeks ago during what the reports called an "incident."
Aron Bason. That was my name now. The kid whose body I'd inherited had been alone in the world, which made the transition easier. No family to notice personality changes. No friends to miss the person who used to live behind these eyes.
The only problem? The fragmented memories of a TV show I'd barely paid attention to in my previous life. Something about a goth girl at a monster school. Wednesday something. I'd watched it half-drunk on a Tuesday night, checking my phone through most of it, and now those scattered images were all I had to navigate this supernatural hellscape.
The gates of Nevermore Academy loomed ahead, wrought iron twisted into shapes that suggested screaming faces. Gothic architecture stretched toward storm clouds, and every window seemed to watch me drag my battered suitcase up the cobblestone path.
Monster school. The phrase echoed in my skull. Outcasts. That's what they called themselves here. Kids with fangs and claws and things that went bump in the night, all pretending this was normal.
The powers under my skin pulsed like a second heartbeat. Shadows that moved when they shouldn't. A presence that could fade or intensify depending on my mood. And something else—something about my voice that made people stop and listen whether they wanted to or not.
Three abilities that didn't belong together. Three things that could get me killed if anyone figured out what I really was.
Principal Weems' office smelled like lavender and old paper. She sat behind a mahogany desk that probably cost more than most people's cars, blonde hair pulled back in a style that screamed authority. Everything about her was carefully calculated—the warm smile that didn't reach her eyes, the way she folded her hands just so.
"Mr. Bason." Her voice carried the practiced warmth of someone who dealt with damaged teenagers for a living. "Welcome to Nevermore Academy."
The leather chair creaked as I settled into it, keeping my posture loose but alert. Calculate. Assess. Survive. The same mantra that had kept me alive in my old life, now adapted for supernatural politics.
"Thank you for accepting my transfer, Principal Weems."
My voice came out flat. Monotone. The kind of careful neutral that revealed nothing and promised even less. It was a defense mechanism I'd perfected in my previous existence, and apparently muscle memory transcended death.
She opened a manila folder thick enough to choke a horse. "Your academic records are... impressive. Despite the circumstances at your previous institution."
The incident. Three students pinned against a wall by shadows that moved like living things. Security footage that made no sense. A panic attack that triggered something I didn't understand and couldn't control.
"It was an isolated event," I said.
"Yes, so your file indicates." She turned a page, and I caught a glimpse of the psychological evaluation. Withdrawn. Potentially dangerous. Requires careful monitoring. "Tell me about your abilities, Aron."
The question hung in the air between us. My shadow stretched across the floor toward her desk lamp, drawn to the light like iron to a magnet. I watched it creep closer and forced myself to pull it back.
She noticed. Of course she noticed. Her eyes tracked the movement for a fraction of a second before returning to my face.
"Shadow manipulation," I said. "Basic level. Still learning control."
Understatement of the century. Three weeks ago I'd been a normal college dropout. Now I could stretch my shadow like a rubber band and make it grab things. The mental strain felt like someone drilling into my skull, and I had no idea what the limits were.
"And the psychological evaluation mentioned some... personality quirks?"
Quirks. Right. Because accidentally making people forget I existed or trust me implicitly were just teenage growing pains.
"I'm not particularly social."
"Hmm." She made a note on a separate piece of paper. "Well, Nevermore specializes in helping young outcasts develop their abilities in a supportive environment. I think you'll find your place here."
The words carried undertones I didn't trust. Supportive environment could mean a lot of things, and most of them involved surveillance.
"I've taken the liberty of assigning you a roommate," she continued. "Eugene Ottinger. Lovely boy. I think you'll complement each other well."
Complement. Another loaded term. She was playing chess while I was still figuring out the rules of checkers.
"When do I meet him?"
"He should be in your dormitory now, actually. Ophelia Hall, third floor, room twelve." She stood, extending a hand I had no choice but to shake. "Welcome to Nevermore, Mr. Bason. I have a feeling you're going to do great things here."
Her grip was firm. Confident. The handshake of someone who had never doubted her ability to control a situation.
I gathered my suitcase and headed for the door, pausing when she called my name.
"Aron? A word of advice. Nevermore can be... overwhelming for new students. Take your time. Learn the landscape. And remember—everyone here has secrets. The key is knowing which ones matter."
Ophelia Hall looked like something from a Tim Burton fever dream. Gargoyles perched on every corner, their stone eyes following my progress up three flights of stairs that creaked with each step. The wallpaper was dark enough to hide bloodstains, and the light fixtures cast shadows that moved in ways that defied physics.
Perfect. More shadows meant more places to hide, more tools to work with if things went sideways.
Room twelve sat at the end of a hallway lined with doors that probably concealed enough supernatural firepower to level a city block. I raised my hand to knock and heard voices from inside—one enthusiastic, one patient, both completely absorbed in whatever conversation was happening.
"—and the hexagonal structure is actually more efficient for honey storage than you'd think. The bees have been perfecting the design for millions of years, which means—oh!"
The door swung open before my knuckles made contact, revealing a kid about my age with curly hair, thick glasses, and the kind of boundless energy that usually required pharmaceutical intervention. He bounced on his toes like a golden retriever who'd just heard the word 'walk.'
"You must be my roommate! Eugene Ottinger." He stuck out his hand with zero hesitation, beaming like I'd just made his entire year. "I was just explaining to Marcus here about bee architecture. Did you know that—"
"I'm good," said a voice from behind him. A werewolf by the smell—something about the way he held himself, all controlled aggression and pack dynamics. He squeezed past Eugene and shot me a measuring look. "New guy's got that thousand-yard stare. Probably needs some space."
He wasn't wrong. I'd been cataloguing exit routes since entering the building, noting which windows looked jumpable and where the stairwells led. Old habits.
"Thanks," I said.
Marcus nodded and disappeared down the hallway, leaving me alone with my apparently bee-obsessed roommate.
"Don't mind him," Eugene said, stepping aside to let me enter. "Marcus takes a while to warm up to new people. Pack dynamics, you know? But once you're in, you're family."
The room was bigger than I'd expected, with two beds, two desks, and enough space to pace without bumping into furniture. Eugene's side looked like a nature documentary had exploded—books about insects stacked three deep, a terrarium humming quietly in the corner, and what appeared to be detailed architectural drawings of honeycomb structures taped to the wall.
"Bees," I said.
"Bees," Eugene confirmed, lighting up like I'd just discovered fire. "My special ability. I can communicate with them. Not exactly intimidating compared to vampires or werewolves, but there are more bees than any other species on the planet, so really I have the largest army if you think about it strategically."
Interesting. The kid had tactical instincts hiding under all that enthusiasm. That could be useful.
"That's actually pretty clever."
"Right?" He flopped down on his bed, legs dangling over the edge. "Nobody expects the beekeeper. Anyway, what about you? Weems didn't tell me much except that you're transferring from some normie school in—"
"Vermont," I said, settling my suitcase next to the unclaimed bed. The lie came easily. "Shadow manipulation."
"Cool! Like, you can control darkness?"
Close enough. No point explaining the complexities when I barely understood them myself. "Something like that."
Eugene launched into what could only be described as a comprehensive briefing on Nevermore's social ecosystem. Apparently the student body was divided into cliques based on their supernatural species—Fangs for vampires, Scales for sirens, Furs for werewolves. Each group had its own politics, hierarchies, and unspoken rules that could get you ostracized or worse if you stepped wrong.
I listened with half my attention while the other half catalogued useful information. Eugene was a natural intelligence asset—chatty, observant, and apparently liked by enough people to have access to good gossip. The fact that he was explaining all this meant he'd already decided to adopt me, which could be either very useful or very dangerous depending on how much attention it drew.
"You're processing this like you're planning something," he said suddenly.
I blinked. The kid was more perceptive than I'd given him credit for.
"Just trying to understand the landscape."
"Smart. Nevermore can be... intense if you don't know where the lines are." He grabbed a bag of trail mix from his desk drawer and offered it to me. "But don't stress too much. Most people here are just trying to figure themselves out, same as anywhere else. The powers make it more complicated, but the basic rules still apply."
Be useful. Stay invisible. Trust no one.
"What are the basic rules?"
"Don't start fights you can't finish. Don't mess with the local ecosystem." He gestured toward his terrarium. "And don't let the normies in town see anything that'll end up on YouTube."
Simple enough. Though something told me the reality would be significantly more complex.
Eugene chattered for another hour, covering everything from dining hall politics to which professors to avoid. By the time he started yawning, I had a decent mental map of the social minefield I'd landed in.
"Lights out in twenty minutes," he said, changing into pajamas covered in cartoon bees. "First day of classes tomorrow. I can show you around if you want."
"Sure."
He flicked off the overhead light, leaving only the soft glow from his terrarium to illuminate the room. Within minutes, his breathing had shifted to the deep, even rhythm of sleep.
I waited another ten minutes to be sure he was out cold, then sat up in bed.
Time to figure out what exactly I could do.
The shadows in our room weren't much to work with—thin strips under furniture, a patch near the window where moonlight didn't reach. But they responded when I focused on them, stretching toward my bed like curious pets.
Come here.
My shadow detached from my body and crawled across the floor. Three meters. Four. The strain started immediately—a pressure behind my eyes that threatened to split my skull in half. I gritted my teeth and pushed it further.
Five meters. The shadow reached the far wall and I tried to make it climb. Simple instruction: up. It obeyed, flowing vertically like spilled ink in reverse, but the effort made my vision blur.
Twelve seconds. That's how long I could maintain the extension before the migraine forced me to let go. My shadow snapped back to my body like a rubber band, leaving me gasping and nauseous.
But it had worked. I could stretch shadows, control them, make them move in ways that defied natural law. The question was what else I could do with them.
I tried forming shapes. Basic ones—a crude hand, a simple tool. The shadows responded but lacked substance. They could touch things, maybe even grab them if I concentrated hard enough, but they weren't solid.
Not yet.
Twenty minutes of experimentation left me with a splitting headache and a nosebleed that I had to clean up with a sock. But I'd learned the basics: range of about five meters, duration of maybe fifteen seconds for complex movements, and enough mental strain to leave me useless for hours afterward.
The other abilities were harder to test. The presence thing seemed to activate randomly—sometimes people looked right through me, sometimes they treated me like an old friend. I had no idea how to control it.
And the voice thing... that one scared me. Three weeks ago, during the incident that got me transferred, I'd shouted "Stop!" at a group of bullies and they'd frozen like someone had hit their pause button. The security footage showed them standing motionless for almost thirty seconds while I ran.
Cursed speech. That's what the psychological evaluation had called it. The ability to make people obey simple commands through vocal compulsion. But every time I'd tried to test it, my throat felt like I'd swallowed broken glass.
I wiped the blood from my nose and stumbled to the bathroom. The mirror showed a pale kid with dark circles under his eyes and a general air of exhaustion.
Aron Bason. Foster kid. Loner. Newly manifested outcast with powers he couldn't control.
That's your cover story. Don't forget it.
My shadow rippled in the reflection, moving independently for just a fraction of a second before falling still.
"What the hell am I?" I whispered.
The question hung in the air like smoke, and somewhere in the back of my mind, fragmented memories of a TV show whispered warnings about a school full of monsters and a goth girl who would change everything.
Tomorrow I'd start learning how to survive this place. Tonight, I just needed to figure out how to sleep without my shadows reaching for things they shouldn't touch.
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