– Alexia –
I didn't know how long I'd walked. Gravel under my boots gave way to moss, the voices of students dissolving into the hush of leaves and the low, restless wind. Zeus padded beside me, alert, ears flicking as the forest seemed to lean closer with every step. Then I saw it: tucked between two ancient stone arches, a wrought-iron gate twisted with ivy, slightly ajar. It didn't hum with the usual campus wards. It simply was, like it had been waiting. Zeus nosed it open with a soft creak.
Inside, the air changed. Cooler, denser. Not oppressive, but watchful. Wildflowers sprawled between crooked stepping stones. A dry fountain stood at the center, moss hugging its base like a second skin. Roses tangled with vines and strange herbs that glowed faintly, all growing in a chaotic symphony no gardener had tamed. Beautiful. And not on the map. I lowered myself onto a stone bench ringed with thistle and lavender. Zeus dropped at my feet with a sigh, resting his head on his paws like a tired knight guarding a queen he wasn't sure about.
For a moment, I let the silence settle. But silence never stayed for long anymore. Under the birdsong, the rustle of leaves, even my own breath—there it was again. That hum. The quiet thrum of magic in my bones, alive, patient, expectant.
It started that night at the bar. A wrong touch, a too-firm grip on my wrist—and my body erupted like a storm. Lights flickered. Vines tore through tile. Everything changed. Then the Elaren vine in Arcane Ecology had wrapped around my arm like it recognized me. Today, in Focus & Flow, magic surged from me, not in anger, but feeling. Unfiltered, raw, alive. It cracked through me like roots splitting concrete. None of it made sense. I didn't grow up with magic. My mother healed with herbs and honey-scented salves, not spells. She never said the word witch. My father? A ghost story I'd stopped asking about.
I looked at my hands. They looked the same—callused from years of veterinary work—but nothing felt steady anymore. I felt like a bottle someone shook too hard, and now everything was rushing out. And the Royals didn't help. Finn, steady and warm. Jasper, smirking and secretive. Soren, quiet and unreadable. Asher, storm-eyed, looking at me like I was a threat he couldn't decide whether to fight or protect. They saw something in me I couldn't see in myself. And that scared me more than any surge of magic ever could.
A breeze stirred the vines, one unfurling around the bench's arm like a curious cat. I didn't flinch. Part of me wanted to reach out, to see if it would respond like the Elaren vine had. To prove I wasn't imagining this connection. To feel less alone. I was reading when a shadow fell across the bench.
"You have good instincts," came a voice, calm and sharp. "Shame about your boundaries."
I turned so fast I nearly fell off the bench. Headmistress Morigan Shade stood just beyond the gate, midnight-blue robes pooling around her boots, black hair braided into a crown threaded with silver. Her gray eyes pinned me like a butterfly.
"I—I didn't mean to trespass," I stammered. "The gate was open. I didn't know—"
She stepped into the garden, the vines shifting around her as if the space recognized her. Zeus lifted his head, watching her without a sound.
"If the garden let you in, it had its reasons," she said. "Most students wouldn't have found this place."
"I didn't mean—"
"Sit."
Not quite a command. Not quite a request. I sat. She joined me, her presence shifting the air. Zeus sniffed, then rested his chin back on his paws, his eyes flicking to something behind Shade—a faint shadow that moved across the far wall, dissolving into the vines. I blinked. Gone.
"Your magic is reactive," Shade said. "Unshaped. But not broken."
"I feel broken," I whispered.
"Because of the bar? The Elaren vine? Focus & Flow?"
"All of it," I admitted. "I'm scared I'll lose control. Hurt someone. Or Zeus."
She was quiet, studying the dry fountain. Then:
"Magic finds the world through need. Yours came through fear. Protection. Emotion."
"I didn't choose this."
Shade's gaze flicked to me, brow arching. "Didn't you?"
My words caught in my throat.
"Witchblood runs deeper than bloodlines," she said, fingers brushing a blooming thistle. "You can't suppress what's entwined with your soul. You can only delay its bloom."
"Then why now?" My voice cracked. "Why not when Mom got sick? Or when I almost lost Zeus?"
"Grief teaches silence," Shade said softly. "Anger shatters glass."
My hands curled in my lap.
"I don't want to be dangerous."
She leaned forward, her gray eyes sharp and kind all at once. "You already are. But that doesn't mean you are a threat. Storms bring ruin and rebirth."
A breeze moved through the garden, stirring the vines, brushing across my cheek like a whisper I couldn't quite catch. Shade stood.
"You're not ready yet," she said. "But you will be."
She turned toward the gate, vines parting around her robes.
"Wait," I said. "Why are you telling me this?"
She paused, the breeze lifting a strand of silver-threaded braid.
"Because Whisperwind didn't call you by mistake," she said. Her gaze shifted past me, toward where that shadow had flickered. "And because someone is already watching, hoping you fail."
Then she was gone, the gate clicking shut behind her, leaving me alone with the hush of the garden. Zeus nudged my knee. I reached down, running my fingers over his fur, grounding myself in the warmth and the steady rise and fall of his breath. The vines rustled again, and the fountain let out a single, quiet drip of water before going still. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The garden wasn't still anymore. Neither was I.