“Dreadhurst College of Dark Magic is the premier institution of higher learning for dark wielders in North America for over 300 years. Students of Dreadhurst go on to perform exceptional acts of bravery, leadership, and magical mastery in service of the human and magical communities at large. The undergraduate curriculum at Dreadhurst encompasses a wide-range of subjects and levels of expertise, taught by world-renowned Specialists, Masters, and Grandmasters. After completing the required prerequisite undergraduate courses, students may choose to pursue post-secondary education to attain higher levels of Mastery via continuing study.”
It’s several pages of self-aggrandizing bullshit before I find something that actually helps. “The Dreadhurst campus is designed to accommodate the needs of everyone who attends, no matter their Order or affinity. With specially designed facilities, students and faculty alike may practice their magic without fear or risk of harming themselves or others”.
The map of these “specially designed facilities” resembles a heptagram—at the topmost point of the seven-pointed star sits a temple situated near the cliffs, then in clockwise fashion there’s the planetarium, the library, an extensive academic complex including a large conservatory and student union building, the administration building with a legitimate Great Hall, the Mercury housing complex where I am now, and finally a Training Center that sits on the edge of a large lake, all connected by numerous paths that congregate at the square in the center of campus.
The nearby town, Hemlock Hill, doesn’t look much larger than Lynden, but hopefully as a result of hundreds of years of rich and powerful… magicians? sorcerers? wielders, Celestinecalled them—it’s much nicer. Like something off of the Hallmark channel instead of a horror movie. I’ve barely gotten through the town description when my eyelids droop, and I surrender to oblivion, nestled under cold, unfamiliar sheets. As I drift off to sleep, I admit my first truth to this empty bed in a hushed whisper.
I want this to be real.
I know I'm dreaming because I can swim. I’ve always wanted to learn how, but Lynden didn’t have a pool, and I never left Lynden. Cool waves lap at my heated skin, cradling my weightless body as I drift beneath twinkling stars, flashing in and out of existence in the black sky above me, an endless expanse stretching into infinity.
I swirl my arms through the dark waves, relaxed and pliant from the gentle caress of the sea, soothing the tension from my body and carrying it away into the night. Underneath the swells, crooning whistles and sharp clicks echo in the depths—whispers on the waves, reminding me of the monsters in the deep, forgotten by time and memory. Of the gods who rule the seas.
A sudden chill in the air pricks at my skin, and in the distance, rumbling thunder signals the arrival of a storm. My storm. Ominous clouds creep across the night sky, devouring the stars as they plummet into a starving sea. Waves that held me moments earlier roil and churn, and I thrash in vain as they threaten to pull me into the dark, ravenous maw below, hidden in the void. Lightning cracks the skies open, and each pounding beat of thunder drowns out the echoes of my agony as the abyss swallows me whole.
I jerk awake, disoriented and desperately gasping for breath. My trembling hands creep to my throat and I try to forget the entirely too-realistic sensation of drowning. Not even my daydreams leave my chest aching like that. Insistent knocking on my door startles me out of my stupor, and I crawl out of my bed, legs shaking, to see who just gave me a fucking heart attack.
A blonde girl around my age with bright blue eyes stands at my door, her blinding smile in sharp contrast to the bleary grimace on my face. She holds a coffee cup in each hand and lifts one up in offering.
“Good morning sunshine!” she greets, entirely too enthusiastic. I crook my eyebrow at her, not awake enough to understand who this person is and why she’s knocking on my door.
“My name is Victoria, but you can call me Tori,” she says, as if that explains fucking anything.
“Why?” I ask, incapable of complete sentences at the moment.
Thankfully she seems to understand what I’m failing to articulate. “I’m your student ambassador for the day. I’m going to show you around campus and help you get everything you need before classes start.”
Realization dawns. “Oh yeah, the welcome wagon.” I eye the coffee in her hand. “Is one of those for me?”
“Yes! And I’ll take you to breakfast if you can get dressed.” She smiles, eyeing my disheveled sleepwear. I reach for one of the coffees but she pulls it away, just out of reach.
“You get this once you’re moving,” she taunts. I stare daggers at her before groaning and closing the door. Going through the clothes I put into the wardrobe last night—well, earlier this morning—I pick out the same ripped skinny jeans and worn high-top sneakers from last night, a loose crop top, and my favorite hoodie. I brush my teeth in the shallow sink and braidmy hair into two rows for that “messy but cute” look that I’ve defaulted to over the years.
Opening my door again, I hold my hands out in the universal sign for “gimme” before so she’ll end my torture. The scalding, bitter liquid hits my stomach and chases away the unease from that fucked up dream-turned-nightmare.
“God that’s so fucking good,” I say, nodding my thanks.
She beams. “You’re welcome!” Kill me now if she’s going to be like this the whole day. “So where are you from?” she asks, leading me toward the entrance. There are a few students milling about in common room, but she’s already through the front doors and I have to hurry to catch up.
“Small town in the middle of nowhere. Far cry from this place, that’s for sure,” I answer vaguely, gesturing to the campus to distract her from prying further. If it was impressive at night, it’s breathtaking in the day. Gothic architecture, stained glass windows, massive wooden doors—everything screams “old world”. There’s no peeling paint, no cracked asphalt or scent of rotting garbage tucked behind an alleyway. The air is crisp, clear, and clean. When I breathe in, it feels like I’m tasting happiness for the first time. She hums in agreement as we continue along the cobblestone paths, and I spot the massive statue in the square.
“What’s that?” I ask, nodding towards the stone monstrosity. It looks like an obelisk, carved with what I now recognize as runes.
“Oh, that's the Foundation Stone. It’s the nexus anchor point for the wards around campus.” My blank stare at her explanation prompts her to continue with her little history lesson.
“There are several anchor points along the perimeter of the grounds, and each one ensures the wards cover not just the buildings but the forest and lake too.”
“Huh.”
She looks at me quizzically, and I can practically see her bursting with curiosity. “What do you know already?”
“About?”
She pauses. “Everything?”
“Oh. Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Tori stops in disbelief.
