Mirial's POV

Fenrir walked ahead of me, not fast, not slow, but with the kind of pace a powerful person uses when they expect the world to move around them. The courtyard opened into a long stone path lined with old trees. Their branches drooped low enough to brush his shoulders, but he didn’t flinch. He parted them like they were nothing more than a curtain made for him.

I followed a few steps behind, trying to breathe normally even though half the academy was still staring after us.

My name was already leaving their mouths.

Whispers trailed us like ghosts.

“Who is she.”

“Did you see the light on her skin.”

“Why did Fenrir protect her.”

“Unclaimed girls do not draw attention from heirs.”

“She did something. I know she did.”

Every word scraped down my spine.

Fenrir didn’t look back once.

Not even to check if I was keeping up.

He didn’t need to.

There was something about the way he moved that felt like gravity tugging on everything around him. Even me.

We passed under an archway carved with runes so old they were barely recognizable. Their glow brushed over my skin, and I felt my bindings tighten in response, almost painfully.

This academy was a bad idea.

A very, very bad idea.

My chest tightened and I slid my fingers beneath the edge of my sleeve, pressing gently on the sigil hidden there. The warmth responded, curling through my veins like a quiet, obedient breath.

I needed that breath.

I needed all of them.

Fenrir’s voice broke the silence without warning. “You are not from any House.”

It wasn’t a question.

Just a statement.

He didn’t slow down.

I stared at the back of his head, at the way his hair caught the light with streaks of silver that were not decorative. “No,” I said softly.

“You walk like you were taught old magic.”

My heart clenched. “I wasn’t.”

“Lie,” he said.

I stopped walking.

He didn’t.

After three more steps, he paused and turned to face me. His gaze swept over my expression, my posture, my breath. Fenrir Zade looked at people like he was dissecting them quietly.

I forced myself to hold his eyes. “I wasn’t taught anything. Not really.”

“Your body says otherwise.”

“My body lies sometimes.”

His mouth twitched very slightly, like someone who almost smiled but killed the impulse before it lived. “No. Bodies do not lie. They remember.”

I swallowed.

He was too perceptive. Too sharp. Too close to the truth.

“I did not ask to be involved in your duel,” I said, trying to shift the focus. “Silas aimed wrong. That was it.”

Fenrir studied me for a moment before he spoke again. “You should have died.”

I felt the truth of that like a cold blade sliding beneath my ribs.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“But you didn’t.”

No accusation.

No praise.

Just the problem stated plainly.

I looked away, letting my eyes drift toward the distant spires of Arcanamir. The academy was beautiful in a ruthless, unkind way. Towers of white stone. Bridges that shimmered with enchantments. Students walking in clusters like miniature kingdoms.

This place felt alive.

Breathing.

Watching.

“Someone recommended you,” Fenrir said.

I froze.

His head tilted slightly. “You think I did not notice. Unclaimed students do not simply appear at Arcanamir without sponsorship.”

My hand tightened around the strap of my satchel. “It was family.”

“Family,” he repeated quietly.

The word felt too big in the space between us.

“My uncle,” I finally said. “He teaches here.”

“Name.”

I hesitated.

Fenrir’s eyes sharpened. “Why hide it.”

Because my mother had asked me to.

Because my uncle wanted me safe.

Because my lineage was a target.

Because the truth lived under my skin like a secret waiting to break bone.

But I couldn’t say that.

I lifted my chin instead. “His name is Professor Elion Ashwyn.”

Fenrir’s expression shifted, almost imperceptibly. “The historian.”

“Yes.”

“He is respected.”

“I know.”

“He wanted you here.”

“Yes.”

“Why.”

I exhaled, slow and uneven. “He said this academy would give me a chance to grow. To flourish. To… to find my strength.”

Fenrir’s eyes narrowed. “Your uncle sent you here alone.”

“He trusts me.”

“He should not.”

The bluntness hit harder than I expected. “I can take care of myself.”

“No,” he said. “You really cannot.”

Heat rose to my cheeks. “I have survived worse places than this.”

“I believe you,” he replied. “But the academy will not care.”

I looked at him sharply. “Why are you saying all of this.”

His voice dropped lower. “Because I smell fear on you.”

My heart stuttered.

He continued. “And not the fear of a duel or a spell. Something older.”

He didn’t know how close he was to the truth.

He didn’t know that fear lived in my bloodstream the way magic did, ancient and inherited.

“Keep walking,” Fenrir said quietly. “We are blocking the path.”

I moved again because he expected me to.

As we crossed the next courtyard, I felt the weight of Arcanamir settling around me. The banners overhead rustled with magic-laced wind. Groups of students parted in our direction, not out of courtesy but out of caution.

Fenrir Zade walking with a new girl was a scene no one knew how to interpret.

I heard it in their voices.

“Why her.”

“She looks terrified.”

“He is never gentle.”

“Did he find something interesting.”

“She is going to be eaten alive.”

“Or she will ruin everything.”

I kept my eyes down and focused on the rhythm of my breath.

One breath.

One press.

One sigil.

I could almost hear my uncle’s voice in the back of my mind, the way he said my name when he wanted me to listen.

Mirial, you have more strength than you know.

This academy will teach you to use it.

But you must stay invisible until the time is right.

Invisible.

Too late for that now.

We approached a wide marble staircase that led to the Orientation Hall. Its doors were tall enough to make anyone feel small. Two Celestial guards stood at either side, wings folded in silver arcs across their backs.

Fenrir stopped at the base of the stairs.

I stopped too.

He turned slightly, scanning my face again. “Be careful with Silas.”

“I didn’t plan to seek him out.”

“You do not need to. He will seek you.”

A small chill crawled down my spine. “Is he that petty.”

“He is worse.”

Great.

Perfect.

Amazing.

“And what about you,” I asked before I could stop myself.

Fenrir blinked once. “What about me.”

“Are you dangerous to me.”

It was a stupid question.

A reckless one.

But it left my mouth before I could catch it.

Fenrir stepped closer, only an inch, but enough to make the air between us feel warmer.

“To you,” he said slowly, “I do not know.”

That was somehow worse than a yes.

I swallowed hard. “Thank you for catching the spell.”

He nodded once, but his eyes didn’t soften.

I took a breath and stepped toward the stairs, feeling the weight of the entire academy pressing against my back.

Before I climbed the first step, Fenrir spoke again.

“Mirial,” he said quietly.

I turned.

His eyes locked onto mine with a certainty that made my stomach drop.

“You should not shine,” he said.

I froze. “What.”

He lowered his voice. “Whatever flicker was on your skin when the spell came toward you. Hide it. Or someone else will try to finish what Silas started.”

My heartbeat stumbled.

“That is not a warning,” Fenrir said softly. “It is a promise of this place.”

I gripped the railing to steady myself.

Fenrir turned and walked away, disappearing into a group of Lycans who greeted him with raised brows and curious stares.

I inhaled slowly, feeling the bindings under my skin tremble faintly.

My uncle had sent me here to flourish.

To grow.

To find my strength.

But already, Arcanamir felt less like an opportunity

and more like a hunt.

I stepped into the Orientation Hall alone.

And every instinct in my body whispered the same thing.

Do not shine.

Not here.

Not yet.