Life doesn’t always come together the way we hope it will. Sometimes, it unravels without warning, leaving us clutching at memories and regrets. Sometimes, to move forward, you must let go—even when it feels like a small death inside.

  At John’s funeral, a hush descended over the mourners—a silence so heavy it felt alive. The air was thick with winter’s chill, and every breath steamed with sorrow. The pastor’s voice rang out, solemn and sure:“Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him…”The ancient words hung in the air—a fragile, trembling promise of reunion, of peace beyond the grave.

  But Elena stood apart, her sorrow raw and exposed, immune to comfort. I suppose this is what fate had in store for me, she thought, bitterness rising like bile. First, it took my mother and father. Now, my brother. I never told John the truth—never found the courage to say the words that mattered. Now, the chance is gone forever, and I would give anything for one more moment, one more confession. Some truths, she tried to convince herself, are best left buried—for the sake of others. But the ache of secrecy gnawed at her, relentless and sharp. Long after the mourners drifted away and dusk thickened into night, Elena lingered by the grave, rooted by grief and guilt. The cold seeped into her bones, numbing her skin but not her pain. The weight of her brother’s absence, and the things she’d never said, pressed down with merciless clarity. On that day, she promised herself, the truth would come to light. One day, justice will be done.

  ***

  That night, Elena sat by her bedroom window, hollowed out by sorrow, staring into the darkness. Shadows stretched across the floor, long and restless. Suddenly, a flicker of white light pierced the gloom, shimmering deep within the forest near the school. It danced among the ancient trees by Old Borden Lake—a place thick with memory and rumors. She remembered how New Borden Lake spilled out from the old, winding its way through the dense woods just beyond Bridgelay. The strange light pulsed, urgent and mysterious, as if calling her name. Her heart hammered in her chest. Elena grabbed her torch, determination sparking in her eyes. She slipped out of her room and crept through the silent, sleeping corridors. Every footfall echoed with purpose, every shadow seemed to hold its breath. Just as she reached for the back door, a voice, cold and sharp, cut through the silence.

  “What are you doing outside your room at this hour?” Winley’s silhouette blocked the exit, her eyes hard as flint. “You know it’s forbidden to leave after 9:30. And you know what happens to those who break the rules.”

  “I just came to get some water,” Elena lied, her voice barely a whisper, hoping her trembling hands wouldn’t betray her. “Jerrick will bring water to your room. Return now,” Winley ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument. Swallowing her frustration, Elena retreated to her room, the image of the mysterious light burning in her mind. Who could be out there in the woods? What reason could anyone have to wander among the trees at this hour? The questions circled in her mind, restless and hungry, long into the night. Later, Elena glanced over at Nancy, her roommate, who sat quietly on her bed, head bowed. Nancy asked with urgency, “Where did you go? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Elena kept silent and noticed something different, “Did anyone come in while I was gone?”

  Nancy hesitated, eyes darting away. “No, no one came,” she muttered. Elena frowned, suspicion sharpening her tone. “Don’t lie. You hate that kind of perfume, and I can smell it all over the room.” Nancy sighed, caught. “Fine. You figured it out. Jayson was here. He left this card for you—he wants to have coffee with you on Sunday.” She handed Elena the note, a teasing smile flickering across her features, as if trying to lighten the heaviness in the air. “Anyway, I’m tired. When are you going to sleep?”

  The next morning, Winley stood before the assembly, her presence commanding, voice ringing with authority. “Good morning, everyone. As you know, this school is committed to teaching you not only the art of magic, but the art of living with it—growing with it. To help you on this journey, we have a new teacher joining us. His name is Jane Hopper. He once studied here, in Wing 2 Hovius of Riverstrom School, which has been closed for four years. Please welcome Mr. Hopper.”

  Jane Hopper stepped forward, his demeanour quiet but unmistakably confident. “Hello, students. Principal Winley has already told you most of what you need to know,” he began, his gaze sweeping the hall. “But let me say this: learn your magic well. Embrace it. Don’t let fear or doubt hold you back, and never let anyone make you feel less because of who you are. Thank you.”

  ***

  Winley and Jane Hopper were hunched together in the stuffy, lamp lit office, papers scattered between them. As Elena strolled through the corridor, the low, hurried cadence of their voices caught her ear. She slowed, curiosity prickling her skin, and drifted closer, careful to keep her footsteps muffled on the polished floor. Through the door’s narrow gap, she could just make out their faces—Winley’s expression tense, Jane’s eyes narrowed in focus. “Winter vacation starts next week,” Winley murmured, her words laced with urgency. “This has to be finished before then.”

  Jane leaned back, crossing his arms. “Don’t worry. I’ll finish it within the week. The groundwork’s already begun.” Elena’s heart thudded faster. What work? What secret? She shifted her weight, barely grazing a fragile porcelain vase perched on a side table. It wobbled, teetered, and crashed to the ground in a spray of ivory shards. Winley’s voice snapped through the silence, sharp as a whip. “What was that?” Jane stood, his chair scraping across the linoleum. “I’ll handle it.” He strode out, just in time to spot a tabby cat leaping through the open window—its tail disappearing into the night. Elena pressed herself into the shadows, holding her breath until Jane went back inside.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Adrenaline still humming in her veins, Elena wandered into the school grounds. She found a lonely bench beneath the arching branches of an ancient oak, its leaves whispering in the dusk breeze. As she sat, the fragments of conversation echoed in her mind—unfinished business, unspoken urgency, the chilling sense of something hidden beneath the surface.

  Before her thoughts could settle, the loudspeakers crackled to life, their static slicing through the evening hush. Winley’s voice, clear and commanding, rang out across the campus. “Attention, students. The annual Don Track Race will be held this weekend. Six teams of three will compete. The course runs through the school grounds, across the library path, and ends at Old Borden Lake. The first team to retrieve the Golden Ball and return it will be declared the winner. This year, the prize is a magical Golden Ball—a treasure from the heart of our school. Prepare yourselves; something special is coming.”

  A wave of excitement swept the grounds. Students clustered together in animated groups, their voices buzzing with excitement as they eagerly discussed strategies and began forming teams. A teacher approached Winley, voice lowered. “Orthox is requesting your presence.” Winley’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”

  Nancy appeared by Elena’s side, her energy infectious. “We have to join the race! We’d make the perfect team.” Elena managed a genuine smile for the first time all day. “Absolutely, we’ll win it together.”

  “Let’s hit the market after class,” Nancy said, already planning out supplies—costumes, face paint, maybe even a lucky charm or two. Meanwhile, in the dark hush of a side corridor, Orthox leaned close to Winley. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I think we’ve found it—the second part is hidden somewhere here. I just can’t pinpoint it yet.” Winley’s answer was cool and resolute. “Don’t worry. It’s my job to find it. Leave it to me.”

  After school, the market was a riot of color and chatter. Elena and Nancy browsed through stalls brimming with glittering makeup, outlandish costumes, and every kind of supply imaginable. The scent of spices and fresh bread mingled in the air, and the buzz of voices was everywhere. “We have everything, right?” Nancy asked, ticking off items on her list, her hair glinting in the late sun.

  Elena grinned, feeling lighter than she had in days. “If you say so, I’ll trust you.” Suddenly, frantic cries split the afternoon calm. “Come quickly! Over here!” A crowd surged toward the main street. Elena’s stomach clenched in dread.

  They hurried over, pushing through the gathering throng until police tape blocked their way. Officers moved among the crowd, their faces grave. Harsh, a detective known for his steely demeanour, addressed the onlookers. “Stand back, everyone. This is a crime scene. The victim was killed brutally—hands severed, ribs removed, heart crushed. He’s wearing a Riverstrom Academy uniform. We’ll be making inquiries at the school.” He spotted Elena and Nancy, their uniforms giving them away. “You two—students here?”

  Nancy’s voice was small but steady. “Yes, sir. We’re from Riverstrom Academy.”

  “Do you know this boy?” Harsh’s eyes bored into them. Nancy shook her head. “No, never seen him before.” Elena added softly, “There are so many students… sometimes it’s impossible to remember every face.” Harsh’s gaze lingered on Elena. “What’s your name?” “Elena,” she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. Recognition sharpened his features. “John’s sister?” Elena nodded, the grief flickering in her eyes. “Yes.” Harsh’s tone gentled. “There’s nothing new yet in your brother’s case. But this… this is the same killer, I’m sure of it.” Nancy squeezed Elena’s arm. “You never told me about your brother. I’m so sorry. Whoever did this deserves justice.” Elena’s resolve hardened. She swore to herself: I will see justice done, no matter what.

  ***

  That night, the campus was shrouded in silver moonlight, shadows stretching across empty lawns. From her window, Elena could see the old library—its stained-glass windows flickering with a ghostly glow. Restless, Elena watched as a faint lantern bobbed through the library aisles, casting strange shadows against the glass.

  She stood, determination burning through her fatigue. “Let’s go,” she whispered.

  Nancy blinked, startled. “Where?”

  “The library. Now,” Elena insisted, already pulling on her shoes. Nancy hesitated, anxiety creasing her brow. “Elena, it’s late… are you sure?” But Elena had already slipped out the door, her mind set.

  In the library, the doors creaked open to a world of dust, silence, and secrets. The scent of old paper and leather-bound tomes filled the air. Shelves soared toward the ceiling, their spines faded and mysterious. Elena moved slowly through the labyrinth, her torchlight dancing across titles in a dozen forgotten languages.

  “I saw someone come in here,” she whispered, scanning the deep shadows between shelves. “But now it’s empty.” Nancy peered around, awe in her voice. “There are so many books here… why have I never explored this place before?”

  A glint of something black caught Elena’s eye—a life-sized statue of a crow, wings half-spread, perched atop a pedestal. Its obsidian eyes seemed to follow their every move. Beneath its talons, an inscription was carved in looping, cryptic script—a riddle waiting to be solved.

  Elena knelt, her breath catching. She traced the words with trembling fingers, heart pounding with a mix of dread and excitement. “What is this?” she murmured, voice barely breaking the hush.

  At the fork, three shadows wait.

  One calls your name.

  One mirrors your fear.

  One stands still… watching.

  No signs. No words. Just a pull —

  A quiet tug from the side

  you never question,

  but never notice.

  Which way do you turn,

  when silence feels like truth?