The Hall of Spells is not what Lina imagined. It's not a grand chamber or an ancient archive filled with old tomes and bubbling cauldrons. No, this place hums with power—the kind that feels like it's alive, but not human. Seven thrones sit in a semi-circle, each carved from a different material, each imbued with ancient magic that still hums beneath the surface.
The air smells of ozone and ink. The walls are covered in symbols that twist and change when she looks away.
The thrones themselves are each unique—a jagged chair of obsidian, a seat of smooth silver that seems to ripple like water, a throne of bone with whispers woven into its structure. Each one holds a spell, something terrible and old, something that could reshape the world, or destroy it.
Lina feels the weight of the room—the weight of choices she cannot yet comprehend.
They are led in one by one, as the murmurs of the walls swirl around them.
"Sit," a voice commands, and it's not the headmaster—it's something older, deeper, with no face but a presence that claws at her insides.
The boy with riddles steps forward first. His eyes gleam, like he knows something no one else does. He pauses before a chair of jet-black stone, the runes glowing faintly, swirling in a language Lina cannot understand.
"Offer your memory," the voice instructs.
He doesn't hesitate. He closes his eyes and holds out his hand.
His voice shakes, but he doesn't falter. "The day my mother laughed for the last time," he whispers, and then there is a crack—a tear in reality. A burst of light that almost blinds Lina.
A shadow rises from the ground, twisting and warping, and then it fades into the boy's body. His eyes flash black.
He looks different now, like something has changed in him, something darker.
"You may now control shadows," the voice announces.
The boy nods, silent. He steps back.
Lina feels the room grow colder.
The next student is a twin—tall, with an unreadable face. He steps forward with a chain in his hand, his gaze fixed on the throne of silver that shimmers like moonlight. The light bends around him.
"Offer your memory," the voice intones again.
He doesn't say anything. Instead, he drops the chain onto the seat, and the air crackles. When the light clears, the silver throne is gone. In its place stands a tall figure—a shadow of flame and smoke, a creature of burning will.
His brother gasps beside him, but the twin only smiles, his eyes glowing.
"You may now summon fire," the voice says, and the twin laughs softly, stepping away from the throne with a flicker of red dancing in his palm.
Lina doesn't feel the same thrill in her chest. Instead, her heart pounds.
It's her turn now.
She walks to the empty throne—the one with the glowing feather, suspended in mid-air, constantly burning but never burning away. The feather has been calling to her since she first stepped foot into the academy. She can feel it pulling at something deep inside her. Something she doesn't want to face.
"Offer your memory," the voice says, sounding less like a command and more like a lure.
The throne waits.
Lina stares at the feather. And for the first time since her arrival, she feels a tear, deep inside her chest.
The day her brother died.
It's the memory she has locked away, buried so deep she can hardly remember the shape of his face anymore. The pain of it—how it gutted her, how she swore never to speak of him again.
The memory she swore would stay buried, forever.
But now… now the feather demands it.
Her breath hitches. She takes a step forward, trembling. The walls whisper something. She doesn't hear it clearly, but it's enough to make her hesitate.
"You must choose," the voice growls. "You cannot hide from what you are."
Lina closes her eyes, the tears threatening to spill. She doesn't want to give it up. She doesn't want to open that door again.
But the spell calls. The burning feather calls.
The day her brother died. The day she stopped believing in magic. The day her family was torn apart by something no one could stop.
And yet… it still calls. It still waits.
She opens her mouth, her voice barely a whisper. "The day my brother died," she says, and with those words, everything shifts.
The world tilts. The memories flood her—too fast, too sharp. She sees him, standing by the window, laughing as he always did. She sees the flames that came after, the crash, the way everything shattered. And then the silence.
The feather explodes in flame, and Lina screams—gripping the throne for balance.
When the light dims, she feels… different.
The feather is gone. In its place stands a circle of fire, a vortex of air and ash. And from it, a voice rings out, echoing through her mind:
"You may now bend the wind to your will."
But Lina doesn't feel joy. She doesn't feel power. All she feels is a deep, aching emptiness—the cost of what she's given up.
The wind inside the Hall of Spells howls, and for a moment, Lina is consumed by it. It swirls around her like a living thing, teasing her, pulling at her hair and her coat. The flames that once danced on the feather are now gone, leaving behind only a hollow feeling in her chest.
Her breath is ragged, her heart pounding. She stands there, frozen, feeling the weight of the spell inside her, like a storm locked in her chest, waiting to break free.
"You may now bend the wind to your will." The voice still echoes in her mind, but it feels distant now, as if the words belong to someone else, someone she doesn't recognize.
Lina reaches out, trembling, to touch the air. She closes her eyes, willing it to do something. Anything. And then—just a whisper, like a breath passing through her fingers.
The wind responds.
A gust of cold air sweeps through the hall, knocking the lanterns off their hooks, sending them tumbling to the ground in a shower of sparks. The walls shudder, groaning under the pressure of the magic that now pulses within her.
She pulls back, horrified. What have I done?
The wind howls louder, angry now, as if it senses her fear, as if it wants to escape. She can feel it swirling inside her, tugging at her soul, hungry for more.
The other students stand silent, watching her with expressions ranging from curiosity to something darker, something like pity. The boy with riddles, whose eyes are still shadowed, steps forward, his face unreadable.
"You chose," he says softly, as if trying to comfort her. "We all chose. But none of us knew what the cost would be."
Lina's heart sinks. She doesn't want to hear it. Doesn't want to admit that there's a price for the power she's gained. The others—the twins, the girl with blood on her boots, the silent boy—remain silent. They, too, seem to understand something she doesn't.
The wind finally quiets, but the feeling of it remains, like a whisper in the back of her mind. She looks around, but no one speaks. The voice in the walls, the one that's been guiding them, remains silent.
The Hall of Spells seems to be holding its breath.
Lina turns toward the door, but it's not the way she came. The Hall is different now, larger, more labyrinthine. She can feel the walls shifting around her as if the school itself is alive, watching her.
"Where do we go now?" Lina asks, her voice trembling.
The boy with riddles doesn't answer right away. Instead, he stares at her, his gaze penetrating. Finally, he says, "Now we live with what we've chosen."
Another silence falls between them, thick and heavy.
Lina's pulse races as she turns toward her new room. The walls are already changing, as if the school is preparing to welcome her—and the magic that now resides within her.
But her heart is still heavy with the memory of what she lost to gain it.
Lina's footsteps echo in the narrow corridor as she walks away from the Hall of Spells. The air feels different now—thicker, heavier, like something is watching her. Every inch of Caligo Academy seems to hum with a presence, an energy that pulses in time with her own heartbeat. It's as though the school itself is alive, a creature that breathes and moves, and maybe, just maybe, it has plans for her.
She reaches her room—a small chamber with walls of rough stone that seem to change color in the dim light. The symbol of the feather still burns faintly on the door, but it's quieter now, as if it, too, is waiting for something.
When she steps inside, the air shifts again, cold and sharp, like the wind that now lives inside her. The room is sparsely furnished—just a narrow bed, a desk with a single candle, and a tall mirror that seems to stretch endlessly upward. It's the mirror that catches her attention.
It's not like any other mirror she's seen before. The glass shimmers, but there's something off about it, something strange. She approaches it cautiously, her fingers grazing the surface.
The reflection she sees is not entirely her own.
For a split second, the girl in the mirror is different—her eyes are darker, her expression colder, like someone else entirely. But then, with a blink, it's gone, and Lina is staring back at herself.
She pulls her hand away, heart racing. Was it a trick of the light? She shakes her head, trying to push the unsettling feeling out of her mind.
The door behind her creaks open, and she spins around to find the boy with riddles standing in the doorway. His face is unreadable, but there's something in his eyes—a shadow, a warning.
"We have to talk," he says, his voice low, almost urgent. "You can't stay here alone. Not with what's inside you now."
Lina feels a chill run down her spine. She opens her mouth to ask him what he means, but he's already stepping into the room, his eyes scanning the walls with a kind of practiced ease.
"You'll learn soon enough," he continues, his voice distant. "Caligo is more than just a school. It's a prison. It's a place where the magic isn't just taught. It's fed."
Lina's stomach twists. She doesn't understand. "Fed?" she repeats, her voice shaky.
He nods gravely. "The magic here is hungry. The more you use it, the more it takes. And if you're not careful, it'll take you too." He looks at her with an unreadable expression. "It's been years since they let someone like you in. Someone without a spell, someone unchosen. The Headmaster may have chosen you, but it's not just for your power. It's because Caligo is dying. And the school will do anything to survive."
Lina's breath catches. "What are you saying?"
The boy's eyes darken. "There's a reason we were all chosen. There's a reason you're here. Caligo doesn't give you power without expecting something in return. The magic here… it's not just yours. It's tied to this place. And it will feed on you until there's nothing left."
A cold shiver runs through Lina. She looks down at her hands, as if seeing them for the first time, as though they might betray her.
"Why are you telling me this?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper.
He doesn't answer immediately. He studies her for a long moment, and then his lips curl into a faint, almost amused smile. "Because I'm not sure you'll make it. But I'll be damned if I let you go down alone."
Before she can respond, he turns and walks toward the door.
"Find the Whispering Hall," he calls over his shoulder, his voice carrying a weight of finality. "It's the only place that can help you. But you'll have to survive the maze to get there."
And with that, he's gone—leaving Lina standing in the middle of her room, a thousand questions tumbling through her mind.
The walls close in, the air thick with the secrets of the school. Her chest tightens as she glances back at the mirror. She swears, just for a moment, she sees her reflection smirk at her.
The Whispering Hall.
Lina doesn't know what it is, but she's sure of one thing: she's going to find it.