Falling. Or something like it.

There was no wind, no sensation of movement, only the feeling that I had been released from everything that once held me. Darkness expanded in all directions, thick and impenetrable, wrapping around me like something alive. It clung to my skin, slipped into my lungs, and whispered in fragmented voices just beyond understanding. I couldn't tell which way was up or down, couldn't sense an end or a beginning, only the crushing stillness, closing in tighter with every breath.

Then the light came.

It was not warm, nor was it welcoming. It burst through the dark in sudden flashes, violent and cold, stripping it away piece by piece. With each flicker, something deep inside me recoiled, as if it recognized what was coming.

The world beneath me lurched.

I hit the ground, and the impact knocked the breath from my lungs.

I was in the garden.

Or at least, it resembled the garden I remembered.

But something about it was fundamentally wrong.

The garden, once vibrant and full of life, now stood in a state of eerie suspension. Flowers that should have been bright with color appeared drained and inverted, their petals darkening into bruised shades of violet and black, as if decay had begun from within and was unraveling in reverse. The trees loomed taller than I remembered, their twisted branches reaching toward the sky like skeletal hands, while their leaves swayed even without the wind. At the center, the fishpond should have reflected the sky, or the warped landscape around it, or perhaps even my own face.

Instead, the water swirled in slow, deliberate motion, revealing shifting fragments of places I had never seen and faces I could not name. Each image flickered for a heartbeat before dissolving into nothing, like memories that had never truly belonged to me.

The air pulsed with something unseen, a quiet, thrumming force that pressed against my skin and raised the fine hairs along my arms. I rubbed at my forearm without thinking.

A voice slipped through the silence, soft and serpentine, wrapping around me like smoke.

“Hello, my friend. Nice to meet you again.”

I spun toward the sound, my shoulders jerking, my pulse slamming hard against my ribs. My breath caught halfway in.

And there he stood. An old man, cloaked in flowing white robes that stirred and shifted gently, though the air around us remained perfectly still. Silver-streaked hair spilled down his back in loose waves, and the corners of his mustache twitched upward in the faint suggestion of a smile. One hand rested on a staff, ancient and gnarled, his fingers curled around it with familiar ease, the wood pulsing faintly beneath his grip.

But it was his eyes that unsettled me most. Gray and endless, they fixed on me without blinking, filled with a knowing so deep it made my stomach tighten.

I swallowed, my throat working painfully. My voice came out thin, barely louder than a breath. “Have we met before?”

His head tilted slightly, the motion deliberate. The smile deepened, not with amusement, but with recognition. “Yes,” he said quietly. “But in a different form.”

A cold shiver slid down my spine, and I wrapped my arms around myself without realizing it. “What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer at once. Instead, he exhaled slowly and brought the base of his staff down against the ground. The impact sent a low hum through the earth, and I staggered, my feet shifting as the vibration rolled beneath me.

“Your energy never dies,” he said, his tone patient, distant. “It simply moves forward, taking shape again and again in each new form.”

The air thickened, pressing in on my lungs, and an invisible weight settled heavy in my chest. I shook my head once, small and helpless.

“I… I don’t understand.”

A low, almost mournful chuckle escaped him. “But I’m afraid this is your last reincarnation.”

The words landed with quiet finality, sharp and echoing.

Last… reincarnation?

My fingers curled instinctively around the cat-shaped pendant at my neck. The metal, usually cool, burned against my skin now, the warmth spreading insistently. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, my breaths turning shallow and uneven.

“This is a mistake,” I whispered, my lips trembling. “I think you have the wrong person.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His certainty was immovable.
“No, Meira,” he said softly. “You are exactly who you are meant to be.”

A sharp knot twisted in my stomach. I tried to look away, but my gaze stayed locked to his, frozen. His eyes didn’t merely observe me. They cut through me, peeling back layers I had never shown anyone.

I took an unsteady step back, my legs shaking. “I don’t understand what any of this means.”

“You will,” he replied, his voice gentle in a way that felt merciless.
“But you must remember this above all else. Master the purification spell.”

The words didn’t sound like advice. They pressed into me like a command, or a plea, heavy with consequence.

The weight of them settled across my ribs, tightening until my breath stuttered. I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, to demand answers but it was too late.

His fingers tightened around the staff. And the world shattered.

Light fractured. Sound warped. The ground dropped away beneath me as reality split open, tearing me from where I stood and dragging me into something I couldn’t fight, couldn’t grasp.

I stumbled out of the mirror, lungs burning as I sucked in air like I’d been hauled from deep water, my hands flying out to steady myself. The world slammed back into place.

Sunlight streaked across the stone floor in sharp golden lines. Voices echoed faintly in the distance, students murmuring, footsteps passing, the crisp scent of morning dew clinging to the air like a lingering memory.

It was too much. Too bright. Too loud. My knees buckled.

I would have hit the ground if a hand hadn’t caught me.

Steady and unmoving. Fingers firm around my arm, anchoring me without force. The kind of touch that didn’t hesitate. It was Aldric Ravenshade.

His fingers barely pressed against my arm, but the weight of them pulled me out of the spiral that still echoed behind my eyes. His dark blue gaze found mine, cool and unreadable. Though his face remained composed, something in him was bracing, as if expecting a storm.

"You’re shaking," he said. His voice was calm.

I opened my mouth to answer, but no words came. My thoughts were tangled, still caught in the strange energy of the mirror.

Then, from the glass behind me, a voice rang out. “Eldritch.”

Aldric’s voice followed, slicing through the stillness. "Meira Mauve."

I flinched before I could stop myself.

“You have been sorted into Eldritch.”

The name struck something inside me, sinking heavy into my chest like a stone dropped into deep water. My breath stalled, my fingers curling instinctively at my sides as the weight of it settled in. I didn’t even know what it meant yet, but I felt the shift all the same, sharp and irreversible, as though a door had just slammed shut behind me.

Around us, the garden stirred. Students leaned toward one another, shoulders angling close, hands lifting to shield their mouths. A few heads snapped up in unison, eyes widening before darting away. Someone let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh that died almost immediately. Others exchanged looks, brows knitting, lips parting as if to question what they’d just heard. Whispers rippled through the crowd, low and urgent. Not loud enough to be called out, but too charged to miss. I caught fragments carried on the air, half-formed words, sharp intakes of breath, the scrape of boots shifting on stone as students adjusted their stance, subtly distancing themselves.

They weren’t just surprised. They looked… unsettled.

"Meira!" I turned at the familiar voice, my vision still unsteady.

Cedric Nightbloom. He was standing just beyond the other students, his face a mix of concern and something sharper, something bordering on protective fear. His striking blue eyes locked onto mine, scanning my face as though searching for answers I couldn't give. His fingers twitched at his sides, his stance tense."Are you alright?"

I couldn’t make out the words clearly, his voice distant and muffled, but the meaning reached me all the same, settling somewhere beneath the noise in my head.

I nodded, but the movement felt forced. I wasn’t okay. I could still feel the old man's voice pressing against my skull, the weight of the garden-that-wasn't-a-garden clawing at my thoughts.

And then, I felt his presence. Dark, Intrigued and unshakable.

My gaze snapped up and locked onto him.

Prince Henry Darkmere. He stood among the students, arms lazily crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed. His face betrayed nothing but his eyes burned into me. Not with irritation or amusement but with interest. A sharp current of something unspoken crackled between us, like a thread pulled too tight. My breath hitched. I balled my hands into fists at my sides.

My pulse jumped hard enough that I pressed my palm against my chest, as though I could steady it. I didn’t understand why this happened every time our eyes met, only that it did. I forced myself to look away first. But the tension lingered, coiling in the air between us. His gaze felt too heavy as though he was searching for something hidden inside me.

The echo of the old man's words kept repeating in my head. "Master the purification spell." I didn't even know what that meant. And yet... deep down in my bones... I knew it was the only thing standing between me and something far, far worse.