"Man, this chicken sandwich is so good," said Mark through a mouthful, lounging across from me at the House of Dawn's table in the Grand Hall. It was 10 a.m. on Monday, and the hall buzzed with first years still half-asleep—except Mark, who was demolishing his breakfast like it wronged him in a past life.
"Tell me about it," Alexandra muttered between frantic bites, devouring her sandwich like a starving child who hadn't seen food in two weeks.
It wasn't unusual to see her or Emilia at our table, even though neither of them were in House of Dawn. Unless it was a formal assembly or a seven-house convocation, students were free to sit wherever they liked. For our little group, that meant we always ended up together—no matter the crests stitched onto our sleeves.
"Note to self," I whispered sarcastically to Emilia beside me, "never eat near her again."
She giggled, nodding. "Agreed."
"No lie," Bruce added from further down the bench, wiping his mouth with a sleeve. "We earned this meal after what Ms. Ripple put us through yesterday."
The memory hit us like a gust of wind.
Flashback.
We were all out on the practice fields, training with the gliders we'd conjured from thauma and ink. It hadn't been hard for me—somehow, it felt natural. But most of the others? Especially Mark and Bruce? It was a chaotic disaster in slow motion.
At one point, Mark completely lost control.
He went spiraling like a Thauma-struck comet, pinwheeling through the sky and screaming all the way around the castle tower.
Ms. Ripple and I both took off after him—me riding my glider with ease, her floating on a seamless ribbon of air magic. With a flick of her fingers and a whispered chant, she conjured a containment spell that condensed the air around Mark's body and glider, locking him into a midair bubble and bringing him to an awkward, spinning stop.
He hung there like a confused marionette for a moment before groaning, "I think I saw my ancestors."
The memory faded, and we found ourselves back at the table, still laughing and enjoying our breakfast. The energy was light, comfortable—until Fay suddenly let out a shriek like she'd just seen a corpse.
We all froze.
"What's wrong?!" we shouted in unison, practically spitting crumbs.
Fay's eyes were wide, her hands clutching her head. "I just remembered what day it is! I'm so stupid! The Academy always holds it on the second day of classes!"
"What? What do they hold?" I asked, voicing what we were all thinking.
"The Familiar Rite Ceremony!"
"Familiar? Like… a magical companion?" Mark perked up, his mouth still half-full.
"Yes!" Fay nodded vigorously. "Every first-year gets one. It's a life bond. You keep your familiar for all six years at Umbra Arcanum—and beyond."
"A life bond?" I blinked, not entirely sure I liked the sound of that. "What does that even mean?"
"It means your familiar stays with you until you die," Emilia explained calmly. "And when you do… it dies too."
"It's like wedding vows," Fay added, deadpan. "'Til death do us part.'"
Isaiah leaned back, exhaling. "That's… insane."
"It's powerful magic," Alexandra chimed in, brushing crumbs from her cloak. "But also sacred. The bond can't be faked or forced."
Fay nodded again. "Headmistress Aelrila De'Noct always leads the ceremony herself. She'll explain the deeper parts when it begins—but it's held in a special chamber, kind of like the Spiral Oculus, just… older."
"When is it?" Bruce asked, concern slowly creeping onto his face.
"Between 3:30 and 5:30 a.m.," Fay said. "So… we'll need to sleep early tonight and get up around 2:45 to prepare."
Mark groaned like a dying toad. "I just survived yesterday's air acrobatics and you're telling me we're waking up before dawn for a death-bonding ritual?"
"Yes," Fay said, grinning mischievously. "Welcome to Arcanum."
It was past midnight when the storm rolled in over Umbra Arcanum. Rain lashed the windows, and distant thunder rolled like forgotten drums. Every other first-year slept soundly, preparing for the Familiar Rite at dawn.
But I… I stirred.
And then I was no longer in my bed.
I stood barefoot in a vast field. The grass was ink-dark, rippling like silk under an unseen breeze. Overhead, the sky was a swirling canvas of gray and shadow, stars hiding behind gauzy veils. A single waterfall roared in the distance—not of water, but ink, pouring endlessly into a jagged tear in space. A fracture. A wound.
And before it, floating above the ground, was a ghostly figure, featureless and bathed in an eerie white glow. It had no face, no eyes, no mouth—yet I felt it watching me.
"Where… am I?" I asked.
The figure tilted its head, voice distant and echoing—like wind whispering through a forgotten cathedral.
"Nine once scattered, yet bound by fate,
Each locked behind a mirrored gate.
When memory stirs and verses climb,
One by one, they wake in time."
It drifted closer, still hovering inches above the grass.
"Fall through shadow, rise through flame,
Seek the truths that bear no name.
Across the veils your path shall wind,
To worlds where echoes twist the mind."
My lips parted to question it, but it raised a hand—ink swirling from its fingertips like smoke.
"Ask not the shape of what must be.
The Fool walks paths none else may see."
"Each Verse a key, each key a door,
To what you are… and so much more."
Suddenly, the ink from the waterfall surged, stretching toward the figure like living tendrils—but it did not move.
"The truth's a jest, the jest a crown.
To rise… first, you must fall down."
"When nine are found, the wheel will turn.
But play with fire, and you may burn."
The waterfall roared louder—deafening now. The ground trembled, and I stumbled backward as the ghost's form flickered like dying light.
"Awaken, Fool. The rite begins.
The ink is watching."
The last thing I saw was the ghost's hand reaching toward mine—and then I jolted awake, breath caught in my throat.
Thunder cracked outside.
Rain pelted the windows.
It was 2:45 AM.
Time to get ready.