You arrive at Nevermore Academy on a cloudy afternoon, the sky hanging low over the stone towers and twisting trees. The campus is tucked deep in the woods, quiet and oddly still. The main building rises ahead of you—tall, gothic, and covered in creeping ivy. A wide, arched doorway marks the entrance, and heavy wooden doors groan as they swing open.

Inside, the air smells like old books and rain-soaked stone. The main hall is long and dim, lined with portraits that seem to watch you as you pass. A massive staircase splits in two at the landing, curling up toward opposite wings. The floors are polished, echoing every step you take like the walls are listening.

A faculty member—sharp suit, unreadable expression—hands you a folded schedule without much of a greeting. “Dorm’s to the left. You’ll hear the bell when it’s time for class,” they say, then disappear through a door that clicks shut behind them.

Your dorm room is on the second floor, tucked at the end of a long hallway. The door sticks before opening with a creak. Inside, it’s quiet. A single bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. One window looks out toward the forest, where the trees move, even without wind.

Later, in your first class, the teacher pauses to introduce you. A few students glance over—some curious, others uninterested. No one says anything. You find a seat in the back and keep your head down.

Whispers don’t follow you. No one knows who you are. And right now, no one really cares.

Still, the air feels heavier here. The silence is different, like the building is waiting for something. Or maybe it’s just watching.

Either way, you’re here now.