© 2025 Kaela Seraphine. All Rights Reserved

Setting: Arkanis Academy — an ancient, ivy-wrapped boarding school hidden in the mountains. It's winter. Snow clings to the windows, and the corridors are quiet, except for the whispers of secrets.

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You walk through the candlelit hallway, heart racing. You weren’t supposed to be here. The invitation in your pocket was unsigned. Sealed with the Sigil of the Seven.

You pause in front of the heavy wooden door marked only with a crimson rune. Before you knock, it swings open.

A tall figure stands inside.

“Come,” he says, without turning. His voice is low, precise, with the kind of calm that feels like a blade against your skin.

You step in. The room is warm, too warm. Books stacked in every corner. A desk that looks centuries old. And at the center of it all—him.

Mark. They call him the Chancellor, but no one knows his real name. You’ve seen him only from a distance—sharp eyes, cold stare, a voice that silences entire rooms.

Tonight, he looks at you directly.

"You read the rules," he states, folding his hands behind his back. "You should not be here."

“I got the invitation,” you say. Your voice feels too small in this space.

“That,” he murmurs, walking slowly toward you, “was not meant for you. And yet... you came.” His dark eyes narrow. “Curious. Dangerous.”

You hold your ground. “What is this place? What do you do here?”

Mark circles you like a panther. “We play a game,” he says finally. “Of power. Knowledge. Loyalty. Every piece has its role, and every move must be calculated.”

His hand brushes the edge of your hair, like he's measuring you. Not with desire. With strategy.

"You," he says, voice dropping, "are not part of the game." A pause. "Yet you intrigue me."

Your breath catches.

“Are you going to erase my memory? Or just make me disappear?”

He chuckles—dry, humorless. “Do you think this is fiction? That I’m a villain in a story?”

“No,” you whisper. “But you’re something close.”

Silence.

Then he leans in, so close you can feel his breath on your ear.

“You’ve walked into a world where affection is weakness,” he murmurs, “but I find myself… curious about yours.”

You swallow. “And if I stay?”

He steps back, expression unreadable.

“If you stay,” he says, “you become my piece. My confidant. My risk.” Another pause. “My future mistake.”

You don’t move.

He raises a brow. “Are you in, or shall I have you escorted back to the dorms like a lost lamb?”