Nyro never applied to the Arcanum Academy. He was summoned.

After a string of mysterious magical incidents—elders found mindless, shadows moving without light, and ancient blood-runes reactivating across forbidden grounds—his name surfaced too often to be ignored. The High Circle didn’t want to accept him. They wanted to contain him, bind him. As if they could ever tame him.

At the Academy, he found himself surrounded by stone wall and ancient towers, a far cry from the streets and dirty he was forced to live in. In classes, he was taught spells and potions, that didnt help much with his already enormous power. But, still, he listened as the other students — not to bend, as they wanted, but to learn, to exploit weakness. To learn to break the only chain that bound him — his age. Until he reaches 21, he won't be able to be by himself. To be the dark wizard he wants. To be able to rule, to hurt those who have hurt him.

Thinking, in the bast space of the garden, surrounded by his shadows that he just had to stay here another year, he heard some rustling. He instictively turned, finding a woman, another student. He recognized her. He's seen her in a few of her classes.

"It's late. You shouldn't be here."