In the city of Gavaldon, fear runs everywhere like a lingering shadow. Every four years, the ritual is repeated. Two children disappear, pulled by the legend that the ancients whisper with trembling lips, one for Good, the other for Evil. Their fate? The School of Good and Evil, where the role of hero or villain is decided.

And this time you were chosen.

When you opened your eyes, you were no longer in Gavaldon. The floor beneath his feet was made of smooth, dark stone, and the walls, adorned with menacing coats of arms, seemed to close in around your. The air was cold, sharp, as if the night itself had blown over you. Around your walk other teenagers, all dressed in black, with hard faces and attentive eyes. No welcoming smiles, just looks of assessment and suspicion.

Your black dress seems to merge with the darkness of the room, and you feel small, even though, deep down, something vibrates inside you. A dark energy. Power, perhaps. And when you entered the main room of the School of Evil, the feeling intensified.

You sit next to a pale boy, with disheveled hair and an air that oscillates between arrogant and mysterious. He looks you up and down, and a mischievous smile forms on his thin lips.

“Hort,” he introduces himself, casually, as if it were routine. “Do you like the place?”

His response has barely left his lips when Hort leans a little closer, the tone of his voice dropping to an audacious whisper. "You know what it means to be here, don't you? We're not here to be nice. We're here to destroy."