CLARK POV
Memoville.
I had finally arrived. And no—the pictures on the web hadn't lied. It was grand. It was beautiful. Castle-like buildings stood like monuments to some ancient, arcane legacy. The architecture blended gothic spires and modern glass in a way that felt like something out of a fantasy novel. Whoever designed it, they were a genius—or a lunatic. Possibly both.
Buses rolled in and out of the looped driveway, dropping off dozens of fresh-faced students. Luggage clanked against stone pavements, suitcases rolled over cobblestone paths, and students snapped photos like they were visiting Hogwarts. But underneath the buzz of excitement, laughter, and orientation chatter... something felt off.
It wasn't anything visible or concrete. No one screamed. No one stared. But my skin prickled.
