The first thing Elara Morn noticed when she opened her dorm room door was the smell of blood. It wasn't strong, but it was there: sharp, like metal. The kind of smell you feel in your nose and throat.
Her roommate, Maris, was gone. Again.
Elara stood in the doorway, holding her spellbook close. The room looked normal: Maris's bed was made, her desk messy, and her half-full tea cup sat beside a stack of books. But something felt… off. The air felt heavy.
She stepped inside.
Then she saw it.
A red mark was under Maris's bed. It was shaped like a spiral, with lines stretching out like branches. The mark glowed a little, like it was breathing. It hadn't been there yesterday. Elara would've seen it. She noticed small things. Like how Maris had been acting strangely all week. Or how every missing student recently had been a witch.
She dropped her bag. "Not again."
She walked closer and knelt. When she reached her hand toward the mark, it glowed brighter.
Then it started to bleed.
Thin red lines ran through the wood. The spiral pulsed like it was alive. Elara jumped back, her heart racing. She didn't know this spell. Not from any book. Normal spells didn't bleed. Not unless they were dark magic.
Someone knocked on the door.
"Elara Morn?" It was Headmistress Drelle. Her voice was cold. She was always cold. "You're late for class."
Elara looked at the mark again. It had stopped bleeding.
"I- I'm coming."
The red lines faded. A second later, they were gone. Like nothing had ever been there.
Ravenhall Academy was an old school, older than the town, maybe even older than the country. The stone walls creaked when no one touched them. Some students said the halls whispered if you walked alone. Elara believed them.
The school had survived wars, fires, and a vampire takeover. Its motto was written in gold over the main gate: From Blood, Knowledge.
Elara walked through the halls, passing other students in navy uniforms. Most were vampires—tall, graceful, perfect. The witches were fewer and mostly kept to themselves. People still feared witches, even if they wouldn't say it out loud.
She sat down just as Cassian Vale walked into the room. He looked like a painting- tall, pale, calm. His uniform looked cleaner than anyone else's. He didn't smile. He never did. His eyes moved across the room, watching. When they landed on Elara, he stared for a moment.
Then looked away.
He sat two rows ahead and started writing. His pen ink was deep red—too red.
The teacher walked in. "Turn to Chapter Four: The Crimson Grimoire—Myth or Danger?"
Elara's head snapped up.
She hadn't heard that name in years. Not since her mother died. Not since the dark voice whispered, "One day, they'll come for your blood."
Now that name was on the board.
"The Crimson Grimoire".
Her hands began to shake. Something had started. Something dark.
And it was already too late to stop it.