It had rained the night before, the kind of rain that smelled like copper and left the whole city tasting faintly of rust. Kiria Lane stepped carefully over a puddle outside Vellum & Vine, the crooked little bookstore where she'd worked nearly every afternoon since she turned fifteen. A bent copper bell jingled overhead as she pushed the door open with her hip, arms full of a new box of damaged secondhand novels.
The scent inside was old pages and burning mint, courtesy of her aunt's constant herbal infusions. It clung to the shelves, to the drapes, to Kiria herself.
"Aunt Noelle?" she called, nudging the door shut with her foot.
No answer—just the hiss of the kettle and the scrape of the cat's claws along the banister upstairs. Kiria let the box slump onto the front counter, wincing as a cracked paperback spilled out and slid across the floor like a broken fan.
She sighed. Typical.
The place was quiet today. Outside, trolley bells echoed through the fogged glass. Inside, the store slouched in on itself: walls groaning with uneven bookshelves, dust climbing like ivy over everything. Magic was real here, sure—everybody knew that—but it didn't much affect people like Kiria, or her neighborhood, or her job alphabetizing moldy horror anthologies.
That was the world of guilds, wards, and arcane bloodlines. Her world was stacked used romance paperbacks, missing spines, and lukewarm tea.
Then the post hit the door.
A solid thunk. Like something wanted to be heard.
Kiria blinked. The mail usually came to the box around the corner, and she hadn't heard the courier.
She stepped toward the door and looked down.
One letter. No envelope. No address. No stamp. Just… a wax seal pressed deep into thick, bone-colored parchment.
It shimmered slightly, like it had been dipped in starlight and hadn't quite dried.
The seal itself showed a symbol: a closed eye, surrounded by nine arcane circles. Kiria didn't recognize it—and she had worked in this shop long enough to know the difference between "creepy old" and "this shouldn't exist."
Her fingers hovered above it.
"Noelle?" she called again, louder this time. Still nothing.
She looked at the eye. It almost seemed to twitch.
"Well," she said to the air, "you're not the weirdest thing that's shown up here."
She picked it up.
Her skin prickled as her fingers touched the wax. There was a sound like whispered wind through parchment—then a sudden rush of heat. The wax glowed gold, cracked, and dissolved in her hand like it had been waiting for her.
The letter unrolled by itself.
Kiria took one step back.
The page was blank.
She turned it over. Nothing. She squinted, tilted it to the light.
And then it appeared. In shimmering ink, one word at a time, like someone was writing it from inside the paper.
> Kiria Lane
Present yourself before the Ninth Gate.
You have been Chosen.
Her throat went dry.
Before she could scream, drop it, or laugh at it, the world turned white.
Everything vanished—floor, walls, books, breath.
She felt herself falling upward.
The sensation of falling stopped with a hard slam to her spine.
Kiria gasped, blinking wildly against the light—and then she wasn't falling at all. She was flat on her back, staring up at a cold gray sky framed by impossibly tall, dark spires. The clouds moved like ink in water. The air tasted faintly of iron and ozone.
Stone pressed against her palms—smooth, ancient, and etched with strange circles that pulsed faintly under her skin.
She sat up.
A massive gate loomed behind her—black wrought-iron twined with glowing threads of gold, silver, and blue. Its twin doors creaked shut behind her, locking with a soft chime. Above it, carved in a language she didn't recognize, was a line of glyphs glowing with the same pulsing light.
The world on the other side of that gate was… different. A courtyard unfolded before her, lined in pale marble, glittering towers, and crooked staircases that didn't appear to obey gravity. Students in dark uniforms crossed between halls, robes swishing, wands in hand, heads turned toward their conversations.
They looked like a dream she'd never had—but somehow walked into.
She stood, wobbled, and stepped forward just as a girl brushed past her, nearly knocking her off balance.
"Watch it," the girl snapped, flicking a glowing pin on her collar.
Kiria opened her mouth to respond, but the girl was already gone—vanishing into the flow of traffic like she hadn't seen anything odd about a confused, messy-haired girl standing alone on the warded entry stone.
She turned, looking back at the gate.
No latch. No door handle. Just stone.
Her heart pounded.
She took one step into the courtyard—and suddenly, everything around her stopped.
A quiet pop echoed in the air, like the bursting of a bubble, and for a split second, all sound fell away.
Dozens of heads turned toward her.
The students stared, whispering.
"Who is she?"
"She's not in blue."
"Did she come through the Ninth Gate?"
"That gate hasn't opened in—"
"—Move!"
A boy slammed into her shoulder, shoving past with a swirl of navy robes, a gold wand flicking lazily in his hand.
Kiria stumbled.
"Sorry, I—uh—where am I supposed to…?"
But the boy kept walking, tossing a sharp glance over his shoulder. "If you don't know that, you're already a problem."
She looked down at herself.
Sweater. Jeans. Dusty boots. No wand. No sigil. No robe. Just her and a blank mind full of panic.
The murmurs swelled.
She spotted a sign—First Years: Orientation Hall, West Tower—and made a shaky move toward it.
But before she got far, a long shadow fell over her.
"Student."
She turned—and stopped cold.
A man stood there in a dark coat that shimmered like the sky before lightning. Older. Severe. One hand behind his back, the other holding a glowing sigil between thumb and forefinger.
"You're not on my list."
"I—uh—I got a letter—"
"From whom?"
"I don't know."
More students had stopped now, circling in like hounds scenting weakness.
The man narrowed his eyes. "Come with me."
Kiria opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out. She followed him.
Not because she wanted to.
Because the sigil in his hand pulsed once… and then disappeared, as if it had recognized her.
The moment it vanished, his face changed—from suspicion to something like dread.
And he said nothing else.
The man led her through a set of narrow stone corridors that seemed too tall and too quiet. Kiria struggled to keep up—her boots echoing loudly against the floor while his robes whispered like wind. Arcane glyphs shimmered briefly as they passed, some shrinking back into the walls like startled insects.
She was starting to realize: this place was alive.
They emerged into a chamber with windows that looked out over nothing—just sky and fog, like the tower had been built at the edge of the world.
The man rapped twice on a tall, steel-blue door.
"Enter," came a voice—low, feminine, bored.
The door swung inward on its own.
The Headmistress's Office was a circular room with a vaulted ceiling and a spiraling constellation of floating books around a hovering desk. Behind it sat a woman with charcoal-gray hair pulled into a single braid, her silver robes layered and sharp at the shoulders. Her eyes were unreadable, gold-ringed and ancient.
To her left stood another woman—young, maybe early thirties—with ink-stained hands and a stack of parchment under one arm. Her uniform was slightly frayed, her sleeves rolled up. She looked curious.
To the right stood a man in a bright blue robe, taller than the rest, with an aggressive posture and an even more aggressive sneer.
The older man cleared his throat.
"She entered through the Ninth Gate."
The room fell very still.
The headmistress didn't speak. She gestured once with two fingers. A pale arc of light shimmered to life above the desk: a glowing, transparent map of student records and entry permissions.
Kiria watched as rows of names scrolled in golden light.
Not hers.
The list ended.
The light vanished.
"Name," the headmistress said.
"Kiria Lane."
"Spellcraft score?"
"What?"
"Bloodline?"
"…I don't—know what that means."
A pause.
The man in blue stepped forward. "This is a prank. Or sabotage. No one gets through the Ninth Gate by accident."
The younger woman with the ink-stained hands raised an eyebrow. "She's telling the truth."
"You can't possibly know that—"
"She opened the seal." The woman gestured to Kiria's hands. "I can still smell the magic on her. Something ancient."
"I didn't open anything," Kiria said. "I just got a letter. And then I was here."
The man in blue turned on her. "You don't even have a focus. You could be an infiltrator. Or worse—"
"Enough," the headmistress said quietly. Yet it cut through the room like a blade.
She turned to Kiria again.
"Miss Lane, this is Velryth Academy of the Nine Gates. Entrance is determined by bloodline inheritance, arcane compatibility, and verified nomination from a certified magical lineage. You were not nominated. Your name does not appear in the Gate Records. You have no visible aura. And you are not on the First-Year Manifest."
"I didn't ask to be here," Kiria said, shaking.
"No," the headmistress said. "But you are."
For a moment, the headmistress simply studied her—as if trying to see through her face and spine, into something beneath the skin.
Finally, she stood.
"The Ninth Gate only opens when it chooses to. That power is older than my tenure—and I am not inclined to ignore it."
The man in blue scoffed. "You're letting her stay?"
"I'm letting her be observed," the headmistress said coolly. "She will attend as a provisional student, on academic probation. No casting. No channeling. No dueling. No sigilcraft. And if she steps out of line—"
"I'll handle her myself," the man in blue growled.
The younger woman stepped forward before Kiria could shrink any further. "I'll take her to Housing."
The headmistress nodded. "See that she has robes and an introduction text. And keep her away from advanced wards."
Kiria didn't speak again until the office door closed behind her.
She wasn't sure if she was relieved…
…or if she had just stepped into something she wasn't going to survive.
The woman with the ink-stained hands moved fast, her boots clacking across the tower stairs as if she'd memorized every shift in stone. Kiria trailed behind in silence, still reeling, eyes catching on strange things—portraits that blinked, staircases that turned slightly when no one touched them, cold air that sometimes felt like breath.
"I'm Professor Iralen," the woman said without looking back. "Runes and Arcane Theory, third tier. Not that you'll be enrolled in either of those. Yet."
She turned a corner. Kiria scrambled to keep up.
"Is… is this place always like that?" Kiria asked. "The judging. The—uh—gate glowing. The... hovering books?"
Professor Iralen smirked. "You're lucky the books didn't bite."
"Oh."
They passed through a wide archway into a long hallway with high windows and floating nameplates on every door. Velvet banners hung from the ceiling, each marked with a different symbol. Kiria spotted one that looked like a split sun. Another like an open mouth.
They stopped in front of a door labeled Room 17B – Selwyn / Lane.
Kiria blinked. "Lane. That's me."
"Very perceptive," Iralen muttered. She tapped the door with a chalk stick from her sleeve. It dissolved into light and unlocked.
"I didn't bring anything," Kiria said softly.
"You didn't even bring yourself. The school did that," the professor replied. "Now listen. Your roommate is Selwyn. She's the daughter of the Second Magistrate and ranked fourth in your year. Don't antagonize her. She won't need much reason."
The door creaked open.
Inside, the room looked like two different worlds forced to share a ceiling.
The left side was immaculate: black bedspread, mirrored bookshelf, gleaming silver wand case, a single framed crest on the wall. Everything in its place.
The right side was bare: just a simple bed frame, a trunk, and an empty desk. A folded robe and two books rested at its center like an offering.
Selwyn sat on the edge of her bed, brushing her long, platinum-blonde hair. She didn't look up when they entered.
"This is Kiria Lane," Iralen said. "She'll be staying here. Temporarily."
Selwyn paused, the brush freezing mid-stroke. Her eyes flicked toward Kiria—cool, pale gray, unreadable.
"Why?"
Iralen's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Ask the gate."
Selwyn stood. She was a full head taller than Kiria, with a presence like a drawn blade. She walked over, stopped just inches from her face, and looked her up and down like she was sizing up a stain.
"You're not from any House," she said.
"No," Kiria replied. "I'm from a bookstore."
A beat. Then Selwyn turned away.
"I'm not sharing focus crystals," she said flatly. "And I don't explain spells twice."
"That's one more time than I'd know what to do with," Kiria muttered, trying to smile.
"Don't try to be funny."
"I wasn't."
Selwyn walked back to her bed and picked up a book. "Figures."
Iralen didn't interfere. She just dropped a slim wand case and a folded student map onto Kiria's desk.
"Orientation starts at sixth bell. Don't be late. And don't—under any circumstance—try to cast anything. Just survive today, Lane. That's enough."
She left without another word.
Kiria looked around her new room. Her new world.
Outside the window, the towers of Velryth curved against the bruised sky, rising like a fortress of glass and whispers.
She had no robes. No spells. No wand she knew how to use.
Just a name that didn't belong on the list.
And a city that seemed ready to fall apart.