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Chapter Text

For as long as Scarlett could remember, she had known she was different. It wasn’t the inky black of her hair, nor the pallid, almost sickly cast of her skin. It wasn’t even the haunting emptiness of her eyes. It was something deeper than that—something that ran through her very magic. She was different because the Spiral had marked her with dark sorcery, and those who bore its touch were seen as vessels of evil.

Scarlett was a Death wizard, and in the Spiral, that was enough to make anyone uneasy. People whispered that those who practiced death magic were cursed, touched by darkness itself. She often wished the Spiral had chosen something else for her—perhaps Life, Myth, or even Balance. But from the moment of her birth, she had been shackled to a title that clung to her like a curse.

Destruction was no stranger to her. Death followed her as faithfully as a shadow, a constant presence she could neither outrun nor deny. It had begun the very day she stepped through the academy doors. When her hand brushed against Headmaster Ambrose’s crystal ball and a veil of shadow swirled within its depths, the air in the room shifted. From that moment, every gaze—students, teachers, even strangers across the Spiral—was colored with fear.

Scarlett had never wanted this. She hadn’t asked to look strange, or to wield a kind of magic most people only spoke of in hushed tones. She was not a monster, yet the world had already decided she was one. And so she withdrew, keeping to herself, repulsed as much by her own nature as others were.

Ravenwood was alive with excitement that afternoon. Students hurried through cobblestone paths, their robes fluttering in the breeze, chatter and laughter echoing between Ravenwood streets. Graduation season was near Soon, the first-years would be paired with traveling companions and sent into the Spiral’s troubled worlds—the first step on the long road to mastery, where wizards were expected to wield their power to restore peace. 

Scarlett watched from her usual spot beneath one of the oldest oaks in the courtyard. The shade was cool, and the dappled light played across the open pages of her spellbook. A training wand rested in her left hand, her thumb brushing its smooth surface in thought. She wasn’t sure if she was preparing for her future… or hiding from it.

Her spellbook had long since grown accustomed to her gentle, timid nature. Though its worn pages were filled with incantations far beyond her comfort, the book seemed to understand her hesitation—to feel the conflict within her. In her studies, Scarlett found it to be her only true friend.

Of course, many of her classmates had tried to reach out, hoping to bridge the distance between them. But none had managed to hold her interest for long. They lacked her gentleness. While she sought understanding, they sought power. If the Spiral feared Death wizards, then her peers were all too eager to give it reason to. Their spells were grand and destructive, cast with pride rather than care.

Scarlett despised this and quietly withdrew from them, daydreaming instead about what it might be like to have friends outside her own dark circle. Though she spoke little, there was one person at the academy she found solace in—her teacher.

At first, she’d been wary of when he introduced himself; she couldn’t help but recall the whispers that haunted the Death school’s reputation: stories of the infamous Malistaire Drake, once Ravenwood’s Death professor, who had betrayed the academy and vanished. Scarlett expected another grim and brooding wizard to take his place.

What she found instead was a kind, slightly hunched gentleman with large, beady-like eyes and a warmth that made his presence strangely comforting. His humor was odd, his grin always a little too wide, but it was genuine—and that was enough for her.

“Don’t ever hesitate to visit me if you crave a bit of company,” he had once told her, his voice carrying that scratchy, old tone unique to him. “After all, I don’t bite—well, not anymore.”

The memory made her smile faintly even now.

“Ah! Young wizard, what are you doing all the way out here?” came a familiar voice, pulling her from her thoughts. “Shouldn’t you be getting to know your peers? Tomorrow morning is the graduation ceremony—and that’s when you’ll be paired with your traveling partner! Very important, you know! Whoever they end up being, you’ll be stuck with each other for quite a long time!”

A long yellow beak peeked out from behind her spellbook, followed by a pair of round, gleaming eyes. Mr. Lincoln—Ravenwood’s ever-watchful faculty members—tilted his head at her, feathers rustling in mock disapproval. His gaze was sharp but not unkind, though Scarlett often wished he’d look anywhere else.

Scarlett blinked up at him from behind her spellbook, caught mid-sentence in her reading. “Oh—Mr. Lincoln,” she said softly, brushing a stray strand of black hair from her face. “I was just… studying.”

“Studying?” he craned, his feathers fluffing slightly. “My dear girl, you’ve been studying since sunrise! Even the most dedicated wizard needs a bit of air—and perhaps a friend or two.”

Scarlett smiled faintly, lowering her book just enough to meet his eyes. “I suppose I’m not very good at the ‘friend’ part.”

“Nonsense!” Mr. Lincoln said, walking closer, his talons clicking against the cobblestones. “You’ll never be good at it if you don’t try. Tomorrow’s ceremony will be the perfect opportunity. New beginnings, new partnerships! Why, I’ve seen lifelong friendships—and more—born from those very pairings.”

Scarlett gave a small hum in response, though her eyes fell back to the open page before her. The parchment edges curled slightly from use, and a faint smile ghosted across her lips. “I just… I don’t think anyone would want to be paired with me, sir.”

The crane tilted his head, studying her. “And why ever not?”

“You’ve heard what they say,” she murmured, her tone dropping low. “About Death wizards. About me…”

For a long moment, Mr. Lincoln said nothing. The rustling chatter of Ravenwood filled the quiet between them—the laughter of students, the chime of spellcasting practice in the distance, the wind stirring through the oak leaves overhead.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than usual. “Young wizard, people will always talk. But their words don’t decide who you are. You do.” He adjusted his spectacles, blinking thoughtfully. “The Spiral doesn’t choose poorly—it only gives us what we’re ready to grow into.”

Scarlett hesitated, unsure how to respond. Part of her wanted to believe him. Another part whispered that she never truly would belong, no matter how kind his words sounded.

“I’ll… try,” she said at last, closing her book with a quiet thud.

Mr. Lincoln nodded, satisfied. “That’s all I ask. Now, off to the dormitories with you soon. Tomorrow’s a big day!”

With a cheerful flutter, he walked off toward his next task. Scarlett watched him go until he disappeared among the crowd. Then she sighed, resting her chin on the cover of her book.

“Tomorrow’s a big day,” she whispered to herself. “And I’m not ready for any of it.”

Scarlett decided that a short trip to the Shopping District might help clear her head. After all, it would be wise to gather a few supplies before the graduation ceremony. With a quiet sigh, she closed her spellbook, dusted off her robes, and stepped into the lively hum of Ravenwood.

The tunnels leading to the Shopping Alley were always crowded this time of year. Students and citizens alike filled the streets of Wizard City, their chatter blending with the rhythmic clatter of boots and the swoosh of passing mounts. Creatures of every shape and color hurried along the cobblestones, each person caught up in their own errands before the grand celebration to come. Graduation season always brought with it a kind of magic that felt alive in the air.

Scarlett didn’t usually enjoy crowds, but even she couldn’t help feeling a faint spark of curiosity as she passed by the shop windows. Gleaming wands shimmered behind glass, their cores glowing faintly with bottled power. Tailors displayed intricate new robe designs that caught the sunlight like silk spun from starlight. At one corner, she paused before a pet shop window, drawn in by the tiny magical creatures dozing or playing inside.

She pressed her clawed fingers gently against the glass, smiling faintly as a small, feathery creature blinked up at her. For a moment, the world felt quiet again—peaceful.

That peace didn’t last long—

A sudden bump jolted her from her thoughts. Scarlett stumbled back a step, clutching her book to her chest as someone barreled straight into her. A flash of fiery red hair filled her vision, followed by a girl in a robe far too bright for her own good—and a hat much too large for her head.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” the girl gasped, steadying herself. Her voice was bright, full of nervous laughter. “Are you okay?”

Scarlett blinked, staring at her in mild surprise. The girl’s hair all but glowed beneath the sunlight, a living flame that matched the crimson trim of her robes. There was no mistaking it—she was a Fire wizard.

Scarlett froze under her gaze, aware of how her own dark eyes must have looked in contrast: deep, shadowed, unnaturally still. The same eyes that made people recoil. Her stomach twisted, and before she could stop herself, she turned away, face burning with embarrassment.

The Fire wizard didn’t seem to notice—or perhaps she simply didn’t care. She smiled, warm and disarmingly sincere. “Really, I should’ve been watching where I was going,” she said, brushing off her robes. “I get a little too excited. Happens all the time.”

Scarlett blinked, uncertain how to respond. Fire wizards were known for their confidence, their energy, and their fierce tempers. She had always kept her distance from them—after all, light and shadow rarely mixed well.

But something about this girl felt… different.

The red-haired girl lingered for a moment longer, brushing back her hair as she studied Scarlett with open curiosity. “You’re a quiet one, huh?” she said with a small grin. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just—well, it’s kind of hard not to run into people today. Everyone’s rushing about like the Spiral’s ending.”

Scarlett blinked, unsure whether to awkwardly laugh or shrink away. “It’s fine,” she said softly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I… should’ve been paying more attention.”

The girl tilted her head, the brim of her oversized hat nearly slipping over her eyes. “You sound like me,” she said with a chuckle. “Though you look like someone who’s got her life much more together than I do.”

Scarlett almost smiled at that—almost. “Not quite,” she murmured.

“Really?” The Fire wizard leaned closer, her voice lowering conspiratorially. “Then we’re both disasters in disguise.”

Scarlett gave a quiet, startled laugh before she could stop herself. It wasn’t much—just a soft sound—but it made the Fire wizard beam in delight as if she’d just won something.

The moment didn’t last.

A sharp, cool voice cut through the noise of the crowd. “There you are.”

Scarlett turned to see a shorter boy approaching, his expression a perfect mixture of impatience and superiority. He was dressed in elegant blue robes, trimmed with frost-white stitching that shimmered faintly like ice under sunlight. His hair was pale, nearly silver, and perfectly in place. Black eyeshadow framed his cold blue eyes, and his lips were as pale as snow.

The Fire wizard groaned softly. “Oh, great,” she muttered under her breath.

“Honestly,” the boy continued as he reached them, “I turned my back for five minutes, and you’re already causing trouble.” His tone was calm but dripping with condescension, the sort only brothers could truly master.

“I wasn’t causing trouble!” she shot back, folding her arms. “I just bumped into someone.”

His eyes flicked to Scarlett then—cold, assessing, but not cruel. “Mm.” He studied her for a moment longer, and Scarlett felt a familiar unease creep up her spine. She lowered her gaze instinctively, not wanting to invite his scrutiny.

“Come along,” he said finally, adjusting his robes. “Our professors want us to make curfew, and I’d rather not deal with another lecture because you got distracted.”

The Fire wizard rolled her eyes dramatically but turned back to Scarlett before following. “Sorry again,” she said with a genuine smile. “I hope I didn’t ruin your day.”

Scarlett hesitated, then shook her head. “No… not at all.”

“Good.” The girl grinned. “Then maybe we’ll bump into each other again. Hopefully less literally next time.”

With that, she jogged to catch up with her brother, their contrasting colors—flame and frost—cutting through the crowd until they vanished around a bend.

Scarlett stood still for a while, the sound of the marketplace returning around her. For some reason, she couldn’t quite shake the lingering warmth that girl’s smile had left behind.

The street had grown quieter since the little commotion outside the pet shop. Scarlett lingered for a moment after the red-haired girl and her pale, cold-eyed brother disappeared down the path, their matching cloaks of red and blue vanishing into the bustle of the shopping alley. 

She smoothed her robes, trying to shake the feeling that she had somehow stepped into something she wasn’t meant to witness. The whole thing had felt like a dream—quick, bright, and strange. Her hand brushed against the pouch at her hip where she had tucked away a few coins meant for buying supplies for herself, and she sighed. “So much for a quiet trip,” she muttered softly, adjusting the strap of her satchel as she started back toward the academy.

The cobblestone streets of Ravenwood stretched before her, the dusky twilight painting everything in soft violet hues. Lanterns flickered to life along the path, their warm light swaying in the gentle breeze. The faint chatter of students heading in for curfew echoed between the old brick walls, and Scarlett found herself slowing her pace, breathing in the comforting scent of woodsmoke and parchment that always drifted around the academy grounds.

Ravenwood stood tall against the darkening sky—its towers of stone and twisted ivy rising like something half alive, the windows gleaming faintly with various colored light. Inside, the air was cool and heavy with the scent of spell ash and candle wax. Scarlett made her way through the entry hall, her boots quiet on the polished floors as the echo of laughter and footsteps filled the space around her.

She passed a group of Death students huddled near the staircase, their uniforms trimmed with silver and white. They noticed her immediately. Scarlett felt their eyes follow her as she walked, the way whispers always did—sharp and cold as needles.

“Isn’t that the quiet one?” one girl muttered under her breath.

“The one who never talks?” another snickered, her voice laced with that particular cruelty born of boredom. “No wonder she’s alone all the time. Feel bad for whomever partners with her at tomorrow’s ceremony.”

Scarlett lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around the strap of her satchel. She didn’t say anything—she never did. She simply kept walking, her soft steps swallowed by the endless corridors of Ravenwood.

Her room was at the very end of the west wing, where the shadows seemed thicker, the air cooler. Most rooms housed two or three students, but hers had always been just one. When she’d arrived for her first term, no one had volunteered to share. “Too quiet,” they’d said. “Too strange and gentle.”

She’d stopped asking after that.

Inside, the room was small but tidy. A single bed pushed against the wall, a modest desk by the window, and a shelf lined with neatly stacked books—everything from herbology guides to essays on ancient necromantic theory. A black candle flickered faintly on her nightstand, casting a gentle glow that made the shadows dance across the walls.

Scarlett set her bag down and sat on the edge of her bed, her shoulders relaxing for the first time all evening. She should have pulled out her notebook, maybe reviewed the lesson on resurrecting the dead she’d half-finished last night. Yet she didn’t.

Instead, her thoughts drifted back—unbidden—to that fiery-haired girl outside the shop and her brother with eyes like frost. Scarlett frowned softly, brushing her hair behind her ear as she stared out the window toward the glowing spires of the city beyond. “Why can’t I stop thinking about it…” she whispered to herself.

Outside, a light rain began to fall, pattering softly against the windowpane. It filled the silence of her lonely dorm with a steady rhythm, the kind of sound that made her heart ache just a little.

She pulled her blanket around her shoulders, leaning back against the headboard. The day had begun with a simple errand and ended with a feeling she couldn’t quite name—half curiosity, half unease.

The night passed in fragments of uneasy dreams. Scarlett drifted between waking and sleep, her mind looping through flashes of Ravenwood—the red-haired girl’s warm voice, the sharp glint of students' icy stares, the faint reflection of her own glowing eyes in a lone mirror. Each time she stirred, the rain outside whispered against the window, soft as secrets.

When morning finally came, it arrived wrapped in silver mist. Sunlight filtered weakly through the clouds, turning the dormitory window into a pale, fogged mirror. Scarlett blinked against the light and sat up, her hair a tangle of dark curls against her pillow. The scent of rain and old parchment still hung in the air, clinging to her robes where she’d fallen asleep in them.

A distant bell rang through the halls—slow, solemn, and echoing—signaling the beginning of graduation day. The sound rolled through the dorms like a tide, waking the whole of Ravenwood. Scarlett could already hear laughter and hurried footsteps beyond her door: students chattering about robes and speeches, last-minute charms, and which professors would cry first.

She took a deep breath, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet, grounding her. It was strange—how something so ordinary could follow a night that felt so heavy.

Her reflection in the mirror by the window was faint, half-hidden by the morning fog. She brushed a hand through her hair and studied herself quietly. The dark veil that shimmered faintly over her eyes made her look almost spectral in the gray light. “You can do this,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

She changed into her graduation robes—dark black trimmed with silver thread that shimmered like starlight when she moved. Around her neck hung the small bone-carved pendant that marked her as a Death student, cold against her skin. She tied her belt neatly and smoothed the fabric, her movements slow and careful, like small rituals meant to steady her hands.

From outside her window, she could see students gathering in the courtyard—splashes of color against the stone, each school of magic wearing their proud hues. Fire students in their brilliant reds, Storm in bold purple and gold, Life in greens that seemed to glow with sunlight. And then there were the Death students—draped in their dark shades, solemn and distant, standing at the edge of it all.

Scarlett lingered by the window for a moment, watching the flutter of banners and hearing the hum of anticipation rising through the morning air. Her heart beat faster—not with excitement, but with the same quiet apprehension that had haunted her since last night.

She slipped down her sleeves, adjusting the cuffs, and took one final glance around her lonely dorm. The small stack of books on her desk, the flickering candle, the worn feather quill—all familiar, all hers. And yet, as she stepped toward the door, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change.

The bell tolled again, louder this time, summoning every student to the Grandfather tree. Scarlett exhaled softly and reached for the doorknob.

“Just another ceremony,” she murmured, as if saying it aloud might make it true.

Then, gathering her courage like a cloak, she opened the door and stepped into the bustling streets of Ravenwood—where the scent of rain, potion mixture, and destiny hung thick in the air.

At the heart of Grandfather Tree, where branches arched like cathedral spires and sunlight filtered through leaves, the first-year students of Ravenwood gathered. The air shimmered faintly with magic—an unseen hum that carried the weight of anticipation.

Merle Ambrose stood proudly at the center, his robes a deep royal purple that swayed with each movement. His trusted owl, Gamma, perched dutifully on his shoulder, blinking at the sea of young faces with knowing patience. The headmaster’s scepter glimmered faintly, its crystal orb catching the light as he greeted students, professors, and the many citizens of Wizard City who had come to witness the ceremony.

The crowd buzzed with life—fire and myth wizards laughing loudly in one corner, storm and ice students boasting about their grades, and a group of life and balance wizards arranging flowers in each other’s hair. Even the usually reserved death students spoke in low murmurs amongst themselves. It was a day of promise and possibility.

Scarlett, however, could feel her stomach twisting into nervous knots. She stood near the back of the crowd, eyes darting around the massive space. The interior of Bartleby—the Grandfather Tree himself—was breathtaking, his inner walls forming vast wooden ridges that spiraled upward like ribs. Hundreds of seats were carved neatly along the inner roots and branches, where students now filed in, their voices echoing softly against the ancient bark.

“Eighty-four students,” Scarlett whispered to herself as she scanned the room, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. “Eighty-four names. Eighty-four fates.”

She tried not to stare at anyone for too long—especially not at the curious glances thrown her way. Her appearance often drew quiet whispers: the inky black hair that shimmered like spilled ink, the pale hue of her skin, and most of all, her dark eyes, their faint unnatural glow.

Scarlett had always known she stood apart. But here, surrounded by laughter and light, she felt it more than ever.

Still, she dared to hope. Out of eighty-three other candidates, maybe—just maybe—one person would see past the veil. Someone kind. Someone who didn’t flinch at the sight of her eyes or whisper when she passed.

Her hands trembled slightly as she smoothed her robes, trying to quiet her thoughts. What if I’m paired with someone who hates Death magic? What if they despise me?

Worse yet—what if she couldn’t bring herself to like them?

The thought made her chest tighten.

A hush slowly fell over the gathered crowd as Merle Ambrose stepped forward, his scepter gently striking the ground. A ripple of blue light spread through the air, silencing all conversation in an instant.

“Welcome, young wizards!” Ambrose’s warm voice echoed, carrying easily through the wooden chamber. “Today marks the beginning of your great journeys through the Spiral. Each of you will be paired with a companion—a fellow wizard who shall share in your triumphs, your lessons, and yes, your hardships.”

Gamma bobbed his head enthusiastically, adding, “Remember, cooperation is key!”

Soft laughter rippled through the crowd.

Scarlett swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the hem of her robe as Ambrose raised his staff again.

“Let us begin the sorting!” he declared, and the crystal at the tip of his scepter glowed with dazzling light.

Scarlett’s heart pounded in her chest. This was it—the moment that would decide who she would walk beside for the rest of her time in the Spiral.

And as the light expanded outward in shimmering circles, painting every face in shades of gold and blue, she couldn’t help but hold her breath.

The blue light rippled across the chamber like drops in still water. From Ambrose’s scepter, dozens of glowing orbs shimmered into being—soft and fluid, like captured starlight. Each one hovered above the students’ heads before darting off playfully, weaving between branches and robes, seeking out their chosen pairings.

Gasps of delight filled the air as the orbs began to guide students together. One by one, partners were joined by a shared glimmer of blue, hands meeting in excitement and laughter echoing through Bartleby’s wooden heart. The Fire and Ice students clashed in friendly rivalry, a Life wizard cheered when paired with a Storm caster, myth and balance rejoiced, even the reserved Death students murmured their quiet approvals when matched.

Scarlett’s breath caught as a faint glow formed above her. A single orb descended, pulsing gently like it could feel her heart’s nervous rhythm.

“Oh,” she whispered, blinking up at it. “You’re mine, then?”

It twirled once in response before floating ahead, beckoning her to follow. Hope stirred faintly in her chest as she gathered her robes and stepped carefully through the crowd. Her heart thumped louder with each step.

The orb drifted along the curved wooden paths, weaving through laughing pairs and glowing clusters of new partners. Scarlett craned her neck, searching for the person the orb would lead her to—someone waiting just beyond the next curve, maybe smiling, maybe curious. Someone who might finally see her.

But as the orb slowed, its light pulsed once more… and then it stopped.

Right in front of her.

No one stood there. No eager face, no reaching hand—just the soft hum of the orb hanging in the air before it dimmed, flickered twice, and winked out completely.

Scarlett froze. “W–wait… that can’t be right.” She turned quickly, scanning the room. Around her, students were laughing, shaking hands, even hugging. Every other orb had found its match.

All except hers.

Her stomach dropped. Maybe she’d miscounted? Maybe there really were eighty-three students, not eighty-four. Or maybe—her throat tightened—maybe it was broken.

Whispers began to ripple from the nearby seats.

“Did hers disappear?”

“Poor thing—guess even the magic doesn’t want her.”

“She’s one of the Death kids, right? Figures.”

Scarlett’s pulse roared in her ears. She tried to blink the blur from her eyes, but tears welled faster than she could stop them. Her hands trembled as she stared at the spot where the orb had vanished.

She lowered her gaze, her vision swimming as laughter and chatter filled the room once more, now tinged with pity and cruel amusement. The walls of Bartleby seemed to close in around her, the once-golden light turning heavy and dim.

And then—

“Hey!”

A clear, bright voice cut through the noise. Scarlett blinked, turning her head toward it.

Pushing through the clusters of paired students was a familiar shock of fiery red hair. The same girl from the shopping district—robes slightly wrinkled, hat still a little too big for her head, but her grin as radiant as ever.

She stopped just a few feet away, tilting her head. “Looks like you didn’t get anyone either,” she said lightly, hands on her hips. “Wanna team up with me?”

Scarlett blinked through her tears, stunned into silence.

For a heartbeat, she could only stare—at that small, reckless smile that shouldn’t have felt so kind, and yet somehow did.

The room’s laughter faded to a dull hum in her ears.

And for the first time all semester, Scarlett felt something unfamiliar spark within her chest—something bright, fragile, and impossibly warm.

.

.

.

Katie Redblood had always been a force of nature in her own right—a living spark born of sand, sun, and smoke. Growing up in the blazing outback of Wallaru had shaped her into something untamed and spirited, much like the wild desert winds that howled across the dunes. Reckless and bursting with energy, she carried herself with the sort of fearless enthusiasm that often bordered on trouble. 

There was never a day she didn’t return home with singed sleeves or soot-streaked cheeks, and her laughter—bright and brash—always carried through the heat-hazed air like a crack of wildfire.

Her family was as strange and vibrant as the land they called home. Her mother, a humanoid fire nymph with skin that shimmered faintly like embers, had passed down her boundless love for flame and magic alike. Her father, on the other hand, was a towering, feline carpenter—an anthropomorphic wildcat whose fur glistened like the desert plains beneath the blistering sun. 

It was from him that both Katie and her younger brother, Angel, inherited their twitching ears, flame-hued tails. But where Katie’s spirit burned untamed, her brother’s heart was a mountain of frost. Angel was precise where she was careless, calm where she was impulsive, and perpetually exasperated by her inability to take anything seriously. He often called her a menace with a twitch of his lips, saying he didn’t mean it—though he’d never admit how much he worried about her behind those cold blue eyes.

Even as children, the differences between them were as stark as fire and ice. Katie’s energy was relentless; she’d race across the red sands barefoot, chasing mirages or trying to catch the wild desert creatures that danced at twilight. Her father used to say she was born with fire in her veins instead of blood. When her magic began to manifest at a young age—tiny sparks that jumped from her fingertips when she giggled—her mother had been the first to recognize the depth of her gift. By the time she reached ten, Katie could summon fireballs as easily as she could breathe, though control was another matter entirely.

Ravenwood’s offer to study came as little surprise to the Redbloods. Tales of her early magical outbursts had reached far and wide—though not always for the best reasons. There was the infamous incident where she’d accidentally set half of a Wallaru market ablaze trying to light a candle, or the time she’d caused a geyser of molten glass to erupt during a bit of reckless play. 

Still, beneath the chaos and smoke, there was undeniable promise. When the acceptance letter finally arrived, sealed with the Ravenwood crest, Katie had nearly burned a hole through it in excitement.

Wizard City was a world apart from the desert she called home. The air there was cool and damp, the trees impossibly green, and the cobblestone streets hummed with life and chatter. It was a place of discipline, study, and decorum—three things Katie had never been especially fond of. She’d arrived with soot on her boots, a crooked grin, and an unshakable confidence that she’d figure things out as she went. And for the most part, she did… or at least, she tried to.

Despite her fiery talent and boundless enthusiasm, Katie wasn’t exactly the model student. She was forgetful, impulsive, and hopelessly naive about how the world truly worked. Schedules were suggestions, rules were more like polite guidelines, and boundaries existed mostly to be tested. She often found herself in trouble—not because she meant harm, but because she simply didn’t think before acting. Her professor alternated between exasperation and reluctant amusement, while her classmates either adored her energy or avoided her for fear of spontaneous combustion.

Still, there was something undeniably endearing about her. Even when she failed—and she failed often—she always bounced back, dusting off her robes and laughing at her own missteps. Katie carried warmth wherever she went, the kind that drew people in even when they didn’t fully understand her. Her heart was as open as the desert sky, and her spirit refused to be dimmed, no matter how many times she stumbled.

And though she didn’t yet realize it, her boundless flame—the same reckless spark that often got her into trouble—was what made her truly extraordinary. For Katie Redblood, life was meant to be lived in color, in laughter, and in fire.

The day before the ceremony, the world outside Ravenwood's academy doors couldn’t have felt more different.

Back in Wallaru, heat shimmered over the red sand dunes like waves on a copper sea. The wind carried the scent of dust and eucalyptus, whispering through the sun-cracked stones of the Redblood family homestead. The house stood proudly against the endless desert—a patchwork of sandstone, tin, and worn wood that had seen generations of stubborn, magic-touched folk come and go. 

Katie Redblood sat cross-legged on the flat roof, flicking sparks from her fingertips into the wind. The firelight glowed gold against her sun tan skin and wild red hair, each spark crackling like laughter before fading into the dusk. She grinned to herself, ears twitching, pleased with the way the flames danced to her tune.

“Oi, Katie!”

A voice called from below. She looked down just in time to see her brother Angel trudging across the sand, the sun catching in his pale white hair like a shard of frost.

“You’re gonna set the roof on fire again,” he said dryly, shading his eyes. “And I’m not putting it out this time.”

Katie rolled her eyes. “Relax, snowflake. I’m just practicing. Enjoying a little break away from school rules.”

“Practicing what, burning the house down?” Angel’s tone carried the usual mix of irritation and begrudging fondness. He stopped at the edge of the roof, crossing his arms. “You know, for a Fire wizard, you don’t exactly have a lot of restraint.”

“Where’s the fun in restraint?” she shot back, grinning down at him. “You Ice types just like to freeze everything that moves. Including your sense of humor.”

Angel muttered something under his breath, too soft for her to catch. Probably another one of his responsibility lectures. He’d been giving them ever since they got their acceptance letters from Ravenwood a year prior.

When Katie finally hopped down from the roof, landing lightly in the dust, she brushed ash from her shirt and gave him a playful shove. “Come on, lighten up. Tomorrow’s the big day! We’re gonna be real wizards, Angel.”

“We’re already real wizards,” he reminded her, even the serious one. “Tomorrow’s just… the next step.”

She tilted her head at him, amusement tugging at her lips. “You mean the part where we get paired with total strangers for who-knows-how-long?”

He sighed, adjusting his robes. “That’s exactly the part I mean.”

Katie laughed, the sound carrying through the hot air like a crack of lightning. “You worry too much. Whoever I get paired with, I’ll make it work. Fire’s good at that—we spread.”

Angel gave her a sidelong look. “You mean you cause chaos.”

“Tomato, tomahto.”

The two siblings stood together at the edge of the homestead, the wind sweeping across the dunes and tugging lightly at their hair and furred tails. For a moment, the desert was peaceful — just the sigh of the sand, the distant cry of a night hawk, and the last molten sliver of sun dipping beneath the rolling red horizon.

Then Angel exhaled sharply through his nose, the way he always did when a thought had been bouncing around in his head long enough to irritate him.

“…You know,” he said, glancing up at her with that younger-brother look he’d perfected since the moment he learned to talk, “I still haven’t quite recovered from what you did to that girl in Wizard City.”

Katie squinted at him, having already forgotten the ordeal. “What girl?”

Angel gave her a pointed stare. “The girl. The one you nearly flattened in the shopping alley.”

Recognition dawned on Katie’s face like a lantern being lit. “Ooooh, you mean Miss Nervous Death School Girl?”

Angel pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s not her name.”

“Well I didn’t catch her real name,” Katie said defensively, “since someone dragged me away!”

“That’s because,” Angel said, slowly and with painful emphasis, “you almost set fire to her robes trying to lean over to talk to her. Even so! You scared the poor girl.”

Katie huffed. “That wasn’t my fault! The alleyways in Wizard City are too crowded. Throws off my balance.”

Angel stared at her in mild disbelief. “Only you would throw accountability.”

She kicked a pebble at him. “Oi! I wasn’t that bad.”

He scoffed. “Katie, you nearly announced your full name, your hometown, your entire life story, and your shoe size before she even finished blinking.”

Katie winced at the memory — because, unfortunately, that did sound like something she would do. The stranger in question had been a girl with noir hair, a book hugged tightly to her chest, and wide, startled almost glowing eyes that flicked between Katie and elsewhere. As if she were scared to even look at her…

“She was cute though,” Katie muttered, mostly into her shoulder.

Angel froze mid-step, staring at her “…You think everyone is cute.”

“No, I don’t,” she said indignantly. “Just… people who are cute.”

Angel blinked twice, clearly regretting asking. “Katie, you called a putrid weevil cute last week.”

“It had a charming color!”

He didn’t even dignify that with a response.

Instead, he crossed his arms, letting the wind ruffle his snow-white hair. “Well, charming or not, you nearly scared that girl half to death. I swear she looked like someone had pointed a basilisk at her.”

Katie couldn’t help it — she laughed, loud and bright, the sound echoing over the desert. “Okay, maybe she was a little jumpy.”

“A little?” Angel said incredulously. “She froze like a petrified wallaby. Even though–she was much more horrifying.”

Katie groaned dramatically, dragging both hands down her face. “Ughhhhh, don't be cold hearted. She wasn't.”

“She wasn’t?” Angel said. “Did you see the way she looked? Reminds me of those terrifying ghost stories pa’ used to tell us around the campfire.”

Katie blinked. “…Seriously, Angel?”

“Yes,” he said. 

Katie turned her gaze back toward the horizon, the dying light catching the edges of her hair and painting her silhouette gold. For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The desert stretched endlessly around them, but her thoughts were already wandering back to the cobblestone streets of Wizard City — to the bustle, the colors, the magic drifting in the air like morning dust.

And, unwillingly, to the pale girl she’d stumbled into.

“Do you think I scared her off?” Katie asked quietly, though she tried to hide it under a laugh.

Angel softened — just a fraction. “You… might have startled her. But you didn’t scare her off.”

Katie groaned again. “Why am I like this?”

Angel nudged her shoulder. “Because you're Katie redblood. You’re loud. And messy. And reckless.” He paused, his voice gentler.

“But anyone with half a brain can see that’s not a bad thing.”

Katie blinked at him, surprised by the rare softness.

Angel cleared his throat immediately. “Just… try not to injure anyone tomorrow. That’s all I’m asking.”

“No promises,” she said with a grin.

He sighed. “I figured.”

Their mother’s voice called from the kitchen window, the soft accent of a Wallaru native wrapping around her words. “Katie! Angel! Get back to Ravenwood before curfew! And don’t track in sand again!”

“Yes, ma!” they chorused, glancing at each other before breaking into laughter.

Katie hesitated a moment longer, staring out at the glowing horizon. A flicker of excitement stirred in her chest—a warmth that had nothing to do with fire magic. Tomorrow, she’d meet her companion, explore distant lands, maybe even make a name for herself beyond Wallaru’s dusty plains.

Angel noticed her lingering and nudged her shoulder gently. “Come on. Don’t want Ma getting angry and burnin’ the house down.”

Katie smirked. “That’s my job.”

As they headed back off to the world door, the first stars began to appear over the desert, faint and flickering. Somewhere deep down, she wondered who her partner would be. Hopefully someone with enough spark to keep up.

She didn’t know it yet—but the next day, that spark would come—if she at least could make it to see it.

Morning sunlight crept through the tall, arched windows of Ravenwood like a polite guest trying not to wake anyone. It filtered across rows of stone dormitories, painting everything in soft gold… except for one room, where a much less graceful awakening was taking place.

Katie shot upright in her bunk with a strangled gasp.

“—Crikey…I’m LATE!”

Her voice ricocheted off the walls, scattering her thoughts as thoroughly as the clutter already strewn across the floor. A half-melted candle sagged on her nightstand. A pair of boots lay abandoned in the doorway like fallen soldiers. Her wand — charred at the edges from last night’s “practice” — was tucked under her pillow where no wand had any right to be.

Katie blinked around the room, still shaking sleep from her ears.

Her roommates’ beds were empty. Neatly made. Completely abandoned.

“…Oh no,” she whispered, eyes widening. “They already left?!”

Of course they had. It was Graduation Pairing Day. The entire school was buzzing about it last night — the excitement, the nerves, the horror stories whispered in the hallways about mismatched pairs and cursed partnerships. Every student in the Fire dorm had been prancing about with their uniforms pressed and boots polished.

And Katie Redblood?

She had fallen asleep on top of her spellbook, with a gifted half-eaten caramel candy stuck in her hair.

Which she discovered again now as she reached up and yanked the sticky mess free with a groan.

“Ugh—brilliant. Just brilliant.”

She stumbled out of bed, tripping over a robe sleeve, catching herself on the wardrobe door, then nearly slamming her face into it as it swung open. Clothing exploded outward like it had been waiting years for this moment. Socks flew. A scarf wrapped itself briefly around her tail before she ripped it off.

Her voice echoed down the hallway as she fumbled inside the wardrobe, “Angel’s gonna kill me if I’m late—AGAIN!”

Somewhere in another dorm, she imagined her brother already dressed, polished, and probably reading through ceremony instructions three times over just to calm himself. He’d gone to bed early, of course. Told her she should do the same.

She hadn’t listened.

Not even a little.

Katie finally tugged out her Fire School robe — or at least one of them — though it was wrinkled, slightly singed at the hem, and smelled faintly of dirt and smoke. She didn’t have time to question why.

She yanked it over her nightshirt, tugged on her hat, hopped into her boots, then looked wildly around for her wand.

“Wand, wand, wand—where did I—oh.”

She lifted her pillow.

“There you are, you little menace.”

It was slightly warm, because of course it was. She shoved it into the holster at her belt and barreled out the door, tail flicking frantically behind her.

The hallway of the Fire dormitory was deserted. Everyone was already gone, their footsteps long vanished into the courtyard. Even the air smelled expectant — a blend of perfume, baked bread from the morning breakfast, and that ever-present trace of magic that shimmered in Wizard City mornings.

Katie sprinted down the stairs two at a time.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, don’t start without me—!”

She nearly collided with a cluster of first-years marching in a neat line. They scattered like startled birds as she skidded past, shouting apologies that dissolved into the sound of her boots slapping the stone.

Out in the courtyard, Grandfather Tree towered over Ravenwood, his branches rustling like an enormous whisper of welcome. Students poured into the entrance hall in every color — red, blue, yellow, green, purple, white, and black — robes fluttering, wands ready, voices buzzing with anticipation.

Katie’s heart hammered with excitement and dread.

Please don’t let Angel be mad. Please don’t let Angel be mad. Please don’t let Angel—

“KATHERINE!”

Katie winced.

Yep. He was mad.

Angel stood at the base of the courtyard, arms crossed, his pale blue robes immaculate and his white hair perfectly combed. He looked like a blizzard made human — elegant, cold, and absolutely unimpressed.

“You’re late,” he said, voice icy enough to frost a window.

Katie flashed him a guilty smile. “Only a little late?”

He glanced up at the sun. “You missed the morning bells. Twice.”

“…Right. So more than a little.”

Angel grabbed her sleeve before she could bolt past him. “Try not to trip on the way in. The ceremony already started seating.”

“Then why are we standing here talking? Let’s go!”

She tugged him forward, and together the two siblings joined the stream of students heading into Grandfather Tree’s great hall — one looking composed and dignified, the other dragging leaves in her hair and breathing like she ran a marathon.

Katie, despite everything, grinned.

Today was the day.

And she was finally here.

Katie had never seen Grandfather Tree’s great hall so alive.

It felt as though the entire Spiral had squeezed inside — students in bright robes, teachers gliding through the rows like watchful owls, and citizens of Wizard City filling every open seat. The ceiling branches arched like cathedral beams, glowing softly with drifting motes of green and gold.

Katie stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Angel, trying to catch her breath as the last stragglers rushed in behind them.

“Find a seat,” Angel murmured, patting her shoulder once — the Redblood version of a hug. “And try not to ignite anything.”

“No promises,” Katie whispered back with a grin.

They separated into their respective rows, Fire to the left, Ice to the far right. Katie plopped down between two other Fire wizards — one who smelled like burnt scrolls, the other who looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

Before she could ask either of them if she’d missed anything important, Merle Ambrose raised his staff.

The room fell quiet at once.

“My young wizards,” the headmaster began, voice warm and ringing, “today marks the first step of your long journey through the Spiral. May your partnerships be wise, balanced, and—”

Katie elbowed the boy beside her.

“What’s happening first?”

“Watch,” he whispered.

All around the room, tiny orbs of shimmering blue light blossomed into existence. They sparkled like captured stars, rising into the air on invisible currents. A few students gasped. Some reached out and nearly touched them before pulling back in awe.

Katie blinked.

“Oh… oh WOW.”

The orbs hovered above the crowd for one suspended heartbeat—

—then shot downward like guided fireflies.

Gasps, laughter, shouts followed as the orbs zipped between students, weaving and circling until finally choosing someone. One by one they settled in front of their selected wizard, humming like pleased little creatures.

Her rowmates leaned back as their orbs whirled around their heads, tugging gently at their sleeves.

“Come along, partners!” Ambrose called cheerfully. “Follow your guide!”

Students began to rise, following their glowing orbs across the hall like ducklings chasing lanterns. Katie sprang from her seat, excitement thrumming in her chest.

“This is it,” she whispered to herself. “This is actually it!”

Her orb drifted toward her — a tiny bright thing, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Katie reached out—

—and the orb flickered.

Paused.

And then… softly… quietly…

…vanished.

Pop.

Gone.

Katie froze.

“…Huh?”

She waved a hand through empty air. “Um. Hello? Little orb? You… forgot something? Which was me—”

But nothing reappeared.

Around her, orbs guided students playfully through the crowd. Spirals of light curled around wizards pairing off — a Storm student bumping into a Myth student and awkwardly shaking hands; a Balance student bowing dramatically to a death girl who already looked sick of him; a pair of Ice twins crying because they ended up with each other.

Katie looked to the right, searching for Angel.

He was easy to spot: short, white-haired, vaguely annoyed by everything. His orb hovered proudly at his shoulder as it escorted him toward a Life wizard wearing glasses so big they magnified his eyes like a startled owl.

Angel’s expression softened, polite and composed.

The Life wizard waved so enthusiastically he nearly slapped his own wand from his hand.

Katie would’ve laughed if her stomach hadn’t just fallen through the floor.

Why didn’t I get a partner? Did I do something wrong? Did mine break…?

She shook her head — too fast, too hard. The room suddenly felt much too large, too bright, too loud. Heat prickled beneath her skin. Her hair beginning to slowly smolder with anger.

Not now.

Not now.

But the whispers were already starting.

A few students snickered.

Katie swallowed, cheeks burning hot as embers. She took a step back, then another. She didn’t want anyone looking at her. She didn’t want to get angry in front of an eighty-three-student audience.

But then she noticed—

The stares weren’t aimed at her.

They were aimed past her.

Katie followed their gazes.

And there, standing alone near the back of the room—was the girl from the shopping district.

The death wizard

Her dark robes hung around her small frame like fabric made from shadows. Her eyes — those strange, haunting, softly glowing eyes — were fixed on the ground as if she no longer trusted herself to look up. Tears clung to her lashes, trembling but not yet falling.

Beside her, the space where an orb should have been was painfully, unmistakably empty.

Katie’s breath hitched.

The girl looked so lost, shoulders drawn inward, trembling just enough for Katie to notice. And students were snickering at her— whispering behind hands, pointing, laughing as though her loneliness was something amusing.

Katie felt something hot and fierce coil in her chest.

Not fire.

Something sturdier.

Something protective.

And before she even realized she’d moved, she was already taking a step forward—

Words rising in her throat.

“Hey!” she called across the noise, voice firm, warm, cutting through the hall like a spark in dry brush. “Looks like you didn’t get anyone either.”

Dozens of heads turned.

Katie didn’t care.

She smiled — small, bright, and honest.

“Wanna team up with me?”

Katie hadn’t meant to speak quite so loudly.

But the moment the words left her mouth, the crowd parted—not physically, but with their eyes, their whispers, their subtle turning of heads—as though she had cast a spell that drew every last gaze toward her and the trembling girl at the back.

Scarlett lifted her head at the sound of Katie’s voice.

Just barely.

Her eyes, dimmed with tears, flickered upward like two glowing orbs. A few tears slipped free, cutting faint gleaming streaks down her pale cheeks. She looked… startled. As though no one in the world had ever spoken to her kindly before.

Katie’s chest twisted.

For a heartbeat, Scarlett just stared at her—wide-eyed, fragile, as if she expected Katie to laugh or mock her like the others.

Katie extended a hand for a small, encouraging shake.

Nothing fancy. Just… friendly.

Scarlett hesitated.

The poor girl actually hesitated, like even an introduction was something dangerous.

Katie blinked, her ears flicking back in surprise. Has no one ever been nice to her?

Scarlett’s lips parted. A shaky breath escaped before she whispered, barely audible over the remaining murmurs:

“W-why… me?”

Katie stepped closer.

Students edged aside as she moved—not because of her, but because they were all watching, curious and nosy and hungry for drama. Katie ignored them. She focused only on the girl in front of her, standing alone in her shadow-dark robes with her hands trembling at her sides.

When Katie reached her, she didn’t get too close. Just enough that Scarlett wouldn’t have to raise her voice to speak.

Scarlett darted her gaze toward the floor again, voice small and thin as thread.

“You… you don’t want me as a partner,” she murmured. “No one does. I’m… I’m not the perfect choice. I’m not even a good one.”

Her fingers twisted nervously into the fabric of her sleeves.

“Everyone’s scared of me,” she whispered. “Even if they pretend not to be.”

Katie blinked slowly, letting that sink in.

Right–The glowing eyes. Being a death wizard. The quietness. The way she curled into herself like she was apologizing for taking up space.

She could see how someone might misunderstand her.

But fear? Of this girl?

Katie shook her head.

“Oi,” she began gently, though she wasn’t actually sure how gentle she really was—but it felt right, like a guess guided by instinct. “I’m gonna be real honest with you.”

Scarlett stiffened, bracing.

Katie grinned again—bright, warm, utterly unbothered.

“I wouldn’t be the perfect partner either.”

Scarlett’s head jerked up a little, eyes widening.

“I mean it,” Katie continued, flipping a curl of red hair over her shoulder. “I’m reckless. I’m late to everything. I set more things on fire than I mean to. And half the time my brother has to drag me out of trouble by the hood.”

From the opposite side of the hall, Angel groaned softly into his hands.

A few students snickered; Katie sent their section a fierce glare, and the snickering died at once.

“But,” she continued, turning back to Scarlett, “I don’t think you’re scary.”

Scarlett blinked. Slowly. Disbelieving.

Katie shrugged. “You have unique glowing eyes! That’s not scary. You were looking at magical creatures in a pet shop window. Also not scary. And you look like you’re about to faint right now…which is many things, maybe a bit concerning—but definitely not terrifying!”

A tiny scoff escaped Scarlett.

Not quite a laugh.

But close.

Katie felt victorious.

“Look,” she said, lowering her voice, softening it the way her mother softened her own. “Whoever the orb was supposed to choose, it clearly didn’t do its job. So I’m choosing.”

She stuck out a hand—open, warm, steady.

“No matter what anyone says, we’re partners now. You and me.”

Scarlett’s gaze flicked to the offered hand.

She hesitated.

Her breath hitched.

Her fingers twitched.

Katie didn’t push. She simply waited—patient, warm, stubborn in all the ways fire could be. The hall around them hummed with whispers, but the space between them felt still, suspended, almost sacred.

Finally—finally—Scarlett reached out.

Her hand was small and cool against Katie’s palm.

Fragile.

Uncertain.

But she didn’t pull away.

Katie’s smile burst into something bright and triumphant, like sunrise over red Wallaru sands.

“There we go,” she murmured, giving Scarlett’s hand a careful, gentle squeeze. “See? Not so hard. Now then for a proper introduction! My name's Katie Redblood.”

Scarlett’s cheeks flushed. Her eyes, still shimmering with leftover tears, softened at the edges—just a touch. “I'm Scarlett Deathscythe...”

Around them, whispers swelled again, louder, sharper.

Katie didn’t spare them a glance.

She slid one protective hand forward, tail flicking in mild irritation. If anyone had something to say to her partner, they could say it to her first.

“Come on,” she said, keeping Scarlett’s hand in hers as she turned toward the front. “Let’s go find some seats, we can talk a bit more, ya'?”

Scarlett let out a tiny, breathy sound that might have been half a nod, half a sigh of relief.

Together, the Fire wizard and the Death wizard stepped into the center aisle.

And for the first time that day—

Neither felt alone.

Chapter Text

The Sorting Ceremony had ended as swiftly as a gust of wind—brilliant one moment, gone the next—leaving the first-years blinking in the late-morning sunlight as they spilled from the ceremonial hall. Headmaster Ambrose’s final words still hung in the air like dust motes of wisdom: assignments will arrive within twenty-four hours; spend the day acquainting yourselves with your partners.

A daunting task, to say the least. Choosing a companion for the next several years—and at the tender age of ten—was something most would balk at. Yet the students marched out with varying degrees of excitement, fear, or shock, already tethered to one another by fate, magic, or sheer misfortune.

For Katie, however, the idea was marvelous. The fiery outback girl practically crackled with energy, excitement radiating from her in warm waves that would have softened even the coldest winter.

For Scarlett, it was… less marvelous.

Despite being only a few hours into their partnership, Scarlett already felt her energy draining as surely as water through a sieve. The ceremony itself had been overwhelming—the lights, the whispers, the surprise of being chosen at all—and now she found herself trailing through the streets of Wizard City with a girl who seemed to run on pure enthusiasm and adrenaline.

They could not have been more different.

Scarlett walked ahead with her shoulders drawn tightly inward, her spellbook tucked under her arm, and her eyes fixed on the shopping district up ahead. She had already scribbled a meticulous list of supplies they would need, each item written in her tiny, sharp handwriting. Preparation felt safe. Predictable. Something she could manage.

Katie, on the other hand, bounced along behind her like a fire ball freshly released from a wand.

“Come on! Let’s go practice spells in the Commons—wouldn’t that be fun?” Katie chirped, practically skipping to keep pace. “Or—or we could get a snack! I didn’t make it to breakfast this morning before the ceremony, so what do you say?”

Scarlett tried—she truly tried—to ignore the glances of older students who turned at the bright, unmissable sound of Katie’s voice. A few eyes lingered on Scarlett longer than she liked. Some whispered. Some pointed. She swallowed hard and kept moving.

Katie didn’t notice. Or, perhaps, Katie didn’t care.

Scarlett cleared her throat, looking down at her list as though her life depended on it. “I… suppose we could stop for food during our errands,” she said, her voice barely above the hum of the crowd. “As for practicing spells, we’ll have more than enough time once our assignments arrive.”

The disappointment on Katie’s face was immediate and dramatic. Her lower lip jutted out in a pout, tradition of someone who believed the universe should apologize for its refusal to keep up with her excitement.

“Fine, fine,” she sighed heavily. “You’re the boss.”

Scarlett’s ears warmed. She wasn’t used to being listened to—let alone deferred to. For a heartbeat she wondered if Katie was teasing her, but the fire wizard’s expression was earnest, sincere, and just a little too wide-eyed to fake.

The two fell into step, weaving through the bustling marketplace of Wizard City. It was clear this partnership would take work—on both ends. Katie would have to learn the subtle language of silence. Scarlett… the daunting dance of being near someone who was not afraid of her.

It was an odd pairing.

An unexpected one.

But the Spiral had a peculiar way of nudging together the souls that needed each other most. 

The shopping alley of Wizard City bustled like a beehive struck—alive with chatter, swirling color, and the warm glow of lanterns enchanted to drift lazily overhead. Vendors called out their wares while familiars scampered between the feet of hurried students. Somewhere, a floating broom zipped past far too fast, followed by an irate shopkeeper shaking a wand in protest.

Scarlett kept her eyes forward, weaving with careful precision through the chaos. Katie trailed behind her in a much less composed fashion—at one point stopping entirely to gawk at a stand selling magically self-roasting marshmallows, only to jog into a lamppost when she tried to walk and stare at the same time.

“Here,” Scarlett said as they approached a tidy little shop stacked with crates, travel packs, scroll tubes, and potion satchels. Its wooden sign read: Prospector Zeke's Journeying Goods – For All Your Adventuring Needs. Delightfully quaint.

Scarlett stepped inside swiftly, tugging along the aloof fire wizard by the edge of her robes.

“We’ll need supplies,” Scarlett began briskly, moving through the aisles with her list gripped firmly. “A proper tent, bedrolls, travel cloaks, some extra mana phials, parchment, maybe an emergency potion or two—oh, and definitely waterskins enchanted against evaporation. Wallaru may not have bothered you, but I would prefer not to shrivel like a raisin if we end up assigned there.”

Katie, who had been poking a suspiciously glowing lantern, hummed absently. “Mm-hmm. Sure. Raisin bad.”

Scarlett paused, her brow twitching. “Katie. Are you listening?”

Still distracted, Katie lifted the lantern that flickered between blue and purple fire. “Do you think this would make my hair look dramatic? Like—shadowy dramatic?”

“Katie.”

The fire wizard blinked, turned, and finally snapped her attention down to where Scarlett stood—arms folded, foot tapping, patience thinning like a poorly stretched spell thread.

Scarlett eyed her partner from head to toe. Katie’s once-red robes were now more of a muddled brown—burnt at the hem, singed at the sleeves, and sprinkled with so much dirt one might think she’d rolled down a hill moments earlier. Her boots were scuffed, her tail fluff crooked, and there was a smudge of soot across her cheek.

“…Are you really planning to wear that during our ventures?” Scarlett asked delicately, but her tone betrayed a strong undertow of genuine concern.

Katie looked down at herself. Then back up. Then shrugged with the charming confidence of someone who found her appearance captivating.

“Uh… yeah? Why? What's wrong with my lucky robes?” she asked.

Scarlett gestured with both hands at the general catastrophe of Katie’s outfit. “Because it looks like you have been set ablaze. Tossed into a puddle of mud. Then got in a fight with a bunch of animals—and lost.”

Katie brightened. “Oh! Then it’s authentic adventurer wear!”

“No,” Scarlett said firmly. “It’s a mess and barely holding together. And we are not entering unfamiliar realms with you dressed like you just combusted into a living fireball.”

Katie opened her mouth, then paused, ears twitching thoughtfully. “Well… when you put it like that…”

Scarlett raised a brow. “I cannot believe I have to be the sensible one.”

“Hey!” Katie huffed, though her grin betrayed her amusement. “I can be sensible. Sometimes. When absolutely forced.”

“And I fear I will be doing the forcing rather often.” Scarlett sighs, but can't help the small smile on her pale lips.

Katie’s tail swished, proud and unbothered. “Well, good thing you’re tiny and bossy. You’ll fit perfectly on my shoulder when you get tired.”

Scarlett stared at her, as though calculating whether that was meant as a joke, an insult, or—horrifyingly—both.

“Come on,” Scarlett sighed at last. “We’re getting you new robes. Proper ones. Ones that won't combust the moment your excitement gets the better of you.”

Katie’s eyes lit up again, enthusiasm returning in full blaze. “Ooh! Do you think they have robes that sparkle when I cast fire spells? Or perhaps one that will make me look ripper, mate?”

Scarlett pinched the bridge of her nose, resigned. “Let’s… take it one step at a time.”

Together they stepped deeper into the crowded shop—Scarlett patient, Katie bouncing with barely contained excitement—as they headed toward the counter.

Prospector Zeke's Journeying Goods was a maze of crates, shelves, and dangling starter brooms. Scarlett moved past without much of a hassle, Katie on the other hand continued to poke, gawk, or accidentally set minor things aflame.

They collected the necessities one by one—Scarlett checking each item off her list with neat strokes:

A compact, self-pitching tent.

Two sturdy bedrolls enchanted to stay warm at night.

Mana phials clinking softly in a padded satchel.

A travel kettle that heated itself with a flick.

Waterskins charmed against leaks and evaporation.

Emergency rations (“freeze-dried stew isn’t that bad,” Katie insisted, immediately regretting it after sampling a free tester).

By the time they reached the counter, Katie had balanced everything in a precarious mountain in her arms while Scarlett cautiously placed her own smaller stack down with meticulous care.

“That’ll be twenty-five crowns,” the cashier said cheerfully.

Katie blinked. “Wait, we’re paying for this? With our money?”

Scarlett fixed her with a patient stare. “Did you imagine it would be free? Sadly Ravenwood doesn't allow us funding for our traveling needs until after we complete assignments.”

“Well,” Katie murmured, ears drooping, “the stew samples were free…”

Scarlett sighed, dropped a pouch of coins onto the counter, and tugged her partner away before she could find another distraction capable of on fire.

The bell above the door chimed as they stepped into a warmly lit shop smelling faintly of lavender, old parchment, and freshly pressed fabric. Bolts of cloth floated through the air, being magically hemmed and sewn by glimmering needles that darted like silver dragonflies.

Katie’s eyes widened at the enchanted garments swirling about overhead. “WHOA. This place is so cool! Do you think they make ripper adventurer robes? Actually no—. Ooh! What about—”

“Katie,” Scarlett said before the momentum carried her off like a spell gone wrong. “Focus.”

Before Katie could protest, a shadow loomed over them.

A large shadow.

A man stepped forward from behind a rack of celestial-patterned cloaks—tall enough to brush the doorframe with his hair, built like a wall forged from brick, iron, and maybe a bear. Thick arms, a bit of stubble, brows bushy enough to shelter a small nest of pixies.

Yet his smile was warm and patient, softening the intimidating silhouette.

“Good afternoon, wizards,” he rumbled, voice deep like the grumble of a bear. “Name’s Victor Darkwood. Welcome to my humble shop. Looking for new robes, are we?”

Katie practically glowed. “YES. Something fireproof! And stylish! And… maybe something that won’t catch on fire when I sneeze.”

Victor’s laugh shook the mannequins.

“I see.” His eyes crinkled kindly. “You must be the Fire student. Pretty obvious by that explosive energy—and burnt sleeves.”

Scarlett answered while Katie inspected a robe that changed colors depending on emotion. “She needs something durable. Practical. Resistant to heat, weather, and wear.”

“And something cool,” Katie added, tail flicking proudly.

Victor stroked his chin thoughtfully, examining Katie from head to soot-covered toe. “Well now… she's a lively one.” He waved a hand, and a stand of robes drifted toward them. “Let’s find you something that keeps up.”

He thumbed through the selection until he found one robe in a rich warm red, trimmed in gold, dappled with white stars, and charmed to resist scorch marks, unraveling spells, and sudden combustion.

Katie gasped. “It’s PERFECT.”

Scarlett squinted. “It is… reasonable.”

Victor winked at Katie. “Translation: she approves.

Scarlett flushed. “I didn’t say that—only that it will prevent unnecessary problems…and from you running around nude.”

Katie held the robe up, the enchanted threads shimmering like small, bright stars.

Then, suddenly overcome with excitement, she turned to Victor. “Can I try it on?”

“Of course, little wizard,” Victor said, gesturing toward a curtained area. “Go right ahead.”

As she bounded off, Scarlett exhaled slowly. Allowing herself to finally find a seat in a nearby crate.

Victor tilted his head toward her. “First-year partner, is she?”

Scarlett nodded. “Yes… my partner.”

He smiled, gentle and knowing. “Hold on tight, Death wizard. That one’s a wildfire.”

Scarlett looked toward the fitting room curtain where Katie’s humming was already turning into a cheerful off-key song. Despite herself, the corner of her mouth softened.

“A wildfire,” she echoed quietly. “Yes. I’m beginning to see that.”

The shop hummed around them—needles stitching, robes drifting, lanterns glowing—Then Katie bursted from behind the curtain with the explosive enthusiasm of a spell gone delightfully right.

“TA-DA!”

The robe—rich ember-red with gold-thread trim—fit her as though it had been stitched by fate itself. The fabric moved with her, catching the lanternlight and gleaming like molten glass. It swirled neatly around her boots instead of dragging; it hugged her shoulders without restricting them; and most shockingly of all…

It was clean.

Spotless.

Not a scorch mark. Not a tear. Not a single suspicious smudge suggesting she’d crashed into a brazier on her way through the commons.

Katie did a spin, tail flicking in a proud arc behind her. “Scarlett! Look! It doesn't catch on fire!” She’d exclaim, one of her slightly simmering fingers touching the silken sleeve. 

Scarlett blinked, momentarily stunned by the transformation. Katie looked—well—like an actual Ravenwood student now. Proper, polished, prepared. Almost regal, if one ignored the bright grin and the way her cat ears perked with unfiltered joy.

Victor Darkwood beamed. “A perfect fit, if I do say so myself. Fireproof, weatherproof, tear resistant, and enchanted to self-clean in emergencies.” He'd wink at Scarlett. 

Katie gasped. “Self-cleaning? That’s amazing! Scar, did you hear that? I can’t ruin it!”

Scarlett gave a careful, once-over nod. “We’ll take it,” she said, much more firmly than she intended. Then, glancing briefly at Victor, she added, “Actually… perhaps two.”

Katie’s eyes widened. “Two?! For me?”

“Well,” Scarlett said dryly, “just in case the enchantments are not prepared for… you.”

Victor laughed heartily, clapping his large hands together. “Wise choice, Miss Scarlett. Very wise indeed.”

Katie puffed up proudly at the praise, even though she clearly missed the subtext.

Purchasing the robes took only a minute—Victor wrapped them with surprising gentleness in brown paper and tied them off with a ribbon, placing an extra fire-resistant charm tag inside the package “for luck.” Scarlett handled the crown exchange with her usual efficiency, while Katie picked up the parcel as though it contained a nest of phoenix eggs.

When they finally stepped back out onto the cobbled street, the mid-afternoon sun filtered between the buildings, warm and golden. Students bustled past with bags of books, pets in tow, or partners chattering about spell lessons and the grand journey ahead.

Scarlett exhaled softly. “Well… that’s the last of the essentials.” She hesitated. “And, um… Katie?”

“Hm?” Katie was busy admiring how her new sleeves flared dramatically when she flicked her wrists.

“You said earlier you hadn’t eaten,” Scarlett muttered, cheeks faintly pink. “And I… suppose… I am starting to feel rather hungry myself.”

Katie froze, her ears shooting straight up like arrows. Then a huge grin split her face.

“OH! Perfect! Don’t you worry— I know just the place!” She grabbed Scarlett’s hand with warm, impulsive excitement. “C’mon, Scar, trust me! This place has the BEST food in Wizard City. And it’s close enough we won’t get lost! …Probably!”

Scarlett stumbled forward as Katie tugged her into a sprint through the buzzing shopping alley, their new supplies bouncing with each step. Katie’s robe flared behind her like a banner of flame, her laughter echoing off the walls. Scarlett clutched her spellbook to her chest, trying not to trip over her own boots.

Despite the chaos, despite the noise, despite the sudden terror of being dragged through lunchtime crowds by a wildfire with legs—

Something warm flickered in Scarlett’s chest.

Maybe this partnership… wouldn’t be unbearable.

“Come on!” Katie called over her shoulder, tail swaying like a metronome of mischief. “You’ve gotta try the roast chimera bites before they’re sold out!”

Katie skidded to a halt so suddenly that Scarlett nearly collided with her.

“Here!” Katie declared, gesturing with both arms as though unveiling a grand secret. “Best food in all of Wizard City. No contest.”

Scarlett blinked up at the storefront. It was a squat little café tucked into a side street just off the Commons—its wooden sign carved with a cheerful, chubby salamander holding a bowl of something steaming. Warm yellow lanterns bobbed from the rafters, enchanted flames flickering inside each glass globe. The entryway smelled of spices, smoke, and something pleasantly savory.

“The Sputtering Salamander?” Scarlett murmured, sounding unsure.

“Yup!” Katie beamed. “Family-run. Spicy food. Good portions. A health inspector comes by maybe twice a year.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Sometimes three if they suspect the salamanders in the kitchen’ve escaped again.”

Scarlett stared at her. Katie simply grinned wider.

Before Scarlett could reconsider, Katie dragged her through the door. The interior was small but lively—warm brick walls, cluttered shelves of potion jars and spice canisters, mismatched tables occupied by students and locals alike. Steam drifted from the kitchen, accompanied by the sizzling crack of something being flambéed by a creature unmistakably shaped like a salamander with a chef’s hat.

Katie plopped down at a corner booth beneath a lantern that hummed softly with fire magic. “Sit! Sit! I’m paying, by the way.”

Scarlett hesitated, lowering herself cautiously into the seat. “You don’t have to do that.”

Katie waved a hand. “Nah, I want to. After everything you did today? The organizing, the shopping, the patience” —she emphasized the word— “and not beating me over the head when I nearly set that hat rack on fire at the supply shop? Least I can do is feed ya.”

Scarlett looked down at her hands, the tips of her ears warming. The gesture was foreign to her. “I… thank you. That’s very kind.”

“Kind? No!” Katie scoffed. “It’s gratitude. Big difference.” She flagged a salamander waiter with an enthusiastic wave. “Two chimera bite platters! Extra sauce!”

Scarlett coughed. “Extra—?”

“Trust me!”

When the food arrived, Scarlett found herself staring at a plate of golden-brown chimera bites—crispy on the edges, soft on the inside—surrounded by dipping sauces in reds and oranges so vivid.

Katie grabbed one immediately and popped it into her mouth, purring with satisfaction. “Try it, Scar! They’re not as spicy as they look.”

Scarlett eyed the platter as though it might bite her first. Gingerly, she picked up a piece. Steam curled from it, carrying the scent of roasted herbs, citrus, and something faintly smoky.

She dipped it—hesitated—then took a small bite.

And paused.

Then took a larger bite.

Then inhaled the rest of the piece with surprising speed.

Katie slammed her hands onto the table. “HA! I knew you'd like it!”

Scarlett, cheeks glowing pink with both heat and embarrassment, lifted another bite. “It’s… very good,” she admitted quietly. “Really good.”

Katie leaned her chin on her hand, smiling wide enough to show the tips of her fangs. “Told ya. You just gotta trust me more.”

Scarlett tried to hide her growing smile behind her next bite. “I suppose… I can try.”

They ate, and the food tasted even better with laughter drifting between them—Katie’s bright and booming, Scarlett’s soft and careful but genuine. The café’s lanterns glowed like tiny suns above them, warming the space in a way that felt strangely comforting.

And for the first time since the ceremony—

for the first time in a long time, perhaps—

Scarlett didn’t feel quite so alone.

Katie noticed. And she smiled.

Because despite all the chaos, the fire, the clumsiness, and the noise…

She’d made a friend.

And so had Scarlett.

Katie had barely swallowed her last bite when her eyes lifted—bright, eager, shining in that way they always did when her curiosity surged faster than her manners could catch it.

“So—okay, okay—Scarlett,” she began, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, chin propped on her hands. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. What are you most excited for out there? Y’know… exploring the Spiral. Seeing everything. Doing everything. Meeting weird people, eating weird food—well, like this but weirder—finding treasure? Fighting monsters?”

Her words tumbled out like marbles dropping down a chute, no pause between excitement and the next eager thought. Not even to catch a breath of air—

Scarlett blinked, halfway through another careful mouthful of her chimera bites. She’d gotten bolder with each finger full —first cautious, then intrigued, and now fully enjoying it—but she still ate like someone raised to mind their manners, savoring rather than devouring.

Katie continued, barely breathing.

“And—and what’s life like back home? Is it nice? Are your parents nice? Are they wizards too? Oh! Do you have siblings? Please tell me you don’t have, like, ten brothers who wrestle all the time. Or do you? Honestly that would explain a lot.”

Scarlett set her spoon down gently, looking at Katie with a baffled but visibly charmed expression—like she’d been swept up in a warm wind she didn’t ask for but didn’t mind.

“Slow down,” she said softly, a small laugh escaping her. “You’re going to run out of breath before I can answer even one of those questions.”

Katie immediately sat up straighter, cheeks pinking. “Sorry! I’m just… I dunno. I like learning about people. You, specifically. I mean—we are going to be together for quite awhile. And I enjoy talking with you.”

Scarlett’s expression softened, the compliment landing somewhere tender and unexpected in her chest.

“Well… exploring the Spiral?” she began, fingers running lightly along the rim of her cup. “I suppose I’m looking forward to seeing what I’ve only ever read about. Real places. Real magic that isn’t locked behind academy walls or strict rules.” Her voice went quiet, but warm. “Feeling like I get to be someone real. Not just someone who's always watched others from the shadows.”

Katie’s eyes softened. She didn’t interrupt.

“As for home… It's fine. My parents are—present. In their way. Very strict. If I can put it that way. They’re accomplished magic folk, so they expect much from me. Which I don’t always manage.” Scarlett smiled, small and wry. “No siblings, though. I suppose I was enough for them to handle.”

Katie snorted. “You? Hard to handle? No way.”

Scarlett raised a brow, smirking. “You’ve known me for half a day.”

“Yeah, and that’s enough,” Katie said, leaning in again, enthusiasm reigniting. “You’re smart, and you’re helping me. And you’re fun—which honestly is rare with death wizard types. No offense.”

“Some taken,” Scarlett teased, hiding the way her heart warmed behind her sip of water.

Katie, oblivious or pretending to be, grinned. “Okay then—your turn to ask me stuff before I explode with more questions.”

Scarlett straightened, settling her hands neatly in her lap. “All right, then. But… Thank you, Katie. For this meal. For the company.” She hesitated, the words feeling strangely intimate. “It’s… a nice change of pace. I also appreciate you handling me being so—quiet.”

Katie’s smile softened from its usual brightness into something gentler, more sincere.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “It really is. And besides, I don't mind quiet.”

Scarlett dabbed her lips with a napkin, her posture neat and composed—though her eyes, bright with sincerity, stayed fixed on the girl across from her.

“You asked me so many questions,” she said gently. “It’s only fair I ask you the same.” She tilted her head, “What are you looking forward to most when we start exploring the Spiral? And… what’s life like back home for you? Your family, everything.”

Katie’s ears perked immediately—straight up, like two small flames. Then she grinned, leaning back in her seat with the kind of unrestrained ease Scarlett admired and envied in equal measure.

“What I’m excited for?” she repeated, tapping her fingers lightly on the table as she thought. “Oh man—everything. Seriously. I wanna see each world for what it is, y’know? Not the fancy pictures in the textbooks. I wanna taste the weird food. Ride the weird creatures. Meet the scary guys before we beat them up. See magic that makes my brain explode a little.”

Scarlett smiled into her cup. Katie’s enthusiasm was its own kind of magic—bright, warm, impossible to extinguish.

“As for family stuff.” She pointed one thumb at herself. “So I’m from Wallaru. Hot place, lots of sun, lots of wildlife, lots of loud people. Feels like home.”

Her tail flicked once behind her.

“My mom’s a fire nymph—super pretty, super warm, literally, so hugs are like sticking your face into a cozy furnace. And my dad’s a talking wildcat.” She grinned a little sheepishly. “Anthropomorphic and all that. Big guy. Was a skilled hunter before he settled down and became a carpenter. So that’s why I look like… well, y’know.”

Scarlett’s gaze softened, genuinely fascinated. “It suits you.”

Katie’s cheeks flushed under her large hat. “Aw—th-thanks.” She'd finish with a sly smirk.

Then her ears drooped a little at the mention of her last family member.

“And then there’s my brother—Angel.” She made a dramatic face, flopping back in her chair. “He’s… okay look, I love him, I really do. He just—he’s the opposite of me. Like if you put us side by side you’d think one of us was adopted.”

Scarlett blinked. “…And which one would that be?”

“Him,” Katie said instantly. “He’s all refined and classy and… pre-madonna.”

“Prima donna,” Scarlett corrected softly.

“Yeah, that,” Katie waved. “He’s got to have perfect hair, perfect posture, perfect everything. And he’s an ice wizard. So he’s cold. In every sense. Seems he's always got an ice sickle up his–” 

Scarlett tried not to laugh, but it slipped out anyway—soft, melodic, completely genuine.

“But he keeps me in check,” Katie went on, smiling now. “Like… he’s harsh sometimes, but he’s there for me. Always has been. He looks out for me even when he pretends like he’s above everything. I think he’s secretly proud of me… but he’ll probably die before admitting it.”

Scarlett nodded, listening with full attention—something few people in Katie’s life had likely ever done.

“It sounds like you care for them very much,” she said.

“I do,” Katie murmured, picking up another bite of food. “But… being here with you, doing all this today? It’s been really nice. Like… I’m making my own life too. Y’know?”

Scarlett’s chest tightened in a quiet, warm way.

“I know,” she whispered.

Scarlett would lightly pick at her clawed fingers as though gathering the courage to let the next words leave her. Her posture remained straight, sheepish as ever, but something in her expression hardened.

“We will be making our own lives,” she said quietly. “In the next few years… everything changes.” Her gaze dropped to her finished meal, thoughtful and distant. “And I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous.”

Katie paused mid-bite, ears lifting.

Scarlett continued, voice low and steady, though there was an unguarded tremor beneath it.

“So many new experiences. So many people we’ll meet. And the dangers… the responsibilities…” She exhaled, a rare show of vulnerability threading through her words. “I’m just scared of the things I can’t predict.”

For a moment, Katie didn’t speak. That in itself was telling. The world-traveler energy, the constant motion—stilled. She set down her food and leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table like she was about to share a great secret.

“Scarlett.” Her tone was softer than usual—still warm, still Katie, but gentler somehow. “Yeah. It’s scary. I mean… we don’t know what’s going to happen out there. Not really.”

Scarlett looked up, meeting her brown, earnest eyes.

“But,” Katie said, tapping a finger lightly against the table for emphasis, “I know one thing for sure.”

Scarlett waited.

Katie smiled—not her usual dazzler of a grin, but something steadier. Firmer.

“That things will be alright. Because we’ve got each other now.”

Scarlett’s breath caught, just a little.

“I’m serious!” Katie insisted, puffing her cheeks when she realized Scarlett doubted it. “Look, even if we did just meet, I’m promising you right here, right now—” She placed a hand over her own chest, ears perked with sworn sincerity. “—I’ve got your back. No matter what.”

Scarlett felt something loosen in her chest—like knots she didn’t know she’d been carrying finally untying.

“And I’ll protect you,” Katie added, softer this time. “You’re stuck with me now. And that’s that.”

Scarlett stared at her for a long moment, absorbing the weight and warmth of the promise—this wild, bright girl pledging herself to someone she barely knew, simply because she deemed it right. Because that’s who she was.

And slowly, Scarlett nodded—small, but meaningful.

“Then,” she said quietly, voice steadying, “I suppose I’ll just have to trust you.”

Katie beamed, tail thumping once under the table.

Katie finished the last bite of her meal with a satisfied hum, wiping her hands on a napkin before bouncing up from her seat. The salamander waiter scuttled over with their bill—a slip of parchment lightly singed at the corners—and Katie plucked a handful of gold from her pocket without hesitation.

“Here ya go, mate,” she said cheerfully as she handed it over. The salamander bowed with a grateful chirp, steam puffing gently from his nostrils before he waddled off.

Katie turned to Scarlett with that familiar grin, bright and warm as a hearthfire. “Alright, partner—let’s get back to the dorm. We’ve had one heck of a day, and tomorrow…” She wiggled her fingers dramatically. “We get our first assignments.”

Scarlett nodded, gathering her spellbook and slipping it beneath her arm. The dinner rush had begun to fill the little eatery with chatter and clinking dishes, but somehow, the world felt quieter around them—calmer, in a way she wasn’t used to.

When they stepped outside, the late afternoon sun washed Wizard City in soft gold. Students hurried past them in every direction, laughing, shouting, comparing robes and wands and the size of their bags. Katie didn’t immediately sprint ahead this time, nor did Scarlett drift behind with her usual distance.

Instead, they fell into step together. Side by side. Matching pace not by accident, but by choice. Their shadows stretched long across the cobblestones as they made their way back toward the Ravenwood dormitories. 

And though the knot of nervousness still lingered quietly in Scarlett’s chest, something eased all the same. Katie’s earnest promise—simple, bold, and impossibly genuine—settled over her like soft firelight. She still feared the unpredictable future, still felt the tremor of uncertainty beneath her calm exterior… but she also felt safe.

Katie would be there. She promised.

And Scarlett, for once, found herself willing to believe in someone’s word.

She would hold her to it.

.

.

.

Far from the warm lantern glow of Wizard City, where laughter echoed off cobblestones and young wizards walked side by side beneath the settling dusk, another figure prepared for a very different tomorrow.

Hidden deep within a forgotten spire in the underground streets of Nightside, Malistaire Drake stood alone beneath cracked archways and windows long surrendered to thorny vines. The chamber around him pulsed faintly with forbidden magic—inky, restless, hungry. Candle flames bent away from him as though recoiling from the very air he breathed.

Laid open on a stone plinth before him was a map of the Spiral, marked with sharp runes and threads of shadow that slithered across its surface like living ink. His hand hovered above it, tracing the path he had memorized a thousand times.

“Krokotopia…” he murmured, voice low, reverent and venomous all at once. “The Krokonomicon will be mine.”

The powerful book had eluded him for quite some time—buried beneath ancient sands, protected by guardians who had long forgotten the world beyond their desert oasis. But he was closer now. Closer than anyone realized.

A grim smile tugged at his lips.

Still, there remained a slight inconvenience: Merle Ambrose and that meddlesome school full of bright-eyed children who believed themselves safe behind their old oak doors. If they sensed even a hint of his pursuit… if they so much as sent one curious apprentice to meddle…

The whole plan could crumble.

Malistaire whispered a spell—soft, serpentine. A ripple of dark magic coursed through the room. Visions flashed across his mind: chaos swirling through the streets of Wizard City… shadows rising from places thought long dormant… fear spreading faster than any alarm Ambrose could raise.

“Yes…” he breathed, eyes gleaming. “Confusion first. Disorder. If they are tangled in their own panic, they will not dare chase me.”

The tower groaned as if offended by the presence of such power, dust raining from the rafters. The candles guttered out one by one until only the faint, cold glow of Malistaire’s magic lit the chamber.

He gazed into a cracked crystal ball, a vision of Ravenwood forming—swirling into the countless young students blissfully unaware of the storm gathering beyond the horizon.

“Let them enjoy their little ceremony,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow, their true lesson begins.”

And with a sweep of his staff, the shadows swallowed him whole.

Something wicked was stirring.

And it was coming for them all.