I learned very early that silence is safer. Silence doesn't look at you with disgust, and it doesn't whisper when you walk past. It doesn't expect you to prove that you belong somewhere you were never meant to be. Silence doesn't ask questions, and it doesn't judge. It simply exists, and for a long time, I thought that was enough.
The temple bells rang just as I stepped through the gates. Low, heavy, and ancient, each chime echoed through the stone corridors like a warning rather than a welcome. The sound didn't just fill the air—it pressed into my chest, making my breath hitch. The air itself felt older here, thick with magic that clung to every carved pillar and cracked tile. It wrapped around me as if the temple were aware of my presence, measuring me the moment I entered. This place wasn't just a school. It was a judgment.
I tightened my grip on the strap of my bag and kept my head down as I walked forward. That was the first rule: don't draw attention. It never worked, but I tried anyway.
The entrance courtyard opened before me, wide and impossibly grand. Towering stone arches curved toward the sky, etched with glowing runes that pulsed faintly in gold and silver, weaving together like something alive. Students filled the space, their voices blending into a constant hum of conversation and laughter. Their robes flowed in soft colors that marked their magic. Light users glowed faintly, their presence warm and effortless, while balanced users stood steady and calm, their energy controlled and quiet.
Then there were the others.
I spotted them easily. Dark magic users always stood together, tucked into the edges of the courtyard like shadows that had learned to breathe. Their presence felt heavier, quieter, like something constantly being held back. Some leaned against pillars while others sat on the steps, but none of them stood in the center. No one ever did. The center belonged to light.
A laugh rang out, sharp and bright, cutting through the air. I didn't have to look to know it wasn't kind, but I did anyway. Near the fountain stood a group of students, their uniforms cleaner and brighter, gold thread stitched into the hems. Light magic users. And at the center of them—him.
Of course.
He stood like he owned the place, as if the temple had been built around him instead of the other way around. His posture was relaxed, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other lazily twirled a thin strand of glowing magic between his fingers. Gold. Pure gold. Light magic always looked beautiful, and that was the problem. People trusted beauty, followed it, believed in it—even when it burned.
I quickly looked away, lowering my gaze back to the ground. Don't stare. That was rule two.
"New girl?"
The voice came from my left, quiet but not unkind. I glanced up just enough to see a girl leaning against a pillar, her arms crossed loosely. Her eyes were dark, almost black, but steady. There was no glow to her, no polished shine. Dark magic.
Like me. Or at least closer to me.
I nodded once. She pushed off the pillar and walked over, her steps slow and unbothered.
"Name?" she asked.
I hesitated. It was a simple question, but names had a way of sticking, of becoming something people could twist.
"…Iris," I said finally.
She studied me for a moment, her gaze searching my face as if trying to read something I didn't know how to hide.
"Kael," she said, tapping her chest lightly. "You'll want to stay near us."
"Us?" I asked.
She tilted her head toward a small group on the far side of the courtyard. Three others stood there, all dark magic users. One of them gave a small wave while another didn't look up at all.
"They don't bite," Kael added after a pause. "Well… not usually."
I almost smiled.
"Why?" I asked instead.
Her expression didn't change, but her eyes sharpened slightly. "Because people like us don't get second chances here."
My chest tightened. I knew what she meant. Dark magic users were already looked down on, seen as unstable and dangerous. But me? I wasn't just dark. I was something else entirely. Something no one here would understand. Something I didn't even understand.
A ripple of energy passed through the courtyard, subtle but enough to quiet the conversations around us. Heads turned. I didn't need to look, but I did anyway.
He was walking toward us.
Up close, he looked even more effortless, like everything about him existed exactly the way it was supposed to. People moved aside for him without hesitation. Power did that.
I dropped my gaze, but it was too late. His steps slowed.
"New," he said.
I didn't respond. Rule three: don't engage.
"She has a name," Kael said flatly beside me.
There was a brief pause. "Does she?" he replied.
Something in my stomach twisted.
"Say it," he added.
I tightened my grip on my bag. I could ignore him, but silence didn't always protect you. Sometimes it just made you an easier target.
"…Iris," I said quietly.
He repeated it, like he was testing the sound. "Iris." Then, softer, "Doesn't suit you."
Heat crept up my neck, but I kept my gaze down.
"What's your magic?" he asked.
There it was—the question that mattered.
"Dark," I said.
It wasn't a lie. Just not the truth.
"That obvious?" he said lightly, and a few people laughed.
"Show me."
My head snapped up. "What?"
"Your magic," he said. "Or do you not have any?"
The laughter grew louder. My pulse quickened.
"I—"
Nothing.
Of course.
Nothing.
Something flickered in his eyes—recognition, then boredom.
"Right," he said. "Another useless one."
The words hit harder than they should have. Laughter followed, sharper this time. I dropped my gaze again, nails digging into my palm.
"Enough," Kael snapped.
He barely looked at her. "Relax. I'm just curious how someone like her got in."
Someone like her.
The words echoed in my head. Something stirred inside me, faint and unstable. For a brief second, the air around me felt heavier, like it was pressing inward. I sucked in a breath, and the feeling vanished.
No one noticed.
No one ever did.
"Come on," Kael muttered, grabbing my wrist and pulling me away. I didn't resist. Because if I stayed any longer, I wasn't sure what would happen.
And that terrified me more than anything he could say.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Classes, faces, voices—none of it stayed. All I could feel was that moment replaying over and over again.
Another useless one.
The words sank deep, because part of me believed them.
Later, I sat at the edge of the training hall, watching the others practice. Light magic flickered through the air in clean, controlled bursts. Even the balanced users held steady control.
And then there was me.
I stared at my hands. Still. Empty.
"Try again," the instructor said.
I flinched. "I am."
"Are you?"
I turned inward, searching for something that never seemed to be there. Everyone said magic felt like a current, something natural. But for me, it felt like reaching into darkness and finding nothing—or something that didn't want to be found.
I pushed harder.
A flicker.
Cold.
Too deep.
It slipped away instantly.
"I can't," I admitted.
"Sit," he said.
So I did.
Failing quietly was easier.
Across the room, I caught sight of him again. Watching. Not mocking this time, not bored—just curious. For a second, our eyes met. Then it was gone.
Something shifted inside me, stronger this time. Cold spread through my chest, my fingers twitching. I froze, forcing myself not to move.
Don't let it out.
Because I didn't know what it was.
Slowly, I clenched my fist. The feeling faded, leaving behind a single, terrifying thought.
Something is wrong with me.
Not weak. Not useless.
Worse.
Different.
And in this world, different didn't survive.
That night, I couldn't sleep. The temple was quieter, but never silent. Magic hummed through the walls like a heartbeat that didn't belong to anyone.
I sat by the window, staring out at the distant treeline.
The Forbidden Ancestral Forest.
Even from here, it looked wrong—darker than the rest of the world, like the shadows there weren't just shadows.
I should have looked away.
I didn't.
Because something about it felt familiar.
I leaned closer without thinking, drawn not by curiosity or fear, but by something deeper.
Recognition.
A chill ran down my spine.
And for the briefest moment, I could have sworn—
Something in the darkness…
Was looking back.