A month had passed since Nyxara first stepped through the gates of the magic academy. Each day had blurred into the next—filled with whispered mockery, judgmental stares, and the constant reminder that she was different. The excitement she once felt had long since dulled, and now, as she sat alone at the back of the class, her heart felt numb.
She had grown used to it.
The cruel remarks, the dismissive glances from the other students—it all rolled off her now like rain on stone. They had all decided she was worthless, a girl who barely had enough magic to make a spark. And while it still hurt, Nyxara had learned to mask her feelings behind a veil of quiet indifference. She kept her head down, her focus on the tasks at hand, even if every lesson reminded her of how much her uncle had sealed away.
She wasn't angry at him. She understood why he had done it. But it didn't make the burden any lighter.
---
Numb to the Cold
In class, the top students flaunted their abilities. They conjured impressive spells with a mere flick of their hands, while Nyxara struggled to light a single candle. She kept to herself, practicing in silence, knowing she couldn't afford to draw attention.
One afternoon, she overheard two students whispering nearby as they practiced levitation spells.
"She's hopeless," one sneered, his voice loud enough for her to hear. "I don't even know why they let her in."
"Probably a charity case," the other laughed. "Someone must've felt sorry for her."
Nyxara felt the familiar pang of humiliation in her chest but said nothing. She was used to it by now. Let them think what they want, she told herself. It didn't matter what they thought. She had her own reasons for being here, even if they couldn't understand.
But there were days—long, exhausting days—where she wished she could unleash her full power, show them all just what she was capable of. And yet, she knew she couldn't. Not yet.It wasn't until a month into her time at the academy that Nyxara began to notice someone watching her. It started subtly—a lingering glance from across the room, or the feeling of eyes on her back as she walked through the halls.
At first, she dismissed it as paranoia, the product of her growing isolation. But soon, she realized it wasn't just in her mind. There was someone who seemed to take a particular interest in her, though she had no idea why.
During one of her more embarrassing moments in class, where her attempt at summoning a basic light spell fizzled out, she noticed him standing near the corner of the room. His eyes—sharp and calculating—watched her without a trace of mockery, unlike the others.
His name was Kaelen. She had heard of him, of course—everyone at the academy had. He was one of the academy's top students, the son of a powerful magical family known for their mastery of dark elemental magic. His abilities were rumored to be exceptional, even for someone his age.
But Kaelen had never spoken to her. Not once.as Nyxara practiced in the academy gardens, trying to coax a stubborn spell from her fingertips, she noticed Kaelen approaching her from a distance. His presence was like a shadow, moving silently across the grass.
she tried to pretend she hadn't noticed him.
He stopped a few feet away from her, his hands in his pockets, his eyes studying her. For a long moment, he didn't say anything, and Nyxara felt the weight of his gaze pressing down on her.Nyxara felt a chill run down her spine. Before she could respond, Kaelen turned and walked away, leaving her standing there in the garden, her mind racing with questions.
----
As the month came to a close, the academy announced a trial—an event where students would be tested on their magical abilities in front of the instructors and their peers. It was a way to gauge their progress and determine the strongest among them.
Nyxara dreaded it.
With her magic still sealed, she knew she would be at the bottom once again, the weakest of the weak. But there was no escaping it. Every student was required to participate.As the day of the trial dawned, dread settled in the pit of Nyxara's stomach like a lead weight. The whispers in the hallways grew louder as the trial approached, her classmates buzzing with excitement, ready to showcase their talents and bask in the praise of the instructors.
For Nyxara, it was a nightmare.
She stood in the great hall, her hands clenched tightly at her sides, trying to keep her breathing steady. The enormous, vaulted ceilings seemed to press down on her as the academy gathered, students and teachers alike filling the space with an air of anticipation. She could feel their eyes on her, those mocking smiles and disdainful sneers.
"She's useless."
"Why even bother showing up?"
"She can't even light a candle."
The voices surrounded her, echoing in her mind, growing louder with every passing second. They thought they knew her. They thought they understood what she was, but they didn't—no one did. Not even herself.
Her magic was sealed. She could feel it, always just out of reach, caged by her uncle's protective spell. But it wasn't just the seal that held her back. It was the weight of their judgment. Every laugh, every mocking glance chipped away at her resolve, making her feel smaller, weaker.
But somewhere, deep inside, something darker stirred.
---
When her name was finally called, Nyxara felt a cold sweat break out across her skin. She stepped forward, her legs heavy, her heart racing in her chest. The trial master stood in the center of the room, his face stern as he beckoned her to the front.
All eyes were on her. She could feel their scorn, their amusement, as if they were already anticipating her failure.
She stood there, staring at the trial master, who nodded slightly.
"Begin."
For a moment, the hall was silent. Nyxara closed her eyes, reaching for the fragile thread of magic she had left—what little power she could access through the seal. But all she felt was emptiness. The magic barely flickered, like a dying flame in a cold wind.
The whispers started almost immediately.
"See? She's got nothing."
"What a joke…"
Her hands trembled, and she tried again, forcing her magic to rise. A faint glow sparked at her fingertips, weak and pitiful. She gritted her teeth, sweat trickling down the back of her neck. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
More laughter. Louder now.
And then, she felt it—a sharp, searing pain in her chest. It started small, like a whisper, before surging into something darker, something violent.
They're mocking you.
The voice wasn't her own. It was something else, something buried deep inside her, a part of her that she had never fully understood.
Show them. Show them what you really are.
Her vision blurred as her heart raced. The mocking laughter of the students echoed in her ears, twisting and distorting into something unbearable. She wanted to scream, to run, to silence them all.
Kill them.
Kill them all.
Nyxara gasped, her eyes snapping open, her body trembling as the darkness surged up from within her. The seal on her magic strained, a violent, chaotic energy pushing against it. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and for a moment, she felt herself teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something monstrous.
Let me out. The voice was stronger now, almost seductive. They deserve to die. Every last one of them.
She could see it—just for a moment—a wave of destruction. Fire, shadows, chaos. The power within her wanted to be released, to tear through the hall, to destroy everything in its path. The thought was intoxicating, and it terrified her.
Her magic flared, brighter than before, but still out of reach. The students around her stepped back, sensing something wrong, but they couldn't see the storm brewing inside her. Only Kaelen, and one girl standing in the corner, his eyes narrowed, seemed to sense the danger.
Nyxara bit down hard on her lip, the metallic taste of blood grounding her, pulling her back from the edge.