The mysterious intruder

The sun had already risen by the time George Blackwood stirred in bed, his messy black hair sticking out in all directions like he'd been battling nightmares all night—which, in truth, he had been. The new dormitory room at Venrier Academy still felt unfamiliar, and the magical ceiling above that changed color based on weather hadn't helped much. Today it was a blinding bright blue, mocking his sluggishness.

His eyes shot open the moment he heard the echoing sound of footsteps outside. A bell rang in the distance.

"Oh no," he gasped, throwing off the covers and tumbling out of bed. "I'm late!"

He fumbled into his uniform, one sock inside out and the other mysteriously gone altogether. Snatching his bag, he raced out the door, hopping on one foot as he tried to put on his second boot mid-run.

Down the moving staircase, past the talking portraits that chuckled at his clumsiness, George darted through the corridors. He skidded into the classroom just as Professor Grindwell, a skeletal man with parchment-colored skin and a robe so dull it could have been woven from dust, raised a single gray eyebrow.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Blackwood," the professor said in a voice that could make clockwork stop ticking.

George mumbled an apology and shuffled into a seat next to Max, who was already slouched over his desk, doodling on his parchment.

Anna, with her neat braid and polished notes, glanced at him disapprovingly. Emily offered a soft, amused smile, then turned her attention back to the professor.

"Now," Grindwell continued, pointing to a hovering blackboard that was sketching images on its own. "The Great War of Eldoria began with the rise of Riven the Corrupt..."

George tried to pay attention, he really did. But the voice, the drone—it was like being slowly wrapped in a thousand-year-old scroll.

Max leaned over and whispered, "This is so boring, I'd rather watch a rock grow eyebrows."

George snorted, earning him a glare from Anna and a smile from Emily.

"Can anyone tell me who led the Resistance Army?" Grindwell asked.

Instantly, two hands shot up—Anna's and Emily's.

Max slowly raised his hand too, just to fake out George, and whispered, "Let's just say it was... Captain Beardypants."

George coughed loudly to suppress his laugh.

An hour passed like molasses being poured uphill. When the bell finally rang, Max nearly tripped over his desk in his eagerness to leave.

"Flying class next!" Emily chirped.

George felt his stomach twist—not from excitement, but nerves.

They stepped outside into the wide, open courtyard where rows of wooden skyboards lay floating an inch above the ground. The air was sharp with the scent of windroot, a magical herb that enabled flight.

Professor Windrall, a tall, stern woman with silver goggles and gloves made of sky-leather, stood at the front.

"Welcome to the skies, young fliers," she boomed. "Today, you will learn the basics of skyboard levitation. No wand. No chant. Only your feet and your focus."

George gulped as he picked up a board. It felt alive in his hands.

"Step up, gently," Windrall instructed. "Let it recognize you."

George placed his foot on the board. It trembled. Then, with a wild jolt, it flipped and sent him sprawling into the grass.

Laughter erupted—mostly from Max.

But George wasn't about to give up. He tried again. This time, steadier. He found his balance. The board hummed softly and lifted him off the ground.

The sky opened before him. Cool wind rushed past his face as he zoomed higher, shakily at first, then with growing confidence.

He was flying.

All around, other students rose into the sky—Anna glided like she was born in the clouds, Emily flew slow but graceful. Max struggled to find balance, his board bucking like a wild animal.

"Woohoo!" Max shouted, finally steadying himself. "I'm a bird! I'm a leaf! I'm—"

CRASH!

Max slammed into a strange mud-brown structure at the edge of the training grounds. It was low and dome-like, pockmarked with tiny holes. Like a giant anthill.

George hovered toward him. "Max, are you okay?"

Max groaned. "I think I kissed dirt. Wait—what is this place?"

Then came the sound.

A chittering. A low, rising buzz.

From the holes in the mound, creatures began to crawl—hundreds of them. Each was the size of a football, with eight hairy legs and five glistening eyes. Their stingers twitched ominously.

"Uhhh..." Max whispered. "George?"

"Fly! NOW!"

They zipped back toward the class, the swarm chasing them like a wave of nightmares.

Windrall shouted, casting a dispersal charm that pushed the creatures back with a blast of wind. The swarm retreated, but not before one of the things managed to sting Max in the leg.

Max yelped and fell off his board.

Later that evening, Max lay in the infirmary. White sheets, glowing jars of healing salves, and gentle magical orbs lit the room. His leg was wrapped in shining blue bandages.

George visited quietly, sneaking through the halls under the cover of night. The hospital wing was eerily silent.

Max was asleep, mumbling something about "flying potatoes."

George chuckled softly—until he heard a noise.

Footsteps.

Down the corridor.

He turned and saw a figure—hooded, tall, unmoving.

"H-Hello?" George whispered.

The figure didn't speak. Just stared.

George backed away. The figure took a step forward.

George turned and ran, heart thudding like a war drum. He didn't stop until he was back in the dorm, his breath ragged.

The next morning, the entire academy buzzed with news:

"Someone broke into the school last night."

And no one knew who it was.

To be continued...