Chapter 1
I dedicate this book to my mom.
Thank you for your boundless support, faith in me, and love.
This book results from countless hours of effort, inspiration, and joy. I’ve poured a piece of my soul into it, and I hope it brings you as much light and warmth as it has brought me. I sincerely hope you enjoy reading it and that it leaves a lasting, pleasant impression.
Happy reading!
Once, my psychologist asked, “What tires you the most?” My own thoughts and fears. I’m so tired of being afraid, screaming into the void, and waiting. Who invented this terrible, unbearable feeling—fear? It consumes both mind and body. Breathing deeply, we try to tame the inner shadows, but sometimes it’s too late—the cold shiver pierces through, leaving only hope and the desire to hide in soft sleep and forget. But with the first rays of the sun, everything slowly dissipates, and the storm calms down for a while.
For the first forty minutes, I lie in bed, staring at one point, unable to look away. The purple spots on the ceiling form patterns—both calming and slightly frightening. My contemplation is interrupted by Aunt Jamie’s voice, suddenly bursting into the room.
“You have no idea how happy I am!” Her face beams, a wide smile on her lips, and fine wrinkles around her eyes. “The taxi’s already waiting, so grab your suitcase and head outside.”
“Hope we won’t see each other again,” I mutter quietly, descending the stairs.
“What are you mumbling? Better say thank you.” Aunt Jamie shakes her head reproachfully, looking at me.
I spent all my eighteen years in ignorance. I never knew my parents; the only close person was Aunt Jamie—the only relative I’d ever seen in person, not just heard snippets about in others’ conversations. Everyone around said I was an abandoned child, and my mother was another alcoholic, willing to trade a child for a bottle of vodka. But those were just rumors. I graduated high school with honors and was about to enter university when a strange incident disrupted my plans.
I silently step outside, not responding to Aunt Jamie’s words. The cold morning air chills to the bone, and I shiver involuntarily. The taxi is already waiting by the entrance; the driver stands patiently by the car.
“Good morning,” he greets, opening the trunk and carefully placing my suitcase inside.
“Good morning,” I reply, trying to smile, but the smile comes out strained.
I sit in the back seat, not looking at Aunt Jamie—I don’t want to see her smugly joyful face.
“Where to?” asks the driver, closing the door.
“To the Academy of Renaissance.”
“Uh… Are you sure the address is correct?” The driver looks at me with doubt.
“Yes, I need to go there.”
He just nods and starts the car. I look out the window, glad that Aunt Jamie has already returned to the apartment.
Buxton is a very small town, where everyone knows each other, and news of my departure will spread faster than I can reach the academy. I remember how my friends and I walked these streets, laughed, made plans, and dreamed of the future. But now, all this seems distant, almost unreal.
It’s been almost three months since that day when my life turned upside down. Those shadows I saw for the first time then were ominous, and since then, the feeling that this was just the beginning has never left me.
“Depression”—that’s what I heard from my psychotherapist on the first day. I was prescribed a course of pills that seemed to have no effect. Inside, there was darkness, and no medication could break through this thick gloom to warm me even a little from within.
“Your hallucinations, or ‘shadows’ as you call them, are just manifestations of a mental disorder. Your aunt will have to take more serious measures. Have you ever heard of the Academy of Renaissance?”
I shook my head in denial.
“It’s an academy for special teenagers, those who have mental wounds they can’t handle on their own...”
“Why don’t you just say that there are other crazies like me?” I interrupt, feeling irritation washing over me.
“I wouldn’t put it that way, Freya,” she gently replies. “We all face difficulties, and sometimes we need help to overcome them. The academy is a place where you can get that support.”
I silently look at her, trying to digest what I’ve heard.
“I’ll contact your aunt today, and we’ll discuss everything,” she adds, folding her hands as if to emphasize that the decision has already been made.
At that moment, I felt completely helpless. I wasn’t eighteen yet, and I couldn’t just dismiss the whole thing and declare that there was nothing wrong with me. Inside, I was ready to argue, insisting that I didn’t need any help, even though my own thoughts had long contradicted reality.
The taxi smoothly moves along a winding road, surrounded by dense forest. It’s as if we’re crossing an invisible boundary between the inhabited world and something unknown. Fog, appearing out of nowhere, fills the air with mystery. It lies low over the ground, wrapping around the trees, and the rare rays of the sun barely penetrate through the dense veil, giving the whole landscape a mystical, almost unreal appearance.
The area seems lifeless and abandoned. There are no houses, no people—just endless forest and a straight road stretching into the distance. The driver is silent and focused on driving, while I sit in silence, listening to the muffled sounds around me.
“We’re almost there,” the driver suddenly breaks the silence.
In the distance, I see an incredible sight—a massive building, more like a castle, towering amidst the dense forest, surrounded by a high iron fence.
The driver abruptly brakes, and I lurch forward, hitting the front seat. Throwing a disapproving glance at him, I noticed he’d already opened the door and stepped out of the car. The gates slowly open with a creak, revealing well-maintained gardens and paths leading to the majestic main entrance.
“Is this really the Academy of Renaissance?” I say, looking around with doubt. “Now I’m not sure if the address is correct.”
The castle was built of dark stone, which beautifully shimmered under the sun’s rays, and small turrets with sharp roofs rose to the sky. The windows were decorated with stained glass, creating the illusion of mysterious lights flickering inside. This place was like Bran Castle, but because of the amount of people here, the castle wasn’t gloomy.
The driver nods and replies:
“Yes, it’s the place. Don’t worry, someone will meet you.”
I took a deep breath and stepped forward. The gates closed behind us, and I felt my heart start to beat faster. We walked along the well-maintained path, and suddenly the voices of people, laughter, and rustling attracted my attention. Young men and women, about my age, quickly moved around the large castle courtyard with suitcases in their hands.
“Excuse me, pardon... let me through!” A squeaky voice sounded nearby. Turning my head towards the sound, I noticed a short old man with round glasses passing by us. He was clutching a stack of books in old, worn covers as if they were the most precious treasure. The books looked so worn that they seemed they might fall apart from just a glance.
“Good day, Richard. Nice to see you again,” said a stately man in a formal suit who approached us. His tall stature and confident posture immediately drew attention. He wore a perfectly fitted dark suit that emphasized his figure and a white shirt with a neatly tied tie. His face expressed calmness, and his eyes showed confidence.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Wilson. I’ve brought the new student.”
The word student slipped into my head, and I frowned slightly.
“You’re Freya Winters, right? Very pleased you accepted our invitation.”
“Invitation?” I asked, confused.
“Of course, all adepts received a letter,” he replied with a smile. “We carefully select our students and are delighted you decided to join us.”
I nodded, still feeling slightly bewildered.
“Richard, thank you again for your help. I hope we see each other again this year,” the headmaster said, shaking the driver’s hand.
“You know I’m always happy to help. See you later,” the driver replied and headed to his yellow taxi.
“Wait, what about my things?!” I called after the departing man.
“Don’t worry, your belongings are already in your room. Please follow me; I’ll give you a small tour,” Director Wilson said, inviting me to follow him.
Slightly agape with surprise, I walked through the massive metal doors of the castle. Inside, we were greeted by a spacious hall with high ceilings and marble floors. The walls were adorned with elegant paintings and tapestries.
“Welcome to the Academy of Renaissance, Miss Winters.”
The atmosphere of the academy truly reminded me of past eras, as if I had entered another time, where girls strolled in large, lush dresses and their hair was beautifully braided.
We passed a grand staircase with wrought-iron railings leading to the upper floors. Along the walls stood antique cabinets and display cases with books, as well as strange items that looked like artifacts. A light scent of lavender and freshness filled the air.
“Here we have the library,” the headmaster said, pointing to a door on the left. “Further down the hall are the dining room and common rest room.”
I looked around in admiration, feeling like I was starting to like this place.
“In the other part of the academy are the classrooms where you will have your magic lessons,” he continued, and his words puzzled me.
“What? Magic lessons?” I stopped in the middle of the corridor, looking at the man in confusion. “What are you talking about? What magic?”
Director Wilson seemed taken aback by my tone, and I realized that maybe I shouldn’t have spoken like that. But the words slipped out faster than I could process who I was talking to.
“What exactly did Mrs. Anderson tell you?” he squinted.
“Not a word about magic,” I replied, trying to control my tone. “Mrs. Anderson only spoke about depression and that the Academy of Renaissance should help me cope with my shadows... or rather, my hallucinations.”
I noticed a barely suppressed smile flash across the headmaster’s face, and I couldn’t understand what was so funny. Did she give me the wrong address after all?
“Listen, Freya,” he said, switching to a more informal tone. “The Academy of Renaissance is a special place. There are no patients here; we are all perfectly healthy.”
A cult—it’s definitely some kind of cult.
“Maybe she just gave me the wrong address?”
“No, this is the right place. You belong here. The fairy tales you might have heard at bedtime weren’t just stories. All of it is real: fairies, wizards, elves...”
“I’m not crazy, director Wilson, but your words make me think otherwise. Why are you so sure I belong here?”
“Your parents studied here. And I feel a faint drop of magic in your blood.”
“Wait, you knew my parents?”
“Yes, and not just knew them. We studied together until...”
“Until what?”
“Let’s continue,” the man ignored my question.
We climbed the stairs on the third floor and walked down a long corridor.
“Our rules at the academy are simple. Magic can only be used in designated areas like classrooms and training halls. It’s also forbidden to use magic against other students or teachers without their consent,” the headmaster explained, and I listened, feeling my confusion grow.
“Bringing dangerous or prohibited magical artifacts into the academy is forbidden. They must all be registered and checked for safety. Since you’re a freshman, you’ll get acquainted with the other rules during the classes,” he added, and I couldn’t help but think that this all sounded like something out of a fantasy book.
The man stopped in front of one of the doors, number three hundred seventeen.
“This is your room,” the director said, opening the door and inviting me to enter first.
The room was spacious but darker than expected, with large windows letting in only a little light through heavy curtains. The walls were painted a deep purple. In various corners of the room were two beds with carved wooden headboards covered in soft throws and many decorative pillows. One side of the room was clearly occupied with someone else’s belongings: open books, bright stones resembling crystals and amulets, and posters with symbols I couldn’t understand adorned the walls.
There were also two desks with comfortable chairs, perfect for studying. The desks had warm-lit lamps and nearby stood a bookshelf. Along one wall was a large wardrobe for clothes. The floor was covered with a soft carpet, adding warmth and coziness to the room. Potted plants gave the room a fresh and natural charm.
“Your schedule is on the desk; classes will start tomorrow. Your suitcase is by the bed; dinner will be ready in forty minutes. Have a good evening, Adept Winters.”
The director leaves me alone with my thoughts. Adept? Who even talks like that? I can’t help but smirk, feeling a sense of absurdity growing in my chest. Here, in this strange academy, everything seems so far from the reality I’m used to. This man knew my parents—what happened to them, and where are they now? I walk to the desk to look at the schedule, still trying to make sense of what’s happening.
