The first rays of morning light spilled through the towering windows of Blackmoor Academy, illuminating ancient stone corridors and arched ceilings that whispered with centuries of magic. Hope Everhart walked quietly behind a group of students toward the central courtyard, her boots clicking against the polished floor. Her heart was a battleground of nerves and curiosity.
She didn't belong here.
Not really.
Sure, her acceptance letter had arrived with all the official stamps and sigils. Sure, Richard — the school's headmaster — had greeted her like he'd known her since birth. But Hope couldn't shake the feeling that she was a walking contradiction. A witch. A vampire. A werewolf. All at once. That wasn't just rare—it was dangerous.
And in a place like Blackmoor, danger wasn't admired. It was monitored.
The towering marble doors to the spellcasting hall groaned open. Students filtered in, murmuring to each other. Hope kept her head down and chose a seat in the far back corner. She didn't want to talk. She didn't want to stand out.
Too late.
The moment she stepped in, conversations dropped. A few students turned their heads just enough to whisper behind raised hands. One girl actually gasped.
"Is that the tribrid?" someone muttered.
"Seriously? They let her in here?"
Hope stared ahead, biting the inside of her cheek. Her fingers twitched with tension. She could already feel her wolf side stirring — defensive, alert, proud. But she forced it down.
A tall man in crimson robes entered the room. His hair was silver, his expression grave. His name was Professor Aldritch, and he commanded silence with nothing more than a glance.
"This is your first magical assessment," he said, sweeping his gaze across the class. "You will pair up. One offensive caster, one defensive. Show me control. Show me discipline. Show me restraint."
He didn't say "or else," but it was in his eyes.
Hope felt her stomach twist. She looked up to see students already pairing off. Stephen, a dark-haired vampire with a devilish smirk, locked arms with Daemon, whose stoic silence was somehow louder than shouting. Neither of them spared Hope a glance.
Jessa, a sharp-tongued witch, was already rolling her eyes at her sister Celeste, who whispered something about elemental focus. Even Raphael, the arrogant werewolf in a bomber jacket, had found someone to spar with — a tall boy with glowing hands.
Hope stood alone.
A few minutes passed. She remained the only one unpaired. Just when she thought Professor Aldritch would send her out of the room, London shuffled over, awkward and a little clumsy. His brown hair flopped into his eyes.
"Hi, uh... Hope, right?" he asked.
She blinked. "Yeah."
"I'm... London. I don't really... have powers yet. But I can stand here and get zapped if that helps."
She tried not to laugh. "That's reassuring."
Aldritch clapped once. "Begin."
Spells ignited the air. Light shimmered as enchantments formed, invisible walls pulsing to life. One student summoned a fireball that curved midair. Another deflected it with a psychic shield. For a few moments, the room danced with color and sound.
Hope raised her hand toward London, nervous but steady.
She meant to conjure a small orb of power — just a spark, a flicker of harmless energy.
What exploded from her palm was a blast of raw tribrid magic.
A wave of white-hot force expanded like a shockwave, knocking over tables, blasting students off their feet, shattering magical wards like glass. The room flashed with searing light. London flew backward, narrowly caught midair by a surprised Daemon, who looked genuinely startled for the first time since entering the school.
When the light faded, every eye turned to her.
Aldritch's jaw was clenched.
Students groaned and rose to their feet. Raphael cursed under his breath. Jessa looked stunned. Celeste's eyes sparkled with both fear and fascination. Stephen dusted himself off and glanced at Hope like she'd just eaten a dragon and burped fire.
"Okay," Stephen said loudly. "Remind me never to flirt with that one."
Laughter rippled through the room — not kindly.
London stood up, hair singed. "I'm okay!" he called. "I think I even gained a tan!"
Hope's heart pounded like a drum. She wanted to run.
But she didn't.
Aldritch walked up to her, his eyes unreadable. "Miss Everhart. That... was not restraint."
"I—I didn't mean to. I was trying to—"
"I know what you were trying, girl," he said. "But you're not some ordinary first-year. If you can't control yourself, there will be consequences."
She swallowed hard.
From the far side of the room, Raphael scoffed. "Why is she even here?"
"She's dangerous," someone else said.
"I heard she tore her last school apart."
Hope couldn't look at any of them.
And then, quietly, a voice — Celeste's — said, "She's not dangerous. She's just strong. Big difference."
Hope turned to her, surprised. But Celeste didn't smile. She just looked at Hope with calculating eyes, like she was a puzzle worth solving.
Aldritch gestured for everyone to sit.
The rest of the class passed in awkward silence. No one paired with Hope again. London, to his credit, sat next to her even after being launched like a paper airplane.
"Don't worry," he whispered. "First days are always awful. At least you didn't set the professor on fire. I mean... technically."
Hope smirked. "Thanks. I think."
As the bell rang and students filed out, Hope lingered at the door. She glanced back once.
Stephen was still watching her. And unlike the others, his smile was thoughtful.
Almost curious.
Outside, the sky had darkened. Clouds rolled over the academy, heavy with autumn thunder. Hope wrapped her arms around herself, heart still racing, thoughts still storming.
She had survived her first class.
Barely.
But something told her the real chaos hadn't even started yet.