It was the eyes that made her skin crawl.
Hundreds of them. Watching. Piercing. As if she'd walked into a den of predators who had just scented something… new.
Aeris stepped into the orientation hall, and the silence that followed felt unnatural. She shouldn't have stood out, not in a sea of supernatural students with ancient bloodlines and impossible beauty. And yet… she did.
Her veins pulsed cold at her neck.
The hall was massive, the air thick with the scent of myrrh, old paper, and something metallic. Blood, maybe or power.
Creatures in human skin, seated in clusters beneath their respective banners. Each house had their own section, separated by low dividers and braziers. Some sneered. Some scoffed. A few leaned forward, lips curling in morbid amusement.
Aeris stood at the threshold looking for Casimir. She had barely recovered from the encounter in the corridor — Vincent's bloodstained mouth, Aldric's cocky grin. To her surprise, she was here, alone, in the lion's den.
"She's the transfer student, right?"
"Smells like city rain and fear."
"How long do you think she'll last?"
"Bet she won't last the month."
Aeris kept her eyes straight ahead. Chin up, shoulders square — the armor she'd worn since childhood. She crossed the threshold. One step then another. She didn't look left or right, didn't acknowledge the dozens—hundreds—of eyes sizing her up like fresh meat.
Eyes like scalpels. Judgment thick as fog. Curiosity. Disdain.
"Aeris!"
She snapped her head toward the sound. At the far end of the hall, near the Houseless section, a hand waved. Casimir. The only vaguely friendly face she'd seen in this entire twisted academy.
He stood up halfway from his seat, grinning like this was just another Tuesday. "Over here! I saved you a seat!"
Thank god.
Relief crashed through her. Aeris hurried over, boots skimming the marble, ignoring the gazes that followed her like hounds.
Casimir scooted over, patting the empty spot beside him. "Took you long enough. You didn't get bitten, did you?" he asked, half-joking.
Aeris gave him a sidelong glare, still breathless. "Almost.'"
'Don't tell me you met Vincent?"
It wasn't a question.
"More like stumbled into his feeding session." she muttered, sinking into the seat with a huff.
Cas's smile faltered. "Shit. You okay?"
Before Aeris could answer, the girl seated beside Casimir leaned forward, propping her chin on her palm. Her bubblegum-pink hair was pulled into messy space buns, her eyeliner sharp enough to kill. She wore a shredded band tee under her open academy cloak, chains around her neck, and combat boots that looked like they'd seen war.
"This must be the infamous Aeris," she chuckled with her cheeky voice. "I'm Maya. Cas's better half. He just doesn't know it yet."
Casimir rolled his eyes. "She's not wrong."
Aeris blinked at her. "What are you?"
"Rude," Maya said, mock-gasping. "But fair. I'm a banshee hybrid. No, I don't scream unless I have to. And yes, I do know when someone's going to die. Don't ask when. I like keeping things..."
A sudden hush fell over the hall. It descended like a spell, rippling through the air and silencing voices mid-sentence, laughter mid-breath. Even Maya stopped talking, her lips still parted from what was probably about to be a wildly inappropriate joke.
The Headmaster appeared on the stage in a swirl of violet smoke, a flair for theatrics apparently standard issue here.
"Good evening." Magnus greeted, his voice carrying across the chamber like rolling thunder wrapped in silk.
A thousand heads turned. A thousand eyes watched.
Aeris stiffened in her seat, her nails digging into the armrest. There was something different about him now, standing before the student body.
"I welcome you all," Magnus continued, spreading his arms open. "to Noxmere Academy — a place that exists outside the bounds of mortal law, moral comfort, and mundane comprehension."
His gaze swept the hall, assessing through the crowd. "Some of you were sent, others summoned. A few of you clawed your way in and one or two…" His eyes flicked briefly to Aeris. "...got transferred."
"Noxmere," he said, " offers opportunity. What you do with it, how you survive it... is entirely up to you." With a wave of his hand, a glowing script unfurled above the stage. "The rules are simple," he said.
"What happens within Noxmere must never reach the mortal world. Those who try will disappear.
Do not wander beyond the forest's edge at night. The dead do not take kindly to interruption.
Do not cross House boundaries without cause. You are not entitled to mercy if you do.
Respect the hierarchy. Or suffer it.
You may not kill another student unless it's sanctioned. And even then, paperwork must be filed by sunrise.
Once your House is chosen, you belong to it. Betrayal is treason. Treason is death or worse.
Your life here is not a right," Magnus concluded, each word heavier than the last. "It is a privilege earned. One misstep is all it takes to fall."
He paused, letting the silence thicken like blood.
"Now," he drawled, and the runes shifted to form four symbols, glowing brighter than the rest. "Let us speak of legacy."
Four banners ignited above the stage, one by one — flames that shimmered with elemental energy.
"House Nocturne," Magnus began, and the flame turned deep crimson, like blood swimming through garnet glass. "Founded by Lord Virelaus himself, the first of the High Vampires. They are the house of elegance, hunger, and discipline. Predators in silken gloves."
The vampires erupted into polite applause as if applauding themselves.
"House Fenraeth," he continued, as the second banner burst into a wild silver-blue flame. "Birthed from the old blood of Fenrir, the Moon-Scarred Alpha. A house of instinct, might, and feral loyalty. Beware their bite more than their bark."
The werewolves howled, actual howling, low and guttural, echoing through the rafters with primal unity.
"House Thorne," Magnus said, and the third symbol blazed black and gold, edged in molten red. "A lineage of devils who defied hell and built their own dominion. They honor ambition, cunning, and absolute power. You don't earn their respect.. you take it."
The demons didn't cheer. They smirked, eyes aglow, knowing their mere presence was enough to be noticed.
"Lastly…" Magnus's voice slowed, just a touch. "House Sylveryn."
The final sigil shimmered into a spiral of silver and green, glittering like dew on poison ivy. "Descendants of the First Court, the fae whose magic shaped worlds and broke them. Their house values beauty, mischief, and the oldest magic of all: the deal. Be careful what you promise them."
The fae clapped languidly, some with mocking bows, others with closed-lipped smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes.
Magnus let the banners burn above him as he turned back to the crowd. "At moonrise," he said, "each of you will be chosen by one of the Houses. And once chosen… there is no going back."
A low murmur rippled through the crowd, nervous and excited alike.
"You will live with your House. Train with them. Fight for them. Bleed for them, if needed." His voice dropped, softer now. "And if you are lucky… they might just bleed for you in return."
Magnus turned on his heel, coat sweeping out like smoke. "Until then, enjoy the orientation. Make allies. Study your enemies. Remember who's watching." He snapped his fingers once more and vanished in another puff of smoke.
Aeris stared at the place Magnus had vanished from, smoke still curling in the air like the aftertaste of a warning. Her skin prickled.
Allies. Enemies.
She didn't even know who she was supposed to be fighting for.