Crimson Academy: The Heir Of Crimson

All I could see and hear was fire, shouting and wailing that filled the dark. Thunder rolled somewhere above me while women screamed and children cried close by. A woman’s voice cut through everything, sounding sharp and scared.

“Nimona… Nimona…”

On the third call my eyes snapped open. I sat up fast, heart beating really fast, sheets tangled around my legs. For a few seconds the nightmare still clung to me, the heat, the noise, the fear, then my mum’s voice reached me from downstairs, ordinary and a little impatient.

“Nimona! Are you awake yet?”

I pressed a hand to my forehead and let out a shaky breath. That dream had felt way too real, like I’d actually been standing in the middle of all that chaos. I shook my head, trying to push it away.

“I’m coming,” I called back, my voice still rough from sleep.

I swung my legs out of bed and walked to the bathroom in a bit of a daze, not wanting to think about the dream any longer. The light clicked on. I leaned over the sink, turned on the cold water, and splashed my face twice. When I lifted my head and looked into the mirror, a short scream tore out of my throat.

Mum’s footsteps pounded up the stairs. The bathroom door burst open a second later.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” she asked, eyes wide as she looked around the small room.

I pointed at the mirror with a shaking finger. “My hair. Look.”

A single strand near the front had turned a bright, unmistakable red. The rest of my black hair looked the same as always, but that one piece stood out like someone had painted it overnight.

Mum’s shoulders dropped and she let out a long sigh of pure relief. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought something was wrong.”

I stared at her. “You’re not freaking out? A piece of my hair just turned red. How is that not weird?”

She fidgeted with the sleeve of her robe, then forced a small smile. “Calm down, okay? It’s nothing to worry about.”

I narrowed my eyes, still staring at the strange strand. “Did you dye it or something?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “That’s exactly what I did. I wanted to do something special for your birthday, so I dyed that little piece while you were asleep. Surprise.”

I kept looking at her for a second longer, a flicker of suspicion still sitting in my chest, but I didn’t push. The word “birthday” finally landed. Right. Today I was sixteen.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Mum said, her voice softer now. “Now go get ready and come downstairs. Don’t take too long.”

I nodded and waited until she left before I looked at the mirror again. The red strand caught the light every time I moved. I touched it once, then forced myself to turn away and finish washing up.

Back in my room I found the clothes laid neatly across the foot of the bed—a red flared skirt that stopped just above the knees, a black cropped hoodie that looked soft and new, and a pair of black boots sitting on the floor. I picked up the skirt and held it against myself, smiling in spite of the strange morning.

“Okay, Mum actually did good this time,” I muttered.

I changed quickly, tugged the hoodie into place, and stepped into the boots. When I checked the mirror again I tilted my head and gave myself a small, satisfied nod.

“Not gonna lie, I look pretty good.”

I headed downstairs. The table was already set with a plate of sweet cupcakes, one of them holding a single candle. The smell of vanilla and sugar filled the kitchen. Before I could say anything, the side door opened and Dad walked in, wiping his hands on an old rag. Grease smudged his work shirt and a streak of dirt ran across one cheek.

“Morning, birthday girl,” he said, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“Dad!” I crossed the room and hugged him hard, not caring about the dirt. He smelled like motor oil and the garage, the same way he always did after working on something early.

Mum laughed from the kitchen counter. “At least try not to get her new clothes filthy before breakfast, Gregor.”

He chuckled and ruffled my hair carefully, avoiding the red strand. “Sorry, sorry. Happy birthday, kiddo.”

We gathered around the table. Mum lit the candle, and the three of us sang the birthday song the same way we had every year—off-key in places, warm, familiar. When the last note faded, I closed my eyes and made my wish.

I want to be something special. And I want my family to always stay happy.

I blew out the candle. A thin trail of smoke curled upward.

Dad cleared his throat and stood up. “I’ve got something for you.”

He disappeared down the short hallway and came back a minute later with a small wooden box. He set it in front of me and waited.

I lifted the lid carefully. Inside, resting on a square of dark cloth, was a wolf amulet the color of deep red. The metal caught the light, the wolf’s head detailed and fierce, a thin chain coiled beneath it.

“Since you like wolves so much,” Dad said, his voice quieter than usual, “I kept this specially for you.”

I looked up. “Kept it? What do you mean?”

He waved a hand and turned toward the kitchen like the question had never been asked. “Is breakfast ready yet? I’m starving.”

Mum sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “I forgot to go grocery shopping yesterday. We’re missing a few things, so I couldn’t make the special meal I planned. Nimona, would you run to the store for me? It won’t take long.”

I fastened the amulet around my neck, the cool metal resting against my collarbone, and stood up. “Sure. I’ll take Puffy with me.”

My white fluffy cat was already winding around my ankles, purring like a tiny engine. Puffy had been with me since the day I was born—something that still made me wonder every now and then how a cat could stick around that long and still act like a kitten half the time. I scooped her up, grabbed my wallet, and headed for the door.

“Be careful,” Mum called after me.

“I will.”

The taxi ride was short. I paid the driver, stepped out onto the sidewalk with Puffy tucked under one arm, and had barely closed the car door when the cat twisted free and shot straight toward a patch of bushes at the edge of the lot.

“Puffy! Come back!”

I chased after her, sneakers slapping against the pavement. I pushed through the leaves and found her crouched low, fur puffed up, staring at something deeper in the shadows.

“You bad girl,” I said, half laughing as I reached down to brush dirt from her white coat. “Chasing mice again? You’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.”

Puffy didn’t move. Her body was a bit rigid, ears flat, a low and terrified sound vibrating in her throat. That was when the air changed. It turned colder, like something had sucked the normal morning right out of the space between the leaves.

I frowned and slowly looked up. Something stood only a few steps away, something that I was pretty sure had no business existing in the middle of a regular city on a regular morning. Its shape was wrong, it was too tall and uneven, its eyes glowing with a dull, hungry light. The ground under its feet seemed darker, almost wet, and a low, wet growl rolled out of it as it shifted its weight.

My breath caught. Puffy let out a sharp, panicked hiss and pressed harder against my legs. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to run, but my feet stayed frozen to the ground.

The creature’s head tilted. Those glowing eyes locked onto me. Then it lunged straight towards me.