THE NIGHTBORNE ACADEMY

The soft breeze didn't help her feel any better..

Ayla Rowan stood frozen at the edge of Blackridge University’s iron gates, her suitcase wheels buried in fallen leaves, staring at the towering stone archway that looked more like an entrance to a forgotten cathedral than a prestigious college. Everything about the place felt too still, too aware—watchful, almost.

People called it historic.

Locals whispered it was haunted.

Ayla just knew it felt… familiar yet so strange and scary..

She didn’t know why. Like a place that only brings back memories back but this place was new to her.

Blackridge sat tucked deep in the mountains, wrapped in a rolling mist that made it hard to tell where the real world ended and something older began. Ivy clung to gothic towers like veins. Black-lantern lights flickered though there was no breeze. Even in daylight, it looked like a place meant for secrets.

She swallowed.

You belong here, the acceptance letter had said. A letter she had never sent. A place she didn't even know existed yet there she was. She was so used to weird things happening in her life that she had just stopped questioning them.

She wasn’t sure she ever truly belonged anywhere.

A car door slammed behind her. A pair of laughing girls dragged pastel suitcases toward the gates, chatting excitedly about dorms and fall semester socials. Normal girls with normal lives and normal problems.

Ayla tightened her grip on her faded duffel bag.

She had never been normal. Her entire life everything had been done either in secrecy or behind her back. People feared her even though they didnt know her. At least she didn't remember knowing them. Memories that felt like they were erased and would come back out of nowhere.. and then there was the fire.

She didn’t remember the night of the fire, not really. But sometimes, when she dreamed, she smelled smoke. Sometimes she saw flames dancing along old wood beams, heard screaming—but not in terror. It had been… chanting. Soft, strange, rhythmic chanting.

She had been seven.

She had been the only one to survive.

Some said she was lucky. Some called it fate. Some, quietly, called it impossible—no one should have lived through that fire.

And sometimes, when she looked in the mirror, she agreed.

There were no scars on her. No trace of burns. No medical explanation. But there was something in her eyes she couldn’t put into words—something shadowed, like memory without a name.

A flicker.

The lantern nearest her went out—not dimmed—snapped dark as if yanked from inside.

Ayla blinked.

The other lights remained steady.

She took a step back.

Maybe it was faulty wiring. Or maybe it was reacting to her.

Heat fluttered under her skin. A shiver ran through her arms, like static.

She looked down.

For the smallest heartbeat—her shadow on the pavement…

moved.

Not with her.

Before her.

Then it was still.

She took a sharp breath.

Not again.

Last time it had happened, she’d been in a dark subway tunnel, alone. She thought it was a trick of the light. But now, twice?

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, breaking the moment.

She glanced at the screen.

"have a great life. I hope shadows finally move on."

Her stomach tightened. Her only friend that she had to leave behind and now she was alone.. again..

She looked up.

Students were filing past the gates, laughing, carrying coffee cups, greeting old friends. Some wore tailored uniforms and sleek coats, looking like they had stepped straight out of a magazine. Others looked striking in a different way—too graceful, too still, too aware.

Ayla blinked.

Their eyes.

Some were gold.

Some were silver.

And some… glowed faintly violet.

Not human. Not entirely.

A girl brushed past her, long white hair swaying. She didn’t look at Ayla, but Ayla felt something rush through her chest—a pulse, like an echo.

She turned in confusion. Their shadows had brushed—only theirs—but hers had trembled. Like it recognized something.

She shook it off.

Don’t be ridiculous. Shadows don’t feel.

And then a voice in her head "shadows remember"

Her breath hitched.

She scanned the courtyard. No one was looking at her, but even if they did, there was no way someone just talked in her head.

That same presence she had felt in every school she changed, every foster home. That sensation she learned to ignore.

She was being watched.

A voice behind her broke the silence.

“You’re in the wrong place.”

She turned.

A boy stood beneath the lantern that had gone out. Hands in pockets. Lean, sharp features. Eyes like liquid obsidian—black, but too alive to be called dark. Beautiful in a way that didn’t feel safe.

Not from around here, her mind whispered.

He didn’t look at her like people looked at strangers. He looked at her like he was reading something only he could see. Something inside her.

She forced words out. “Isn’t this Blackridge University?”

“By day,” he said.

“What?”

He tilted his head.

“You shouldn’t have come alone.”

Her pulse fluttered painfully. “Do we… know each other?”

“Not yet,” he said. There was something like curiosity flickering in his gaze. Or amusement. Or hunger.

Before she could speak again, another voice cut through the air—low, rough, and edged with irritation.

“Leave her alone, Damian.”

She turned.

A second boy stood at the base of the gate—tall, broad-shouldered, golden-brown hair tousled like he’d run a hand through it too many times. There was something wild about him. His eyes—hazel, flecked with amber—held a warmth that felt like heat after cold.

And he was looking straight at her.

Not like she was suspicious.

Not like she was strange.

But like he had seen her before.

Recognition.

Damian didn’t move. “I was welcoming her.”

“That’s not what it looked like,” the other boy muttered.

Students were beginning to stare. The tension between the two wasn’t subtle—electric, taut, dangerous.

Damian gave Ayla one last unreadable look.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said softly.

Not a threat. Not a promise.

Something else.

She didn’t breathe until he was gone—his presence fading into the mist like he’d never been there.

She glanced at the one who stayed.

He watched her calmly. Carefully. As if trying not to scare her.

“First day?” he asked.

She nodded.

He seemed relieved by her answer. He stepped forward, offering his hand.

“I’m Kade.”

Air rushed out of her lungs. She didn’t know why—but his name felt like something she should remember.

“I’m Ayla.”

He froze.

Not physically. Not visually. But something in his expression—something deeper—shifted.

Not shock.

Recognition.

Like her name confirmed something he already knew.

He didn’t take her hand.

Because he wasn’t looking at her, not completely.

He was looking past her.

To the ground.

To her shadow.

Which was no longer still.

It rippled—like ink in water.

Like something alive.

Something waking.

Kade spoke softly, almost to himself.

“It’s you.”

She stumbled back.

“Do—you know me?”

He looked at her like the question hurt.

“No,” he said quietly. And then as if words came out of his mind “But I’ve seen you. In every dream I can’t escape.” His lips didnt move. He just smiled like nothing had happened. She felt that she was losing her mind.

Something cold rushed into her lungs.

He stepped back, jaw tense. There was fear in his eyes now. And something like awe. Or warning.

“Ayla…”

Her name seemed heavy when he said it.

“I love your name, nice to meet you.”

Deep inside she felt this wasnt the first time they had met and definately not the last time either.