Page 21 of Slayer

“I know my best friend. She looks just like her, and we don’t know where Molly went in her year of⁠—”

“She’s awake,” the unfamiliar female voice said.

I snapped my eyes open to find that I was in a room not unlike a hospital room, though it was better decorated. The air smelled faintly of something herbal, like someone had cracked open a window near a garden or was burning incense. The lighting was soft, warm, almost golden, and the room held a quiet stillness that made my pulse slow.

The room was modern with pale blue walls and a window that overlooked⁠—

“Whoa.”

I sat up too fast, and dizziness washed over me, so I lay back down as a wave of nausea roiled through me. I let my head sink into the pillow, breathing through the spin. Then I turned my head to peer out the window.

The window overlooked a really cool university campus or something like that. It was a beautiful redbrick cluster of buildings with green grass fields and students milling about with backpacks on. The buildings stretched upward with long arching windows and ivy creeping up their sides, catching the early sunlight in a way that made the whole place feel picturesque.

Pathways curved through the grass in perfect symmetry, dotted with benches and old-fashioned lampposts that flickered softly even in daylight.

But that wasn’t the cool part.

That would be the glowing runes.

Symbols were etched into stone arches. Tall spires rose in the distance, carved with glowing marks that pulsed faintly, like the buildings themselves were alive. People dressed as warriors walked the paths among the students, swords strapped openly at their sides, armor catching the light as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

Runes.

Students walked beneath them without even glancing up, which told me this was normal here. A whole world full of magic symbols and glowing protection charms like it was just school spirit decor.

And the warrior stuff… Yeah, that was impossible to miss.

On one of the fields below, a group of students trained in organized lines, each wearing black tactical gear. Some carried long blades. Others held staffs marked with runes that flared when they struck the ground. A woman barked orders at them as they pivoted and moved, their motions sharp and practiced like they’d been doing this forever.

In another corner, two guys were sparring with short swords, the metal clashing quick and clean. A third sat on a bench, wrapping his hands like he had a full fight coming in five minutes. No one seemed afraid. No one looked surprised by any of it. It was just another day in whatever world this was.

A gust of wind carried faint sounds up to the cracked open window. Laughter. The ring of steel. Someone shouting instructions. It was like a campus and a military base had been smashed together, but with magic glowing through all the cracks.

This was absolutely not a dream.

I stared until my eyes started to dry out, trying to make sense of any of it.

Nothing in the human world looked like this.

Where the hell was I?

“Welcome to the world of Veil Haven, Stella,” the woman who’d initially told me that she thought she knew my mother said as she approached my bedside. “I’m Celia.” She tipped her head to the woman beside her. “And that’s Headmistress Rubina of Nightguard Academy.”

My gaze flicked to the headmistress, and instead of greeting me, she just cocked her head to the side like a curious cat. She was a beautiful woman in her fifties with creamy peach skin and glossy blond curly hair that hung to her shoulders. Her eyes were a deep blue so dark they were almost navy.

“Who was your mother?” Rubina said directly.

Celia cut her a sharp look, but Rubina just pinned me with a glare so piercing it caused chills to race down my spine. The last twenty-four hours had been a lot to process, and I wasn’t in the mood for any crap.

“I don’t know. I’m motherless.” I glared back, and she swallowed hard, having the decency to look embarrassed.

“I told you. She told Asher she was adopted,” Celia scolded the headmistress.

Adopted? No. But it was a semantic distinction I didn’t want to argue right now.

The headmistress raised one eyebrow and crossed her arms. “Claiming she’s some lost-born who should be given safe haven here is one thing, Celia. But saying she’s a legacy, with rights to Molly Sinclair’s inheritance and a full-ride scholarship to Nightguard, is another. I’m going to need proof.”

Legacy? Inheritance? Full ride?