Nyx stirred, her eyelids fluttering open as a cool breeze kissed her face. Golden morning light spilled through the open window beside her, dancing gently over her skin. The unfamiliar air smelled of moss and flowers, with a hint of something old—like time itself lingered in the walls.

  Blinking, she slowly sat up. The bed beneath her was soft, but it felt… ancient. She glanced around, taking in the room.

  The place looked like a forgotten fairy tale. The stone walls were blanketed in soft green vines, the kind that should’ve been wild and consuming—but weren’t. The plants were somehow… tame. Controlled. Climbing the walls in beautiful spirals, blooming with pale blue and white flowers. The windows were open, letting in the light and air, and from them, the vines reached inward like they were curious.

  The bed was untouched by the greenery. Its sturdy frame stood proudly in the center of a clear space—like the room respected it. Only the posts had a few curling vines wrapping around them, delicate and neat. There was room to step out on either side, and the stone floor beyond the bed was clean. Only the walls were decorated by nature.

  Pushing the blanket off, Nyx stood and padded toward the window, still groggy. As she looked out, her breath caught in her throat.

  She wasn’t in her village anymore.

  Outside, an enormous, overgrown castle stretched out in all directions. Cracked towers rose into the sky like broken teeth, blanketed in ivy. Beyond that—trees. Endless trees. A forest as far as she could see, dark and tangled and ancient. No sign of any roads. No houses. No people.

  Her chest tightened. “Where… the hell am I?”

  Knock knock knock.

  She spun toward the door, startled. Her eyes narrowed, shoulders tensing. But the door didn’t open right away. It creaked just a little, then eased open. A woman stepped in—but her body shimmered faintly. Pale, translucent. Not alive.

  A ghost.

  The spirit woman glided across the room, humming softly as she tidied the already-neat bed, smoothed the blankets, and plucked a single leaf from the corner of the pillow. Then, just as silently, she began picking up things that didn’t even seem out of place.

  Nyx stared. “...Okay, that’s new.”

  Then he walked in.

  The tall man from the town square. The one who saved her—who knocked her out with a single word.

  He filled the doorway effortlessly, but his expression was calm. Soft, even. His voice matched it.

  “Oh good, you’re awake,” he said, offering a gentle smile.

  Nyx immediately stepped back, eyes sharp, body tense. She didn’t trust him—couldn’t. Not yet.

  She whispered, “Milo?”

  A shimmer lit the air, and within seconds, the little fox-shaped wisp burst into view beside her, tail flicking and glowing softly. His colors pulsed between blue and green, relieved and bright.

  “Nyx!” Milo squeaked, twirling around her once. “You’re okay! I was so worried!”

  She exhaled slowly, just a little. “Where the hell are we, Milo?”

  The tall man crossed the room, careful not to get too close. “You’re safe,” he said. “This place... it’s called Zithfa. A sanctuary of sorts. Between worlds. Between the Veil and everything else.”

  Nyx’s jaw clenched. “You knocked me out.”

  He nodded solemnly. “And I’d do it again. You were seconds from being taken.”

  Milo growled, which was more like a high-pitched crackle. Nyx raised a brow but didn’t argue.

  The man turned his gaze toward the window. “They’re still looking for you, you know. The Eclipse Cult. But they won’t find you here.”

  Nyx’s eyes stayed on him. “You never told me your name.”

  He hesitated, then dipped his head. “Norian.”

  “Mmh. You got answers, Norian?” she said, folding her arms.

  He gave a small, bitter smile. “Some. But you’ll need to learn the rest yourself. You’re not ready for all of it yet.”

  “Try me.”

  He chuckled under his breath. “You remind me of someone…”

  Nyx’s brows furrowed. “Who?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Nyx’s eyes narrowed at Norian’s last words.

  “You remind me of someone…”

  “Who?” she pressed, suspicion tightening her voice.

  But Norian didn’t answer. He simply turned his back to her, studying the window like it held some secret more important than her question. The silence stretched just long enough to become annoying.

  Before Nyx could say something else, the door creaked open again.

  Two more spirits floated in—one a tall, slim figure with her hair bound in a braid of soft light, the other an older man with kind eyes and a ghostly walking cane that didn’t seem necessary. They moved with purpose, not floating like wraiths, but stepping with grace—like they still remembered how to live.

  The braided spirit approached Nyx and offered her a bundle wrapped in soft, dark fabric. Inside were folded clothes: a loose shirt, long cloak, and pants that seemed stitched from stardust and dusk, all in hues of shadowy gray and forest green.

  Nyx took it, blinking. “Uh… thanks?”

  The spirit gave her a slight nod and an encouraging smile, then stepped back to stand beside the older man, both of them now stationed by the door, waiting. Watching. Like silent guards—or devoted aides.

  Norian turned back to her, arms crossed. “You’ll need to train your power,” he said plainly. “The way you are now… it’s not enough. You’re too vulnerable. I’ll help you. As much as I can.”

  Nyx’s jaw clenched. “Why?”

  He tilted his head slightly. “Because they’ll keep coming. And I know what they want.”

  “The Eclipse Cult?” she asked.

  Norian gave a slow nod. “They want to use you. For your powers. To turn you into something you’re not. A weapon. A vessel. You’re powerful, Nyxsandra—but raw. Unshaped. They want to shape you into their tool.”

  She looked down, gripping the clothes tighter.

  “But you’re no prisoner here,” he added. “You’re a guest in this castle. You’re free to explore. Go outside, if you like. Just don’t stray too far into the woods. Not yet.”

  Nyx looked around again, at the overgrown walls, the ancient stone, the ghostly figures standing in calm stillness. “This place… it’s alive,” she muttered.

  Norian gave a faint smile. “It is. And it’s also home to them.”

  He turned to the braided spirit who had handed Nyx the clothes. “You’ll be Nyxsandra’s personal assistant from now on. Help her get settled. Guide her.”

  The spirit nodded once, her eyes warm as she looked to Nyx.

  Nyx squinted. “Assistant?”

  Norian smirked. “They’re not servants,” he said. “This is their home. They live here. They are the castle, in many ways. They’ve chosen to help. To protect it. And now, you.”

  Nyx blinked slowly, looking at the spirits again with new eyes. Not ghosts haunting a place. Not leftovers. But… something more.

  Family.

  Her throat tightened just a little. She hated it. Hated the way that word pulled something raw in her chest.

  “I don’t need help,” she muttered, though her grip on the clothes said otherwise.

  Norian shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You’ve got it anyway.”

  He turned to go, pausing at the door. “Get some food. Rest. Explore. You’ll start your training when you’re ready.”

  And with that, he was gone—leaving Nyx with the spirits, the breeze, and a thousand new questions blooming like vines in her head.

  Nyx changed into the new clothes slowly, running her fingers over the fabric—soft, almost too soft. Like it had been woven by moonlight and memory. The shirt fit loose, breathable, and the cloak wrapped around her like it belonged there. The pants were snug but flexible, clearly made for movement, travel, and maybe, if it came down to it, a fight.

  Once she was dressed, the braided spirit—her assistant—floated quietly to the bedside table and set something down: a small folded piece of parchment, cream-colored and sealed with a pressed wax sigil. A soft shimmer glowed beneath the ghost’s fingertips as she laid it there.

  Nyx raised an eyebrow and walked over, flipping the parchment open.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Gone out to gather herbs and fresh food for dinner. The spirits deserve more than dust and memories.”

  “Explore if you like. Ruby will guide you.”

  — Norian

  She looked up. “Ruby?” she asked aloud, almost hesitant.

  The spirit shimmered the moment her name was spoken—a warm, glowing aura lighting her outline like the embers of a fire catching wind. She bowed her head slightly and gave Nyx a serene smile.

  Nyx blinked, taken off guard. “Whoa… alright then.”

  From beside her, Milo flickered into form, tail swishing and eyes curious. “Spirits binding through names… rare stuff. You’ve made a friend.”

  “I barely said anything,” Nyx muttered, reaching to rub behind Milo’s ears.

  “Words are power, sugar. You should know that by now.”

  Nyx snorted, then looked back at Ruby. “Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

  Ruby simply smiled again and stepped back, ready to follow.

  With Milo curled around her shoulders and Ruby a silent shadow at her heels, Nyx set off into the castle.

  The place was ancient but not crumbling. The walls were made of deep gray stone veined with ivy and moss, yet everything felt clean—cared for. Like someone, or something, had kept the dust and rot at bay. Every now and then, Nyx spotted a ghost or two—mostly quiet, drifting from one room to another, tending to things like dusting shelves or rearranging books.

  Nyx peeked into each open doorway she came across.

  A room full of glass bottles, each glowing faintly from within—like fireflies trapped in dreams.

  A massive library where books floated on their own, pages flipping gently, the air thick with whispers.

  A hallway of portraits—some moving, some still. The eyes followed her in every single one.

  A garden room overtaken by wildflowers and moonlight, roof long gone but the stars close enough to touch.

  Each one more magical than the last, and yet not once did she feel afraid.

  And then—her stomach growled.

  She turned to Milo. “Any chance there’s a kitchen in this place?”

  “I smell garlic and onions,” he said with a sly grin. “This way.”

  They found it just as the scent of cooking truly hit—rosemary, roasted root vegetables, something sweet baking.

  The kitchen was wide, warm, full of golden light from enchanted lanterns overhead. Several spirits moved about—some stirring pots, some cleaning. One ghost was floating upside down near the ceiling, casually seasoning a stew with dead-serious precision.

  At the long table sat Norian, sleeves rolled up and a bundle of fresh herbs on the wood in front of him. He looked up as Nyx entered and gave her a tired but genuine smile.

  “Perfect timing,” he said, gesturing to the spot across from him. “Sit. Eat. Then we talk.”

  She didn’t hesitate. Her stomach made the choice for her.

  She dropped into the seat, Milo curling up beside her on the bench, and a spirit placed a warm bowl of soup in front of her. It smelled like home—whatever that was.

  “So…” she said, between bites, “you live here with them?”

  Norian nodded, peeling leaves from a sprig of thyme. “They were here before me. I was just… accepted.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t ask questions when ghosts give me shelter,” he said with a shrug. “You learn to just say thank you and take the help.”

  Nyx watched him, trying to piece him together. “You said they want me as a weapon.”

  “The Eclipse Cult doesn’t care about people,” he said quietly. “Just power. Yours is tied to the Veil. Rare. Dangerous. They’ll twist it if they get the chance.”

  “So… what? You’re gonna teach me how to not be twisted?”

  He nodded. “Exactly that.”

  Nyx leaned back, spoon in hand, thinking. She glanced toward Ruby, still standing silently behind her, loyal and glowing faintly. Then to the kitchen around her. Then back at Norian.

  “Alright. I’ll stay. But I’m not promising anything.”

  “You already did,” he said.

  She frowned. “When?”

  “When you said her name.”

  Nyx blinked. “Wait—what do you mean, I already did?”

  Norian didn’t look up right away. He was still carefully stripping leaves off the herbs, dropping them into a small bowl. “When you chose to stay. When you called Ruby by name. Whether you meant to or not, you accepted her. You accepted this place.”

  “I didn’t agree to anything.”

  “You didn’t have to.” He finally looked up at her, eyes calm but sharp. “Magic works on intent. On bonds. That moment, you tied yourself to this castle—its spirits, its protections. It accepted you. That’s not something easily undone.”

  Nyx frowned down at her bowl. “That sounds a hell of a lot like a trap.”

  Norian leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Only if you try to run from it. I told you already—this isn’t a prison. But magic doesn’t work by human rules. And this magic is old. Older than either of us. It recognizes power and intention… and you’ve got both, whether you admit it or not.”

  Nyx stirred her soup. “You talk a lot without saying anything, you know that?”

  He smirked. “Comes with the territory.”

  There was a pause—comfortable, this time. The kind that stretches across a shared meal and doesn’t need to be filled with noise.

  Nyx broke the silence first. “Why are you helping me? Really?”

  Norian’s jaw tightened just a little. “Because someone once needed help like you. And I didn’t give it in time.”

  “…Someone you cared about?”

  He didn’t answer right away. His eyes drifted past her, somewhere distant. “She was young. Angry. Powerful. Like you. She wanted to control the shadows. Thought she could tame them. But they got to her first.”

  Nyx watched him quietly. “The Eclipse Cult?”

  He nodded. “I still don’t know if it was them that twisted her… or if she fell into it on her own.”

  Nyx’s voice dropped, quieter. “What was her name?”

  “…Nelly.”

  She didn’t press. The name hung in the air like fog—dense and heavy. She just nodded, letting it settle between them.

  They finished dinner slowly. The stew had turned lukewarm, but neither cared. Milo dozed at Nyx’s feet, ears flicking with the occasional kitchen sound. Ruby remained behind her, ever patient, ever glowing.

  Nyx finally stood, bowl in hand. “Thanks. For the food. And… for not being a total creep.”

  Norian gave a small snort. “I do my best.”

  She paused, almost left, then turned back. “You said I’m free to explore?”

  “Anywhere but the tower on the west wing. It’s unstable.” He raised an eyebrow. “And no, that’s not reverse psychology. It’s literally falling apart.”

  “Noted.”

  “And tomorrow…” he said as she stepped away, “we start training.”

  “Great,” she muttered under her breath, but he heard it and chuckled anyway.

  She handed her empty bowl to one of the nearby spirits, who floated it away with grace. Ruby followed her as she moved toward the hallway.

  Nyx glanced back one last time, eyes catching Norian’s.

  “Goodnight,” she said.

  He nodded. “Sleep well, Nyxsandra.”

  . . .

  Nyx wandered through the dim halls after dinner, Ruby just behind her like a silent flicker of candlelight. The castle was old—aching with history—but not in a broken, rotting way. It felt preserved. Sleeping. As if it remembered everything that had happened inside its walls.

  She passed massive arched windows with ivy curling in from the outside, silent suits of armor that seemed to watch her, and paintings that had long since faded, but still clung to their canvas like ghosts of color.

  Then she saw it.

  A door on the left side of the hallway, darker wood than the rest, and carved into its surface in flowing silver script: “Library.”

  Her breath caught. Her fingers brushed the cool handle—then the door blinked out of existence.

  Gone.

  Just stone wall.

  “What the fuck—” she blinked, backing up, reaching forward again. Nothing.

  Ruby tilted slightly behind her, like even she hadn’t expected that.

  “Okay. That’s not sketchy at all.” Nyx muttered, heart racing just a little.

  She didn’t try to find the door again. Just muttered under her breath and made her way back to her room. The bed looked exactly the same—untouched except for the vines curling gently toward the headboard. She kicked her shoes off, flopped down, and didn’t even bother getting under the covers.

  Milo curled up beside her on the pillow.

  And sleep took her hard.

  The Dream

  The trees were massive. Towering. Dark. The forest was drenched in unnatural fog, like smoke from something that had just finished burning. The sky bled deep purple, and Nyx wasn’t sure if it was dawn or dusk.

  A voice echoed through the fog.

  “Find me.”

  She spun. “Who’s there?”

  Silence. Then, again:

  “You’re close. Keep walking. Before they see you.”

  She turned again—and this time, shadowed figures moved between the trees. Too many of them. Their robes dark, faces covered. The Eclipse Cult.

  “Shit,” she breathed, and ran.

  She sprinted through the fog, her legs burning, branches cutting at her arms. Behind her came the whispers. "Give her to us." "She belongs with the dark."

  She tripped—fell—looked up and saw a massive tree with silver leaves ahead. Something shone beneath it. A person?

  “Milo?” she called, desperate.

  Then hands grabbed her from behind—cold, too cold—dragging her back—

  She woke up with a gasp, bolting upright. Sweat soaked her hairline. Milo sat perched at the end of the bed, puffed up and glowing faint blue, eyes wide.

  He’d seen the dream too. He always did.

  Before she could say anything, Ruby knocked gently and floated in, her glow soft and steady. She held folded clothes—black pants, a deep plum tunic, and a short black capelet—and a note.

  Nyx took it with a frown and opened it.

  Nyxsandra,

  Won’t be at breakfast. Gathering a few ingredients.

  Ruby and Joren will bring you to the training field once you’ve eaten.

  We start slow. But we do start.

  —Norian

  Nyx blinked. “Joren?”

  As if summoned, another spirit drifted in. This one taller, cloaked in blue mist, and wearing what looked like an old military coat—still buttoned neat as if he had just walked out of some ancient battlefield. His face was a blur, but something about his posture screamed discipline.

  “Ah. Great. Ghost army.” Nyx muttered, dragging herself out of bed. She glanced at Ruby. “You saw that dream?”

  The spirit shimmered once in answer. Not a yes. Not a no. Just acknowledgment.

  “Milo did. Something’s out there. Something... calling to me.”

  No response. Of course not.

  After dressing and brushing her hair out with her fingers, Nyx followed the two spirits down to breakfast. The dining hall was less eerie with sunlight pouring in. The table was already set. A plate waited for her—fruit, toast, and something that looked suspiciously like pancakes.

  She ate quickly, Milo snatching a piece of fruit and darting away with it.

  Ruby and Joren waited by the door, silent and expectant.

  Nyx sighed, wiped her mouth, and stood.

  “Alright. Let’s see what kind of magical boot camp bullshit Norian has in store for me.”

  And with that, she followed the spirits out into the castle grounds—toward whatever the hell “training” looked like in a place where doors vanished and spirits ran the house.