Lyla Emberfell:- House of Secrets

They said Thornwick Academy was the safest magical school in the realm.

But at 6:07 a.m., that lie shattered with the scream that ripped through its stone corridors.

It started with silence.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that feels like the world is holding its breath.

Lyla Emberfell sat upright in bed, heart racing for no reason she could name. Her dorm was still. Her roommates fast asleep. The morning sky beyond the window held a silver hue — almost peaceful.

And then, from the walls, from the floor, from somewhere deep and old and angry — it began.

Not a whisper this time.

A scream.

A scream that didn't come from a throat, but from the bones of the castle itself.

She staggered from her bed barefoot, only to drop to the floor, clutching her head. Her scream never came — only blood. Her ears. Her mouth. Her vision turned red, then black, then blinding white.

She floated.

No — she was thrown.

Slammed to the wall like a puppet with its strings slashed. Her back arched unnaturally. Her throat stretched upward as though something invisible was strangling her.

Lights flickered. Glass shattered. Students screamed.

And still — the voice.

That voice, full of hate and hunger and history.

"Give me what is mine…"

She convulsed in midair.

Principal William arrived seconds later — but even he froze at the sight. The strongest protective wards at Thornwick had failed.

He raised his staff. His voice thundered:

"MULIFISA!"

Golden light struck the hallway like lightning, and the shadow — thick, oily, ancient — tore from Lyla's body and vanished like smoke on wind.

Lyla fell.

Unconscious.

Broken.

She awoke in the infirmary, her body wrapped in healing magic, her lips pale, her ears dried with blood. Around her neck, a silver locket shimmered weakly.

Mrs. Tara, the healer, gave her report with shaking hands.

"She… she may never speak again. And her hearing… the damage is extensive."

A silence thicker than before settled over the room.

Solen sobbed openly. Zara turned away. Leo clenched his fists.

William said nothing. Only stared at the locket.

In the halls, whispers spread like fire. Students retreated to their dorms. Classes were canceled.

They all knew the name behind the attack.

Thorne.

Lyla's father.

And somewhere in the academy… someone was helping him.

Meanwhile, deep in the courtyard, another wound reopened.

Zara fell to her knees before a girl she had once cradled as a baby.

"Mona… I've searched the skies every night. I am your mother."

The girl's eyes, once soft, now cold like Thorne's.

"You are not my mother," Mona hissed.

"Thorne didn't steal me. He saved me. You lied. You left me."

She turned away, the wind catching her cloak like wings of night.

"I am Thorne's daughter. And I'm not alone anymore."

That night, the castle held its breath. Shadows crawled between its walls. Unseen… but listening.

In his chamber, Principal William sealed a letter.

 "If Thorne can do this to his own blood… he will do worse to yours. We cannot wait. We must strike before he rises. Because if he gains her power… magic itself may fall under his control."

He folded the parchment, rang the bell, and whispered a final line not meant for ink:

"Forget her. You have one daughter left. Nova. Protect her... before it's too late."

Outside, wind howled. The

stars blinked. And far, far away, something stirred.

But Thorne wasn't done.

And Lyla… wasn't safe.