Page 16 of Of Shadow and Moon

I remember the first time I saw Rhyker. His gaze seared into me from dozens of feet away, and I was just as enraptured by him as he was by me. For whatever reason, we always would catch each other's gaze, anytime we were in the same room. Both hiding behind a mask. Both pretending to be something we weren’t.

Across from him, Tomas leans against a pillar, his silvercurls catching the light like spun silk. His pale skin contrasts sharply with his deep red eyes, eyes that seem to pierce through the dim lighting, their gaze cold and calculating.

His features are sharp and finely chiseled, a beauty that is almost unnatural, like something out of a dream. Dressed in fitted dark clothes that hug his slender but muscular form, he radiates an air of elegance, of refined danger. His gaze flicks to me, assessing, and for a moment, I keep his gaze. His lips tilt up in a flirty smirk. I roll my eyes in response and look away. I distantly hear a gravely chuckle.

On the far end of the hall, Kaelion stands with his arms crossed, looking every bit the dark prince of legends. His sleek black hair is buzzed on the sides, his hair short but perfect. Black tattoos snake across his neck and down his hands, adding to his air of mystery, and two small black horns curl from his forehead.

He scowls openly when he sees me, his gaze lingering on my face, seeing the hues of yellow and blue mixed with deep purple from the bruises that are new and old. The disdain is palpable, his lips twisting in irritation, and I can’t help but bristle slightly under his scrutiny.

Finally, Matheus stands at the center, his towering form impossible to ignore. His wild red hair, like flames, falls in waves around his shoulders, his stature a good head taller than the rest, his frame muscular and powerful.

His skin is bronzed, a testament to a life exposed to harsh elements, and his eyes are the color of molten lava—fierce, commanding, unwavering. He radiates intensity, an energy that crackles in the air, and I find myself both intimidated and captivated. There’s an undeniable heat to him, and as his gaze meets mine, I feel a shiver run down myspine, but he quickly looks away. Reminding me of the masquerade and I smile to myself.

They’re beautiful. Each of them in a way that is raw, magnetic, and undeniably dangerous. There’s a power about them that’s more than just their royal blood—it’s in the way they hold themselves, in the subtle glares they exchange across the hall, in the unspoken hostility that fills the space between them. Their kingdoms may despise each other, but it’s clear that they hate each other just as much. They stand apart, distant and guarded. Their anger is intoxicating and mirrors my own, sending unwelcome shivers down my spin.

I can’t even hear Headmistress Mirella as she speaks beside me. The tension is almost tangible, like a spell cast over the room, pulling me into a strange, silent connection with each of them. I feel drawn to them. The realization is unsettling, and yet, I can’t shake it.

Then Mirella’s voice cuts through the haze, pulling me back to reality. She’s moving, already halfway across the hall, her steps echoing off the stone floor, and I’m forced to tear my gaze away from the princes, to break the spell. I follow her reluctantly; the moment slipping through my fingers as I turn away from the four princes. We pass through a side door, leaving the grand hall behind as she leads me down another corridor, this one dimly lit and narrow.

My heart still races, my mind whirling with the image of their faces, the intensity in their eyes, and the strange, magnetic pull I felt toward each of them.

Headmistress Mirella leads me out of the Salón de Quetzalcoatl, her footsteps echoing against the stone as we step into the cool night air. Darkness has fully settled overthe Academy, and a thin mist hangs low over the ground, swirling around us.

Ahead, I see, what I assume are the six dorm buildings arranged in a half circle, their silhouettes imposing against the backdrop of the starlit sky. Each one is unique, bearing carvings and symbols that hint at the nature of those who live within.

Mirella gestures toward the dorms as we walk. “Each dorm represents a facet of our world, and here, Tonalocas and humans, live side by side,” she explains, her voice clipped and efficient.

She points to the building on the far left, its walls adorned with jaguar carvings and vines crawling up to the roof. “Dormitorio del Jaguar,” she says, “for strength and resilience.”

To its right, a tall structure with narrow windows and carvings of swirling flames: “Dormitorio del Fuego,representing passion and endurance,” she continues without pause.

Next isDormitorio de las Sombras, draped in darkness even under the moonlight, with intricate patterns woven into the stone like shifting shadows. “For stealth and secrecy,” she adds, glancing at me briefly.

We pass another building, this one carved with wings that look ready to take flight. “Dormitorio del Águila,for courage and vigilance.”

To the right of that, a smaller dorm with serpent carvings slithering up its walls, eyes gleaming like jewels even in the dark. “Dormitorio de la Serpiente,symbolizing transformation and rebirth,” Mirella says.

Finally, we reach the last dorm, situated at the far end of the half circle. Its walls are bare, except for a carved crescent moon that shines against the stone, illuminated by thetorchlight nearby. “And here,” she says, stopping in front of it, “is where you’ll stay—Dormitorio de la Luna.”

The name resonates within me, pulling at something deep inside, and for a moment, I forget the aches and bruises that cover my body. The moons themselves seem to glow above us, casting a silvery light that bathes the building and makes it feel both welcoming and hauntingly powerful.

Headmistress Mirella opens the door and leads me inside. We pass through a dimly lit common area before heading up a spiraling staircase. The steps are carved with swirling patterns that resemble moon phases, and the air grows cooler with each step we take. I trail behind her, my fingers brushing against the stone walls, feeling the pulse of magic that seems to course through this place.

At the top of the stairs, we arrive at a narrow corridor lined with heavy wooden doors. Mirella stops in front of one marked 209 and turns the handle, pushing it open to reveal my room.

The space is unexpectedly spacious, with dark stone walls and wooden beams running overhead, lending the room a mix of coziness and grandeur. Two beds sit on opposite sides, each with its own nightstand, desk, and wardrobe. The floor is covered by a deep indigo rug.

Mirella’s gaze sweeps over the room. “Your roommate has already moved in,” she states, her eyes lingering on the bed by the window, draped in rich, fine fabrics in shades of midnight blue and silver. The bed is piled high with soft, velvet pillows and silken blankets that look like they belong in a noble’s palace. The desk beside it is meticulously organized, with a set of polished quills, a stack of leather-bound books, and a small silver lamp casting a warm, golden glow.

The contrast between her side of the room and mine is stark. I look down at my duffle—a reminder of everything I don’t have. I stare at the bag, stained and fraying at the edges, looking even more out of place next to my roommate’s opulent setup. Whoever she is, she clearly comes from wealth, a world much different from mine.

At Obsidian Academy, no one pays tuition, it’s a place where every student is given equal footing, at least on the surface. The dormitories are uniform, stark and utilitarian, with small, shared rooms furnished with the bare essentials: a narrow bed with basic furnishings like two sets of fitted sheets, blankets, and a single worn down pillow, a desk worn from years of use, and a chest for personal belongings. Meals are supposed to be simple and functional, served in a sprawling hall where the food is designed to nourish, not delight. The mere thought of food makes my stomach growl embarrassingly loud.

The education, while rigorous and steeped in the history and common knowledge of Tonalli, follows a standard curriculum, ensuring every student receives the same foundational training. Yet beneath this illusion of equality lies a system that caters to privilege. For those with wealth or connections, the Academy offers a range of coveted upgrades that transform the experience entirely. Private rooms are available for a steep price, spacious and lavishly appointed with plush furniture, enchanted lighting, and windows that overlook the sprawling grounds or the distant Dark Forest. The standard meals, often bland and repetitive, can be swapped for gourmet offerings—exotic dishes infused with magic to enhance stamina, focus, or strength, prepared by the kingdom’s finest chefs.

While Alexander could’ve absolutely afforded theseamenities as my guardian, he would rather gouge his eyes out with rusty spoons than offer me any sort of comfort.

These perks create an invisible but obvious hierarchy among the students, a silent reminder that while everyone may enter the Academy as equals, power and influence always find a way to rise to the surface. It’s a subtle but pervasive truth.

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