Bound in Shadows

The night hummed with a heavy silence. The Academy was empty, as it always was after hours, save for the faint whispers of wind slipping through cracks in the old stone walls. Nichole stood in the great library’s center, her hands trembling as they clutched a forbidden book bound in cracked black leather. A faint golden glow spilled from the pages, casting eerie light across her face.

“You have no business being here, Nichole.”

The sharp, cold voice sliced through the stillness. Nichole spun to see Headmaster Strickland standing in the doorway, his expression a mix of anger and disappointment — the look he reserved for those who dared to cross unthinkable lines.

“I can explain,” Nichole said, keeping her voice steady despite the adrenaline roaring through her veins.

“Can you?” Strickland stepped forward, his robes brushing the marble floor. “Explain why you’re holding that? Why you broke into the restricted wing after curfew? Why you’re endangering this institution?”

“It’s not what it looks like.” She closed the book, hugging it tightly. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“Not wrong?” Strickland’s bitter laugh echoed off the high ceilings. “That book contains spells outlawed centuries ago. Dark magic that corrupts even the strongest minds. And you, a mere apprentice, think you’re above the rules?”

Nichole’s jaw tightened. “Rules don’t always make sense, Headmaster.”

“They do when they’re meant to protect lives.” Strickland’s gaze darkened. “Hand me the book.”

Her grip tightened. “No.”

The single word reverberated through the room. Strickland’s face hardened as he took another step closer. “I won’t ask again.”

“You don’t understand.” Her voice rose, cracking slightly. “This book — it has answers. Answers none of you will give me.”

“Answers about what?” Strickland’s tone sharpened. “How to summon demons? To control life and death? What could you possibly—”

“My mother.”

The words escaped like a blade, cutting the air between them. Strickland blinked, momentarily stunned.

“She didn’t die naturally,” Nichole continued, her voice steadier now. “Something happened to her, and you know it. This book—” she lifted it slightly, “—might lead me to the truth.”

Strickland exhaled sharply. “You’re letting grief cloud your judgment. Your mother’s death was tragic, yes, but it wasn’t some conspiracy.”

“You’re lying.” Her voice struck like a whip. “I’ve seen the records — or tried to. Half of them are redacted. Why would the Academy hide things about her if there was nothing more to it?”

Strickland hesitated, and the silence was louder than words.

“I thought so.” Her tone turned bitter. “I’m not giving you the book. You can’t stop me.”

Strickland’s hand moved in a flash, summoning a whip of light that snapped through the air. It wrapped around Nichole’s wrist, forcing her to drop the book. It hit the floor with a dull thud, its glow dimming.

“You’re reckless,” Strickland said, his voice low and icy. “You think you’re entitled to the truth, but some truths aren’t meant to be uncovered. Your mother understood that. She respected it.”

“Don’t talk about her like you knew her.” Nichole’s eyes blazed as she pulled against the binding spell. “You’re just afraid — afraid I’ll figure out what you and the others did.”

“What we did,” Strickland said evenly, “was keep this world safe. Something you clearly don’t understand.”

“I don’t want your safety. I want justice.”

Strickland studied her, his expression softening for the briefest moment. “You’re just like her. Stubborn. Too clever for your own good.”

Nichole froze. The comparison wasn’t new, but something in his voice made her pause.

“You knew her,” she said slowly, the realization settling like a weight in her chest. “You really knew her.”

“Yes,” Strickland admitted, releasing the binding spell. “I knew her. And I respected her. Which is why I won’t let you make the same mistakes she did.”

Nichole rubbed her wrist, her pulse racing. “Mistakes? What mistakes?”

“She couldn’t let things go.” His voice was quiet now, almost mournful. “She was brilliant, but consumed by the need to know more, to push boundaries. She thought she could control the darkness. She was wrong.”

“You’re lying,” Nichole said, though the words lacked conviction.

“I wish I were.” Strickland glanced at the book on the floor. “That text is cursed. It whispers to you, twists your thoughts. It promises answers but takes everything in return. Your mother believed she could use it to—” He stopped himself, his expression clouding.

“To what?” Nichole demanded.

“To bring someone back,” he said finally. “Someone she lost. And in the end, it cost her everything.”

The room seemed to shrink around her as the weight of his words sank in. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind — warnings about the dangers of obsession, pleas to trust the process, even when it hurt.

Doubt crept in for a moment. Maybe Strickland was right. Maybe this wasn’t the way. But then she remembered the redacted files, the lies, the hollow excuses that had haunted her since her mother’s death.

“No.” She bent to pick up the book, her resolve hardening. “You can’t scare me into submission. If my mother was willing to risk everything for the truth, so am I.”

Strickland’s expression darkened. “If you go down this path, there’s no coming back.”

“Maybe I don’t want to come back.”

She turned and ran, the book clutched to her chest. Strickland called after her, his voice sharp with desperation, but she didn’t stop. The shadows of the library swallowed her, and as she slipped into the night, the book’s glow burned brighter.

It wasn’t courage or madness driving her forward. It was both. And she would find the truth — no matter the cost.

The air outside the Academy was sharp and cold, biting at Nichole’s skin as she ran through the cobblestone courtyard. The book’s glow pulsed faintly, an unnatural warmth seeping through the cracked leather into her hands. She didn’t dare look back — she could still hear Strickland’s voice echoing faintly in the distance, his words tinged with desperation.

Ahead, the dense woods loomed, their shadows curling like outstretched fingers. It was the only place she could go. The only place the Academy wouldn’t immediately search.

As she slipped into the trees, the oppressive silence returned, broken only by the crunch of leaves beneath her boots and the faint hum of the book. She slowed her pace, her breath visible in the moonlight filtering through the canopy above. The book seemed heavier now, as though the weight of her choice was sinking into her bones.

She stopped, leaning against a tree to catch her breath. For the first time, she dared to glance down at the book in her hands. The glow had changed — it wasn’t the soft golden hue it had been in the library. It was sharper now, flickering with an unsettling, almost blood-red tint.

Nichole swallowed hard, her fingers trembling as they brushed the cover. The book felt alive, like it was pulsing with some hidden rhythm, matching the frantic beat of her heart.

“What are you?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind rustling through the trees.

The book seemed to react, the glow intensifying for a moment. The air around her grew colder, and a faint whisper brushed against her ears, indistinct but undeniably there. She froze, her pulse quickening.

“Answers,” the whisper seemed to promise, the sound curling around her like smoke. “Truth.”

Nichole shook her head, pressing the book closer to her chest. “No. Not yet.”

She knew she couldn’t open it here — not in the middle of the forest, not when Strickland could still be searching for her. But the promise of answers was intoxicating, gnawing at her resolve. The thought of her mother — of the secrets the Academy had buried — pushed her forward.

She needed a place to think, to plan. Somewhere safe. Her mind immediately went to the old watchtower on the outskirts of the grounds. It had been abandoned for decades, a crumbling relic no one bothered to patrol anymore. If she could make it there, she’d have time to figure out her next move.

Nichole pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and started moving again, weaving through the forest with purpose. The book’s whispers faded into the background, but she couldn’t shake the sensation that it was watching her, waiting for her to let her guard down.

The watchtower emerged from the shadows like a forgotten sentinel, its stone walls cracked and weathered by time. Ivy clung to its sides, twisting up toward the jagged remains of the roof. Nichole slipped through the half-rotted door, her footsteps echoing faintly in the hollow space.

Inside, the air was damp and musty, but it was quiet. Safe. She climbed the narrow spiral staircase to the top, wincing as each creaky step threatened to give way under her weight. Finally, she reached the upper chamber, where a broken window let in a sliver of moonlight. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Setting the book on a makeshift table formed from old crates, Nichole hesitated. The glow of the text bathed the room in an eerie light, casting long shadows against the walls. Her fingers hovered over the cover, her mind racing with doubts.

Strickland’s words echoed in her head- It whispers to you, twists your thoughts. It promises answers, but it takes everything in return.

Was she already falling victim to it? Was this what her mother had felt, this pull that defied reason and drowned out warnings?

Nichole’s jaw tightened. No. I won’t make her mistakes. But I won’t turn away either.

She opened the book.

The air shifted instantly, the temperature plummeting as the pages came to life. Symbols and text writhed across the parchment, their shapes defying logic. The whispers grew louder, forming words she could almost understand, like fragments of a song on the edge of memory.

Her vision blurred as a wave of energy surged through her. Nichole staggered, gripping the edge of the table for support. The symbols on the page seemed to leap off the paper, swirling in the air like embers from a fire. And then she saw it — her mother’s face, faint but unmistakable, shimmering in the flickering light.

“Mom?” Nichole’s voice cracked, the word spilling out before she could stop it.

The image didn’t respond, but it lingered, watching her with a mixture of sorrow and something else — something darker.

“I need answers,” Nichole whispered, her voice trembling. “What happened to you? Why did you leave?”

The symbols swirled faster, the book’s glow intensifying until it was almost blinding. Nichole shielded her eyes, but the whispers filled her mind now, clearer than ever. One phrase repeated, over and over, like a heartbeat-

“Seek the gate. Seek the gate.”

The glow faded abruptly, plunging the room into darkness. Nichole’s breathing was ragged, her heart pounding in her chest. The book lay silent now, its glow extinguished, but the words burned in her mind.

“Seek the gate.”

She didn’t know what it meant, but she knew one thing for certain- this was only the beginning.