Nyx's form shifted, becoming more angular as they frowned. "I recognized Sylvia Morteblood leading the ritual—her mother sits on the regional Necromantic Council. And that tall one with horns? Bramwell Thornheart. His family practically invented ritual fear manipulation back in the Third Demonic Epoch."

  "The one with scales was Calix Viperbane," Lucian added, frost patterns spreading unconsciously across his collar. "My father negotiated a territory dispute with his family last winter. The Viperbanes are notorious for... holding grudges. They once maintained a revenge curse for thirteen generations over a single perceived slight."

  Mo tugged at her signet ring nervously. "Great. So, we've managed to antagonize three powerful villain families in one night. That's got to be some kind of record."

  "Four, actually," Nyx corrected, shifting again. "The one who confronted you directly was Darian Blackcrest. His grandmother is rumored to be a High Council advisor."

  "Perfect," Mo muttered. "Just perfect."

  Silence fell between them as the weight of their situation settled in. Four powerful families, the High Council's watchful eye, and now they'd openly challenged an established Academy tradition. The walls of their dorm suddenly felt less like a sanctuary and more like a fragile shell against gathering storms. And the enchanted ceiling didn't help to calm her worries.

  Nyx's form shifted anxiously, colors dancing across their obsidian skin. "So, what now? Run? Hide? Transfer to Sunshine Sorcery School and learn how to charm butterflies instead?"

  "Now," Mo said, straightening her shoulders as determination replaced fear, "we get ahead of this."

  She paused. "Actually," Mo said, her lips curving into a smile that held an edge of her father's darkness, "let's use their whisper network against them. By morning, there'll be a dozen contradictory versions of what happened. Who's to say which is true? Fear thrives on certainty—confusion is our ally."

  "Plausible deniability," Lucian nodded approvingly. "Winter's most effective cloak is often misdirection—truth buried beneath snow appears absent, yet waits patiently for spring's revelation."

  "Meanwhile," Mo continued, "we use the chamber for actual practice. We accelerate our training with no one knowing how fast we're really progressing."

  Nyx's form rippled with excitement, obsidian skin gleaming as they shifted to a more dramatic silhouette. "Secret power progression ritual? Covert ability enhancement sequence?" Their eyes brightened with each attempted phrase. "That thing humans do in their stories where they become stronger through a series of quick scenes set to spirited music! Whatever it's called—it's deliciously rebellious, and I'm absolutely committed."

  "Ah, you've been reading the books from Earth I gave you. It's called a training montage," Mo explained with a small smile. "Human term. But I like clandestine magical ascension. We need to figure out a proper routine for that name. And I'll give you some more books if you are so committed."

  Nyx's eyes widened. "More Earth contraband? Now you're speaking my language."

  Lucian raised an eyebrow and tried to return his friends to important matters. "I feel I should point out that creating a secretive training regimen using ancient, possibly corrupted magic, while actively deceiving both faculty and hostile student factions, is..." he paused, frost patterns forming concentric circles of concern.

  "Completely on-brand for Umbra Academy?" Nyx suggested, grinning.

  "I was going to say 'extraordinarily reckless,'" Lucian replied, "but also, yes, poetically fitting."

  Mo laughed. "When in villain school..."

  "Cause unprecedented chaos," Nyx finished with a theatrical bow.

  Mo laughed, feeling lighter than she had in days. For once, she had an actual plan—not just reaction and survival, but deliberate action. "We'll need to be careful about when we go. Staggered times, different routes each night."

  "And we'll need some way to know if someone else is using the chamber," Lucian pointed out. "Those seniors might be back, eventually."

  "I could create a detection ward," Nyx offered. "Something subtle that would alert us to presence without being obvious. We don't have to prevent people from entering. Just to learn what else is happening there while we are away."

  Mo nodded. "Perfect. And I'll work on a cover story for tonight, something self-deprecating that makes me seem less threatening than I apparently look."

  "Downplaying your own power," Lucian said with a small smile. "Perhaps the most villainous tactic of all."

  "I'm learning," Mo replied, thinking of her years serving coffee and recommending books, hiding in plain sight among humans who never suspected what she really was. "Even if this school is ridiculous, it's possible to gather some grains of usable knowledge here. And sometimes, the best power move is making everyone underestimate you."

  ***

  Mo awoke to the sound of frantic whispering outside her bedroom door. She blinked groggily at the ceiling, which seemed to be the only stable thing in her life right now. The words drilled into her mind more and more insistently, punctuated by what sounded like Nyx trying to shush someone.

  "Just wake her up already!"

  "She barely slept three hours!"

  "This can't wait!"

  With a groan, Mo dragged herself from bed and yanked open the door. "What," she demanded, "could possibly be so important at…" she squinted at the clock, "…five in the morning?"

  Nyx stood huddled with a familiar moth-winged figure—Milo from last night's "trial." Though less than twelve hours had passed since they'd rescued him, Milo looked transformed. His wings—singed and drooping during the ritual—now stood proudly from his shoulders, their dusky moth patterns catching the pre-dawn light in subtle iridescence. His eyes, though anxious, held a fierce determination that hadn't been there before. Whatever the blood debt meant to him, it had clearly awakened something.

  "I told him you were sleeping," Nyx said apologetically, "but he insisted."

  "I'm sorry," Milo stammered, "but I had to warn you. They're saying things—terrible things—about what happened last night."

  Mo sighed, raking a hand through her tangled ginger hair. "That was expected. Let me guess, I'm either a Council spy, or I used dark forbidden magic to interfere with an 'ancient student tradition'?"

  "Worse," Milo whispered. "Darian Blackcrest is telling everyone you enslaved the senior students with succubus thralls. That you mind-controlled them to get what you wanted. He's saying that's why they stopped."

  "What?" The words felt like ice water down Mo's spine, jolting away every trace of fatigue. Her heart hammered against her ribs as indignation surged through her veins. "That's ridiculous! I didn't even…"

  "That's not all," Milo continued, his wings folding tighter against his back. "Some of the seniors are claiming you threatened to hand them over to the High Council for ritual sacrifice if they didn't obey you."

  Nyx snorted. "Well, at least that one's creative."

  But Mo wasn't laughing. Mind control was exactly what she'd been accused of after her duel with Valerius—exactly what she'd been trying to avoid ever since. For her to be accused of it again, and so soon... The weight of it pressed against her chest like a physical force, making each breath shallow and insufficient.

  "How widespread is this?" she asked.

  "It's all over the first-year dormitories," Milo replied. "And it's spreading. Darian has connections in the student paper. They're doing a special morning edition on 'The Dark Truth Behind Last Night's Incident.'"

  Mo closed her eyes briefly, centering herself as she'd practiced. "Who is this Darian Blackcrest, and why does he suddenly care what I do?"

  "Dorian Blackwood's cousin," Nyx supplied. "The one who's been so interested in my shapeshifting." They shifted nervously, edges blurring. "Apparently, the family connections run deeper than we thought."

  "Perfect," Mo muttered. "Just perfect." But then she started laughing uncontrollably.

  "What is it?" asked Nyx.

  "Do they always choose names like that in their family?" asked Mo, barely able to breathe. "Dorian, Darian? Do they also have Derian and Dyrian?"

  "There's more," Milo said hesitantly.

  "What?" asked Mo. "Dirian? That's insane!"

  "No, the seniors are planning retaliation," said Milo. "I overheard them in the east corridor. Something about 'teaching the provisional Dark Lady her proper place as a freshman.'"

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Mo exchanged glances with Nyx, whose form had sharpened with alertness. This was escalating faster than either of them had anticipated. So much for maintaining a low profile while they trained.

  "Thank you for the warning, Milo," Mo said, already mentally cataloging what she needed to do. "You should go back to your dorm before anyone notices you with us."

  "But what about you?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice. "There are a lot of them, and they're furious."

  "I've faced worse than a few bruised villain egos," Mo replied with more confidence than she felt. In truth, she was still recovering from the magical exertion of the previous night, and her control wasn't as steady as she'd like. But Milo didn't need to know that. "Go on. We'll handle this."

  As Milo disappeared down the corridor, Mo turned to find Nyx staring over her shoulder, their eyes widening with alarmed delight.

  "Lucian," Nyx whispered, "I believe you have a spectral admirer."

  Mo spun around to see Lady Thornheart materializing through the wall behind them, her translucent form radiating icy disapproval. The Dormitory Sentinel's severe face contorted with indignation as she spotted Lucian trying to shrink against the bookshelf.

  "Mr. Frostbrook," she intoned, her spectral voice making the room temperature drop several degrees. "Still here, I see. Section VII, paragraph iii of the Umbral Code of Conduct expressly forbids overnight visitation, regardless of circumstances."

  Frost crept rapidly up Lucian's collar and across his shoulders. "Lady Thornheart," he began, bowing with perfect formality despite his obvious discomfort. "I assure you, this was merely an extended study session regarding…"

  "Extended indeed," the ghost interrupted, pulling an ethereal pocket watch from the folds of her spectral robes. It glowed with a sickly blue light as she snapped it open with deliberate slowness. "Eight hours and thirteen minutes beyond curfew, to be precise." Her disapproving gaze swept the room like a cold searchlight, lingering on their hastily hidden training notes tucked beneath Mo's pillow—the corner of a page still visible despite their efforts. "And with no academic materials visible. How... suspicious."

  Nyx stepped forward, their form shifting into something vaguely reminiscent of Lady Thornheart herself—though with decidedly more dramatic flair. "We were practicing Mental Domination techniques," they explained, mimicking the ghost's precise diction. "Purely academic, I assure you."

  The ghost's translucent eyebrow arched to impossible heights. "Mental Domination? At your level? Highly improbable."

  "Actually," Mo interjected, thinking quickly, "we were analyzing the philosophical underpinnings of consent within villain society—comparing traditional approaches with more... contemporary methods."

  Lady Thornheart's form wavered slightly, her expression flickering between suspicion and scholarly interest. "A legitimate topic of villainy discourse," she conceded reluctantly. "However, the Code remains unambiguous regarding dormitory visitation."

  "Of course," Lucian agreed, frost patterns forming intricate apology symbols across his sleeves. "I shall depart immediately and accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate. Perhaps additional duties in the Forbidden Archives?"

  Something that might have been a smile ghosted across Lady Thornheart's severe features. "The archives, Mr. Frostbrook? How convenient that your punishment aligns with your academic interests." She drifted closer, her form becoming more solid as she exerted her authority. "Detention. Tonight. Cataloging the restricted section on Historical Ethical Breaches. And next time, conduct your philosophical debates during sanctioned hours."

  With a final, disapproving sniff, she dissolved into mist, leaving behind only the lingering scent of old parchment and disapproval.

  "Well," Nyx said brightly once she'd fully disappeared, "at least she didn't report us to the Headmaster."

  "And I get archive access," Lucian added, a small smile forming. "Perhaps we can research that chamber while I'm 'serving detention.'"

  Mo shook her head, torn between amusement and concern. "We need to be more careful. Between senior vendettas and dormitory ghosts, we're collecting enemies faster than Nyx collects dramatic poses."

  "Speaking of enemies," Nyx said, their form returning to normal, "what's our plan for addressing these rumors before breakfast?"

  "We don't."

  "Aren't you worried about a dozen senior villains-in-training targeting you personally?" Nyx asked, raising an eyebrow that briefly floated above the rest of their face.

  "I'm more worried about the High Council using this as another reason to question my ability to be reasonable," Mo replied grimly. "Besides, as you pointed out yesterday—there's a difference between those playing at villainy and the real thing."

  "And which are we?" Nyx wondered aloud.

  Mo paused, her hand on the doorknob. It was a fair question. Last night, she'd interfered with what was essentially a hazing ritual—common practice in villain society, if unnecessarily cruel. In doing so, she'd broken unwritten rules of Academy hierarchy, positioned herself against tradition, and used her family name as a threat.

  Viewed objectively, her actions could easily be seen as a power play rather than a rescue mission.

  "We're neither heroes nor villains," she finally said. "We're survivors. And right now, surviving means embracing the chaos without letting it control us."

  Nyx grinned, their form solidifying into something more battle-ready. "I'm not sure I appreciate that attitude toward chaos. But I do love it when you talk like an actual Dark Lady."

  "Don't get used to it," Mo warned, but couldn't completely hide her own smile. Something had shifted in her last night while she was standing on that ancient platform. A certainty had taken root—not about what kind of villain she would become, but about what kind of power she would wield.

  And right now, that power needed to be directed at damage control.

  ***

  The Umbra Academy dining hall resembled a Gothic cathedral crossed with a particularly vindictive architect's fever dream. Vaulted ceilings disappeared into shadows thick enough to hide entire ecosystems, while stained-glass windows depicted famous villain triumphs with gruesome accuracy. The tables—arranged by hierarchy and villain classification—stretched in long rows beneath floating candelabras that occasionally dripped hot wax on unsuspecting students.

  The moment Mo crossed the threshold with Nyx and Lucian flanking her, conversations died mid-syllable. A collective intake of breath that seemed to vacuum all sound from the vast hall. The silence crashed over them like a physical wave, followed by the weight of hundreds of eyes swiveling in unison. Mo felt each stare like a physical touch—some curious fingers, others hostile daggers, but all boring into her with a predatory intensity that made her skin prickle.

  "So much for a quiet breakfast," Nyx muttered.

  Lucian's expression remained impassive. "Eyes forward. Table seven. We're being summoned."

  Mo followed his gaze to where Julian sat at a table normally reserved for teaching assistants and honor students. The human researcher was motioning discreetly for them to join him, seemingly unbothered by the glares this earned from his tablemates.

  "Bold move," Mo remarked, but changed direction toward Julian's table.

  As they navigated between tables, whispers followed like a poisonous wake. Mo caught fragments that confirmed Milo's warning:

  "...mind control, obviously..." "...threatened to sacrifice them to the Council..." "...Dark Lady powers emerging finally..." "...bet the first-years will be next..."

  Julian cleared a space beside him, his movements deliberately casual as several students gathered their belongings with exaggerated disgust and even fear, chairs scraping against stone in pointed protest. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, but his smile remained steady—a small island of normalcy in a sea of hostile stares.

  "Morning," he greeted them, voice pitched just loud enough to carry to their ears alone. His fingers drummed once against the newspaper beside his plate. "I'm guessing you've heard the rumors."

  "Hard to miss them," Mo replied, sliding onto the bench. "Any idea who started this particular version? Milo mentioned someone named Darian… What's his family name?" She looked at Nyx. "Blackwood's cousin, right?"

  "Ah, yes. The Blackcrest propaganda machine," Julian grimaced, pushing his breakfast plate aside. "Dorian's cousin—third cousin, technically—has been working overtime. He takes some relevant classes and seems to know what he's doing. The student paper's special edition is already circulating."

  He produced a folded newspaper from his satchel. The headline blazed in dramatic gothic script: "PROVISIONAL DARK LADY UNLEASHES FORBIDDEN MIND CONTROL."

  Beneath it, an artist's rendering showed Mo with glowing eyes and shadowy tendrils extending from her hands toward cowering senior students. The image bore only a passing resemblance to reality, but it was effective. Even Mo had to admit it looked terrifying.

  "Charming," she said dryly. "I don't suppose there's any mention of the fact that they were torturing a first-year student?"

  "Page six, paragraph four," Julian replied. "A brief note that 'traditional team-building and bonding exercises were underway when Nightshade interfered.'"

  Nyx snorted. "Team-building. Is that what we're calling psychological torture now?"

  Julian's expression darkened. "Unfortunately, yes. The Academy has a long history of looking the other way on these 'student traditions.' The administration considers them part of the natural pecking order."

  "Of course they do," Mo muttered. She skimmed the article, which painted her as either dangerously uncontrolled or malevolently calculating, depending on which paragraph you read. "So what's their endgame here?"

  "You're the provisional Dark Lady who doesn't act like one," Julian said simply. "You intervened to help someone. That's tantamount to heresy in villain education circles."

  "Plus," Lucian added quietly, "you humiliated senior students from powerful families. That alone would earn you enemies."

  Mo closed the newspaper, her appetite gone. "So what now? I can't exactly publish a rebuttal."

  "Actually," Julian leaned forward, lowering his voice, "there might be a way to turn this to your advantage."

  "I'm listening."

  "The rumors paint you as powerful, controlled, and willing to use your abilities to get what you want," Julian explained. "That's actually the perfect villain image according to the Academy curriculum. If you lean into it..."

  "I play the villain they already think I am," Mo finished, understanding dawning. It wasn't far from her own plan, but with a twist. Instead of downplaying her abilities, she could embrace the reputation. "Meanwhile, they completely lose understanding of what's really happening. Whether I'm embracing my darkest heritage, or I'm a witless human-sympathizer."

  "Ooooh…" said Nyx. "Delicious!"

  "Exactly," Julian nodded. "But you'll need to be careful."

  "Yeah," said Mo. "That reminds me of something I may have said during this altercation."

  "What's that?" asked Julian.

  "Doesn't matter, I just was in a philosophical mood, I guess."

  "Sure," said Julian. "But there's a fine line between being feared and becoming a target. You should tread i carefully."

  "Too late for that," Nyx pointed out. "According to Milo, the seniors are already planning their revenge."

  Julian frowned. "That's concerning. The traditional response would be…"

  "A show of force," Lucian interrupted. "In my family, we'd freeze their quarters while they slept. Just enough to demonstrate power without causing permanent damage."

  "We're not freezing anyone," Mo said firmly.

  "No," Julian agreed, "but you may need to make a statement. Something that establishes boundaries without escalating the conflict."

  Julian had just finished explaining the political dynamics when Mo sensed a presence approaching from behind. The students at nearby tables tensed, conversations dropping to hushed whispers.

  "Excuse me," came a voice like dark velvet—smooth, rich, and carefully modulated to convey both confidence and careful restraint.

  Mo turned to find Dorian Blackwood standing a precise two steps from their table—close enough for conversation, far enough to avoid seeming presumptuous. Unlike his senior relative, who wore his villain aesthetic like a masquerade costume, Dorian's elegance seemed effortless: simple black attire impeccably tailored, raven-black hair swept back from aristocratic features, and eyes so dark they seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it.

  I just added my first novelette to Amazon, and you can read it on your Kindle. If you can't afford it or prefer to avoid having a Kindle subscription, just (including the free one) and send me a message there. I'll reply with the book's PDF.

  you can get that book for free on Kindle.

  free subscription to my Patreon, but I'd appreciate it if you decide to subscribe to a higher tier :)

  join my Discord server!