The train slowed as it approached Mecatopia Station, and students pressed against the windows, their excitement palpable.

Isabella, Sirela, and Felix stepped off together, their fates unknowingly intertwined, though none of them could have guessed what lay ahead. Shadows flickered at the platform's edges, watching silently, unnoticed by all except the air itself.

The platform was a masterpiece of design, crafted from polished white marble inlaid with intricate golden patterns that seemed to shimmer and shift under the soft glow of the lamps. Each step felt alive, each tile warm, casting an inviting light across the space. The golden pendulum at the entrance glimmered in the dim light, projecting faint, shifting patterns on the floor.

Above, the station's roof was a marvel translucent crystal that allowed the moonlight to cascade through, bathing the station in an ethereal glow.

Aurora inhales " it's a faint scent of jasmine and honeysuckle. It's really pleasant" 

The air is cool the plants and flowers blooming as the students passed, as if welcoming them to their new world.

Isabella stepped onto the platform, her boots clicking softly against the marble. The ground beneath her feet shifted slightly-just a fraction-enough to make her pause. Her eyes darted downward, but the stone was still. She shivered, feeling unseen eyes watching her. The others seemed oblivious, their attention drawn to the grand path ahead. She reached for Lysandra's hand and whispered, "Do you feel that?" Lysandra only smiled, brushing it off.

The path leading to Mecatopia Academy stretched ahead, ancient and timeless. Moss-covered bricks formed a winding trail, each one polished smooth by generations of students who had walked there before. Enchanted gold lamps lined the path, their flames flickering with soft magical light. The glow illuminated the way but cast no harsh shadows, as if the darkness itself had been tamed.

Andrew broke the quiet. "Look at those lamps. They're magnificent."

The students paused to admire them. The lamps were intricately designed, golden vines and leaves etched into their surfaces. The flames seemed alive, crackling softly, and the light they gave off was warm, almost comforting. Around them, glowing plants shimmered faintly, their flowers releasing a calming fragrance that seemed to settle the excitement and nerves of the students.

Isabella couldn't shake her unease. As they walked, fleeting shadows flickered at the edges of her vision. Turning quickly, she saw nothing but the trees and the faint glow of the lamps. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse-a figure cloaked in flowing robes, face obscured by shadows. The figure disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only a faint whisper in the air.

Ahead of them loomed the castle-a dark and ancient structure that seemed to have emerged from the earth itself. Its towering spires reached into the sky, silhouetted against the massive, glowing moon. The castle's stone walls were a deep charcoal grey, almost black, exuding an air of timeless authority. The moon behind it was impossibly large, casting its silvery-blue glow across the landscape.

Isabella stopped to look up at the sky. The clouds seemed to dance around the moon, creating a halo effect that added to the surreal beauty of the moment. Snow began to fall, light and gentle, adding a layer of mist to the already ethereal scene. Her breath fogged in the cold air as she stared, transfixed.

"This is... incredible," Lysandra said, her voice breaking the silence.

"It's more than that," Isabella murmured. The dragon tattoo on her back began to tingle faintly, sending warmth through her shoulders. She touched the spot instinctively but felt nothing unusual. Still, the sensation left her unsettled. The castle seemed to be watching her, waiting.

At the castle doors, her unease deepened. The massive entrance was carved with intricate designs of dragons and phoenixes entwined. Vines wrapped around the carvings, pulsing faintly as if alive. As Isabella stepped closer, the dragon's eyes seemed to follow her, and the phoenix's feathers glowed softly.

Inside the Great Hall, the air was heavy with history. The hall stretched endlessly, its vaulted ceiling supported by stone columns etched with ancient runes. Wooden tables stretched from end to end, polished to a gleam, illuminated by chandeliers that swayed slightly, casting flickering shadows across the room.

Isabella paused in the doorway, the whispers returning, louder now. They echoed through the hall, faint and indecipherable but persistent. As she walked forward, she noticed the banners of the academy houses hanging from the walls.

House Draculis bore the symbol of a crimson bat with outstretched wings, fangs bared, set against a dark moon. The house banner seemed to pulse faintly as Isabella passed.

House Lupinia showed a silver wolf howling at a full moon, a forest silhouetted in the background.

House Aquaris, the sirens' house, depicted a blue siren holding a trident, surrounded by ocean waves.

House Arcanis, for the witches, bore a glowing silver pentagram surrounded by mystical runes.

House Faeloria, representing the fairies, depicted an iridescent fairy holding a flower against a starry sky.

As Isabella approached her own house's banner, it shimmered strangely, its colours darkening and turn into a dragon flag. Again, the same voice in unique language she start hearing. She snapped.

"What's wrong?" Lysandra asked, noticing her hesitation.

"Nothing," Isabella lied, her gaze fixed on the banner, everything dissapeared. But she couldn't shake the feeling that the whispers were speaking only to her, hinting at a destiny she wasn't sure she wanted.

The night had only just begun, and already, Mecatopia had begun to reveal its mysteries.

The moon hung low, casting a silvery light through the tall, arched windows of the Velmont estate's library. Shadows danced across the walls, stirred by the flickering flames in the fireplace. Phillip stood in the center of the room, his breath shallow and his mind racing. The air was thick with the scent of aged leather and ink, a faint trace of dust clinging to the shelves of books that lined every wall.

He had been searching for hours, rifling through drawers, cabinets, and hidden compartments in the ornate wooden desk. Something wasn't right. The Crimson Harvest Massacre had haunted his thoughts for years, an unsolved tragedy tied too closely to his family's name. His father, Lord Darius Velmont, had always been shrouded in mystery, but this... this was something deeper.

Phillip's fingers brushed against the edge of a false bottom in one of the desk drawers. With a slight tug, the wood gave way, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside lay a bundle of aged letters tied together with a faded crimson ribbon. His hands trembled as he pulled them out, the crackling of old parchment breaking the silence of the room.

He carefully unfolded the first letter, the handwriting unmistakably his mother's elegant, yet hurried. The words struck him like a dagger:

"𝓜𝔂 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓟𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓹,
𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼, 𝓲𝓽 𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓼 𝓘 𝓪𝓶 𝓷𝓸 𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓬𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾. 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓪 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓽𝓸𝓻 𝓲𝓷 𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓶𝓲𝓭𝓼𝓽, 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓘 𝓸𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓶𝔂 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮. 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓭𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓻𝓾𝓷𝓼 𝓭𝓮𝓮𝓹, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓲𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼. 𝓑𝓮𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓫𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓾𝓼. 𝓣𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓷𝓸 𝓸𝓷𝓮. 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮."

His throat tightened as he read the final line, the ink smudged as though her hand had trembled while writing:

"𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓬𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓴."

A chill ran down his spine. He could feel the weight of the room pressing in on him, the flicker of the fire casting long shadows that seemed to stretch toward him. He swallowed hard, unfolding another letter. This one wasn't his mother's handwriting. It was his father's.

"𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑉𝑒𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑡 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑢𝑟𝑒, 𝑛𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑠𝑡. 𝑆𝑎𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑟𝑦. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐶𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝐻𝑎𝑟𝑣𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔."

Phillip's heart pounded in his chest. His father's signature was bold and unrepentant, like the man himself.

The sound of a creaking floorboard snapped him out of his trance. He spun around, his heightened senses scanning the darkened room. But there was nothing there. Only the shadows and the faint howling of the wind outside.

Phillip clutched the letters tightly, his knuckles white. He knew now, there was no turning back. The answers he sought were buried in secrets his family had tried to keep hidden. And the more he dug, the more he feared what he might uncover.

For the first time, Phillip felt truly alone in the vast halls of his own home.

The dense forest is silent except for the faint rustle of leaves. A group of werewolves hunters moves cautiously through the undergrowth, their torches casting flickering shadows. Suddenly, they spot a massive wolf in the distance, its glowing eyes fixed on them.

Erik: (whispering) "That’s no ordinary wolf. Look at its size."

Eden: (nodding, gripping his weapon) "Stay close. We can’t let it get away."

The hunters follow the wolf deeper into the forest. It stumbles and falls into a clearing. As they approach, they stop abruptly, their eyes widening in horror.

Monica: (gasping) "Dear gods… Look at this."

The ground is littered with the bodies of wolves, their stomachs marked with an identical tattoo: a dark symbol of malevolence. The air reeks of blood and death.

Erik: (shaking) "Who could do this? These weren’t just killed—they were slaughtered."

Monica: (writing hurriedly in his notebook) "We need to send word to Professor Adams immediately. This… this is a massacre."

Later, in the halls of Mechatopia Academy, Professor Adams reads the hunters’ letter aloud to a group of advisors. His face is grim.

Professor Adams: "Mark of Darkness on every wolf. This isn’t random. Someone is sending a message."

Marcel: (nervously) "What should we do?"

Professor Adams: (decisively) "Send word to the werewolf alpha. They need to know about this before it’s too late."

In the Werewolf Kingdom, the alpha king listens to the messenger with a frown. He rises from his throne, his voice echoing through the chamber.

Alpha King: "A massacre of my people with a mark of darkness? We will find out who is behind this. Whoever it is… they will regret stepping into my lands."

The king’s advisors nod in agreement, the tension in the room palpable as they prepare for what’s to come.