The Raven's Whisper

Percival tiptoes through the silent library, his eyes wide with wonder. He runs his fingers along the worn spines of leather-bound books, lost in the vast forest of knowledge.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoes through the room. Percival jumps, startled, and turns to see a pile of books scattered on the floor. He groans, knowing he'll be blamed for the mess.

Before he can move, a gentle hand rests on his shoulder. Percival looks up to see Old Mr. Barnaby, the librarian, his cloudy blue eyes filled with understanding.

"Mr. Barnaby, I didn't mean to—" Percival stammers.

Mr. Barnaby smiles warmly. "No worries, young Percival. Sometimes, even the sturdiest books fall. Tell me, what treasures were you looking for?"

Percival hesitates, then points to a dusty book tucked away in a high shelf. Its cover is adorned with an intricate raven design.

Mr. Barnaby helps him retrieve the book. It's titled "Tales of Forgotten Magic." Percival runs his fingers over the faded inscription.

"This book," Mr. Barnaby says in a hushed voice, "whispers of a hidden world, a world where magic dances in the shadows."

Percival's eyes widen. He's always loved stories about magic, but this feels different, more real. A shiver of excitement runs down his spine.

Mr. Barnaby winks. "But shh, these are just stories, wouldn't you say?"

Percival nods, a secret smile playing on his lips. He carefully carries the book to a hidden corner of the library, eager to lose himself in the world of forgotten magic.

Percival flung open the bookstore door, squinting as a wave of sunlight flooded his vision. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, momentarily blinded by the sudden brightness. Mr. Barnaby, the kindly old bookstore owner, stood next to him, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

"Ah, what a sunny day!" Percival exclaimed, his voice tinged with a hint of forced cheerfulness.

"Excited for your shopping trip in the city, Percival?" Mr. Barnaby inquired.

Percival nodded, his enthusiasm somewhat dampened. Shopping in the bustling city wasn't exactly his idea of an adventure, but Mr. Barnaby always insisted on taking him on these outings.

The conversation flowed as they walked, but Percival couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The normally vibrant street scene seemed muted, the colors a shade duller. A stray cat with eyes that glittered like emeralds darted across their path, vanishing into an alley before Percival could get a good look. He brushed it off as tiredness, the early morning journey already taking its toll.

"You know, Percival," Mr. Barnaby began, his voice taking on a reminiscent tone, "when I was your age, I used to go shopping in the city with friends all the time. We'd spend hours exploring the shops, getting into..."

His voice trailed off as a shiver ran down Percival's spine. The air crackled with a strange energy, and the buildings around them began to shimmer, their edges blurring like watercolors. A pearly white fog rolled in, swirling around their ankles, obscuring the familiar storefronts.

Percival whirled around, searching for Mr. Barnaby, but the kindly old bookseller was gone. In his place stood a towering wall of smooth, polished stone, its surface reflecting the distorted cityscape in an unsettling way. Panic surged through him.

"Hey! This isn't the city shops, Mr. Barnaby!" he protested, his voice echoing eerily in the sudden silence.

A low chuckle, like rolling thunder, resonated from behind the wall. Mr. Barnaby then emerged, his eyes twinkling with amusement, but there was a hint of something else there – a power, a knowing glint that sent shivers down Percival's spine.

"No, it's not," he agreed, his voice deeper than Percival remembered. "But it's going to be so much better, boy. So much better."

He lowered himself onto a nearby bench, leaning on his staff with a slight grimace. Percival, concerned, watched as the usually spry bookseller seemed to struggle with a sudden weariness.

"Here, boy," Mr. Barnaby said, his voice slightly strained, reaching into his coat pocket. "Take this and have a seat for a moment. There's something you need to read first."

Percival hesitantly took the pouch, its worn leather cool against his palm. He peered inside, his breath catching as he pulled out a single sheet of parchment folded neatly in thirds. A deep blue wax seal adorned the back, depicting a crescent moon and a soaring raven etched in intricate detail.

Turning it over with trembling fingers, Percival saw a formal crest embossed at the top: a swirling vortex of stardust encasing a gnarled oak tree. Below it, elegant script flowed across the page.

Lunaspire Academy for the Magically Inclined

Mr. Percival Corvyn,

We are delighted to inform you that you have been identified as possessing an extraordinary spark – a latent aptitude for the arcane arts. On the recommendation of a trusted confidante (wink, wink, Mr. Barnaby!), we are extending a formal invitation for you to enroll at Lunaspire Academy for the Magically Inclined.

Founded in the year 742 A.M. (After Magic), Lunaspire Academy boasts a rich history of nurturing the talents of countless young prodigies. Within our ancient, moss-draped walls, you will find a vibrant community of scholars, mentors, and fellow students eager to embark on this extraordinary journey of discovery alongside you.

Our curriculum offers a comprehensive exploration of the veiled realms of magic, encompassing a diverse range of subjects. Hone your connection to the fundamental elements in Elemental Manipulation, delve into the mysteries of ancient myths and legends in Mythological Arcana, and unlock the secrets of transforming matter with Alchemical Theory. Learn to craft powerful enchantments into objects in Runic Inscription, and explore the boundaries between worlds in the fascinating study of Veilcraft.

Under the guidance of our esteemed faculty, you will hone your nascent abilities, delve into the mysteries of the unseen world, and develop the discipline and control necessary to become a responsible and ethical magic user.

We understand that this news may come as a surprise. However, rest assured that Mr. Barnaby has subtly guided your path, preparing you for this moment to the best of his ability. Should you choose to accept this invitation, Lunaspire Academy awaits you with open arms.

An information packet detailing the enrollment process, term dates, and a suggested list of essential supplies is enclosed. We encourage you to review these materials at your earliest convenience and respond with your decision by the full moon of the coming month.

The veil between worlds awaits your touch, Mr. Corvyn. May your magical journey begin at Lunaspire Academy for the Magically Inclined.

Sincerely,

Headmistress Esmeralda Weatherby

Percival's mind reeled. Magic? Real magic? He scoffed internally. This had to be some elaborate joke. Mr. Barnaby's hand landed on his shoulder, surprisingly heavy.

"Wizards, huh?" Mr. Barnaby chuckled, a glint in his eye. "Fancy word for it, wouldn't you say? But you're right, Percival. You are one."

Percival stared at Mr. Barnaby, his brain a tangled mess. Magic wasn't real... was it? But what about the strange things he'd always seemed to do? Like the time he'd accidentally turned his teacher's wig pink during a particularly boring lecture.

"You might not have noticed it," Mr. Barnaby continued, squeezing his shoulder gently, "but you've always had a spark within you. A connection to magic."

Percival swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of his own body. Did he feel different? Maybe a slight tingling sensation in his fingertips? He wasn't sure.

Mr. Barnaby reached into his pocket and pulled out a smooth, polished oak wand. It hummed with an unseen energy as he placed it in Percival's palm. "This one was your dad's. Now it's yours. Get an eye on it, alright?"

"But I can't use magic," Percival stammered. "I'm not a wizard!"

"You are, Percival," Mr. Barnaby said firmly. "And Lunaspire Academy will teach you how to control it."

He winked. "Though, there's one thing: hand magic is a bit of a no-no. Powerful, but dangerous. Runes will teach you to handle it safely, alright?"

Percival wanted to protest. This Lunaspire Academy sounded terrifying – and who knew what kind of creatures they'd encounter in this "magic world." But before he could voice his concerns, Mr. Barnaby wrapped a hand around his arm and with a surprising yank, pulled him through a swirling vortex of colors.

Percival's jaw dropped, his mind a swirling vortex of disbelief. Magic? Lunaspire Academy? It sounded like something out of a bedtime story, not real life. But Mr. Barnaby's twinkling eyes held a glint of truth that sent a shiver down Percival's spine.

"Wizards, huh?" Mr. Barnaby chuckled, his voice warm like a crackling fireplace. "Fancy word, wouldn't you say? But you, my boy, are the real deal."

Percival's breath hitched. He? A wizard? The thought sent a jolt through him, a mix of excitement and terror bubbling in his stomach. He'd always felt different, a bit like a misplaced puzzle piece, but magic? That was a whole new level of 'different.'

Mr. Barnaby, as if sensing his apprehension, squeezed his shoulder gently. "Look, lad," he said, his voice softer now, "you might not have noticed it, but there's always been a spark in you. A connection to something beyond the ordinary."

Percival shifted, unsure. Maybe... maybe there had been. Like the time he'd accidentally turned his grumpy neighbor's prize-winning roses a bright neon pink.

A warm weight appeared in his hand. Mr. Barnaby pressed a smooth, polished oak wand into his palm. It felt surprisingly warm, humming with a faint energy that tingled up his arm.

"This belonged to your dad," Mr. Barnaby said, a hint of sadness in his voice. "Now it's yours. Take care of it, alright?"

"But I can't use magic!" Percival blurted out, panic rising in his throat. "I'm not a wizard!"

Mr. Barnaby's smile widened. "You are, Percival," he said firmly. "And Lunaspire Academy will teach you how to control it."

He winked. "Though, there's one thing – waving your hands around like a wild banshee isn't exactly proper wizarding etiquette. Runes will teach you to handle that raw power safely, understand?"

Percival stared at him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him. This Lunaspire Academy sounded terrifying, and who knew what kind of creatures lurked in this "magic world" Mr. Barnaby spoke of? But before he could voice his objections, the world dissolved in a dizzying blur of colors and swirling lights. He felt Mr. Barnaby's hand tighten around his arm, and then... they were somewhere else.

The air crackled with an unseen energy, and the scent of something sweet and unknown filled his nostrils. A startled yelp pierced the air, and Percival looked down to see a tiny, iridescent creature with gossamer wings hovering inches from his face.

"Watch it, clumsy oaf!" the creature squeaked, its voice high-pitched and surprisingly sassy. It shot him a glare that could curdle milk and zoomed off in a flurry of glittering dust.

Barnaby reached out a hand to help Percival regain his footing, but the impact had sent a tray of eggs tumbling from a nearby table. Slippery yolk splattered across the polished floor, and with a yelp, Percival lost his balance again.

This time, he landed with a thud right at the feet of a tall, scowling boy. Two dark slashes marred the pale skin of his forearms, stark against his black robes. The boy – Sylas Ravencroft, Percival instantly recognized – glared down with an intensity that sent a shiver down Percival's spine.

"Who do you think you are?" Sylas spat, his voice laced with fury.

Percival scrambled to his feet, stammering, "I- I am so sorry, I didn't mean to! I bumped into a fairy, well, I think it was a fairy, and then…"

Sylas cut him off, his voice dripping with disdain. "Wait up, you created this mess because you couldn't handle a fairy?! Are you that nuts?"

A stern voice sliced through the tension. A woman with kind eyes, Sylas's mother, appeared at his side, her gaze a silent warning.

"Dear, don't worry," she said, her voice calm and soothing. "Accidents happen."

Barnaby, ever the mediator, chuckled nervously. "Indeed. Seems like quite the eventful arrival, Percival."

Percival caught a glimpse of Sylas's mother sending another pointed look in his direction. He couldn't help but blurt out, "Wow, I've never seen scars that big. Both arms?"

Sylas's face contorted in anger. He yanked his sleeves down, hiding the scars, and stormed off in the opposite direction, muttering under his breath.

Sylas's mother sighed. "It's a scar he'd rather not talk about. Don't mind him, he's just… a bit on edge right now."

Barnaby offered a small smile. "Well, that much is clear."

Barnaby's grin stretched wide. "We can't dawdle any longer," he said, his voice laced with suppressed excitement. The women, their faces etched with a mixture of worry and pride, offered a silent wave goodbye. One woman, her eyes red-rimmed, clutched a handkerchief to her lips. The other, her face weathered but resolute, offered a quick nod and a reassuring smile. Percival puffed out his chest, trying to project an air of nonchalance, but a flicker of unease darted across his eyes. "There's no need for concern," he mumbled, his voice betraying a hint of defensiveness. "I'm a model student, always have been."

Barnaby's amusement was evident in the way his eyebrows danced upwards. "Really now?" he drawled. "Then perhaps you can explain those late-night astronomy sessions you seem to be so fond of."

Percival's cheeks burned with the heat of a blush. "Y-you knew?" he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.

A playful glint shone in Barnaby's eyes. "Of course, Percival. But you're a veritable log when you sleep," he chuckled, the sound warm and conspiratorial. "Sneaking you back into your dorm was child's play. Now, come on, we've arrived."

Percival squinted at the dense forest before him, towering pines scraping the sky. Dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting an ethereal glow on the forest floor. His unease morphed into suspicion. "There's nothing here but trees, Barnaby," he insisted, his voice laced with a tremor of doubt.

Barnaby's laughter boomed through the silent woods. "Are you entirely certain about that, my friend?" he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Percival shook his head, unconvinced. "Absolutely positive. Just trees, and... nothing more."

With a flourish that spoke volumes of his personality, Barnaby flicked his wand. The air shimmered, and a swirling portal materialized before them, pulsating with an otherworldly light of swirling blues and purples. Percival gaped, his apprehension momentarily eclipsed by awe.

"Ready to be amazed, Percival?" Barnaby's voice held a note of pride, a hint that he was about to unveil something truly special.

Percival hesitated, his breath catching in his throat. Before he could voice his doubts, Barnaby grasped his arm with surprising strength and plunged him through the portal. A wave of dizziness washed over Percival as he was swept away in a torrent of swirling colors. When the world solidified once more, he found himself standing in a place that defied description, a sense of wonder blooming in his chest.

"Welcome," Barnaby's voice boomed, "to Lunaspire Academy!"

There were bags everywhere, overflowing with curious trinkets and peculiar textbooks. Students milled about, chattering excitedly with their families. Percival, however, felt a pang of loneliness amidst the joyous chaos. Though some students were undoubtedly talking to their parents, others stood alone, their faces etched with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation.

A sudden gust of wind heralded the arrival of the Headmistress. She swooped down from the sky, her emerald robes billowing behind her like storm clouds. Her face, a roadmap of wrinkles etched by countless spells and seen-it-all wisdom, softened into a smile as she landed before Percival.

Her voice, though aged, crackled with a hint of warmth. "You are Percival, if I am right?"

Percival, momentarily speechless, could only manage a hesitant nod.

The Headmistress, introducing herself as Esmeralda Weatherby, extended a hand adorned with a ring carved from a swirling nebula. "Pleasant to meet you, Percival. We'll announce everything shortly, and then you'll learn about houses and wands."

Barnaby, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes, stepped forward. "No need for a wand, Professor Weatherby. I've already provided him with one."

Professor Weatherby's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Ah, I see. Well, I think I can already guess what kind of wand you gave him, Mr. Barnaby. Regardless, I must attend to some preparations. Perhaps you'd like to join me, Barnaby? We have a few things to discuss."

Barnaby, a silent understanding passing between him and the Headmistress, nodded his agreement. "Of course, Professor. Percival, I'll be back shortly. Just wait here, alright?"

Before Percival could voice his anxieties about being left alone, Barnaby was gone, following the Headmistress towards a grand building that shimmered with an otherworldly light. Percival, feeling a knot of apprehension tighten in his stomach, turned to find a boy with an unruly mop of brown hair and a bright smile approaching him.

"Hello!" the boy exclaimed, extending a hand. "Just arrived myself. Name's Rory Flintwick, but everyone calls me Owl."

Percival, surprised by the sudden interaction, stammered, "Uh, h-hello." He cautiously shook the boy's hand.

"Percival Corvyn," he replied, a flicker of warmth replacing his anxiety.

"Cool!" Owl declared. "Looks like we're both first years. Maybe we'll even be in the same house!"

Percival couldn't help but smile. "Maybe," he agreed. Owl stood beside Percival, his gaze sweeping across the scene.

"There's my mom and dad," he said, gesturing towards a group of parents chatting amongst themselves. He then turned back to Percival, his smile dimming slightly.

"Where are your parents?" he asked curiously.

Percival hesitated for a moment, unsure how much to reveal to someone he just met. He decided on a burst of honesty, surprising even himself. "Well," he began, his voice low, "my mom is dead, and my dad... I don't know where he is." He took a deep breath. "People say he lost his memories one time and doesn't remember anything anymore. But I actually don't know who and where he is anymore."

A shadow of sadness crossed Owl's face. "Oh, I'm so sorry for asking," he said sincerely.

Percival, touched by Owl's empathy, offered a small smile. "Don't worry about it," he assured him.

Rory chuckled and nudged Percival with his elbow. "Well, I hope we end up in the same houses, mate! Imagine the fun we could have, being roommates and learning magic together!"

Percival smiled broadly, a hint of nervousness flickering in his eyes. "Yeah, that would be amazing. But hey, even if we're not…" he trailed off, his gaze falling to his worn leather boots.

Suddenly, a loud shriek pierced the air, followed by a string of angry shouts. Both boys turned towards the source of the commotion, their curiosity piqued.

"Elera, I am so sorry!" a voice wailed, laced with a hint of desperation.

"Mara, I told you a thousand times, this is my book!" another voice, sharp and furious, shot back. "You burned it down! You are so not getting away with it!"

Rory and Percival exchanged bewildered glances as two figures emerged from the nearby hallway. One, a girl with fiery red hair and flashing green eyes, glared daggers at the other, a wisp of smoke curling from her clenched fist. The other girl, wide-eyed and panicked, had a single, bright orange streak running through her dark hair.

Before either of the boys could react, both mothers arrived, drawn by the commotion. Elera's mother, a calm woman with a kind smile, addressed her daughter. "Darling, don't worry. We'll buy you a new book and have it delivered by raven as soon as possible."

Mara's mother, flustered and apologetic, chimed in. "I'm so sorry for what my child did, Mrs. Elerona. We'll replace the book, of course."

Elera's anger simmered, undeterred. "It's not alright! I told her countless times it's mine, and she just… burned it! Mom, give me your wand, I'll teach her a lesson she won't forget!"

Both mothers, with a practiced ease born of experience, ushered their daughters away, the redheaded girl muttering about "uncontrollable hair" and the other spitting threats under her breath.

Rory's brow furrowed. "That was weird, wasn't it?"

Percival nodded, a shiver running down his spine. "Yeah, not exactly normal. Especially that hair..."

Rory's mother, having witnessed the scene unfold, approached her son, concern etched on her face. "Rory, are you alright over there? You seemed tense all of a sudden."

Rory shook his head, forcing a smile. "Yeah, Mom, I'm just talking with my new friend, Percival.

Rory said goodbye to his mother, a bittersweet pang in his chest. "Alright, Owl," she said, giving him a kind smile and a kiss on the head. Her nickname always made Rory grin, even now, with butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

A tall man with a kind face and twinkling black eyes approached them. He had a neatly trimmed beard and wore a long, flowing robe the color of twilight. "Sorry that it took so long, Percival," he said, his voice warm and gentle. "We were setting everything in order for the House Crystal."

His gaze fell on Rory and his mother. "And you are?" he inquired, extending a hand to Evelyn.

"Evelyn Flintwick, the mother of Rory," she replied, offering a warm smile.

"Barnaby Hawthorne, at your service," the man said, shaking her hand firmly. "And Rory," he added, turning back to the boy with a wink. "Remember, no matter which house you're placed in, bravery lives within you."

Rory nodded, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He glanced at Percival, a silent promise exchanged in their eyes. They were in this together.

Headmistress Esmaralda, a regal figure in her crimson robes, stepped onto a raised platform at the front of the grand hall. The entire room fell silent, anticipation crackling in the air like electricity. A crystal, the size of a basketball, glowed brightly in the center of the room, its facets catching the light and casting rainbows across the polished floor.

"Alright, students," Headmistress Esmaralda boomed, her voice echoing through the hall. "We have settled everything in order. You will now find out your houses, the place where you will grow and learn alongside your peers for the next few years."

A collective gasp escaped the room. Rory's breath hitched in his throat. His gaze darted from the crystal to Percival, a silent question hanging in the air. Would they be placed in the same house?

"Alright, how it works is simple," boomed Headmistress Esmeralda. A hush fell over the first-years. "One by one, you will approach the House Crystal. Touch it, and it will not only reveal your house but also provide you with the magical tools that will accompany you here."

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The House Crystal pulsed with otherworldly light.

"The crystal will display your designated house," Headmistress Esmeralda continued, gesturing towards the orb. "Once revealed, you will find your matching robes and wand materialized nearby. Understood?"

A chorus of "yes" and excited nods filled the hall. Headmistress Esmeralda smiled.

"Alright, then!" she boomed. "Let the sorting begin!"

Thunderous applause erupted as the first name was called. Everyone clapped their hands, eager for the ceremony to begin.

Rory flintwick, his name was called by Headmistress Esmeralda. "Rory Flintwick, it's your turn!"

Rory walked nervously towards the crystal, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He did as instructed, placing his hand on the crystal's cool surface. A surge of energy crackled through him, the crystal pulsing with an otherworldly light.

Then, with a soft chime, the light subsided. Beside him materialized a set of sleek, sapphire-blue robes and a wand crafted from polished silver - the mark of House Valorem.

Headmistress Esmeralda's voice boomed through the hall, "Valorem!"

A wave of cheers erupted from the far corner of the hall, where students in vibrant blue robes awaited their new housemate. Rory offered a hesitant smile, his initial disappointment fading as he saw the welcoming faces.

"Percival Corvyn, it's your turn!"

Everyone applauded as Percival, a determined glint in his eyes, stepped forward. Rory watched with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation as his friend touched the crystal. The orb glowed a vibrant emerald green, then revealed Percival's house with a soft chime.

Headmistress Esmeralda's voice echoed, "Fortis Animo!"

A deafening roar erupted from the opposite side of the hall, the students in crimson robes jumping to their feet and waving their arms in the air. Percival's smile faltered slightly, his eyes briefly meeting Rory's. A flicker of disappointment passed between them, quickly replaced by understanding.

They both laughed, a silent promise exchanged in that glance. House or no house, their friendship wouldn't be swayed.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" boomed Headmistress Esmeralda. "Go join your houses!"

Rory and Percival waved goodbye, a bittersweet pang settling in their stomachs. As they walked towards their respective groups, a sudden commotion erupted near the back of the hall. A group of older students, their faces twisted in malice, surrounded a first-year who lay unconscious on the floor.

Panic surged through Rory. Who were these students? What had they done? And most importantly, who was the unconscious student?