Chapter 1 Nothing At All

Hazel's POV

I never wanted to come to Viremont Academy.

At least, that is what I told my father every single night for three months. But the truth was more complicated. This place held pieces of my mother.

She was a powerful witch who once walked these halls with confidence I could only dream of. She died when I was seven. Ever since then, my magic has felt broken. Unpredictable. Like it never truly belonged to me. Coming here was supposed to fix that. To make me feel like I finally belonged somewhere.

Instead, standing in the grand marble halls of Viremont Academy, a heavy dread settled deep in my chest.

"You need to wipe that look off your face, Hazel," Greta said. She raised one eyebrow at me. In just four days, she had become my only real friend in this intimidating new world.

"What look?" I asked. I tried to relax my face. I had not realized I was biting my lower lip again. That was my usual nervous habit.

"The everything is about to go horribly wrong look," she teased. "Relax. It is just the first evaluation.”

"I'm totally fine," I muttered, looking away.

I wasn't. I'd only been here for four days, and it still didn't feel like home.

Today was our first evaluation, and all I could think about was humiliating myself in front of the older students. What if they saw how weak I really was?

Greta threw me an encouraging smile. "Come on. They are going in."

I followed the rest of the first years as we moved into the large hall. The man standing in front welcomed us and explained that he was going to call our names so we could go in.

"Okay, so we have about ten rooms. Just go in when your name is called along with the room number. Some of the third years will be conducting the evaluations, so endeavor to cooperate and learn from them."

Murmurs went around along with nods of agreement. My stomach twisted into tighter knots.

They started calling names. Every couple of minutes another name would be called once the occupant of the last room came out. I watched each first year disappear through their assigned door and tried to read their faces when they came back out. Most gave nothing away. One girl returned looking shaken, which didn't help.

Before long, Greta was called. She gave me one last smile and disappeared into her room, leaving me alone with the kind of quiet that made everything worse.

I waited, my nerves rising until I was among the last couple of first years left. My palms were sweaty, and my heart pounded loudly in my ears.

"Hazel Aradia." I immediately glanced up and met the eyes of the man calling names. "Room seven."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and pushed open the door.

A tall guy with midnight-black hair and piercing dark blue eyes looked up from behind a desk. Our gazes locked, and for a split second, the air felt heavier.

"Hi," I said awkwardly, my voice coming out softer than I intended.

He stared for a second, then glanced back down. "One minute."

I took the moment to look around. The room was surprisingly spacious, with magical equipment in one corner and a large board at the far end. My gaze kept drifting back to him, the midnight-black hair, his impressive build, the quiet confidence he carried. He was clearly older, and far more striking than I had expected.

He looked up again. "Your name?"

"Hazel Aradia."

He scribbled something down. "Species?"

I hesitated. "Um, a witch, I think."

He studied my face, as if trying to read something hidden there. "You think?"

I let out an awkward laugh, trying to sound sure of myself. "No, I am sure." I barely knew anything about my abilities, but I wasn't going to let a complete stranger pick up on that weakness.

He stared at me for a second longer and then looked down to write something. I was glad he decided not to push further.

He looked up at me and pointed around the room. "This is a two-part evaluation test. Just the basics."

I nodded as he continued. "The first is a reaction test to check your reflexes. If you have any valuables on you, you might want to put them aside."

I reached behind my neck and unclasped my mother's silver necklace, the one thing I almost never took off. I placed it carefully in the box, then stepped forward, my heart racing.

The orbs appeared without warning.

I threw myself sideways, narrowly missing the first. Then it curved and slammed into my shoulder anyway. The sting was sharp. I spun, trying to track the others, arms raised like that would somehow help. Another caught my other shoulder before I could move. A third crashed into my right hand and I hissed through my teeth.

"You are supposed to avoid them, you know," the guy said. His voice was flat, but I caught a hint of amusement in those intense eyes.

Humiliation burned through me.

Next came the ability test. I stretched out my hands and tried with everything I had to summon even a small flame. Nothing. Not even a spark.

His eyes lingered on me like he was trying to figure something out. After a few seconds, he spoke. "You really can't do anything at all?"

"It happens sometimes," I said. "My magic gets inconsistent. I just need a second."

He searched my face, and I watched the irritation flicker across his expression before he looked away. I recognized that look. I had been collecting versions of it my whole life, from teachers, from my father's colleagues, from anyone who expected something from me and got nothing instead. It never stopped stinging.

"You know what? Let us stop here," he said, stepping toward the door. "We have exhausted our time."

My nerves spiked. "I haven't done anything yet. Just give me a minute."

But he was already closing his book. "We are out of time. You can go."

The cold dismissal hurt more than the bruises. I stepped out of the room, blinking back tears as I joined the other first-years.

This was just the first evaluation, and it wasn't the end. I would do better next time. I raised my hands to rub my necklace in comfort when I suddenly realized the absence of the silver jewelry.

Oh no. I left it in the room.

Heart pounding, I turned around and hurried back to room seven. I was about to knock when a voice from inside stopped me in my tracks.

"Are you talking about the last girl?”