Morning came slowly at Edevane, the sky outside their window a murky swirl of ash-grey clouds. The mist that had lingered the night before seemed denser now, like the school itself refused to let the sun in. Adaeze awoke to the faint toll of a distant bell, its chime hollow, like a warning carried by the wind.
She dressed in the academy's uniform, The fabric felt oddly warm, as though it had already memorized her body's temperature. When she glanced into the mirror again, her reflection looked... better. Still her, but sharper, more alert. Her eyes glimmered like someone seeing through layers of fog.
Clara had already left. A note sat on Adaeze's desk, inked in swift, slanted cursive: "Breakfast. Dining Hall. West Wing. Stick to the path. ~Clara."
Adaeze stepped outside, gripping her map tightly. She didn't remember the hallway being so long. As she walked, she counted the doors, none of them were numbered anymore. Every corridor turned on itself, corners folding like pages in a maze. But when she whispered, "Dining Hall," under her breath, the hallway shifted. The sconces flickered in rapid succession, like breadcrumbs made of flame. She followed them.
At the end of the corridor, a large archway opened to reveal a grand staircase. Fog poured down the steps like smoke from an ancient fire. Her heart pounded as she descended, her footsteps muffled by velvet carpeting.
The fog parted only when she stepped into the West Wing.
The Dining Hall was a cathedral of shadows and opulence. Massive stained-glass windows arched toward the vaulted ceiling, depicting scenes of celestial rituals and hooded figures offering scrolls to hovering spirits. The hall was filled with long banquet tables carved from dark mahogany, yet only a handful of students were seated, scattered, silent, and cautious.
She spotted Clara near the back, seated beside a boy with a shaved head and charcoal-lined eyes. Clara waved her over.
"This is Bastian," Clara said, nudging the boy. "He's from Munich. Second-year like me."
Bastian nodded in greeting but said nothing.
"Where's everyone else?" Adaeze asked, noting that the hall could easily seat over five hundred.
"They don't all come," Clara said. "Some haven't been seen in weeks. Others eat elsewhere. The school doesn't enforce mealtimes, but I suggest you eat when you can."
Adaeze frowned. "What does that mean?"
Bastian finally spoke, voice deep and quiet. "Sometimes, the Dining Hall... moves."
Before she could question further, the chandeliers above flickered once. Food appeared on the tables, not served, but manifested. Plates steamed with jollof rice, sausages, eggs, fruits she hadn't seen since leaving Nigeria. But the aroma was laced with something unsettling, like incense burned too long.
Clara leaned in. "Only eat what's warm. If it's cold, don't touch it."
Adaeze obeyed. The rice was warm and spiced perfectly. The fruit, cold. She pushed it aside.
"Why is the school like this?" she asked. "Why the fog? The strange classes? The vanishing students?"
Clara exchanged a look with Bastian.
"You're not ready for all the answers," she said gently. "But you should know this: Edevane isn't here for education. It's here to choose. To test. To feed."
Before Adaeze could process that, the chandeliers dimmed again. Every window fogged up from the outside. The students stopped eating. Even Bastian froze.
Then, a deep creaking sound.
The main doors opened.
A woman walked in, or something resembling a woman. Her figure was tall, veiled in a robe stitched from what looked like shadows. Her face was hidden by a translucent veil, her footsteps silent. As she passed the tables, students bowed their heads.
Clara whispered, "That's the Headmistress."
Adaeze looked around. "But she's not…."
"Seen? Not properly. No one's looked directly at her and stayed the same."
The Headmistress walked the length of the hall without stopping, her presence making the mist inside thicken, her very being a disruption to reality. As she passed Adaeze, her head tilted slightly, just enough to indicate acknowledgement.
Adaeze felt it, like ice in her blood. A brush of thought not her own. You are not what we expected.
Then she was gone.
The chandeliers brightened. The windows cleared. Students resumed eating as if nothing had happened.
Adaeze stared down at her plate. The food had gone cold.
After breakfast, Clara led her on a tour of the grounds, or tried to. Edevane Academy was built like an M.C. Escher dream. Staircases shifted angles. Doors led to different places depending on the time of day. The East Wing was sealed entirely, no matter how hard they pulled at the doors.
"Do we have actual classes?" Adaeze asked as they walked past a room filled with levitating books.
"We do," Clara said. "But you'll find out that most lessons are taught in ways that... linger."
Adaeze's first class was Latin.
The room was pitch black when she entered. The door closed behind her, sealing with a soft click. She couldn't see the professor, only hear him. His voice echoed from every wall.
"Translate what you hear," the voice instructed.
A moment later, whispers began. Dozens of them. Some in English. Some in Latin. Some in languages she couldn't name. The air felt heavy. Symbols began to form on the floor, drawn in chalk by invisible hands.
She recognized one phrase repeated over and over: Scientia carnis est.
Clara had warned her. "Not all knowledge feeds your mind. Some of it feeds something else."
As she murmured the translation, Knowledge is flesh, her eyes burned, and visions flickered behind her eyelids. A library buried in bones. A man with stitched lips. A burning book that bled ink.
When the door opened, the room had returned to normal. The chalk was gone. The professor was nowhere to be found.
Clara met her outside. "You did well. You're still... mostly you."
That night, Adaeze sat by the window in her room, staring into the mist that never lifted. Below, the courtyard was empty, the statues around the fountain seeming to breathe.
She couldn't sleep. Her mind played the whispers over and over.
Somewhere far off, a scream echoed through the fog.
Adaeze Nwosu, the girl from Jos, was no longer on a scholarship.
She was on trial.
And the academy in the mist had just begun to reveal its true face.