3. Echoes of Blood and Desire

Midnight rang through magical chimes that echoed along the enchanted walls of Arkanum Castle, like an ancient call crossing the veils of time. Pandora walked alone through the corridors that seemed alive, the stones whispered secrets, the stained glass breathed. She clutched Raven’s note tightly, fingers trembling. The light from the floating torches flickered as she passed, as if they recognized who she was… even if she didn’t.

The East Wing was different.

Colder. Quieter. That was where the tower stood, reserved only for high-ranking professors. And Raven, the enigmatic vampire-fairy, was one of them.

Pandora stopped before a dark wooden door. Carvings of roses, wings, and interwoven fangs covered its surface. She didn’t need to knock. The door opened on its own with a soft, seductive whisper.

She stepped inside.

The tower’s interior was a spectacle of shadows and sophistication: gothic furniture, books floating in circles, a fireplace burning with bluish flames, and windows that didn’t show the island—but other landscapes, like memories of an ancient world.

Raven was there.

Facing away, watching a “window” that showed a mist-covered forest. She wore a black silk robe, and even with her back turned, her presence was like a dense enchantment.

"You came."

"You called me," Pandora replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

Raven slowly turned. Her obsidian-black hair slid over her shoulders. Her crimson eyes glowed in the blue light, fixing on Pandora like two dangerous promises.

"I knew you would feel the island… that it would call to you," Raven said, stepping closer. "But what I didn’t expect was… that you would call to me too."

Pandora took a step back, involuntarily.

"What are you talking about?"

Raven smiled, not with her lips, but with her eyes, with her soul.

"You carry ancient blood, Pandora. Royal blood. Something many here would kill to destroy… or control."

"I’m just a fairy," Pandora whispered. "A girl who got a scholarship."

"You are the key," Raven said, now very close. "The heiress of the Mistbound. The one who can awaken what was sealed."

Pandora stepped back again, bumping into a floating shelf. The books didn’t fall. They seemed to be watching too.

Raven stopped before her, raising a hand to move a strand of purple hair from Pandora’s face.

"You feel it too, don’t you? That force between us?"

"This is wrong… you’re my professor," Pandora whispered, her voice weak.

"Wrong would be to ignore it," Raven said, voice low, hypnotic.

The touch was soft. Raven’s thumb brushed Pandora’s cheek with such delicacy, as if she were made of glass. The heat rising in Pandora’s body was too real to deny. Their eyes locked for long seconds. Raven’s lips drew near, so close that Pandora could feel the cold sweetness of her breath.

One inch.

One heartbeat.

Pandora turned her face away.

"I… I can’t."

Raven slowly stepped back. There was no anger in her eyes. Only restrained sorrow.

"You’re not ready yet," she said softly. "But when you are… you’ll know where to return."

Pandora pulled away. Rushing out of the tower, her breath was quick and shallow, her heart pounding like war drums. The night wind howled strong, and the magical lights flickered at her passage, reacting to the whirlwind of emotions inside her.

The castle felt different now.

The halls seemed darker, more distant. When she finally reached the Alvorada wing where her dorm was, she pushed the door open. Inside, the gentle glow from a flower-shaped lamp still lit the room. Persephone lay on the bed, flipping through an advanced magic grimoire with crossed legs and a dreamy expression.

"You took a while. Thought maybe a romantic Ghoul had devoured you," said the elf, not lifting her eyes from the book.

Pandora tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sigh.

"Just needed some fresh air."

"Truly fresh… or just blood-scented and seductive?"

Pandora stopped, staring at Persephone. The elf lifted her golden eyes, serious for a moment.

"You look different."

"Nothing major, just… a little confused."

"If you want… I can help with that."

Before Pandora could ask what she meant, Persephone closed the book and leapt up in one fluid motion. Without hesitation, she reached for Pandora’s face, studying her closely.

"You’re beautiful when you’re lost."

Pandora widened her eyes.

"Persephone, I..."

"Shhh," the elf whispered, and then—without waiting—kissed her.

It was warm, unexpected. Persephone’s lips were soft and sweet, smelling of enchanted apples and moonlight. The intensity of the kiss lifted Pandora off the ground, her body reacting before her mind could catch up.

When they pulled apart, both breathless, Pandora looked at her in confusion.

"Why did you do that?"

Persephone shrugged, flashing her signature mischievous smile.

"Because I wanted to. And you did too."

Before Pandora could respond, something strange happened.

The old mirror in the corner—the one she hadn’t even noticed before—glowed.

A symbol emerged on its surface: an ancient emblem of wings entwined by mist, with a crystal flower in the center.

Pandora turned, startled.

"Did you see that?"

Persephone’s expression turned serious, her eyes fixed on the symbol.

"I saw. And I know what it is."

"What?"

Persephone bit her lip, hesitant.

"The Mark of the Mistbound Heiresses. Chosen by the veil. That... appeared because of you."

The mirror pulsed. And ancient whispers began to echo through the room.

And in that moment, Pandora knew: the symbol wasn’t just magical reflection.

It was a call. And the mist… was waking.