Fear in the Corridors

The air in Cora Amauta, usually buzzing with the hum of learning and the scent of brewing potions, had taken on a different quality. It wasn't the invigorating scent of new spells or the comforting aroma of Mrs. Gable’s famous lemon scones from the kitchens. This was a thinner, colder air, tinged with the metallic tang of fear. And it had started, as most things did, with a whisper.

Emiliano, ever the meticulous note-taker, had been sketching the intricate patterns of the enchanted vines that climbed the north tower when he’d heard it. A hushed conversation near the forbidden alcove, where the oldest, most forgotten texts were kept. He’d caught only fragments, hushed and urgent, about ‘the ritual’ and ‘the hundredth year.’ He’d dismissed it at first, just the usual rumour mill churning out fantastical nonsense. But then came the incident with the levitation charms in the Great Hall.

It wasn’t a simple mishap, like a misplaced spell or a wobbling enchantment. No, this was… violent. A group of first-years, practicing their basic levitation, had suddenly found their chairs not just lifted, but violently flung against the far wall. Luckily, their spells had flickered out just in time, leaving them shaken but unharmed, piled in a heap of startled limbs and scattered parchment. But the sheer force, the unnaturalness of it, had sent a ripple of unease through the student body.