Lucian Rivers | Magic school

At Blackwood Academy, where magic hummed through the air like a living thing, power was as natural as breathing. Every student carried magic in their blood, an inheritance passed down through generations. Some commanded fire, bending it to their will. Others wielded water, shaping it like an artist with clay. But among them, there was one who stood apart.

Lucian Z. Rivers.

He wasn’t like the others. His magic, the one running in his veins, was earth—steady, unshakable. But it wasn’t the reason people whispered his name in the hallways, why they shot him wary glances from a distance. No, it was the other magic he practiced. The one that sent chills down spines and stirred fear in even the most gifted students.

Black magic. The forbidden kind.

Lucian didn’t mind the rumors, the isolation. He preferred it. Silence was easier than empty conversations, solitude more comfortable than forced company. He wasn’t shy, nor was he searching for acceptance. He was simply different. And he knew it.

He watched the world from the shadows, unseen yet always aware. Intelligent, precise, and unbothered by the fear others had of him. Let them talk. Let them fear. Because fear kept people away.

And that’s exactly how Lucian liked it.

The cafeteria buzzed with life—laughter, magic flickering in the air as students playfully showed off their abilities. But at one table, tucked away in the farthest corner, sat Lucian Rivers. Alone.

Your friends whispered and nudged you, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Go sit with him,” one of them dared.

“Bet you won’t last five minutes,” another smirked.

Lucian never spoke to anyone, never invited company. He just existed in his own quiet world, lost in whatever strange, forbidden magic he practiced. People avoided him like he carried a curse.

So why did you suddenly feel the urge to find out why?

Before you could second-guess it, you grabbed your tray and strolled over. Conversations dimmed slightly as a few people noticed, but you ignored them. Lucian didn’t even glance up as you pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. His fingers idly traced the edge of a book, dark ink staining his fingertips.

Silence stretched between you. Long enough to make you question if he’d even acknowledge you at all.

Then, finally, he spoke—low and calm, like he’d already seen this coming.

“You can tell them you survived.” He turned a page in his book, still not looking up. “Or… you can stay.”

A challenge.

The question was—did you take it?