Page 155 of Marked By His Hunger
Every corridor hummed with magic.
The stone walls were etched with runes older than memory, and sometimes I swore they shifted when I wasn’t looking directly at them.
The air itself felt heavier here—thicker with something alive and ancient, like the Institute breathed alongside us.
Even the staircases seemed to sigh beneath the weight of centuries, worn smooth by boots, claws, talons, and things that probably didn’t have feet at all.
I mean I was taking classes like Advanced Dark Magic Defense—yes, essentially Defense Against the Dark Arts for anyone raised on wizard movies—was real. Brutally real.
We practiced shields against possession, counter-hexes, rupture barriers, and ward weaving.
I’d been hit with three controlled curses before our exam review.
History of Magic was taught by Professor Bannerman, who wore layers of midnight robes and kept a small red dragon perched casually on his shoulder like it was a fashion accessory.
The micro-dragon even corrected him once.
In Latin.
My lab partner in Elemental Theory had horns that scraped the vaulted ceiling every time he forgot to duck.
The first time he turned too fast and gouged a stone arch, the room collectively winced.
He just apologized and kept taking notes.
The Institute was everything I’d ever wanted to believe in when I was a child.
A fantasy world where magic was real and even someone like me could fit in.
But none of it stopped the pull.
Because no matter how many lectures I attended or how many runes I memorized, there was always something tugging at the edge of my awareness.
A shadow in the corridor.
A presence just out of sight.
A hunger that didn’t belong entirely to me.
I tried to bury myself in textbooks.
Tried to drown the feeling in theory and research and controlled spellwork.
But Asgarheim Runevald Institute was built on ley lines that amplified magic—and whatever bound me to Raven?
It only grew louder here.
I told myself I was focused.
Disciplined.
Evolving.
But every time the air shifted, every time the torches flickered without wind, every time my pulse jumped for no visible reason—I knew.
I hadn’t forgotten him.
Not even close.
