They said Ashthorne Imperial Academy was the crown jewel of India.

A palace turned into a school. A sanctuary of elegance where royalty, wealth, and power walked hand in hand, dressed in polished shoes and diamond-studded watches.

But behind its golden gates, perfection was only a mask.

The chandeliers glittered, but the halls were colder than a grave.

The portraits of dead monarchs stared too long.

And the whispers… oh, the whispers never stopped.

They called them The Elites.

Four students who ruled Ashthorne like kings and queens in their own right. Beautiful, dangerous, untouchable. Every word they spoke was law, every smile a weapon, and every glance a death sentence in disguise.

No one dared cross them. No one dared defy them.

But I wasn’t supposed to be here.

I wasn’t born into silk sheets or royal titles. I was an outsider—thrown into their kingdom by chance, armed with nothing but stubbornness and a sharp tongue.

The first day I entered Ashthorne, I should have lowered my gaze.

I should have played the quiet girl. The invisible one.

Instead, I looked up.

I met their eyes.

And that was the beginning of my undoing.

Because in Ashthorne…

Secrets are currency. Loyalty is an illusion.

And if you dare to stand against The Elites—

You don’t just lose your crown.

You lose your soul.

---

Every year, a club president died.

Every year, whispers ran through the halls.

Every year, fear settled over Ashthorne like a dark cloud.

This year was no different.

The academy’s grand halls were alive with chaos. Screams bounced off marble walls, doors slammed against polished floors, and students tripped over each other in panic. Blood glistened like dark jewels on the steps leading to the music hall, where the latest club president had been found. His body… mutilated beyond recognition, a grotesque smile carved across his face.

And pinned to his chest, a note written in the same dark red, dripping with menace:

"Next time, it could be you."

The scene was a nightmare painted in every student’s memory. Panic rippled across the academy like a violent wave. Teachers scrambled to regain control, but voices shook with fear. Guards dashed to lock doors and cordon off the area, their footsteps echoing in the vast emptiness of Ashthorne’s halls.

The dean appeared as if summoned by the chaos. His expression was pale but controlled, every movement precise. Orders fell from his lips like thunder: no one leaves, no one speaks, no word escapes these walls. Not a single detail is to reach the media. The academy’s image—perfect, untouchable—was paramount.

Meanwhile, miles away from the frenzy, a girl stared at her computer screen.

Nyra.

The email blinked at her like a lighthouse cutting through fog:

“Congratulations, Nyra. You have been awarded a full scholarship to Ashthorne Imperial Academy.”

Her hands trembled slightly, and she read the line again, as if doing so would make it sink in. She had earned it—hard. Late nights, endless exams, and a determination no setback could erase had finally paid off. Ashthorne. India’s most powerful academy. A place whispered about in society magazines, coveted by heirs and heiresses, and feared by anyone who dared to dream beyond their own wealth.

Nyra’s heart raced, a mixture of excitement and fear tangling in her chest. She didn’t yet know the dangers lurking within the walls, the twisted games that were already in motion, or the elite students whose beauty masked the sharpest teeth.

Back at Ashthorne, the academy’s elite were already gathering. The surviving club presidents and members stood in stunned silence, eyes darting toward the bloody note. None of them had ever seen such cruelty, not even in the rumors that circulated in whispers.

“They say it’s tradition,” one student muttered, voice shaking. “Every year… someone dies. And every year… it gets worse.”

Reyansh Raguvanshi , one of the academy’s most feared students, appeared in the hall moments later. His presence silenced the room without a word. Black hair falling over a stormy eye, his gaze scanning the chaos with lethal precision. Azael didn’t smile, didn’t offer comfort. Yet everyone instinctively stepped aside, sensing the danger he carried simply by standing there.

Ira Rathore lingered near the fountain, calm but unreadable. Onlookers saw softness in her eyes, innocence perhaps—but beneath it, something dangerous flickered, a storm waiting to break free. No one dared approach. No one dared test the quiet fire in her gaze.

Kian Singhania , the academy’s flirt and charmer, leaned casually against a marble pillar. His grin was disarming, almost ridiculous in the face of the horror surrounding him. Yet the amusement in his eyes made the others uneasy. Even in chaos, he seemed untouchable, as if danger and destruction followed him like a shadow he controlled.

Aria Seagal , the trendsetter, moved through the hall like royalty. Every step precise, every strand of hair perfect, every glance commanding obedience. The students bowed their heads slightly as she passed, not out of fear—but because power radiated from her like sunlight, impossible to resist. She surveyed the scene, her face a mask of controlled disgust.

Meanwhile, Nyra had already packed her bag, imagining herself walking through the enormous gates of Ashthorne. She didn’t yet know that while she counted herself fortunate, the academy was alive in ways she couldn’t comprehend. Walls held whispers. Floors remembered footsteps. Shadows hid secrets no light could touch.

Somewhere within that grand palace-school, someone—or something—was always watching. Always waiting. Always hungry.

Nyra pressed a hand to her chest, heart hammering. The scholarship was her escape, her chance to belong somewhere prestigious, somewhere extraordinary. But deep down, a tiny, nagging voice whispered that Ashthorne was not a place for innocence. Not for dreamers. Not for the naïve.

And perhaps… not even for her.

The academy’s gates loomed ahead in her imagination, colossal and foreboding. Marble floors, towering pillars, glittering chandeliers—but all of it masked the darkness beneath. Nyra didn’t know yet that stepping through those gates meant stepping into a game that had been running for decades. A game of power, obsession, secrets… and death.

The blood that had already soaked Ashthorne’s halls this year was only the beginning.

And Nyra… Nyra was about to enter the arena.

---

The gates of Ashthorne Imperial Academy rose like ancient guardians, carved in black iron with crests I didn’t recognize, but they pulsed with a kind of unspoken power. My fingers clenched tighter around the strap of my bag as I stepped past them, the crunch of gravel beneath my shoes echoing far too loudly in the hushed morning air.

A new beginning. That’s what I was supposed to tell myself.

But the thing about beginnings? They’re often just disguised endings.

The admission office smelled faintly of varnish and old parchment. Polished wood desks lined the walls, each corner too pristine, too clinical, as though the entire building had been staged for a photograph. The receptionist smiled politely as I handed her the necessary documents.

“Nyra Sharma?” she confirmed, her pen scratching across paper with sharp precision.

I nodded. My voice stayed hidden in my throat — safer there.

Within moments, I was clutching a thick file containing my schedule, maps, and academy guidelines. Before I could slip away unnoticed, the door opened and a boy stepped in.

Adrash Adhikari.

The receptionist introduced him as if the name should mean something to me, and maybe it did. He looked like someone whose face people whispered about behind closed doors — clean-cut, dark hair falling neatly over his forehead, his blazer worn a little too perfectly. His smile came instantly, wide and practiced, but his eyes betrayed it. There was no warmth there, just calculation.

“I’ve been asked to show you around,” he said smoothly, almost rehearsed.

I studied him for a beat too long. People like him were always dangerous — the ones who pretended kindness with masks stretched too tightly across their real faces.

Still, I offered the faintest nod. “Lead the way.”

---

The corridors stretched endlessly, lined with portraits of stern-faced founders whose gazes seemed to follow me. My footsteps felt heavier with each turn, as though the academy itself was testing me, pressing down on my chest to see if I would crack.

Adrash’s voice carried on beside me, describing buildings, rules, and schedules with practiced ease. I didn’t listen. Instead, I traced my gaze over the marble floors and towering windows that caught slivers of sunlight. Everything here gleamed — too polished, too perfect, hiding its cracks beneath layers of gold.

“And this,” Adrash announced after what felt like hours, “is the cafeteria.”

The heavy oak doors swung open.

The moment we stepped inside, sound exploded around us — laughter, clattering trays, shouted names. Students lounged on long tables, voices weaving into a chaotic symphony that made my skin prickle.

Then it happened.

Silence.

It fell too suddenly, too deliberately, as if someone had flicked an invisible switch. My heartbeat echoed in the pause, loud in my ears. Dozens of heads snapped in unison, not toward me, not toward Adrash… but toward something deeper inside the cafeteria.

I froze.

Their eyes widened, hushed murmurs breaking through the quiet like cracks in glass. I couldn’t see what they were staring at — the angle hid it from me — but the weight of their attention pressed heavy against my skin. I wanted to move, to turn, to know what commanded such stillness, but I couldn’t. Something in my chest warned me not to.

Instead, I stood there, an outsider with too many secrets stitched into my veins, trying to steady my breath.

Adrash didn’t flinch. He only cleared his throat lightly, as though this wasn’t strange at all. “Come on, Sharma. You’ll get used to it.”

His words were casual, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed him. He knew something. Something he wasn’t saying.

I clutched my schedule tighter.

Get used to it? The silence? The stares? The chill crawling down my spine like unseen fingers?

I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

Because I had learned long ago — silence is never empty. It’s always watching.

And Ashthorne Imperial Academy… was already watching me.

---

𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎, 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚟𝚘𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚝.

𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩.