Aya didn't sleep for half the night. She woke up at every sound, tossed and turned, checked the time on her dead phone, and kept telling herself that if she didn't look out the window, nothing strange would appear there.
When sleep finally won, morning came far too quickly.
The knock on the door was confident and almost melodic. Not the kind that makes you jump in fear, but one that somehow makes you stand up immediately, as if it's aimed straight at your spine, not your ears.
Aya opened the door, and in the doorway stood a woman so striking she could have been an illusion. Tall, with perfect posture, rich dark skin, and loose black hair streaked with a band of white-gold—like moonlight had brushed her by accident. Her dress was black with gold accents, sparkling with each movement, and her eyes... her eyes were a deep, vivid red—never vulgar, more like someone who'd seen too much and still chose to smile.
— Good morning, sunshine, — she said in a voice that could melt the walls. — Time to get up. I'm Professor Sayana Kav'Ris, your first-year advisor. And yes, I know it's way too early, and yes, I know you're still convinced this is some crazy dream. Trust me, I can read it in your eyes.
Aya blinked. Then blinked again.
— You... you're... beautiful.
— That's true, — Sayana smiled. — And good for you for saying it out loud. Come on, I'll show you where we hide all the textbooks before someone nicks them for ritual shop supplies.
They left the dorm, and Aya finally realized everything she'd seen until now was just the tip of the iceberg. The campus stretched for kilometers: buildings with arches, glass bridges, hanging gardens, obelisks reflecting the sky even when there were no clouds above.
— This is the library. Don't go in alone. Seriously. Some of the books can... fall in love with the reader. It's cute, but a bit of a problem when you're trying to turn in an essay and a thirteenth-century manuscript won't let go of your hand.
— You're kidding, right? — Aya gripped her backpack tighter.
— I never joke about books, — Sayana said without a hint of irony. — Here's your schedule. Algebra in the morning, then chemistry, then... Celestial Biology and the Geography of Mythical Creatures—everything from tanuki to sphinxes. Oh, and don't forget—Foundations of Transformed Species Ethics. Someone once tried to eat a classmate. We learn to be polite here.
When Aya entered the building where they issued textbooks, she realized just how insane this day was. And, maybe, how insane she was for not running away.
The textbooks were in neat stacks. Normal ones. Algebra. Chemistry. History.
And then: Anatomy of Shadow Forms, Archaic Grammar of Second-Level Spells, Mythopoetics: The Truth Behind Legends, Basic Techniques of Spirit Sigils...
A guy passed by. His eyes were cat-like, his ears moved, and—hell—he even had a tail that twitched. Next to him, a girl with pearlescent hair and a rainbow iris was laughing, waving her fingers, silver threads swirling around them.
— Oh, and never say "cool contacts" to anyone whose pupils sparkle, — Sayana whispered. — One student did that... and now studies in another dimension.
Aya listened like she was inside some weird interactive ad, where everything was too pretty and too impossible.
— Is this all... real?
— Of course. What, did you think we were just a school for "problem kids"? Darling, this is Raven Academy. We're the last stop for those who never fit a template. Here, it's not about who you are on paper. It's about finding out who you really are.
Only as they walked back did Aya, for the first time, stop and look around: floating flowers, a dragon professor in human form, the noise from a glass classroom where someone was seriously arguing with a shadow...
— This... isn't a joke?
Sayana smiled.
— No. Welcome home, Aya Li.
— Just one more thing, — Sayana chirped, turning right. — You'll need to have your uniform made.
— What? — Aya nearly tripped. — Can't you just give me a standard one?
— Sweetheart, you're not standard. Here everything's tailored to the student. Places are strange, the climate changes, and sizes are all... different. You'll see.
With every turn, the corridor lost more of its academic look—ceilings got higher, walls hung with fabrics that moved with the draft… or maybe just on their own. At last, they stopped before a massive wooden door with a spiderweb engraving.
— …You're serious?
— Absolutely, — Sayana nodded, and knocked.
The door opened by itself. Inside, it was twilight, lit by soft floating orbs under the ceiling. In the corner was the sound of threads whispering. And then from the back of the workshop glided—her. Or it. Aya wasn't sure.
Half a woman's body. Half... spider legs. Inky joints gleamed with glossy chitin, gliding almost silently across the floor. Long white hair, twisted into complex knots, trailed behind. The face was beautiful, human. Too much so.
Aya's throat went dry with fear. Inside, someone was pounding:
"Okay. This is bad. Really bad. Don't look down. Don't look at the legs. Don't look at the joints. Shit, why did you look?! Aya. Don't you dare faint. Don't you dare tremble. You're fire. You're a volcano. You just hate spiders, but you've got this under control."
She nodded. Or shook her head. Or maybe it was just her blood pounding in her ears.
–– Master Kalissa. The great weaver of House Arachne, — Sayana introduced calmly.
— …Excuse me? — Aya managed.
— Yes. The same. In legend, she was cursed for her pride, but here she's rightfully one of the best seamstresses at the Academy. We took her in after… well, it's a long story. Maybe later. For now—measurements.
Kalissa bowed her head and glided closer. Her voice was surprisingly low and warm.
— Don't be afraid. I don't bite. Not anymore.
Aya stayed silent, trying not to step back.
— Arms out, — Kalissa said gently. — It won't hurt.
Aya kept standing, a wild mix of panic and… pity. Yes, creepy. Yes, she wanted to scream. But there was no threat in the spiderwoman's voice.
— Turn around, please, — Kalissa added softly. — I'll be quick, don't worry.
She came closer, her movements smooth, almost dancing. Cold fingers touched Aya's shoulders, waist, legs, but with such care it was almost nice. Strangely... calming. For the first time, Aya exhaled.
— You have narrow shoulders. I'll need to reinforce the seam. Do you like high collars? Or leave the neck open?
— I… — Aya blinked. — No ruffles, please.
Kalissa gave a little hum, as if she liked that answer.
— Classic, then. Strong, clean lines. Pants or skirt?
— Pants. And extra pockets.
— As you wish.
When it was done, Kalissa draped the fabric over the future uniform like it was a gift and bowed her head.
— I'll have it ready by morning. Welcome, Aya Li.
Aya left the workshop with shaky knees, but without wanting to run.
— She's nice, — she said softly.
— Yes, — Sayana agreed. — Just a little scary. Like you.
Aya grinned.
— Me, scary?
— Oh, honey. We all scare someone. Not everyone can sew a dress to cover it up.
Morning began in silence. The kind of silence where you hear dust settle on the windowsill. Aya got up not because of an alarm—she didn't have one—but from the feeling someone was… watching. Or whispering. Or scratching.
She threw the door open.
No one. Only a neatly wrapped bundle on the threshold. Dark, tied with a ribbon, like it was from a store specializing in infernal luxury.
— Great. Horror delivery, right to the door, — she muttered, picking up the package and stepping inside.
Unwrapping it, she immediately realized—it was the uniform. The one promised yesterday. And, honestly, it was made not lazily, but like a costume for some big-budget fantasy blockbuster.
The uniform was… weirdly nice. No skirt, thankfully. Thank you, spider-lady, you heard my prayers. Comfortable dark pants with a high waist and deep pockets where you could stash everything—from your phone to a screwdriver. Or something heavier, if someone decided to "test her psyche" again.
For shoes—sturdy boots, kind of military but lighter. A vest with the academy emblem, and under it a fitted white shirt with a short standing collar.
The collar was trimmed with delicate embroidery, almost invisible—but if you looked closely, it wasn't a pattern, but… runes?
— I'm either top of "Exiled Fashionista of the Year" or this outfit is cursed, — she muttered, pulling it on. — Well… at least it fits perfectly. Thank you, ominous spiderwoman.
She glanced down. The uniform flattered her shape, not slutty, but not making her look like a monk either. Restrained elegance. She… actually liked it.
But then—the mirror.
The thin cloth was still there. Aya twitched, but stopped. Grit her teeth. Walked over. Forced herself to pull back the edge. Peered in.
It looked like her. The same uniform, the same slouch, the same dark circles under her eyes. Everything in place. Nothing moving separately. No whispers.
She yanked the curtain aside, stared into herself, and nodded.
She brushed her hair quickly, deftly, fingers picking out the tangles. Then grabbed her tiny makeup bag and slapped on mascara, a bit of foundation, a touch of shadow. Who cares if it's just class—if the world's falling apart, at least her lips are done.
She sat on the bed and unrolled her schedule. Squinted.
— Algebra, history, chemistry, okay… Celestial Biology? Geography of Mythic Habitats? Metamorphosis of Soul and Body?.. Who even wrote this? Rowling's character with a personality disorder?
She read it again. Then again. By the fourth time, it finally hit her: this wasn't a prank. This wasn't a joke. This wasn't some cute puzzle for newbies.
This was real.
And you, Aya Li, are officially screwed. In a long, winding, gloomy mess. With candles. And an altar. And maybe a dead language to study next week.
She stood up. Inhaled.
— Let's go, gorgeous, — she told her reflection. — Time to see how deep the rabbit hole goes.
And walked out.
The corridor was buzzing. No, not just noisy—it was alive. Voices, tails swishing on the floor, the snap of wings, someone shrieking hysterically from around the corner. All of it bathed in the sleepy morning light filtering through stained glass windows shaped like flying ravens.
Aya stepped forward.
At first cautiously, as if the floor might vanish under her. Then, a little more confident.
— Right, — she muttered to herself, — if anyone tries to bite, scream. If anyone's eyes start glowing, act like you own the place. If anyone takes off flying, don't look up. They're always pantsless.
On her right, a guy with skin like black obsidian and hair flowing like smoke smiled at her—fangs and all. Aya pretended to yawn.
On her left, a girl dashed past with ears, a tail, and a backpack sticking out—were those horns?
— Good morning! — the girl shouted, disappearing around the corner.
— Yeah, suuure, — Aya muttered, trying not to stare at the tails, fangs, claws, and other "cosplays" that, unfortunately, didn't come off.
But the weirdest thing wasn't any of that. The weirdest thing was that no one was staring at her. No one pointing. No whispers behind her back. She walked, and was just one of the crowd.
After three schools where she'd been "the one who blew up the bio lab," it felt almost… wrong.
— God, — she whispered. — Either I'm dead and this is hell… or I really am at the weirdest academy on earth.
Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang. Or was that a raven caw?
Aya straightened up, checked her schedule, and headed down the corridor.
— Find the classroom. Don't get lost. Don't elbow a demon. No big deal—just an ordinary Tuesday.
The first day of classes started almost hopefully. Almost.
Aya entered Algebra with her usual "I'm just here by accident, don't mind me" look. The room was almost normal: blackboard, desks, no floating furniture—a win already. The teacher looked like any math professor: glasses, gray hair, the smell of chalk.
— All right, warm-up. Who can factor a third-order expression with a negative coefficient?
Aya raised her hand, answered calmly. Then another question. Then another. By the middle of the lesson, the teacher had grunted twice and once even said "not bad."
History went the same way. Questions about ancient wars, battle chronology, diplomatic alliances. Aya snapped out answers like she was hitting piano keys—it all just flowed out.
Chemistry—her favorite. And even though the equipment looked like it had been borrowed from a mad alchemist, the reagents were at least recognizable. Aya even corrected a classmate who was about to mix two incompatible acids.
— Huh. Looks like you're settling in, — she muttered to herself. — Just don't get too comfortable.
And she didn't.
Because after that came… Celestial Biology.
The name alone made Aya mentally choke.
The teacher, a woman in a snow-white robe with eyes glowing with something otherworldly, pulled a skull from her bag. Not a human skull. Not an animal. Something with… too many teeth. Not enough eye sockets.
— Today we'll look at the anatomical differences of ethereal species, including winged celestials, sariels, and lightborn. — She drew a skeleton on the board that looked like something from a dark fantasy artbook. — Aya Li. Please tell me, how many energy channels pass through the diaphragm in semi-ancient classes?
Aya froze.
Then raised her eyebrows.
Then forced a smile.
— Sorry, I'm not really… I've only ever had regular ribs and shoulder blades, no bonus features.
Someone in the back snickered. The teacher made a sound, not mocking—more like a doctor when a patient says "I hear ghosts" instead of "I have a headache."
— I understand. You're new. Still, I recommend at least skimming the chapters before class. Here we don't just study flesh—we study the structure of form. And spirit. The flesh is secondary.
Flesh is secondary, Aya echoed in her head. Of course. Flesh is secondary. So are my brains, apparently.
In Mythic Geography it didn't get any easier. They talked about tanuki migration patterns, what a "sand singularity in sphinx feeding grounds" is, and how not to die in the acidic mists of the Gul'ra islands.
The teacher, a tall man in a brown robe with a voice that sounded like it had been dragged out of a crypt, stood at the map.
— Aya Li. Tell me, in which region do the habitats of garudas and djinn intersect, if you account for stream distortions?
Aya blinked. The only thing intersecting were her nerves and her self-control.
The teacher waited, then added,
— Hm. Sorry. You've just arrived, haven't you? I won't push. Try to catch up.
— Of course, I'll try, — she nodded politely, as if she didn't want to turn herself to ash from sheer stress.
A voice rustled from her left. Calm, almost lazy.
— Yeah, this one'll take forever to catch up. By the time she's ready, you'll be old and have forgotten what you were waiting for.
She heard it. Clearly. Aya exhaled slowly. Didn't look back. Didn't respond.
She sat up straight. Not a muscle moved. But her hands curled into fists under the desk.
— Don't get angry, — she whispered silently to herself. — Not now. A little longer. You'll show them who's the idiot here.
And that wasn't just a promise. It was a vow.
After classes.
Aya walked down the avenue as if being followed. Though no one was chasing her. No student looked at her directly—they'd already made up their minds inside. "The new girl," "not from here," "smart but only at math"—labels that stick quick, peel off slow.
She passed a fountain, stopped at a wall—actually a living thing, a giant vine coiled up the stone, something inside it pulsing. Aya didn't look. She just sat on the edge of a flowerbed, closed her eyes, took a slow breath. Exhaled.
— So who's the idiot here?.. — she whispered. — I'm not the one who came up with "sphinxes have a comfort zone."
Her hands were shaking. Not from fear. From resentment. There's nothing worse than knowing you're not stupid—but still looking like you're holding a brain for the first time.
— Just not my coordinate system… just… I'm from a different reality, literally, — she muttered, looking at the sky. — And everyone here acts like they were born with an aura manual in their teeth… maybe they were.
She hugged her knees. Her cheeks burned. She didn't even know if it was from anger or because she was about to cry.
— And this vest uniform, — she grumbled. — Stylish, sure. But why does it feel like I'm not in school but in some kind of… recon squad between hell and Faerie?
Eyes closed again.
— Mom… Dad… can I just… not come back?
She hadn't meant to say it out loud. But it slipped out.
And right then, from the bushes nearby, someone tripped over their own backpack.