Shadow Readers

Break time came with no mercy.

The courtyard—flanked by glistening marble columns and dotted with perfectly trimmed hedges—should've felt like a sanctuary. Its statues of Archmages past stood tall beneath banners that whispered in the highland breeze, and the sun hung above like a golden promise. For most students, it was a place of chatter, laughter, shared spellbread, and magical gossip.

But for Spandrex, it was a gauntlet.

He stepped outside last, clutching his plain cloth bag, shoulders hunched, eyes low. The chatter seemed to hush for a second as he emerged—then rose again, sharper this time, as if the air grew teeth.

He made his way to the far edge of a stone bench shaded by an overgrown tree, unwrapping a plain sandwich wrapped in old wax paper. Its edges were flattened from the pressure of his bag. He hadn't even taken a bite when it began.

"Still bringing peasant bread to a royal courtyard?" a familiar voice rang out.

Remiel.

He never came alone. Behind him stood Myra and Jastin—both grinning, both eager.

Spandrex lowered his sandwich, pretending he didn't hear.

"Hey, mudblood. Don't ignore your betters."

Spandrex's fingers tightened, but he didn't look up.

The sandwich was slapped out of his hands before he could defend it. It hit the dusty stone path with a soft, pitiful thud.

Laughter cracked through the courtyard.

Remiel stepped closer, his voice almost pleasant. "Did it slip? Or are your commoner hands too greasy to grip anything?"

Another voice called out from behind a hedge, "Check his ears! Maybe he's part goblin!"

Myra giggled. "No, goblins have backbone."

Spandrex bent slowly to retrieve his sandwich, face burning.

But a kick to his satchel sent it skidding across the ground. The clasp popped. His few possessions spilled like a wound opening—ink bottle, cracked open and dripping like black blood, a splintered quill, a threadbare scroll, and his worn-down book of basic spell runes with a tear through its first page.

"Oh no," someone mocked, "the scholarship shadow dropped his spells."

Someone else added, "Quick, someone help the ghost boy before he vanishes into his own shame!"

The laughter was louder now. Crueler.

Spandrex dropped to his knees, gathering his things with trembling hands. His fingers smeared ink across the page of his scroll as he tried to salvage it.

Remiel loomed overhead, foot raised—then brought it down hard on the rune book. The cover cracked under his heel.

"Oops," he said. "It looked defective anyway."

Spandrex froze, one hand still on the page.

"Say something," Remiel hissed, voice dipping to a dangerous hush. "Or are you mute too?"

Spandrex looked up at last.

Just briefly.

There was fire there—small, hidden deep, but burning like coals beneath the ash.

Remiel blinked, unsettled by it. But only for a breath.

He spat beside Spandrex's knee, turned, and strode off with the others.

"You're nothing," he called over his shoulder. "Remember that."

Later, during Arcanic Studies, the tower classroom was cool and dim, its round walls lined with rune-marked shelves and floating orbs of soft light. Professor Hailmoor, a tall man with hollow eyes and silver-threaded robes, paced the front.

"In today's lesson," he intoned, "you will begin an assignment on rune casting and shadow warding. You'll be working in pairs. Choose someone you trust. You will share your attunement scores. Collaboration is key."

The buzz in the room was immediate.

Chairs scraped back. Cloaks rustled. Students turned to their usual allies—forming circles with the ease of long-forged ties. Names were called across rows. Friends grinned. Elbows nudged. Groups were sealed.

Spandrex sat perfectly still.

He glanced sideways, heart pounding. No one met his gaze. No one even looked his way.

Even Jina, who had once nodded at him in passing, shifted her seat further from him.

Minutes passed. The room settled.

"Is anyone unpaired?" Hailmoor asked.

Spandrex stood slowly, every movement heavy.

A few turned to look, smirking.

Remiel leaned back in his chair. "Let him pair with the shadows! Maybe they'll grade him on tears."

Laughter exploded again.

Hailmoor didn't laugh—but he didn't scold them either.

"Very well," he said, voice unreadable. "Spandrex, you'll be assigned solo."

Of course.

That night, the torchlight flickered low in the boy's dormitory hallway. Students had retreated to their rooms, the sounds of conversation muffled behind thick wooden doors. Spandrex stood outside his own, hand on the handle.

He didn't want to go in. He didn't want to face the silence. Or himself.

Eventually, he entered.

The room was small and gray. One bed. One desk. One flickering candle.

He dropped his bag at the foot of the bed and didn't bother unpacking. Instead, he crawled beneath the covers fully clothed, pulling them tight over his shoulders like armor against the world.

His chest ached—not from bruises, but from something worse.

His voice cracked in the stillness. "Why am I here?"

Tears welled, unbidden, stinging his eyes. "Why me?"

He covered his face. His breath hitched. For a boy who never allowed himself to cry, tonight felt like a dam breaking.