Today, Eira had Ancient Runes class—one of her favorites. Despite the professor being a vampire, his lessons were fascinating and engaging. As she entered the classroom, she noticed students from all three houses were present. The professor was quite popular among witches, partly because of his vampire nature, though so harbored a few peculiar romantic notions about him.
Eira took her seat, smoothing out her notebook as the door opened with barely a sound.
Professor Valentin Dain entered like a shadow sliding through the room. His black hair was slick and glimred like raven feathers, his skin so pale it almost caught the candlelight and seed to glow softly. He never quite touched the floor; rather, he glided, each step more a whisper than a footfall. His glowing eyes scanned the students calmly as he approached the podium.
"Good afternoon, class," his voice was smooth, asured, and carried an accent that none could quite place — old, refined, and as chilling as the night air outside.
Eira’s eyes focused on him specifically his way of moving. There was sothing srizing about the way he moved, like a specter caught between worlds.
"Today, we will delve deeper into the mysteries of the Elder Futhark," Professor Dain began, unrolling a massive vellum scroll etched with angular runes. "The oldest runic alphabet known to our kind. It predates even the first codices of wizarding spellwork."
He let his pale fingers trail lightly over the runes, and the letters pulsed with a faint, eerie light. "Runes are not re symbols. They are vessels of power, ancient and untad. Each stroke carries intention, history, and the echoes of the sorcerers who first carved them into stone and bone."
A hand shot up near the front. "Professor, why do runes matter today? With all the modern spells and charms, why study these ancient markings?"
Valentin’s eyes fixed on the student with a faint smile that revealed nothing of warmth. "Ah, a good question. Because runes, unlike fleeting charms, contain permanence. They are the bedrock upon which all magical language is built. And more importantly," — he leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a whisper — "because runes hold secrets the new magics have forgotten."
The room leaned in as if drawn by the magnetic pull of his voice.
"Let tell you a truth few dare to speak aloud," Valentin continued. "There are runes, hidden within the Elder Futhark, that resonate not just with spells, but with the essence of life itself. These runes can influence fate, bend ti, and protect against even the darkest curses. But they are dangerous. They bind to the soul, demanding sacrifice."
Eira’s pen paused. This was not re textbook lore. This was an interesting information that was hard to find in books.
Professor Dain’s eyes swept over the class, landing briefly on her. "The study of runes is not for the faint of heart. Nor is it for those who seek power without price."
He straightened, his voice lightening. "Now, let us begin with the rune Ansuz — the rune of divine communication."
He drew a large angular symbol on the blackboard with a piece of white chalk — the shape resembling an ’F’ with a slanted middle stroke.
"Ansuz," he said, "represents the breath of the gods, the whisper of inspiration and the spark of wisdom. When inscribed on a wand or amulet, it can sharpen the bearer’s intuition and unlock visions of future possibilities."
A student raised a hand hesitantly. "Professor, can anyone safely inscribe such a rune? Or does it require special permission?"
Valentin’s lips curled into sothing close to a smile. "It requires respect. And more than that, patience. The rune will not yield its gifts to the reckless or arrogant."
He moved with effortless grace toward the desk of a nervous-looking girl who had been fidgeting with her quill. With a soft gesture, he pointed to her notebook. "Try to draw Ansuz here. Feel the intention behind the strokes. Speak its na aloud as you do so."
The girl’s hand shook as she traced the rune, whispering "An-suz."
A faint warmth blood beneath her fingertips, as if the chalk itself had co alive.
"Excellent," Valentin murmured. "You have taken the first step."
Turning back to the class, he folded his hands behind his back and lowered his voice again.
"Now for the most fascinating fact I can share — one that binds runes, magic, and immortality in a way that few understand."
The students leaned closer, breath held.
"Did you know that the very reason vampires have survived through centuries—beyond re blood magic and curses—is that they are the living embodints of an ancient rune? A rune lost to most of our kind."
A ripple of surprised whispers filled the room.
Valentin’s pale eyes glead in the dim light. "The rune is called Eihwaz, the Yew tree rune. It symbolizes death and rebirth, protection and resilience."
He moved to the blackboard and drew a vertical line with two diagonal strokes crossing it like an arrow pointing upward.
"Eihwaz is not rely a symbol. It is a channel of raw, eternal energy. The yew tree itself is legendary for its longevity and its power to stand between life and death. In ancient tis, so sorcerers used the Eihwaz rune to bind their souls to this threshold—refusing to yield to mortal decay."
He paused, eyes darkening. "Vampires, such as myself, are the living testant to this ancient binding. The Eihwaz rune courses through our very existence, granting us immortality at a cost."
Eira shivered, partly from the chill in his voice, partly from the intensity of the revelation.
"Study Eihwaz carefully," Valentin said softly. "It holds keys not only to protection, but also to the curse of endless life. Knowledge of this rune may one day save you—or doom you."
He stepped back, allowing the weight of his words to settle.
A quiet murmur of awe and unease rippled through the classroom.
Eira caught his gaze again, this ti a flicker of sothing unreadable passed through his dark eyes — a hint of centuries-old sorrow buried beneath patient teaching.
"Now," Valentin said, voice rising, "we will practice carving these runes into the soft leather of our codices. Feel the power in your fingertips, respect the ancient lineages of this script. Rember: the runes demand patience, reverence, and humility. Only then will they reveal their secrets."
As the class busied itself with quills and etching tools, Eira’s mind churned. The idea that her professor’s very existence was tied to the ancient magic of the runes gave a new aning to the study. These symbols were not just letters or history — they were living magic, woven into life and death itself.
When the final bell chid, signaling the end of class, Valentin drifted toward the door.
"Rember, students," he called softly over the shuffle of chairs, "the past is not dead. It waits beneath the surface, written in symbols older than kingdoms. Learn to read it well — and you will unlock power beyond imagination."
Eira gathered her things, her fingers tingling faintly as if touched by the lingering magic in the air.
As she walked out of the classroom toward the gardens, Eira felt the weariness of having two classes in one day weigh on her. Making her way to Ombrelune’s garden, she approached the entrance when a violet butterfly fluttered toward her. She extended her hand, and the delicate creature landed gently before suddenly bursting into a cloud of shimring violet dust. The dust swirled and ford words in the air:
Miss White, you are required at my office at once.
— Headmistress Maxi
Eira raised her eyebrows in surprise. "What could Madam Maxi want in such a hurry?" she wondered. Still, she turned and walked back toward the château. Climbing the stairs, she soon reached the familiar rooftop garden. There, standing outside her office and gazing wistfully at her flowers, was Madam Maxi.
"Good afternoon, Mada. You asked for ?" Eira said politely.
Madam Maxi looked at her with a sadness that imdiately unsettled Eira. "My condolences, Miss White," she said in a quiet, mournful tone.
Eira’s face paled.
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