Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 41

“C’mon, Ally, let’s make our lives easier.”

I raised a brow. “You really need magic to brush your hair?”

“Yes. Obviously. Do you know how much time it takes to tame this?” She shook her auburn curls for emphasis.

I couldn’t help it, I smirked and picked up the brush. The rune quill felt oddly heavy in my hand, the ink shimmering like liquid moonlight. Tessa leaned close, whispering directions like she already knew what she was doing.

“Curve it there… loop it here… no, not like that, you’ll make it explode-”

“Explode?” I hissed.

“Kidding. Mostly.” She grinned and dipped her own quill.

We carved the runes together, side by side, her strokes neat and confident, mine a little shakier. Then Fenwick strolled past, his sharp eyes flicking to my brush. He said nothing, just hummed low in his throat as if curious.

“Alright,” Tessa said, dramatic as always. “Moment of truth.” She lifted the brush and dragged it through her hair.

Instantly, the strands smoothed and curled, falling into glossy waves like she’d just stepped out of a salon. She gasped. “It worked!”

Before I could say anything, she thrust it at me. “Your turn.”

I hesitated, then tugged it through my own tangled mess of hair. The brush warmed in my palm, and the knots melted like butter, my hair falling soft, shiny, and perfectly styled in seconds.

My jaw went slack. “Okay… that’s actually kind of amazing.”

Tessa preened in the orb light, tossing her curls like a goddess. “We are never brushing our hair the old way again.”

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12:46 Tue, Dec 30

Enchantments.

Across the room, Professor Fenwick watched me a little too closely, his mouth quirking like he’d just seen something interesting. What

that was, I have no bloody clue.

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12:46 Tue, Dec 30

Thornhill Academy.

A Gift For Your Fated.

་

Professor Fenwick clapped his hands once, the sound carrying like a crack of thunder. The room instantly stilled, every pair of eyes dragging to him. His grin stretched fox-wide. “Since the Moonlight Festival is drawing near, let’s try something with a bit of charm and sentiment. Today, you will be crafting gifts. Something you could give to your mate, if fate deigns to grant you one.”

Half the class gasped, the other half practically sighed like they were already imagining dancing under moonlight in some fairytale. I

rolled my eyes. Typical.

Fenwick set a tray on the desk, each student’s name etched faintly in glowing script above a silver bracelet. Simple bands, plain, waiting. “Here’s how it works,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “You’ll inscribe a series of runes into the metal. Each rune will hold a piece of you, your essence. When done correctly, the gemstone will reflect your emotions. Colour-shifting to show your mood, even at a distance. Romantic, practical, or possibly a recipe for disaster depending on who ends up holding it.”

A ripple of uneasy laughter went around the room. I picked mine up, feeling the cool weight of the metal.

Fenwick winked. “No flashy spellwork necessary, just intent. Etch the runes, carve meaning into them, and the band will take your magic or your spirit just the same.”

The scraping of carving tools filled the room as students bent over their bracelets. Sparks sputtered. Someone’s rune snapped in half, another bracelet cracked down the middle, sending its gemstone flying across the floor. Swears filled the air, followed by a tiny explosion of smoke and a shriek. I took my time. The runes were easy enough; all you had to do was be patient and careful with how you carved them: focus, strength, truth, spirit. I traced them carefully along the inner band, pressing power into each mark. The bracelet pulsed once, faintly, like a heartbeat.

I added the last rune-balance-and the gemstone in the centre flared. No pop, no shatter, no pathetic smoke cloud. Instead, it hummed. A low, steady vibration that sank into my bones. The stone glowed a bright, radiant yellow, the colour filling the whole gem like sunlight

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