{ first day }
The sun had barely risen over the Ninth House, casting long shadows across the hallways as The Whisperer made his way through the corridors. His footsteps were almost inaudible, a choice improved over years of practice. He thrived in the quiet, finding solace in the soft, almost imperceptible sounds of the old building waking up to a new day. His mind was a swirl of thoughts, plans, and memories. He had been at Ninth House for almost four decades, yet each day felt like a new opportunity to observe, to learn, to control. His reputation as the Umbra Coven Director was one of fear and respect, a blend that he had cultivated carefully over the years. Knowledge is power - it was the guiding principle of his life, the driving force behind every decision. He knew that fear was a powerful tool as well, but it was the secrets he held that truly cemented his influence.
He was a master of shadows.
He had spent his life perfecting his ability to manipulate darkness, creating shadows with a flick of his wrist. Wherever he went, the light seemed to dim, as if the very air around him responded to his presence. It was said that rooms always appeared darker when he entered, the shadows deepening as if in deference to their master. As he walked down the corridor he traced the stone walls with his fingers, leaving behind a trail of what seemed smoke, made out of shadows.
Reaching the dining hall, he paused in the doorway, his sharp eyes scanning the room. Usually the staff was never seen around this part of the institution, it was only for students and their lives which were separated from their classes but The Whisperer never considered himself to be just anyone. Students were just beginning to filter in, their laughter and chatter filling the space with a youthful energy that seemed at odds with the stillness he carried within him. The Whisperer just stood there, silently watching. To some, his presence was creepy, a reminder of the authority he had but to others, it was a challenge - to be the one who dared to meet his gaze. At times it seemed like it was a game he liked to play, as if he wanted to find that one student who dared to challenge him back, and with that was worthy of the knowledge The Whisperer could offer.
His eyes fell on a group of first year students, their excitement visible as the navigated the newness of their environment. He allowed himself a small smile. They were so full of potential, so ripe for molding. One student, in particular, caught his attention - a young girl with a determined set to her jaw, her eyes flicking around the room, taking everything in. She reminded him of himself at that age, though he’d never admit it. Perhaps she would be one to watch. As he moved deeper into the hall, his presence seemed to cast a shadow over the room. Conversations quieted, gazes fell. He stopped near the end of one of the long tables, his gaze fixed on a boy who was whispering to his friend, their heads bent close together. The boy looked up, meeting The Whisperer’s eyes, and immediately fell silent. The whispering continued, low and secretive, but The Whisperer did not react outwardly. Instead, he let the tension build, his silence more menacing than any words could be. “Disrespect,” he thought, but he did nothing. The fear of his potential reaction was punishment enough.
Suddenly, a burst of laughter from the corner of the dining hall broke his concentration. His eyes narrowed as he turned his attention toward the source of the disruption. A group of students, seemingly oblivious to his presence, were laughing loudly. With a fluid motion, The Whisperer walked over to them, his shadow seeming to grow and stretch across the floor, enveloping those students in a dark, suffocating embrace. “Names?” His voice was a whisper, yet it carried an undeniable weight. The students fell silent, their faces paling as they realized who stood before them. One boy, attempting to muster some courage muttered his name. But it was too late. The Whisperer’s eyes gleamed with a cold, unhinged light as he reached out, his fingers brushing the boy’s shoulder. “Remember this moment,” he hissed. With a flick of his wrist, the shadows around the boy deepened and wrapped around him. The boy’s eyes widened in terror as he felt the darkness closing in, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
“But don’t fear,” another whisper he added to the boy before he released him, the shadows disappearing as quickly as they had appeared. The boy collapsed onto the bench, gasping for air as his friends stared in stunned silence. The Whisperer straightened, his composure once again impeccable. “Let this be a successful year to us all,” he stated, his quiet voice carrying through the now silent dining hall. With that, he turned and walked away, the room seeming to grow darker in his wake.
Leaving the dining hall, he continued his patrol of the hallways. He had no classes to teach; that was not his role, not a role of any of the directors. They only met their student over the weekend so his, their position was of oversight, of guidance. The Whisperer’s was a position of oversight from the shadows. The Umbra Coven required a firm hand, and he was more than willing to provide it. As he walked, the whispers of students reached his ears - a mix of awe, fear, and curiosity. He knew what they called him, understood the rumors that swirled around his name. The Whisperer. It was fitting, really. He had spent a lifetime mastering the art of subtlety.
He paused by a window, looking out over the grounds of Ninth House. The day was just beginning, and with it, the endless possibilities of manipulation, of influence. He was the unseen force that shaped the destinies of those within these walls, and he relished every moment of it.
