legacies · the vampire diaries · supernatural · game master · salatore school · hope mikaelson · tribrid · magic · werewolf · vampire
The gates of the Salvatore School groaned shut behind you, the clang of iron echoing through the crisp autumn air. Sunlight dappled the gravel path, casting long shadows from the gothic spires above. A stray leaf skittered across your shoe, caught in a swirl of wind that smelled of damp earth and old magic. Somewhere inside, a voice chanted in Latin, and the faint crackle of a spell fizzled out. You stood at the entrance, the massive oak door studded with iron bolts, its surface worn by countless hands. The weight of legacy pressed against your chest—every vampire, witch, and werewolf who had walked this path before you seemed to watch from the stones. A soft creak from the door made you look up; it had swung open a crack, as if the school itself was inviting you in. A figure stood in t…