"Sometimes, souls remember what names cannot."
Ⅰ. The Bell of Beginnings
The bell at Aurelia Academy tolled loudly, its sound echoing throughout the whole capital.
Its solemn sound rolled through the morning sky, and another year had dawned. To Leon Ashwell, it was the start of the journey he had promised himself.
He stood among the new students gathered in the Grand Auditorium, a big hall with curved ceilings of glass and floating runes tracing lines of soft light above.
Banners with the crest of the Searulian Empire's Phoenix were hanging from the rafters, their silk catching the sunbeams streaming through the glass imbued with spells.
Hundreds of students filled the chairs, nobles in fancy uniforms, scholars with glowing staves, swordsmen with rough hands that already told stories.
Leon adjusted his collar, dark blue, his sword-at his side-made from blacksteel. His face was composed, but his heart was galloping like a silent drum.
He exhaled. This is it.
A man in long silver robes stepped forward at the far end of the stage. His hair was white as moonlight, framing a face marked by age yet untouched by time. His eyes shone with that quiet confidence of one that had seen centuries flee and had not weakened.
"Students of Aurelia, his voice filled the hall, warm but commanding. "I am Aldric Veylen, Headmaster of this Academy."
Whispers spread at his name: Aldric Veylen, "Silver Sage," one of the few surviving heroes of the Cinder Wars.
His eyes scanned the faces, and for an instant, they centered on Leon-as if he saw not only the boy but also the shadows behind him.
"You are here," Aldric continued, "not to wield the power, but to understand it. It is not a sword that chooses its wielder; purpose does. Remember that."
With a single strike of his staff against the ground, a weak ripple appeared in the air.
"Here in this hall stand the heirs and soldiers, dreamers and wanderers. Nobleman or commoner, your value is not birthright, but birth of right - what you carve from world and flesh with blade, mind, and heart."
The students involuntarily straightened, captured by his strong words.
Aldric smiled faintly. "Let the new term begin. Welcome to Aurelia Academy, children of flame and silver."
Applause filled the chamber.
Leon clapped once, then paused again—he felt it again.
That pulse.
That faint, reassuring tug in his chest.
He turned his head and saw her.
Hair of silver, like moonlight. Eyes of sapphire, serene, as if centuries could be contained within them. She stood near the front row with the imperial delegation, straight-backed, expression unruffled.
Yet when their gazes met, hers expanded—in the way a string vibrates right between them.
Neither spoke. Yet both knew it.
A quaking deep inside their hearts, more ancient than memory.
Ⅱ. Silver and Flame
The ceremony ended with blessings from the teachers and housemasters. Students flowed out into the court yard, like a wave, laughing, talking about dorms, and bragging about their parentage.
Leon took a deep breath of the fresh morning air.
The Academy seemed even grander in life—manaladen flowers filling the gardens with colors, floating crystal lamps above stone walking paths, and subtle spell circles etched in the cobblestones to purify the air.
He drifted toward the fountain in the courtyard, where water danced with faint glimmers of light.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Leon turned.
A girl with lavender hair, tied in a low braid, stood beside him, clutching a book to her chest. Her emerald eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"I'm Iris Levingale," she said cheerfully. "Healing Division, first year."
"Leon Ashwell," he answered. "Swordsmanship Division."
She inclined her head. "Ashwell? As in-—the noble house from Searulia?"
He nodded.
"Wow. You really don't act like one."
He smiled faintly. "Is that a compliment?"
"Depends. If you start acting all high and mighty, I'll hit you with a healing spell in reverse."
Leon chuckled. "I wouldn't dream of it."
Another voice joined the conversation playfully. "You're talking to him already? That was quick, Iris."
In came a tall, silver-haired young man with light armor slung over one shoulder, a spear lying casually on his back.
"Reis Valden, Spear Division," he said with a grin. "Pay her no mind; she's too nice for her own good.
"Which is why you still have friends, Reis," Iris shot back.
Leon chuckled softly. "I take it you two have known each other for a while."
"Since we were ten," Reis said. "Though she's been annoying me since nine."
A shadow appeared beside them, not giving Iris time to reply.
"Enough talking."
They turned and found themselves facing a tall girl with dark violet hair, her eyes shining like moonlight, and a staff covered in ancient writing. Her uniform sported the crest of the Mage Division.
"Selene Thorne," she said serenely. "Mana theory specialization. Try not to be late to orientation."
Reis grinned. "And this imposing woman completes the trio. We are bound to share practical courses, Ashwell."
Leon smiled, "Looking forward to it."
As they talked, a subtle hush fell over the courtyard.
Whispers spread fast. "She's here." "That's the Valerion Princess."
Leon turned—
and saw her again.
III. The Princess of Valerion
Aris Valerion walked the courtyard, flanked by two royal guards who kept respectful distance. Her uniform was a bit different—a sleeveless white coat trimmed in silver, embroidered with the crest of twin dragons.
And the crowd eagerly parted. Not out of fear-but respect.
Yet Aris wore an expression composed, almost aloof, as if she had long grown accustomed to the weight of attention.
Leon found himself watching her, rather than the title, if that made much sense. The way she moved, the quiet grace in her steps, the slight sadness behind her poise.
That grace. I've seen it somewhere.
As she passed, her eyes caught his once more.
She hesitated.
"You're staring," she said with softness.
Leon blinked. "Am I?"
A slight curve of the lips. "Most who look at me feel either great wonder or wariness. You look. like you're trying to recall something.
"Maybe I am," he replied.
Aris studied him, something shifting in her eyes. "Leon Ashwell, right? From Searulia."
"You remember my name."
"It's hard to forget someone who feels so. familiar."
Leon smiled weakly. "Funny, I was just about to say the same thing.
A small silence prevailed between them.
Then she asked, "Tell me, Leon Ashwell. Do you like sweet things?"
He blinked. ".Sweet things?"
She cocked her head slightly. "It's a straightforward question.
He tucked his chin into his chest. "Not really. I used to know someone who did. She'd always buy melon bread after class and—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Aris's eyes widened somewhat. "Melon. bread?"
They were silent for a moment. Between them, a light breeze coursed, spinning petals from nearby mana-trees.
Then Aris smiled slightly, shaking her head. "That's an odd thing to remember."
"Maybe," Leon said quietly. "But it feels important."
They stayed like this for some more seconds-a silence between them, a connective element of two souls touching but not quite naming.
Then, before she could answer, one of them called across the courtyard.
"Princess Aris! The instructors are waiting!"
She turned towards the voice, and then back towards him. "Until the next time, Leon Ashwell."
She whirled and walked away with silver hair still streaming behind her like moonlight.
Leon watched until she vanished into the mist of the fountain.
Reis whistled softly. "You just talked to the Valerion Princess. Bold move."
Iris grinned. "And she didn't freeze you. That's progress."
Leon laughed lightly. But within himself, a storm was brewing.
Why did that feel so real? Melon bread.that memory wasn't from this world.
Ⅳ. The Blade Instructor
Later that afternoon, the students were to reassemble in the open training arena-a wide field surrounded by enchantment pillars and mana barriers.
The sun hung low, golden rays glinting off hundreds of practice blades.
In the center stood a tall man, his coat flapping in the wind, quietly compelling attention.
"I am Kael Draven, your Swordsmanship Instructor," he said flatly. His voice held experience behind it. "You will call me Instructor Draven."
He paced slowly before them.
"You'll bleed in my classes. You'll fall. You'll curse my name. But if you survive, you'll leave here with a blade that answers only to you."
He stopped directly in front of Leon, eyes narrowing slightly as if assessing something unseen.
"You," Kael said. "Draw your weapon."
Leon blinked. "Now?"
"Now."
Whispers spread among the students.
Leon stepped forward slowly, unsheathing his blacksteel blade. He could feel the faint hum of the steel in the air.
Kael drew his own training sword—a plain steel blade, scarred from countless battles.
"Stance," Kael commanded.
Leon slid into place-knees low, right hand near the hilt, breathing steady.
The Haze Veil Stance.
Kael's brow furrowed slightly. "Interesting form. Not Empire standard."
"A family style," Leon answered softly.
"Then show me."
The air grew tense.
Kael moved first, his sword flashing in a downward arc.
Leon dodged to the side, his sword flashing in a quick swing—Skyfall Arc—intercepting Kael's attack at its peak. Sparks flew like shooting stars.
The sound boomed out clear and sharp in the arena.
Kael's expression didn't budge. He pressed forward, step, pivot, thrust.
Leon flowed backward, his blade tracing arcs of silver light. His movements were smooth, yet anchored, every step led by rhythm rather than strength.
Kael finished with the most dramatic of his movements—a Solar Break overhead slash.
Leon caught it with a cross-guard, slid underneath and countered with a spinning upward cut - Azure Wing.
The force stopped Kael's blade mid-air.
Silence ensued.
Then Kael stepped back, lowering his sword. "Enough."
He regarded Leon a long moment, then nodded once. "You've been well trained. Who was your master?"
Leon hesitated. ".Someone I lost a long time ago."
Kael didn't push for more. "Then keep their lessons close. You'll need them."
He turned back to the class. "That's how you channel intent. Not anger. Not pride. Intent. Remember it."
The students nodded, awed into silence.
As the sun dipped below the walls, casting an aura of gold in the arena, Leon slowly exhaled.
Across the field, Aris watched him—her expression unreadable.
She hastily averted her eyes, pretending to focus on her rapier form, as his locked with hers. But her heart was pounding.
That composure, that precision— His it was. She didn't know who he was yet. But she knew this feeling. Like she had fought beside him once. Or died for him once.
"Our paths cross again," whispered fate, but neither could quite hear it yet.