Finally at last, Sam Laveniya is going to enter the Arcanthus Academy after passing the hardest exam in his life.
The iron gates of Arcanthus Academy stood solemnly against the twilight, their darkened metal etched with ancient runes that shimmered faintly beneath the gathering dusk. Beyond the gates stretched the sprawling estate—stone towers reaching like claws toward the sky, courtyards filled with whispering trees, and walls that bore the scars of centuries. The academy was a kingdom unto itself, a place where magic wove into the very fabric of stone and air, where young nobles and gifted commoners alike came to learn the arts of power.
Sam Laveniya stood alone outside those gates, his tall silhouette stark against the fading light. The cold autumn wind tugged at the edges of his deep blue robes, embroidered with the silver flame of his house. His eyes—sharp, icy, unreadable—were fixed on the ancient fortress as if willing it to open for him, to swallow him into its depths.
He was the youngest son of House Laveniya, a noble line both respected and feared in the kingdoms. To most, he was just another boy stepping into the storied halls of Arcanthus, but beneath his calm exterior simmered a storm—a fire of hatred and loss that had consumed him since the day his older brother, Lucien, had died.
Or so the world said.
Sam knew better. Lucien's death had always felt too clean, too convenient. The whispers in the shadows spoke of the Veil Walkers, a mysterious organization cloaked in secrets and darkness. They were said to hunt the powerful, to tear apart families like his. The pain of losing Lucien had become a burning purpose: to find and destroy the Veil Walkers.
The heavy gates groaned open at last, and Sam took his first step inside the academy. The scent of aged stone, candlewax, and ancient magic filled his lungs, grounding him in the reality he had chosen.
Inside, the great hall spread out before him—a cavernous chamber lit by floating orbs of soft light. Portraits of legendary mages and heroes lined the walls, their eyes seeming to follow every newcomer with silent judgment. The marble floors gleamed beneath polished boots, and the distant murmur of students echoed from classrooms and training yards.
Sam's footsteps were quiet but resolute as he made his way through the hall, a place buzzing with youthful energy. Around him, young magicians practiced incantations that sent sparks flying; knights in training clashed swords under watchful eyes. Yet Sam felt apart from it all—a cold observer rather than a participant.
His thoughts drifted to home, to the heavy silence that had fallen over House Laveniya since Lucien's disappearance. His father, Edward Laveniya, had grown colder, more distant—burdened by grief and suspicion. Sam had learned early that strength was survival, and weakness was a luxury no Laveniya could afford.
As he passed by a group of students gathered near a fountain in the courtyard, Sam noticed a boy his age standing alone, watching the others with quiet intensity. The boy's dark eyes met Sam's briefly, and a subtle nod passed between them. Something unspoken hung in that moment—a recognition, perhaps, of shared solitude.
Later, as the evening deepened, Sam found himself wandering near the edge of the training grounds. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of pine and the faint crackle of residual magic from the day's lessons. A soft voice called from behind.
"You're new here."
Sam turned to see the boy from the courtyard approaching, his gait confident but friendly. "Akhtar," he said simply, offering a hand.
Sam hesitated, then accepted it with a firm grip. "Sam."
For a moment, the noisy academy faded around them, leaving only the quiet understanding of two boys stepping into an uncertain future.
Over the next few days, Sam's world slowly began to shift. He immersed himself in lessons on elemental magic, his flames flickering to life beneath his fingertips with a fierce control that surprised even the instructors. He watched the other students—some quick to form friendships, others guarded and distant like himself.
Among them was Lira Duskbane, a healer with dark hair that fell like a waterfall and eyes that seemed to hold shadows deeper than the night. Sam caught glimpses of her tending to injured classmates with quiet grace, her hands glowing softly with restorative light. There was a mystery in her presence, a sorrow he couldn't yet understand.
Despite his resolve to remain detached, Sam found his thoughts drifting to Lira more than once, and to Akhtar's steady companionship—a warmth he was reluctant to admit he needed.
One night, standing alone on the academy's highest tower, Sam gazed out over the darkened lands beyond the walls. The wind whispered secrets through the trees, and the stars blinked coldly overhead. The Veil Walkers were out there somewhere, lurking in the shadows, their dark ambitions threatening to consume everything.
Sam clenched his fists. The path ahead was uncertain and dangerous, but he had no choice. For his brother. For his family. For the fire burning cold inside him.
He would face the darkness, no matter the cost and crush that thug organisation known as "The Veil Walkers"