We had arrived.
Each gondola glided silently to the base of the great stairway that led upward—into the impossible silhouette of the school that loomed above, its towers scraping at the stars like a dream someone forgot to end.
One by one, we stepped out of the boats. Each vessel floated up to the platform, paused with eerie precision, lowered just enough for its passengers to disembark, then vanished wordlessly into the shimmering darkness of the lake beyond.
Dozens of gondolas came and went. Hundreds of students gathered on the blackstone platform beneath the massive, inklit stairway. We waited in a quiet, growing excitement.
I stood near Fay and her sisters—Emilia and Alexandra—with Mr. Koivisto a few paces behind us near the rear of the group.
"Are you excited, Orien?" Fay asked with a soft smile.
I let out a breath that was half laughter, half nerves. "Haha… yeah, I am. A little scared, too. I mean, just look at this place." I swept my gaze upward at the vast, starlit towers rising above us. "This whole atmosphere is... intimidating. Like we just stepped into the pages of a living legend."
She chuckled. "You'll get used to it."
"Oh—and I never mentioned this before," I added, glancing at the three of them. "But you and your sisters have such a unique accent."
"Thank you," they said in perfect unison, their voices like practiced harmony.
"Our family is French," Fay explained, her tone modest. "As is our surname, Clair De Lune. But we moved to England a few years ago, so our accent's kind of… blended. It's obvious we're not native English speakers."
"Honestly," I said, "that's what makes it great. It sounds distinct. Elegant, even."
All three of them smiled at me warmly, and for a brief moment, the night felt lighter.
Just then, a low caw echoed overhead—harsh, almost growling.
We turned to look.
A raven swooped down from the skies, its wings casting shadows that twisted unnaturally across the platform. It landed on the first step of the grand staircase.
Without warning, it burst into a cloud of inky mist—feathers dissolving into smoke—and from within the ink rose a tall woman, graceful and composed.
She looked to be in her mid-thirties, with straight brunette hair that fell just past her shoulders, eyes the color of ocean sapphire, and tan skin that caught the ambient light like polished bronze. She wore robes similar to ours, but trimmed in deep violet and silver, her rank clearly marked by the runes woven into the fabric.
"Good evening," she said, her voice both commanding and kind. "My name is Ms. Trinkle, and I am one of the instructors here at Umbra Arcanum Academy."
Her gaze scanned the crowd.
"I would love to meet each of you personally," she continued, "but we're on a tight schedule. So for now—please follow me."
Without another word, she turned and began walking up the long, glowing staircase that led to the Academy's gates.
We followed in two organized columns, climbing in rhythm under the shadow of towers that pulsed with faint light. Ms. Trinkle moved effortlessly between the lines, her presence steady and unshaken.
The ascent took nearly ten minutes. The wind grew quieter the higher we climbed, and the sky above grew heavier with stars, until it felt like we were walking into them.
And then—
We reached the top.
Before us stood two massive obsidian doors, etched with glowing glyphs and flanked by statues of cloaked figures, their faces hidden, each holding a quill in one hand and a sword in the other.
I swallowed, unable to look away.
Umbra Arcanum stood waiting.
And whatever happened beyond those doors…
It would be the first true step into a world that didn't just teach magic—
It wrote it.
The two giant statues flanking the doors suddenly stirred to life.
A collective gasp echoed among us, and we all instinctively took a step back—staring in awe as the stone titans shifted with deliberate, echoing weight. Their obsidian forms creaked as if shaking off centuries of stillness.
Then, in perfect unison, both statues turned to face the great double doors. Each raised its right hand—clutching a massive, ink-dipped quill—and began to write glowing glyphs in the air.
As their quills carved invisible letters into the space between us, a deep, resonant chant rose from their stone throats—uttered in a language ancient and incomprehensible, yet oddly harmonious.
With a final stroke and a final word, the spell ignited.
The enormous obsidian doors groaned, magic threading through the seams as they began to open—slowly, deliberately, as if pulled by invisible forces. A wave of warm, arcane-scented air rushed out to greet us.
The statues, their duty fulfilled, returned to stillness—quills lowered, heads bowed, becoming lifeless sentinels once again.
As the towering obsidian doors finished opening, we stepped inside—into a space that defied every expectation.
The Grand Hall of Umbra Arcanum wasn't just a room. It was a cathedral of the arcane.
Above us stretched a vast, vaulted ceiling made entirely of enchanted crystal-glass—so clear, so flawless, it vanished into the night itself. Through it, the stars shone with unnatural clarity, brighter and closer than they had any right to be. And they weren't still.
The constellations moved—slowly, fluidly—shifting in unison to form great luminous shapes in the sky. A lion prowled across the heavens, then turned into a phoenix mid-flight. A dragon coiled around a moonbeam before unraveling into a harp strummed by spectral hands. The sky was alive, or at least... enchanted by something ancient. It danced not with randomness, but purpose—like it was watching us in return.
Hundreds—no, thousands—of floating candles bobbed through the air, trailing silver wisps of smoke that curled into soft symbols before fading. The flames flickered in colors too subtle to name: haunted violets, ghostly blues, soft dusk-pinks, each flame unique as a fingerprint.
Lining the walls were statues carved from inkstone and silver—each one depicting legendary sorcerers, mythical creatures, and unknowable beings whose eyes seemed to follow your every move. The moment you got close enough, some would turn their heads or shift ever so slightly, acknowledging your presence with a knowing nod or a subtle bow. It wasn't threatening—just… aware.
Massive long tables extended across the dark marble floor, covered in elegant dark velvet, adorned with floating name cards that glowed with your initials before shifting into your full name. As we passed by one, it shimmered and reshaped itself: Orien Duskwright. My breath caught.
Above the head table, an enormous stone raven—the Academy's symbol—perched with outstretched wings, its feathers carved with glyphs that pulsed faintly, like breathing stone. Occasionally, it tilted its head or blinked slowly, as if judging us.
And around the room, portraits and tapestries moved with a life of their own. Some figures whispered behind painted hands. Others pointed down at the first-years entering, chuckling or nodding as if they'd seen this exact moment a hundred times before. One painting—a pale lady in a silver cloak—smiled at me and winked.
The hall smelled of warm bread, candle wax, ancient books, and something... autumnal. Like dry leaves and bonfires. Something timeless. Something old.
"Welcome," Ms. Trinkle said from ahead of us, her voice echoing. "To the heart of Umbra Arcanum."
I didn't realize I'd stopped walking until Fay nudged my shoulder. I looked around once more—at the starlit sky above, the living walls, the waiting tables—and whispered without thinking:
"This place feels like it's alive…"
"That's because it is," said Mr. Koivisto.
I, along with Fay, Emilia, Alexandra, and a few other students nearby, turned toward him.
"What do you mean?" Emilia asked, raising an eyebrow.
He smiled knowingly. "The entire school—including the building itself—is alive. Magic breathes through every stone, every flame, every breath of wind within these walls. And in a place like Eclipsara, where even the air is steeped in arcana... well, you don't get more alive than this."
As he spoke, he raised his hands and slowly turned in a circle, motioning to the grandeur of the Grand Hall around us. The walls shimmered faintly, the paintings whispering among themselves, and the statues along the balconies shifted ever so slightly, as if observing the newcomers.
"Right as always, Professor Koivisto," came a voice—aged, dignified, and echoing with subtle power.
An elderly woman had stepped forward, her robes trailing behind her like ink spilling across parchment. She regarded the gathered students with a kind but penetrating gaze.
"Welcome, all, to Umbra Arcanum—a place of sorcery, learning, and uncharted adventure," she said, bowing with practiced elegance.
Without thinking, all of us bowed in return, as if guided by instinct—or perhaps by something in the very magic of this place.
The old woman—now revealed as Headmistress Aelrila De'Noct—turned with effortless grace, her violet-and-silver robes flowing like trailing ink.
"Come. Follow me."
We obeyed.
We climbed the marble stairway beyond the Grand Hall, our footsteps soft against the ascending path, echoing faintly beneath the impossibly high arches. The higher we rose, the quieter it became—as though the castle itself was holding its breath.
At the top, a pair of golden doors shimmered, then opened soundlessly without touch, revealing a chamber that stole the words from my mouth.
The Spiral Oculus.
The room was vast, circular, and impossible by all Earthly logic. Its obsidian glass floor reflected not just us, but the living sky above. The domed ceiling swirled with constellations—alive, glowing, and weaving through one another in slow, symbolic dances. Some formed sigils I didn't recognize. Others mirrored shapes from stories I only half-remembered.
Twenty-two silver podiums ringed the room's perimeter. Each bore a shifting Arcana emblem, flickering between imagery like living tarot cards—The Fool, The Magician, The Tower, The Lovers… and more.
In the center of the chamber rose a raised platform, and above it hovered a spiral of luminous orbs—rotating gently, like the rings of a planet forged from starlight. Each orb cast radiant arcs across the walls and floor, bathing us in celestial glow.
Headmistress De'Noct stepped into the center.
"Now begins your first true step into Eclipsara," she said, her voice quiet but commanding. "One by one, you will be called to stand beneath the Spiral Oculus. The constellations will weigh your essence… and whisper your fate—and your House."
A hush fell over the chamber like a velvet curtain.
Mr. Koivisto leaned close, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"Are you ready, Orien?"
My throat felt dry. My chest was tight. But I nodded.
"No," I whispered. "But I want to be."