I glanced upward and froze.
Rows upon rows of spectators watched us from shadowed stands high above, like an arena pulled from a dream. Thousands of students—second years and beyond—lined the balconies, all silent, all observing. Tradition, maybe. Or curiosity. Either way, I felt the weight of every gaze.
A clear voice echoed across the Spiral Oculus.
"May I have your attention," said Headmistress Aelrila De'Noct, her tone calm yet commanding. "You will now be called, one by one, until all 720 of you are placed into one of the seven Great Houses—each aligned with a set of Arcana Pathways, drawn from the twenty-two eternal constellations."
She raised a hand, and above us, the constellations spiraled like slow-burning glyphs in the sky.
"These constellations are not mere stars," she continued. "They are echoes of ancient truths—archetypes that represent the soul's journey through life. The Fool, The Magician, The Empress… each Pathway reflects a different lesson, a different strength, a different burden. Your past choices, your emotions, the shape of your soul—they determine your bond. You do not choose the Path. It chooses you."
A faint pulse of light shimmered from the center platform as the spiraling orbs above began to glow.
"Once chosen, you will begin at your starting Verse—most of you at Verse IX, the first of ten steps toward true mastery. At the end lies the title of Transcendent. But every Verse demands more than power—it demands transformation."
The chamber hushed again.
"Step forward when your name is called," Aelrila said. "The stars are watching."
Names began echoing through the Spiral Oculus, each syllable carried by invisible currents of magic. A murmur followed every student that stepped into the center and met their fate.
"Amaris Blythe," called Aelrila.
A pale boy with copper hair walked forward, face set in stone. The constellation of The Emperor flared above, pulsing with structured red light. A single Arcseal shimmered into being—a deep crimson card edged in iron—and hovered before him. He reached out. It vanished into his chest in a burst of runes.
"House of Weave," the Headmistress announced. The Emperor's mark pulsed once above the podium.
"Lysander Crane."
This time, a broad-shouldered teen with ink-slicked gloves stepped forward. The Wheel of Fortune constellation pulsed, a spinning symbol of interlocked gears and vines. His Arcseal flickered like a golden roulette card with fractal patterns.
"House of Turning."
Another name. Another bond. Another House.
A dozen more came and went—some grinning, some trembling.
Then—
"Alexandra Clair De Lune."
The eldest of the Clair De Lune sisters walked forward confidently. A sun-like glyph burst into light above her—the constellation of The Sun blazing with radiant warmth. A bright golden Arcseal appeared, adorned with solar flares and shifting runes.
"House of Echo," said Aelrila, her voice calm but pleased. "Pathway of The Sun."
"Emilia Clair De Lune."
The middle sister stepped out. The constellation of Justice flared into balance above her, its scales gleaming against the dome. Her Arcseal was a silver-white card etched with razor-straight lines and mirrored reflections.
"House of Turning. Pathway of Justice," the Headmistress announced.
Then—
"Fay Clair De Lune."
She stepped into the center with grace, her jet-black curls catching the starlight from above. The moment she reached the platform, three constellations shimmered in unison: The Fool, The Magician, and The High Priestess—the triad of the House of Dawn.
But it was the third that burned brighter.
The High Priestess.
A glowing Arcseal descended from the sky—silvery violet, embroidered with shifting runes, its surface reflecting twin moons and a veil of ink. Fay reached out, breath held.
The moment she touched it, it burst into radiant particles and spiraled into her chest.
"Fay Clair De Lune—High Priestess Pathway. House of Dawn," Aelrila said.
The other two sisters, Emilia and Alexandra, stepped aside.
You were next.
The name Duskwright had to be only moments away.
And something… stirred above.
Then came the moment everything changed.
"Orien Duskwright."
I stepped forward—legs tense, heart pounding like a trapped drum. Above, the Spiral Oculus reacted before I even reached center.
A flurry of constellations lit—one, two, five—only to dim and vanish one after another.
Until one remained.
The Fool.
It flickered into existence high above—jester's bells, a leaping dog, a crooked staff, and a cliff's edge—all stitched from white ink against black stars like an unfinished sketch.
The entire room paused. Even the air felt uncertain.
"Is that… the Fool?"
"They've never had one."
"No academy has—"
Even the teachers murmured. Mr. Koivisto's hand clenched slightly.
Then it appeared.
The Arcseal.
A black card—faintly glowing with silver trim. Unlike the others, its center was void—blank, utterly empty.
But as it neared me, something stirred.
Symbols bloomed across its surface like a dream unfurling: a laughing mask, a staircase coiled in infinity, a marionette string cut loose, and a doorway filled with eyes.
At its center, a single title formed in handwritten script:
THE FOOL.
No gilding. No elegance. Just raw, unformed mystery.
I reached for it.
The card touched my hand—and instead of vanishing, it fused with my skin in a shimmer of ink, like a forgotten story being tattooed into my soul.
A silence deeper than silence followed.
Then—
"House of Dawn. The Fool Pathway," Aelrila said softly.
Even the Spiral Oculus shuddered, as though it had exhaled for the first time in ages.
Above, the Fool constellation spun slowly—deliberate, ancient, watching.
After a long while…
The final name was called.
A last Arcseal shimmered into its chosen soul, and the Spiral Oculus dimmed—its constellations folding back into the ceiling like stars bowing behind a curtain.
The ceremony was complete.
Aelrila De'Noct lifted her hands with solemn grace.
"First-years of Umbra Arcanum Academy… welcome. Your journey begins now."
With a soft hum, the golden doors reopened—not to the stairway, but to a wide, arched corridor of floating crystal, winding upward like a bridge suspended in the night sky.
At its end stood seven upperclassmen, each wearing a House-emblazoned cloak.
For the House of Dawn, a silver-circlet girl stepped forward, no older than seventeen, her golden eyes filled with calm authority.
"First-years of the House of Dawn, with me."
We followed her across the bridge, past walls that shimmered like ink caught in starlight. Portraits whispered softly in forgotten tongues, and statues turned ever so slightly to watch us pass.
At last, we arrived at a tower veined with soft amber light—the Dawn Spire. Its surface shimmered with constellations and moonlit glyphs, humming faintly with magic that felt warm and old.
"Dormitories are split by division and floor," our guide explained. "Boys to the right, girls to the left. Your rooms are warded—linked to your Arcseal. No one may enter them without you."
I followed the other boys down a curved staircase until we reached a heavy oaken door inscribed with a rising sun. It opened soundlessly at our approach.
Inside was a spacious common room lit with floating lanterns the color of early dawn. The hearth crackled with silver fire, and the air smelled faintly of ink, sage, and candle wax.
Three boys were already there.
The first turned as I stepped in—tall, dark-skinned, with stark white eyes like twin eclipses. "You're him," he said. "Name's Isaiah Vexmoor. I'm High Priestess Pathway, House of Dawn. But you…"
He tilted his head slightly. "You're the Fool. The first."
I paused. "Yeah. Orien Duskwright."
The second boy—freckled, curly-haired, barefoot—lounged in a levitating chair. A glowing pen spun between his fingers. "Markus—call me Mark—Verayne. Magician Pathway. You just made academy history, y'know? First Fool in… ever. Whole school's gonna be watching you."
The last boy was broader than the others, muscle-bound and shirtless, casually sharpening a dagger whose edge glowed faintly with sigils. "Bruce Drelvane. The High Priestess didn't want me. But the Magician did."
He nodded at me, calm and rough around the edges. "Don't snore and we'll get along fine."
I blinked, glancing around at them—my new dormmates, each strange in their own way.
And then at the far wall—where a mirror reflected my face, and behind me, the shadowy shape of a jester's mask shimmered, just once, before vanishing.
I was the Fool.
The first.
And whatever that meant…
It had begun.