The academy walls whispered.
Not in sound, but in presence—like ancient breath curling through the very stone. Every step I took felt watched, not by people, but by memory.
I followed the staff attendant in silence. She was a young woman with a clean uniform, expression formal but not unkind.
"This way, Lady Luna," she said, keeping her pace even and measured. "You've been assigned quarters within the Noble Wing, fifth floor."
"How many wings are there?" I asked, not out of curiosity, but to break the quiet.
"Seven in total," she replied. "Four for standard-ranked initiates based on testing, one for foreign-born transfers, one for spirit-bonded students… and the final, for noble lineage or guild-sponsored entries."
"A separate wing just for names."
"Names carry weight here," she said simply. "But so do expectations."
We passed through a vaulted corridor made of auracite-glass, light dancing through the ceiling like flowing water. On each side were arched windows that looked over the eastern training courts. Dozens of students were already practicing spells, spirit drills, and formation exercises. Some wore family crests stitched into their sleeves. Others bore spirit sigils that pulsed faintly with color.
I felt their eyes trail me briefly—then move on.
"They seem... prepared," I murmured.
"Many have trained their entire lives for entry," the attendant said. "Still, the academy has a way of leveling everyone, eventually."
We reached a central staircase carved with inscriptions in both Old Aetheric and Modern Threadscript. I could barely read the former.
"The Noble Wing is above the Seer's Library," she added. "You'll have a view of the inner spire and the midnight gardens."
"Am I to be housed alone?"
"For now. Until assessments begin. You may be assigned a second resident later depending on faculty discretion."
At last, we arrived.
The Noble Wing was quiet—not empty, but dignified in its stillness. The floors were of dark velvet stone, and each door was framed with etched gold and bound wards. Subtle, protective. Efficient.
She stopped before one of them—Room 515—and passed me a silver key embedded with a pale blue rune.
"This will respond only to your hand," she said. "Should you lose it, the door will only open to your mana signature."
"Understood."
"A faculty invitation will arrive in the next day. Until then, feel free to explore the grounds, attend the open forum, or settle in."
She gave a brief bow.
"Welcome to Aetherfall, Lady Luna. May the threads you weave lead you far."
The door opened with a whisper of runelight.
Inside, the room was modest—but far from common. A wide canopy bed, a full writing desk, spell-circle etching space, a viewing window shaped like a lotus blossom opening toward the garden towers. A wall mirror hummed faintly with a mana detection glyph, while a corner shelf bore relics left behind by previous tenants—most covered in dust.
The curtains swayed with a breeze not from wind, but from aether flow—soft currents moving through the building like living breath.
I stepped in fully. Closed the door. Let the silence settle.
This is it.
A new stage.
A new battlefield.
Not one of swords and lightning.
But of masks, names, and the unseen weight of power.
I didn't stay in the room long.
The walls, though gilded and soft-lit, felt too new. Too quiet. I needed motion. Breath. Noise.
So I slipped my cloak back on, tied my hair beneath its silver band, and stepped back into the heart of Aetherfall Academy.
The academy was not just a school.
It was a city of its own.
I wandered through winding stone paths etched with mana flow, under floating crystal lanterns that adjusted to the sun's brightness. Great trees arched over the roads, their roots dancing just above the surface like half-sunken serpents. Students and staff drifted between towers and terraces, courtyards and stairwells, exchanging scrolls, summoning runes, or practicing incantations on hovering runeboards.
I passed a glass rotunda where flame-spirits danced in suspended domes of air—fire students, clearly. Across a low-bridge canal, I saw several armored youths practicing formation under the banner of a Falreign noble house—a sun sigil burned on their sleeves.
"That's Lord Astiel's son," I heard someone murmur behind me.
"Already ranked in the second spell circle," another voice whispered. "They say his spirit is descended from the Sun-Herald itself."
Another group walked past me, led by a tall, snow-haired girl with quiet steps and an unreadable face. Nobles moved aside as she passed.
No sigil. No emblem. But they follow her anyway.
I didn't speak to any of them.
And none spoke to me.
Not yet.
That was fine. I didn't need introductions.I preferred observation.
Eventually, I made my way toward one of the less-traveled paths—stone-lain and bordered by blue wisteria. It led around the outer fringe of the Noble Wing, down toward a small terraced garden near the laundry quarters.
And there—rounding a corner too quickly—someone stumbled into my path.
"Ah—!"
A stack of cloth and robes burst into the air.
White linens. Embroidered uniforms. A pair of black-trimmed academy robes that fluttered like startled birds.
I caught one in midair.
"I'm so, so sorry—!" a voice sputtered, clearly panicked.
The girl scrambled forward—young, probably my age or slightly younger, dressed in standard worker's linen, a thick belt strapped with pins and tags for sorting academy property.
She bowed quickly—twice.
"I didn't mean to bump into you—I wasn't watching the—oh stars, that's a Noble Wing sash—please forgive me!"
"It's alright," I said, kneeling to help her gather the fallen laundry. "Nothing tore."
"You shouldn't be helping me—this is my fault, really, I'll get scolded if I delay the return rack—"
"You'll get scolded more if you try to carry all of this at once again."
She paused.
Her face, flushed from the scramble, showed a strange mix of shame and surprise. She had pale freckles across her nose and eyes the color of stormy jade. Her hands trembled slightly, but she accepted my help with quiet thanks.
"Are you… new?" she asked, not daring to meet my eyes.
"First day."
"That makes sense… You don't wear it like the others."
"Wear what?"
"The name."
She looked up just once—then turned away quickly.
"Sorry. That was rude."
"No," I said, standing and handing her the last folded tunic. "That was honest."
She bowed again, slower this time.
"Thank you. Really. And… welcome to Aetherfall."
And then she hurried away, her arms wrapped tightly around the now-balanced laundry pile.
I watched her disappear into the mist beyond the gardens.
The name, huh?
Behind me, the academy bell rang once—deep, resonant.
Class divisions were beginning.Students flooded into their assigned sectors.Tomorrow, I would walk among them—not as Luna of the Temple.Not even as Perephone's student.
But as someone they didn't yet know how to define.
And that meant, for now…
I could move freely.
As I continued down the garden path, the gentle rustling of the wisteria above gave way to a softer hush, broken only by the distant hum of barrier wards and water trickling from nearby fountains.
That's when I noticed someone different.
He wasn't like the girl from earlier.He shared her duty, that was obvious—pushing a wheeled cart laden with folded robes and items that clearly belonged to nobles. But unlike her, he stood out. So much so that the world seemed to lean slightly off balance for a second.
At first, I thought he might've been a commoner promoted to servant through some backchannel guild connection.
But then I looked closer.
He wore strange clothing.
A dark-colored hooded tunic, but not of thread or silk—thicker, more like something meant to resist wind, with oddly stitched seams and no house embroidery. His pants were baggy, not tucked or belted like the usual work trousers, but cinched at the ankles, as if loose on purpose. And his shoes—
What in the threads are those?
They were bright white. No leather. No laces I recognized.Rubber soles… clean and soft-looking. And they made almost no sound as he walked.
It wasn't just that he didn't look like he belonged to a noble house—it was that he didn't look like he belonged to this world.
His hair was dark, unkempt, and he didn't seem hurried or deferential like the other servants. He didn't flinch or bow as students passed nearby. He didn't even glance up.
He simply pushed his cart forward with one hand in his pocket, walking like someone who didn't need to prove his place—like someone who chose to be here.
Is he… foreign?
But not from any country I've heard of. His features weren't unusual—tall, lean, quiet—but there was an uncanny calm to the way he moved. Like a dream walking.
Maybe… a servant of a top noble? But no noble would allow such strange clothing inside the Academy.
I kept walking—but slower now.
There was a gravity around him, quiet but real.And though he never once looked in my direction…
I had the strange, weightless feeling that he had already noticed me.
Even before I noticed him.
I turned my gaze away and kept walking, the cart's wheels fading behind me.
But the image of those white, silent shoes and that calm, distant presence followed me longer than I expected.
What sort of noble keeps a servant like that… or does he even serve anyone at all?