The hall fell silent.
Not out of fear.But respect. Expectation. Calculation.
From the silver-rune archway at the end of the hall, flanked by faculty adorned in flowing robes of ancient design, the Headmaster of Aetherfall Academy stepped forward.
He walked not with fanfare, but with command—a quiet storm given form. His robes were dark indigo trimmed in ethereal white, the Crown of Wrought Memory stitched across his chest like a second soul.
His eyes—pale bronze—glinted beneath his silver-crowned hood. And when he stepped atop the center dais, the runes embedded in the marble flared alive with a soft, golden light.
He did not raise his hands.He did not call for silence.
He simply stood.
And the world hushed for him.
"Welcome," his voice boomed—not from volume, but from something deeper. Aether laced his tone like frost along stone. "To Aetherfall."
"This hall, this school, this citadel—was not founded on pride, or wealth, or blood. But on survival."
"Centuries ago, when the Mourning ended and the world was ash, it was not empires that rebuilt the future. It was those who remembered. Those who learned. And those who dared to question the patterns that led to ruin."
He turned slowly, looking at us—sponsored nobles, guild heirs, foreign scions, chosen prodigies.
"Each of you was brought here not simply because of strength... but because of potential. And potential is a dangerous thing."
"You are not here to impress. You are here to grow. To struggle. To fail—and to rise again."
"Aetherfall is no sanctuary. It is a forge."
The room pulsed faintly with his words, like the very stones beneath us remembered them.
"In the months to come, you will be challenged—by our faculty, by your peers, by yourself. You will form alliances. You will make rivals. You will find truths that were meant to stay buried."
"And above all, you will learn who you truly are when stripped of titles, protection, and the myths you believe define you."
He paused, and in that pause... the tension returned.
"To our sponsored entrants—you were not born into the heart of this place, but you were chosen to enter it. Your path will be harder. That is the price of walking beyond fate's design."
He turned his gaze briefly—just for a second—toward me.
"I hope you are ready."
And then it passed.
"Enjoy tonight. Tomorrow, your trials begin."
With that, he stepped down, and the golden light dimmed.
Conversations resumed. Laughter returned.
But for many of us, the tone had changed.
This wasn't just an academy.
It was a crucible.
The music resumed, soft and orchestral, its notes curling through the marble-touched air like smoke from a scented flame.
Around me, noble sons and daughters began to move—pairing off with practiced ease, their steps fluid as water. Laughter chimed in the corners, and whispers swirled like unseen winds.
I stood near the crystal-laced pillar, my fingers gently brushing the rim of my goblet, pretending not to hear the murmurs:
"That's the Gadriel girl..."
"She turned down House Astiel once already?"
"Or perhaps she's above dancing..."
"Does she think herself divine already?"
Before the weight of it settled fully, a shadow approached from the side—familiar, deliberate.
"Once again, they've given me no choice," Calian Astiel said lightly, his voice laced with theatrical tragedy. "If I don't ask now, they might assume I've lost favor entirely."
I raised a brow, unimpressed.
"You're afraid of gossip?"
"Not for me," he said, offering his hand with a half-smile. "For you. Shall we silence them together?"
For a moment, I considered turning him down again.But the weight of too many eyes watching… the whispers growing louder behind composed lips… and the flicker of Solviel's silent, amused presence nudging faintly in the back of my mind—
I sighed.
"One dance."
"A historic victory," he said, clasping my hand with a grin.
As we stepped onto the polished floor beneath the ever-turning constellations above, the crowd murmured again—but this time, they murmured less.
And just like that, I danced not for pleasure, but for peace—even if only briefly.
The music curled around us—slow, deliberate, each note like silk trailing through candlelight.
Calian's hand was firm but careful at my waist, our steps in perfect rhythm beneath the suspended stars. His movements were practiced—not stiff like a soldier's, but trained, with the ease of someone who'd danced in too many courts and too many halls.
But I wasn't here to be swept away.
And he seemed to know it.
"You're not used to letting someone lead, are you?" he said, voice low enough for only me to hear.
"Is that your way of saying I'm difficult?" I replied.
He chuckled—soft, pleasant.
"No. Just rare."
"You speak like someone who collects rare things."
"Only when they're worth the chase."
He twirled me once, smoothly, never breaking eye contact.
Around us, others watched in subtle glances—the Astiel heir and the spirit-blessed Gadriel girl. Some whispered. Some smirked. Some studied.
But Calian didn't seem to care.
"I expected a girl born of temples and prophecy to be more... divine."
"And I expected a boy raised in courts to be less honest."
"A flaw I'm trying to fix," he said, smiling.
The song dipped into its slower stretch, and our steps became smaller, tighter.
"Do you like it here, yet?" he asked.
"I've only been here a few hours."
"Still. First impressions matter."
"It's... vast," I said after a pause. "Loud. And delicate."
"Like a glass castle on the edge of a cliff," he said.
That surprised me.
"Exactly," I said.
He looked at me—really looked.
"I don't know what they expect you to become here. A savior? A rival? A symbol?""But I hope," he added, voice softer now, "you remember to be human too."
That startled something inside me.
And just as quickly as the thought appeared, the music drew to a gentle close.
We stepped apart with grace, hands letting go like strands of ribbon slipping free.
"Thank you," I said.
"For the dance?"
"For not pretending I'm something I'm not."
"Who says I wasn't?" he said with a smirk and a short bow. "After all, I'm still charming."
I turned away, expression unreadable.
"Yes," I said under my breath. "You are."
The hall began to dim as the final notes faded, replaced by idle chatter and the rustling of fine cloth against stone.
I stepped away from the crowd, moving through the side corridor lit with soft aether-lamps, the noise behind me fading with every step. The carved arches framed the night beyond the windows—moons high, clouds adrift, and the scent of rosewater still lingering faintly in my hair.
I let out a quiet breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
Too many eyes.Too many names I don't care to remember.Too many expectations pressing like invisible threads.
And yet... not all of it was unpleasant.
The memory of Calian's words clung to me like smoke that refused to scatter.
"Remember to be human too."
I touched the side of my temple gently, brushing a stray strand of gold behind my ear.
"He talks too much," came a voice—soft, silken, and now unmistakably awake.
I stopped just before reaching my door.
"Solviel."
"You were glowing again," she said with a hum. "Even if you tried to pretend otherwise."
"I wasn't pretending," I muttered. "It's just... new."
"Not all burdens are chains. Some are crowns, Luna. Light can be heavy too."
I stepped into my room, quiet and modest despite its noble wing placement. A basin of rosewater rested by the bed, and a small set of folded parchment was waiting—stationery I'd asked to write more letters home.
But I didn't reach for the pen just yet.
Instead, I stood by the window.
"Do you regret staying silent tonight?" I asked her.
A pause. Then Solviel answered, gentle and honest.
"No. You didn't need me to speak."
"But you watched."
"Always."
The stars outside blinked through the glass—tiny, fragile things, scattered across a sky that had watched over lives far longer than mine.
"They looked at me like I was something already complete," I said."But I'm still building... something I don't understand yet."
"That is the first truth of becoming," Solviel replied. "And the first lie people will tell you—that you must already be what they expect."
I closed the curtains slowly.
"Then I'll let them think I'm what they see. For now."
"And who will you be, when the illusions fall away?"
"Someone I choose. Not someone they name."
And with that, I undid my sandals, unpinned my hair, and lay down with a long, measured breath.
Tomorrow would come with trials.But tonight, I dreamed not of battles or burdens...But of starlight, silence, and a voice that no longer echoed, but stayed.