The morning tasted of hope.
For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, the usual tension coiling in the corners of their small house had been replaced by a thrum of nervous energy. Golden sunlight, thick with dust motes, streamed into the courtyard, painting everything in the warm hues of a new beginning. From the kitchen came the hurried clatter of plates and the fragrant sizzle of spices—a symphony of a day unlike any other.
Sumit's mother was a blur of motion over the stove. She spared a fleeting, anxious glance at the wall clock. 7:15. Too close.
"Sumit!" she called, her voice tight with urgency.
Before the name had fully left her lips, a thunder of footsteps descended the stairs. He burst into the kitchen doorway, a whirlwind of fresh-pressed fabric and youthful energy. He was already in his new academy uniform, his bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. He skidded to a halt, striking a pose with his arms spread wide, a grin splitting his face.
"Ta-da!" he announced. "Behold, your son, the scholar! How do I look?"
His mother turned, and the exhaustion etched on her face melted away, replaced by a smile so brilliant it outshone the morning sun. "Wow… My son really does look like a gentleman today."
"I know, right?" Sumit beamed, puffing out his chest with a surge of confidence that seemed to have bloomed overnight. "So, what's for the gentleman's breakfast?"
"Poha," she replied with a soft laugh. "Quick, light, and full of energy. You'll need it."
Just then, a sleepy Emily shuffled in, her hair a wild halo around her head. She rubbed her eyes, a massive yawn cracking her jaw. "What's all this racket so early?" she mumbled.
Sumit's smirk was instantaneous. "First, open your eyes and witness greatness."
Emily squinted, blinked once, then twice. Recognition dawned, and her eyes widened. "Oh, right. The big first day." She tilted her head, giving him a slow, critical once-over. A mischievous grin began to play at the corners of her lips. "Not bad. But… isn't a tie part of the uniform?"
Sumit's confident posture deflated just a little. "Uh… yeah. I, uh, decided not to wear it."
Emily let out a snort of laughter, shaking her head. "Oh, you 'decided' not to wear it? Or you don't have a single clue how to tie one?"
"Whatever," he grumbled, turning his attention pointedly toward the food.
"Oh, stop being a baby," Emily said, snatching the tie from the side pocket of his bag. "Come here. You can't show up on your first day looking like you got dressed in the dark."
With practiced ease, her fingers began to work the fabric around his collar. Sumit stood stiffly as she looped and folded. "See? This side over… then loop it around like this… pull it through the middle… and—done." She gave the knot a final tug and patted his chest firmly. "There. Next time, you're on your own. Don't expect me to be your personal valet every morning."
Sumit tugged at the unfamiliar knot around his throat. "Yeah, yeah, I got it," he muttered, though he hadn't followed a single thing she'd done.
Before the teasing could escalate, the front gate groaned open. Ryvash strode in, his gaze immediately locking onto Sumit. A wide, warm grin spread across his face.
"Well, well! Look at you. All set to conquer the world, are we?"
Sumit groaned dramatically. "Uff, you too, Mama? First Emily, now you. Is it 'National Make Fun of Sumit Day'?"
Ryvash chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "Not making fun, just admiring. You look sharp. Now, are we ready to go?"
"Two minutes!" his mother called out, hastily packing a small tiffin. She tucked it into his bag, then thrust a glass of warm milk and a piece of toast into his hands. "Drink this now. Eat the bread on the way."
"Yes, Maa," Sumit said, gulping down the milk in three long swallows.
With that, Ryvash clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder, a silent gesture of support that spoke volumes, and guided him toward the gate. The air itself seemed to crackle with anticipation, the kind of morning that felt like the first page of a brand-new story.
A horse carriage rattled to a stop at Ryvash's signal. He leaned in, speaking to the driver in a low, firm voice. "Aurelia Academy."
The driver gave a sharp nod. With a soft whinny from the horses and a tug on the reins, the carriage lurched forward. Ryvash climbed in after Sumit, the wheels creaking their protest as they began to roll over the cobbled streets.
Sumit sat pressed against the window, watching the familiar world flash by in a blur of motion. His palms were slick with sweat. A strange tightness gripped his chest—not fear, exactly, but something heavier, something more profound. It was the weight of a hundred what-ifs. A wild thought flickered through his mind. What if I see her again? Not here, not now… but maybe, just maybe, behind the same gates he was now heading towards.
Ryvash glanced at him, a knowing look in his eyes. "A million miles away, kid?"
Sumit started, shaking his head a little too quickly. "N-nothing, Mama."
A small chuckle escaped Ryvash's lips. "Don't let your thoughts run wild. Everything will be fine. Just remember two things: walk with your head held high, and don't let anyone walk over you."
"...Hm." Sumit gave a faint nod, turning back to the window. He let the hypnotic rush of trees and rooftops calm the frantic beat of his heart.
By the time the carriage slowed, his palms were soaked. Ryvash tapped his arm. "We're here."
The moment Sumit's foot touched the ground, his breath hitched. There they were. The gates of Aurelia Academy. It wasn't just a gate; it was a monument, a magnificent arch of silver-veined stone engraved with flowing runes that pulsed with a soft, ethereal light. Beyond them, stone towers scraped at the morning sky, their pointed spires like spears, their banners snapping in the wind, each bearing the Academy's proud crest. The entire place radiated an aura of ancient power, of unshakeable order.
"Wow…" Sumit whispered, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and raw terror. "It's… it's like something out of a legend."
Ryvash's laugh was dry. "Legend? No, boy. This place is a world of its own."
As if sensing their arrival, the massive gates swung inward with a silent, ghostly grace. The courtyard beyond was a buzzing hive of activity. Students in crisp uniforms moved in confident clusters, their voices a cocktail of pride, arrogance, and youthful energy. Laughter rang out from one group, while another exchanged hushed whispers, their eyes flicking toward the newcomers. It was chaos, but an organized chaos, held together by an invisible set of rules he didn't yet understand.
Sumit took a hesitant step forward, then turned back to his uncle. "Mama… let's go."
Ryvash stopped dead at the threshold, his expression uncharacteristically serious. He placed a hand on Sumit's shoulder, a final, firm touch.
"No, kid. This is where I leave you."
Sumit froze, his blood running cold. "What? But—"
"This journey is yours, Sumit. Yours alone," Ryvash said, his voice softer now, but with an edge of steel. "Every trial you face, every storm that comes for you—you have to withstand it. From this moment on, your fate, your battles, your future… they are forged by your own two hands."
Sumit opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat. Ryvash's hand fell away, and with it, the last tether to his old life. He was adrift. He turned back to face the courtyard. The Academy loomed, a living, breathing beast of power and ambition. Each step he took felt heavier than the last, but also sharper, clearer.
It was then he truly saw the uniforms. At first, they had all blended together. But now, he saw the details. Some coats had a faint shimmer, their dark fabric threaded with silver lines that pulsed with a soft, inner light. Others were trimmed with gold that caught the sun, worn by students who walked with their chins held high, an air of effortless superiority surrounding them. And then there were the plain ones. Simple, unadorned black coats, worn by those who kept their heads down and their voices quiet.
Whispers drifted on the air, and the pieces clicked into place. Gold was for the High Class—the scions of powerful bloodlines, many of whom had already awakened their abilities. Silver marked the Middle Class—those with rare talent or the ones who had clawed their way up through sheer grit.
And the plain black coats… those were for the Low Class. The common-born. The beginners. The ones expected to be the bedrock upon which the others stood.
A cold weight settled in Sumit's chest as he looked down at his own plain, unremarkable coat. But as his eyes scanned the sea of students, another thought gnawed at him. Where was the other uniform? The one he'd seen at the quartermaster's office. The one that was different from all of these—no gold, no silver, but not plain either. It had possessed an aura he couldn't name, a quiet distinction that set it apart. Yet, among the hundreds of students here, not a single one wore it.
He felt a hundred pairs of eyes on him, sizing him up, categorizing him, and dismissing him. He wanted to ask someone for directions, to find out how anything worked here, but his throat was as dry as desert sand. He felt like an imposter, his very presence a mistake.
Deciding it was better to be lost than to be stared at, he slipped away from the main courtyard, his hurried footsteps echoing on the marble steps as he headed inside the main building. He just needed to find a teacher. A teacher would have to help him.
That's when he spotted him: a portly, round-faced man with sharp, calculating eyes. He was speaking in a low, conspiratorial tone to a boy in a golden-trimmed coat, smiling and leaning in close in a clear display of favoritism.
Sumit took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and approached. "Good morning, sir."
The teacher's smile vanished as if it had been slapped from his face. He patted the golden-boy's shoulder, dismissing him with a warm nod, before turning his cold gaze on Sumit. His eyes raked over the plain black coat, and a faint curl of disgust twisted his lips. Without a single word, he turned and walked past Sumit as if he were nothing more than a piece of furniture.
The rejection was a physical blow, stealing the air from his lungs. From across the hall, he felt a pair of eyes on him—an intense, measuring gaze. He looked up, but before he could meet it, a group of students called out to the figure, and with an easy laugh, they turned and were swallowed by the crowd, leaving Sumit utterly alone once more.
He drew a shaky breath, forcing the humiliation down. Fine. If no one would guide him, he'd find his own way. He straightened his shoulders, adjusted his new tie, and stepped deeper into the Academy's halls, searching for anyone who looked like they held a position of authority.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sharp, rhythmic sound of heels on marble echoed from behind him. He turned to see a woman striding toward him with an air of purpose. She wasn't a student. A fitted blazer, a leather handbag, and a pair of sharp, rimmed glasses gave her an aura of professional authority. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and her posture was ramrod straight.
Is she a teacher?
The memory of the portly man's sneer made him hesitate. What if she dismissed him just as coldly? But what choice did he have? He was lost. Steeling himself, he stepped into her path.
"E-Excuse me, miss…"
She slowed her pace, her sharp eyes fixing on him. Her tone was brisk, business-like, but not unkind. "Yes? What is it?"
"Um… I… could you tell me where my class is?"
Her eyebrows arched slightly. "Certainly. Which class are you in?"
Silence.
A hot, mortifying blush crept up his neck. In all the excitement and chaos, he'd never even thought to ask Ryvash. His mind was a complete blank.
"You don't know your class?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. She lowered her glasses slightly, peering at him over the rims.
Caught under her penetrating gaze, Sumit's eyes fell to the floor, the shame a lead weight on his shoulders.
She studied him for a long moment, a flicker of something—understanding? pity?—crossing her face. "You must be Sumit."
His head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. "Yes, ma'am. How did you know?"
Pushing her glasses back into place, a small, knowing smile touched her lips. "Then I suppose it's your lucky day. Follow me."
"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, scrambling to fall into step behind her.
They walked in silence down a long, quiet corridor until she stopped before a large wooden door marked with an engraved brass plate. She gestured toward it.
"This is it—your classroom. Class begins in a few minutes. Go on inside. I need to retrieve some materials from the staff room, and I will be back to begin the first period."
Sumit stared at the door, his hand hovering over the cool metal of the handle. A thousand questions stormed through his mind. What kind of students were waiting on the other side? Would they look down on him? Or worse, would he be so insignificant that they wouldn't notice him at all?
Taking a deep, shaky breath, he pushed the door open.
And stepped inside.