Aethergard Academy - a centuries-old university hidden in the Scottish Highlands, attended by prodigies, heirs, and scholarship students from every continent. It's a crucible for intellect, ambition, and manipulation - where diversity isn't just cultural, but philosophical.
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The train howled through the highland mist like something alive. Precious Wolfë pressed her forehead against the window, watching the fog swallow the landscape - fields turning to stone, trees thinning into skeletal lines. Her reflection stared back: wide dark eyes, lips painted the faintest crimson, curls pulled tight beneath the hood of her coat.
She had never seen mountains that looked like this - black and blue, edges sharpened by wind. Somewhere between the peaks, the Aethergard Academy waited.
"Scholarship students are expected to maintain composure," the letter had said.
She'd practiced composure for weeks. But now, as the train screeched to a halt at a solitary platform, she felt her heartbeat thrum like a second pulse behind her ribs.
A dozen students stepped out ahead of her, all dressed in impeccable uniforms - silver insignias, tailored coats, accents she could almost taste: Parisian, Seoul, Rome, Nairobi. She followed, clutching her acceptance envelope as if it were armor.
A sign carved from black iron arched over the gates:
AETHERGARD ACADEMY - Founded 1764
"For the Ascendance of the Exceptional."
The words chilled her.
Beyond the gates, the academy rose like a cathedral. Towers coiled with ivy, stained glass glittering with strange runes. The air smelled faintly of ozone - a sharp, electric tang that made her skin prickle. Somewhere inside those walls, legends were made... and unmade.
"First time here?"
Precious turned. A tall girl with copper braids and warm brown skin grinned at her. Her uniform jacket hung loose over a patterned blouse that definitely wasn't regulation.
"Danielle," she said, offering a hand. "Danielle Adaeze. You must be another scholarship case - you've got that 'what have I gotten myself into' look."
Precious laughed, surprised by how much relief the sound brought. "Precious Wolfë. And yes, guilty."
Danielle slung an arm around her shoulder, steering her toward the gates. "Stick close. They say Aethergard eats the soft-hearted alive."
Inside the courtyard, the crowd thickened. Students whispered in every language imaginable. Then - silence.
Two figures entered the space like opposites drawn from the same equation.
One: Akira Kurosawa - black hair slicked back, face unreadable, eyes sharp as glass. Her uniform was immaculate; every movement calculated. The crowd bowed their heads as she passed.
The other: Arthur Valentin Conan, the golden boy himself - all smiles and languid confidence, his coat undone, voice dripping charm.
They didn't look at each other, but the tension between them felt physical, like the air had found a new frequency.
Danielle leaned in, whispering, "That's Strategy and Rhetoric - the empire builders. They run this place."
Arthur's gaze drifted lazily across the crowd - and stopped.
On her.
For a heartbeat, Precious forgot how to breathe.
He smiled, slow and deliberate.
Akira's head tilted, eyes following his line of sight - landing on Precious too.
Two of Aethergard's most powerful students. Both watching her.
Danielle exhaled. "Well," she said, "you've just made your first impression. Let's hope you survive it."
The academy bells tolled, deep and resonant. The gates closed behind them with a thunderous clang.
And just like that, Precious Wolfë's new life - the one she'd dreamed of, fought for, bled to earn - began to look a lot like a battlefield.