Chapter 11 – Academy (3)
After the duel, as the arena slowly emptied, I noticed a middle-aged man walking toward me.
He moved at an unhurried pace, hands folded behind his back. His beard was going white, and his hair, grown down to his ears, framed a face lined from age and, more than anything, study. His shoulders were slightly hunched, the way a spine bends after too many years leaning over books.
"My, my," he said, stopping in front of me. "A magical duel where one combatant never uses magic at all—just pure swordsmanship."
I straightened slightly. "I learned from my father."
"I see, I see." His eyes crinkled. "Then you must be Viester's boy. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, it seems. He's a good man."
He said it simply, like stating a fact he'd already recorded somewhere long ago.
Then he tilted his head. "Tell me, what campus are you going to choose?"
Campus.
The Academy was a broad term, but inside it there were three main paths: Sword, Staff, and Divination. Each campus had its own buildings and training grounds, but all of them met in the central areas for common classes.
Sword: close-quarters combat, battlefield tactics, strategy.
Staff: mana theory, spellcasting, elemental specialisations, all the branches of magic.
Divination: administration, clergy, record-keeping, the doctrines and rites of the God of the Universe—what was her name again?
Vastriel.
Vastriel, the God of the Universe, of the stars and the sky beyond sight. The planets moved by her will. She watched over every living creature in Lumina.
That was about as much as I remembered from the one time a tired priest tried to drill it into my head when I was eleven.
I thought for a moment, then opened my mouth.
"Maybe Swo—"
[ System ]
[ Pick Divination ]
"Divination," I said instead, the word slipping out of my mouth before I could stop it.
The man's brows rose, just a little.
"Ah. Interesting," he said. "Is there a reason you want to walk Vastriel's path?"
"I already reached… a decent level with the sword early," I said, adjusting my answer mid-sentence. "So I thought I might as well choose a campus I've never tried before."
"I see." His smile deepened, amused but not mocking. "Then I will be watching your progress, child."
"Alright. See you, Professor."
He gave a small bow and turned away, robes whispering against the stone as he left.
Only after he disappeared toward one of the exits did it click.
…That was a professor.
***
Divination. Why?
I stared at the slowly emptying arena, the stone floor still carrying faint scorch marks and sword gouges from the duel. The air smelled faintly of burned mana and dust.
'You'd better have a good reason for that.'
[ System ]
[ Main Route Adjusted ]
[ Hidden Condition: "Child of Steel, Child of Stars" – Fulfilled ]
That doesn't explain anything.
I sighed, sheathing my sword and letting the familiar weight of the scabbard settle against my waist. The leather grip under my palm calmed me a little.
Divination.
Of all things, a campus that dealt with prayers, paperwork, contracts, and staring at the sky.
If Father heard, he'd probably laugh first.
…Or worry.
I pictured him standing by the carriage that morning, the way his eyes shone when he said, "Go make your mother proud." The Milton Viscount household motto echoed faintly in my mind.
"Those begone years, lean on the now."
Leaning on the now, huh.
Right now, "now" meant I had somehow been shoved into a campus for priests, clerks, and star-watchers.
I shook my head and walked out of the arena.
***
The path from the dueling grounds to the central plaza cut through a small garden. Stone walkways wound between trimmed hedges and flowerbeds. Marble statues of heroes I didn't recognise watched over the paths with blank stone eyes. The sun had warmed the stone underfoot, and the air smelled of cut grass and old rock.
Clusters of students in different coloured trims gathered in little knots.
Red trim for Sword.
Blue trim for Staff.
White trim, stitched with faint silver thread, for Divination.
My uniform was still the plain beginner one, with no colour on the edges yet. As I walked, I could feel eyes on me, like pinpricks along my back—probably leftover attention from the duel.
"Is that him?"
"The swordsman who didn't cast a single spell?"
"I heard he's a noble."
"Divination, did you hear? The old man from the Archive was talking to him."
Whispers fluttered around me like small birds. I ignored them and headed toward the central notice board.
A large wooden board stood there, covered in pinned parchments.
Schedules. Announcements. Rules. Warnings about forbidden corridors and magical beasts in the western forest. A reminder not to feed familiars that weren't yours, unless you wanted to lose fingers.
Then my eyes caught a specific heading near the center:
[ First Years – Campus Allocation and Orientation ]
Underneath were three large sheets.
– Sword Campus: Morning assembly at the Training Fields.
– Staff Campus: Mana Assessment Chamber, Tower 2.
– Divination Campus: Orientation at the Star-Dome Hall.
Star-Dome Hall.
The name alone sounded troublesome.
I moved closer and scanned the list of names. It didn't take long to find mine.
[ Divination Campus – Star-Dome Hall, Third Bell ]
Viester, Erynd of Milton
So it's official.
I traced my own name once with my eyes, then let my shoulders sag the smallest amount.
"Divination, huh. Didn't expect that."
A voice came from my left. I turned.
A boy stood there, a little shorter than me, with messy blond-brown hair and round glasses that sat too low on his nose. His uniform was the same beginner design as mine—no campus trim yet.
He was squinting at the board, then at me.
"You're the one who just fought in the duel, right?" he asked. "With the sword."
"Yes."
"Cool." He grinned. "I thought someone like you would bolt straight for Sword."
He jabbed a thumb toward his own name on the Divination sheet.
"Name's Rion. What made you pick Divination? Sudden calling from Vastriel?"
Calling from Vastriel.
If I said "a mysterious System forced me," he'd either laugh or drag me to the infirmary.
"I just wanted to try something I haven't done before," I said instead. "I'm already good with a sword, so I thought it's better to learn what I'm weak at, too."
Rion whistled softly.
"Ambitious," he said. "I'm Divination too, apparently. Rion Aldes. Third son of a baron, future genius clerk of somewhere very important." He rolled his eyes. "Or so my father hopes."
He said it jokingly, but there was a faint bitterness at the edge of his smile.
"You don't want that?" I asked.
"I don't mind not starving," he said. "I just want to decide where I end up myself."
We shared a small, understanding look.
Noble sons and expectations. Different houses, same weight.
"Anyway." Rion clapped his hands lightly. "Star-Dome Hall. Third bell. That gives us… an hour? Enough time to get lost twice and still arrive on time."
"You don't know where it is either?" I asked.
He puffed his cheeks.
"It's my first day."
Fair enough.
***
The Sword campus was easy to find: open fields, weapon racks, training arenas.
The Staff campus announced itself with towers surrounded by floating crystals and faint mana glows.
Divination hid in the quieter side streets.
Rion and I followed small signs painted with a silver star, tucked at the corners of buildings and archways. The further we went, the more students we saw wearing the white-and-silver trim of Divination.
Finally, the narrow lane opened into a courtyard.
At the far end stood a circular building with a domed roof of dark blue tiles. Silver lines ran across the dome like veins or drawn constellations. Even in daylight, tiny points of light flickered along those lines like trapped stars.
"There it is…" Rion breathed. "Star-Dome Hall."
Up close, the entrance was framed by two tall statues.
On the left, a veiled woman in flowing robes, hands lifted toward the sky.
On the right, a man holding a scroll and quill, head bowed as if listening.
Above the door, an emblem of a many-pointed star encircled by a ring was carved into the stone. Under it, in old script:
"Vastriel sees. Vastriel remembers."
Bits of childhood lessons surfaced.
Vastriel, who watched from beyond the sky.
Vastriel, who turned the heavens like a great clock.
Vastriel, who recorded every promise, every sin, every wish.
"Creepy," Rion whispered. "Feels like the door is judging me."
"It probably is," I said.
We stepped inside.
***
The interior of Star-Dome Hall was dim and cool. Stone benches formed rings around a central open space. Above us, the inside of the dome was a deep, endless dark.
Stars glittered there.
Not paint. Not illusionary lines. Real, moving points of light.
They shifted slowly, sliding past one another in quiet arcs.
Students already filled most of the inner benches. Almost all wore white-and-silver. A few, like us, were still in plain uniforms. Soft voices echoed up into the dome and faded.
"Let's sit there," Rion said, pointing to a half-empty row.
We slid into the bench. I could feel a few glances land on me and stick.
"He's the swordsman."
"The one the Archive professor talked to?"
"Why would someone like that come here…"
I pretended not to hear.
[ System ]
[ New Environment Detected ]
[ Star-Dome Hall – Seat of Minor Branch: "Record of Paths" ]
That sounds dangerous.
Before I could think about it too much, a clear chime rang through the hall.
A bell.
The conversations died almost instantly. All eyes turned toward the center.
A figure stepped into the open space.
It was the same man from the arena—the middle-aged professor with the whitening beard and scholar's posture. Under the stars, he seemed different. Defined.
He wore the full Divination robe now: white, edged in silver, threaded with tiny star patterns that caught the light whenever he moved. A thin chain hung around his neck, ending in a small metal star.
"Good day, children of Lumina," he said, voice gentle yet carrying. "Welcome to the Divination Campus. For those who do not know, I am Professor Elvard, Keeper of Records and acting dean for your year."
Professor Elvard.
He smiled slightly as his gaze swept the hall. For a brief second, his eyes met mine. There was a flicker of amusement there, as if he could see the question marks floating over my head.
"I see swordsmen," he said. "I see children of merchants and minor nobles. I see sons and daughters of priests, scribes, and clerks. Some of you chose this path. Some of you were pushed. And some of you"—his gaze brushed past me again—"were pulled by something else."
My shoulders tensed.
"Divination," he continued, "is not simply counting coins in an office. It is not only reciting prayers or memorising star charts. Divination is the art of seeing."
He raised his hand.
The stars above us stirred.
The darkness of the dome brightened as constellations arranged themselves into clear shapes. Thin silver lines connected them, forming patterns and circles.
A few students gasped.
"The heavens," Professor Elvard said, "are Vastriel's script. A record, written and rewritten with every passing moment. We, here, learn how to read that script. Not to control the future—that is arrogance—but to understand the paths that can be walked."
He lowered his hand. The constellations unravelled, the stars scattering back into a natural sky.
"In the coming months, you will study three pillars of this campus.
"First, Record: how to write, to store, to track. It is tedious, but without it, knowledge dies.
"Second, Rite: the ways of prayer, promises, and contracts. Words that bind people, cities, and sometimes… other things.
"Third"—his eyes sharpened—"Revelation: glimpses. Not of everything. Just enough."
Beside me, Rion murmured, "Sounds like a lot of work."
"Better than being hit with wooden swords every morning," I whispered back.
[ System ]
[ New Skills Available for Unlock ]
[ Record – Rite – Revelation ]
Professor Elvard clapped his hands once.
"Before we go over your schedules and rules," he said, "we shall do something simple. You came here with expectations—or with none. I would like you all to see… something."
He snapped his fingers.
A circle of pale light appeared on the floor in the center of the hall. Within that circle, a short stone pedestal rose smoothly from the ground.
"Each of you will, in time, place your hand upon the Star-Pillar and receive a first Reading," he said. "Nothing grand. Merely what Vastriel is willing to show a beginner."
Murmurs broke out immediately.
"A Reading?"
"Will it show my job?"
"What if it says I die tomorro—"
"Silence," Elvard said mildly.
The hall obediently quieted.
"This is not compulsion," he said. "You may refuse. But if you do, remember this: you will be walking blind on a road everyone else has at least glimpsed the shape of."
He let that sink in.
"Now. We'll go by rows. Calmly. No running, no pushing. Vastriel may see all things, but I do not wish to watch anyone fall on their face on the first day."
Nervous laughter rippled through the students.
Our row was in the middle, which gave me time to think.
Or overthink.
'System,' I thought. 'Is this part of your plan too?'
[ System ]
[ Advisory: Interaction Recommended ]
[ Hidden Objective: "Witness Your Path's Fragment" ]
Not reassuring.
Students went up one by one, placing their hands on the smooth white stone, closing their eyes, stepping away. Some returned pale. Some frowned. Some looked irritated, as if whatever they'd seen didn't match what they wanted.
"What do you think it shows?" Rion asked as we inched forward.
"No idea," I said.
"Maybe it tells you how many children you'll have."
"…I hope not."
Rion's turn came first.
He threw me a mock-salute, stepped into the circle of light, and placed his hand on the pillar.
For a moment, the air around him shimmered, like heat on stone. The stars above flickered once, then steadied. He stood there in silence, eyes closed.
Then it ended.
He opened his eyes, expression unreadable, and walked back to the row, waiting at the end instead of sitting.
My turn.
I stepped into the circle. The light seemed slightly cooler inside its boundary. Up close, the Star-Pillar was unadorned—no symbols, no carvings. Just smooth, faintly glowing stone.
I placed my hand on it.
Cold.
Then—
Something tugged at the back of my mind. Not hard. More like a fingertip lightly catching the edge of my sleeve.
The dome and the benches vanished.
Darkness.
In that darkness, a thin silver line appeared, stretching forward.
It split.
One line became two.
Two became three.
Three became countless threads, weaving and crossing in a tangled web.
Some threads shone brightly for a while, then snapped. Others glowed faintly but persisted, curling around obstacles. Far along one path, I thought I saw the silhouette of a sword raised high, its edge catching star-light.
Another path; stacks of books, ink-stained hands, a seal being pressed onto parchment.
Further still, barely visible at the edge of sight—something like a throne beneath a sky full of turning constellations.
My head throbbed.
[ System ]
[ Warning: User Exposure Near Limit ]
[ Forcing Early Termination of Vision ]
The threads shattered like cut strings.
I was back under the dome, hand still on the stone, breathing a little too sharply.
The stars above looked as soft and calm as when I'd entered.
"…Interesting."
Professor Elvard's voice came from my right. I turned.
He was watching me closely, eyes narrowed, head tilted slightly.
A small, knowing smile touched his lips.
"Welcome to Divination, child of Viester," he said quietly. "It seems Vastriel is very curious about you."
Before I could answer, a second, deeper bell rolled through the air—different from the clear chime that had started the Divination session. This one vibrated in the stone under our feet.
Elvard glanced up toward the dome as if he could see through it.
"That will be the Academy-wide orientation," he said. "First-years, follow the ushers outside. Try not to get lost between here and the main hall; it would be a poor first entry in your Records."
A few students chuckled weakly.
"Go on," he added. "We can talk about your Readings later."
Rion appeared at my side as we joined the slow, funnelled line toward the exit.
"So," he muttered, "mysterious visions and now being lectured by the big boss on day one. Excited?"
"No," I said. "But we're going anyway."
***
The main auditorium was already half-full by the time we arrived.
It was a vast hall, wider than the dueling arena, with tiered seating rising in gentle curves around a central stage. Tall windows ran along the upper walls, letting in angled afternoon light that caught dust and mana both. Banners of midnight blue and gold hung from the rafters, the Argent Crown and the Academy sigil watching everyone who stepped inside.
Sword students clustered together in red-trimmed uniforms, loud even when they tried not to be. Staff robes formed a calmer sea of blue. Divination whites and silvers were a smaller pocket, gathered more toward the right side.
"It's like someone spilled three different ink bottles," Rion murmured, eyeing the colour blocks.
"Don't say that too loudly," I said. "Someone from Staff might make you clean it."
We found seats midway up, close enough to see the stage, far enough not to be the first target of any questions.
On the stage, chairs had been arranged in a single row. Professors and officials sat there in their respective colours, a neat little line of authority. Professor Elvard took one of the seats at the far right without fuss.
At the centre sat an old man.
His hair was snow-white, tied back at the nape in a short, practical tail. Deep blue robes lined with gold thread wrapped around him in heavy layers, the fabric faintly inscribed with wards that even I could sense. He didn't move much; hands folded on the head of a simple cane, posture relaxed.
But the mana around him hummed.
Not like a spell being cast. More like the air before a storm—the pressure just before lightning hits.
"That's the dean," someone whispered from the row behind us. "Dean Keith."
"I thought he'd look scarier," another muttered.
"He is scary," a third voice said. "You just don't know it yet."
The low roar of student conversation filled the hall—dozens of little threads of noise weaving into a single restless blanket.
The old man on the stage slowly opened his eyes.
They were a clear, calm grey. He rose without hurry, the movement smooth despite his age, and tapped the butt of his cane lightly against the stage floor.
Once.
The sound should have been small in a hall this size.
Instead, it rolled through the air like a contained thunderclap.
Light flickered along the walls—thin lines of gold chasing each other in a circle around the auditorium, tracing old sigils etched into stone. For a heartbeat, I felt the mana settle over us like a net, not heavy enough to crush, but enough to make the hair on my arms rise.
Rion sucked in a breath beside me.
The conversations died mid-sentence.
Dean Keith didn't raise his voice.
"Good afternoon," he said.
The words reached every corner of the hall at the same volume. Not loud. Just… present. I could feel them in my chest more than in my ears, as if the air itself carried them straight into bone.
"That," Rion whispered under his breath, "is not normal."
"Tier Six," I murmured. "At least."
The dean's gaze swept across us. Not hurried, not dramatic. Just a calm catalogue. When his eyes passed over our section, they paused for the slightest fraction of a second.
Viester's son, his look seemed to say.
I kept my face neutral.
"You stand," Dean Keith said mildly, "at the start of a path most of you do not understand yet."
His voice stayed dry, almost conversational, but there was iron under it.
"Some of you are here because of your birth," he continued. "Some of you clawed your way in through examinations, recommendations, or scholarships. Some of you were sent here because your families did not know what else to do with you."
A few nervous laughs scattered and died quickly.
"To the stones beneath your feet," he said, "it makes no difference. This Academy has seen emperors, traitors, saints, cowards, and children who were none of the above. It remembers more names than any of us."
He lifted his cane slightly, then rested it again.
"This morning," he went on, "before we had even finished hanging all the welcome banners, there was already a duel."
The air in the hall shifted.
I felt dozens of glances slide sideways, searching.
"Between a daughter of a duke," the dean said, "and a viscount's son, in front of half the front plaza."
He didn't say our names.
He didn't need to.
Tamara, wherever she sat among the Sword students, would be feeling as many eyes as I did now. I resisted the urge to adjust my collar.
"There are three things to learn from that," Dean Keith said.
He held up one finger.
"First: this is an Academy, not a tavern brawl. If you must cross blades or spells, you will do it within sanctioned rules, under supervision, and preferably not within sight of the gates where every merchant, guard, and child can watch you posture."
A faint ripple of amusement ran through the hall.
"Second," he continued, raising another finger, "talent and bloodline do not grant you the right to treat other students as toys. I do not care if your house commands ten thousand men or two. If you humiliate, corner, or injure someone without cause, the Academy will respond. Not because we are kind," he added, "but because uncontrolled fights make a mess."
Some of the Sword students shifted uncomfortably.
"And third," he said, lifting a third finger, "if you are going to challenge someone publicly, make certain you can accept the consequences of losing just as much as those of winning."
His eyes flicked once toward the Sword section, once toward Divination, then returned to the centre.
"From what I am told," he added, "today's duel was cleanly registered, watched by a senior, and ended without permanent harm. That is… acceptable for a first day."
The word "acceptable" sounded almost like praise.
Almost.
Rion leaned closer. "You're 'acceptable,'" he breathed. "Congratulations."
Dean Keith let the silence sit for a moment, then shifted his grip on the cane.
"You will hear many speeches while you are here," he said. "Professors will tell you to study. Swordsmen will tell you to train. Priests will tell you to pray. I will tell you something simpler."
He looked out over us again, and for a moment the weight in his gaze felt like Viester's on the training grounds—measured, judging, not unkind.
"Do not waste this place," he said. "The Academy exists to sharpen you, not to break you for sport. You will be pushed. You will fail. You will be hit, sometimes literally. That is expected."
A few Sword students snorted quietly.
"But there is a difference," he went on, "between being tested and being thrown away. If you feel yourself being thrown, reach out. You have seniors. Use them. The third- and fourth-years have already survived most of the mistakes you are planning to make."
A soft wave of laughter spread this time, more genuine.
"If you get lost"—the corner of his mouth twitched—"ask a senior to guide you before you walk into a warded wall, a restricted tower, or the wrong side of the Sword campus on sparring day. If you think something is a monster, you may even throw a senior at it first and see what happens. That is part of their education too."
Now the laughter was open.
Rion grinned. "I like him," he whispered. "He has the right idea about seniors."
"Don't say that where they can hear you," I said.
Dean Keith waited for the noise to die down again.
"You will be sorted into your dormitories," he said. "You will find your campuses. Some of you will change your minds. That is fine. Paths shift. What matters is that you walk one with your eyes open."
For the briefest instant, I felt his gaze again, sharp as a drawn blade.
"Remember this, first-years," he finished quietly. "You are not here to become copies of your parents. You are here to become people the Empire can rely on when things go wrong. And they will go wrong. Study. Train. Help each other. Ask for guidance."
He tapped his cane one last time.
The gold lines along the walls brightened and then dimmed, the subtle pressure in the air easing.
"Welcome," he said. "To the Academy."
The hall remained utterly silent for a heartbeat.
Then the sound hit—applause, scattered at first, then more solid as different pockets of students started clapping. Some of the professors smiled. Others merely nodded, as if ticking off a box on an invisible list.
Rion exhaled hard.
"That was… a lot," he said. "I thought old men just droned on about rules."
"He did," I said. "He just made them sound dangerous."
"Do you think he really knows about the duel details?"
"He knew enough," I replied.
He knew it was clean. He knew it was public. He knew who had swung which weapon.
And judging by that look, he knew exactly whose son I was.
***
We left the auditorium with the slowly dispersing crowd, following the flow back toward the central courtyards. Above, the Academy towers caught the slanting light, banners shifting in a faint breeze.
"Divination," Rion said suddenly, nudging me with his elbow. "Still regretting it?"
I thought of the Star-Pillar's cold surface under my hand. Of threads, branching and breaking. Of a sword in starlight, a seal on parchment, a throne under turning constellations. Of Elvard's quiet "interesting."
Then I thought of Dean Keith's voice wrapping around the hall without ever becoming a shout. Of the way his mana pressed without crushing, a warning and a promise at once.
"Not yet," I said.
Divination. Why?
The question echoed again.
But this time, along with the annoyance, there was something else.
The faintest flicker of… anticipation.