The student identification plate was warmer than Cyros expected.
It rested in his palm, a thin hexagonal slab of sun-etched alloy, light enough to forget yet heavy enough to matter. His name was engraved cleanly across its surface—Cyros Valen—with the crest of the Academy of Solar Ascension stamped beneath it. When he tilted it slightly, the metal caught the light and reflected a soft golden sheen, the same colour that bathed everything under the Sol.
Around him, the academy's main hall was alive with quiet excitement. Students gathered in loose clusters, comparing IDs, laughing, testing small ember sparks between their fingers. Some wore expressions of confidence, others thinly veiled anxiety. Cyros simply observed as he walked, his steps unhurried, his gaze drifting rather than searching.
It was the first day.
The academy itself was older than any of the kingdoms that sent their children here. Its halls were built from pale stone veined with ember conduits that pulsed faintly like a sleeping heartbeat. High arched windows lined the corridors, allowing the Sol's light to pour in uninterrupted. The warmth was constant, reassuring, almost protective.
Peaceful.
Cyros passed banners bearing the sigils of the five kingdoms, each hanging at equal height. That, too, was intentional. Here, at least in appearance, no kingdom stood above another. He wondered how much effort it took to maintain that illusion.
He adjusted the strap of the simple bag slung over his shoulder and followed the etched path along the floor, guiding new students toward their orientation chambers. His assignment was listed clearly on the back of his ID.
Orientation Mentor: Ken Aris.
The name meant little to him, though the title carried quiet authority. Orientation mentors were chosen carefully—experienced, neutral, and trusted by all kingdoms. They were the first voices new students heard, the first hands that shaped their understanding of the academy.
Cyros stopped in front of a modest wooden door set between two stone pillars. Unlike the grand lecture halls or training chambers, this office was almost understated. He raised his hand and knocked once.
"Come in," a calm voice answered.
The room beyond was softly lit, its windows half-curtained to diffuse the Sol's brightness. Shelves lined the walls, filled with neatly arranged scrolls, tablets, and thin metallic slates. A small potted plant sat on the desk, its leaves angled toward the light.
Behind that desk sat Ken.
She looked younger than Cyros had expected—perhaps in her early thirties—with long dark hair tied loosely behind her shoulders. Her academy robes were plain, marked only by the insignia of an orientation mentor rather than a specific unit. When she smiled, it was gentle and unforced.
"You must be Cyros Valen," she said, standing. "Welcome to the Academy."
Cyros inclined his head politely. "Thank you, Mentor Ken."
"Please, just Ken," she replied, gesturing for him to sit. "Titles tend to make first days heavier than they need to be."
He took the seat opposite her, resting his bag at his feet. Ken returned to her chair but did not immediately open any documents. Instead, she studied him briefly—not scrutinizing, just attentive.
"How does it feel?" she asked.
Cyros considered the question. "Quiet," he said after a moment. "Larger than I expected."
Ken smiled. "Most people say overwhelming. Quiet is… refreshing."
She reached for a slate and tapped it once, bringing up a faint projection. "Orientation today is simple. No tests, no rankings. That comes tomorrow morning. Today is about understanding where you are—and what you're stepping into."
She spoke easily, without rehearsed formality.
"The Academy exists to train those who will serve their kingdoms," she continued. "But more importantly, it exists to maintain balance between them. Sorcerers, Guards, Patrols, Craftsmen, Scientists, Medicals—each path has its role. None are meant to stand alone."
Cyros listened, nodding when appropriate. He had heard versions of this speech before, back home, from instructors and officials who praised unity while preparing for competition.
Ken's voice remained even. "You'll be evaluated tomorrow based on your ember core. That evaluation will suggest a suitable path, but it is not a sentence. Some students change paths later. Some don't. What matters is understanding why a path exists."
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the window.
"And above all," she added, "remember that this academy stands because the Sol stands."
Cyros followed her gaze.
Outside, framed perfectly by the window, the Sol hovered in the sky—vast, radiant, impossible to ignore. It wasn't a sphere of flame like the legends of the old sun, but something more refined. Layers of glowing rings rotated slowly around a blinding core, casting steady warmth across the world.
The Artificial Sun.
The Sol.
"It provides light, warmth, and energy to all five kingdoms equally," Ken said. "As long as it shines, crops grow, embers flow, and peace endures."
Her words were calm, practiced—but something in Cyros shifted as he looked at it.
The warmth pressing against his skin felt… closer. Not stronger, exactly, but more present. As if the distance between him and the Sol had thinned by a fraction he couldn't measure.
He frowned slightly, then relaxed. It was nothing, he told himself. First-day nerves, perhaps. The academy was closer to the Sol than any place he'd lived before.
Ken didn't seem to notice his momentary distraction. "You'll hear many opinions about the Sol during your time here. Some will treat it as a machine. Others, as something sacred. Officially," she said lightly, "we treat it as a responsibility."
Cyros looked back at her. "And unofficially?"
She smiled, but didn't answer directly. "That's something students tend to decide for themselves."
She stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "Your dorm assignment is already uploaded to your ID. Dinner will be served in the central hall tonight. Try to rest. Tomorrow morning will be… eventful."
Cyros rose as well. "Thank you, Ken."
As he reached for the door, her voice stopped him.
"Cyros."
He turned.
"Whatever path the evaluation suggests tomorrow," she said gently, "don't mistake it for your worth."
The words were simple. Still, they lingered with him as he nodded and stepped back into the hallway.
The academy corridors were busier now, students moving toward dormitories, their conversations echoing softly against the stone. Cyros walked among them, his pace steady, his thoughts unhurried.
He passed another row of tall windows and glanced outside again.
The Sol dominated the sky, flawless and bright.
Then—
For the briefest moment, the light dimmed.
Not enough for shadows to move. Not enough for alarms to sound. Not enough for anyone else to notice.
The hallway remained unchanged.
Students kept walking.
Cyros stopped.
A tight sensation gripped his chest, sharp and sudden, as something deep within him had flinched. He pressed a hand lightly against his sternum, steadying his breath.
The light returned instantly, brilliant as ever.
No one reacted.
Cyros looked around. No murmurs. No panic. No sign that anything had happened at all.
Slowly, he lowered his hand.
Must have imagined it, he told himself.
He resumed walking, blending back into the flow of students.
Above them all, the Artificial Sun shone in silent perfection.
Everyone kept walking.
Cyros was the only one who felt the Sun blink.