The classroom was colder than the rest of the Academy.
Lyra stepped inside and felt it immediately — the drop in temperature, the hush in the air, the way the walls seemed to lean in. It wasn't just quiet. It was expectant. Like the room had been waiting for her.
The desks were arranged in a perfect square. No front. No back. Just symmetry. Control.
She took the only empty seat.
Across from her sat four students — the ones she'd heard whispers about since her arrival. The ones who didn't need introductions because their reputations arrived before they did.
Zephyr Vale
He sat with his hands folded, eyes half-lidded, as if bored by the concept of time. His hair was ink-black, his uniform immaculate, and his presence unsettling. He didn't blink. Not once.
When Lyra met his gaze, it felt like falling into a well.
"New," he said, voice like velvet over glass. "You smell like questions."
Lyra didn't respond. She wasn't sure how.
Zephyr tilted his head. "Good. Answers are overrated."
Cassian Thorn
Golden. That was the first word that came to mind. His hair, his skin, even his smirk — all sunlit and sharp. He lounged in his chair like it was a throne, one boot resting on the edge of the desk.
"Lyra Vex," he said, tasting her name like a challenge. "You're late."
"I'm on time," she replied.
Cassian grinned. "Time bends in Obsidian. You'll learn."
He flicked a coin into the air. It hovered, spinning slowly, defying gravity.
Nova Quinn
They sat with one leg tucked beneath them, fingers drumming a rhythm only they could hear. Their hair shimmered — not dyed, not natural, but something in between. Like moonlight caught in motion.
Nova didn't speak at first. They just watched Lyra, eyes wide and curious.
Then: "Do you dream in color?"
Lyra blinked. "I think so."
Nova smiled. "Then you'll survive."
Riven Lux
He was the quietest. Curled in his chair like a shadow, eyes half-hidden behind curls of dark hair. He didn't look at Lyra. He looked through her.
When the professor entered, Riven didn't move. But the lights dimmed.
Lyra felt her pulse quicken.
The Lesson
Professor Umbra glided into the room, robes trailing mist. Her voice was low and slow, like a lullaby sung in reverse.
"Today," she said, "we study Emotional Dissection. You will not speak. You will feel."
She handed each student a vial. Lyra's glowed faintly — a soft blue, labeled Uncertainty.
"Place it on your desk," Umbra instructed. "Let it listen."
The vials pulsed. The room darkened. And then the questions began — not spoken, but felt.
Lyra's thoughts weren't her own. She saw flashes of memory — her mother's voice, the hallway dream, the mirror that didn't reflect. She felt Cassian's anger, Nova's curiosity, Zephyr's silence, Riven's grief.
They were inside her.
And she was inside them.
The Break
When the lights returned, Lyra was shaking. Her vial had cracked. The liquid inside was gone.
Cassian leaned over. "You broke it."
Lyra stared. "I didn't touch it."
"Exactly."
Nova offered her a napkin. "You leaked."
Zephyr stood. "She's porous. That's rare."
Riven finally spoke. His voice was soft, but it echoed.
"She's not stitched right."
After Class
They didn't leave immediately. They lingered. As if waiting for something.
Cassian tossed the coin again. This time, it fell.
Nova traced symbols into the mist. Zephyr stared at the ceiling. Riven hummed a song Lyra didn't recognize.
Then, without warning, they walked out — one by one, in perfect silence.
Lyra remained.
The cracked vial pulsed once more, then faded.
She wasn't sure what the lesson had been.
But she knew she'd been changed.