The Hall of Initiation emptied slowly, its polished stone floors echoing with the shuffle of feet and murmured conversation. Faculty members moved in quiet efficiency, directing students toward the upper corridors where the dormitories awaited. Lucien followed, his grip on Aethercurrent relaxed but ready, the artifact sword a constant presence at his side. Step. Pivot. Slide. Bend.
The corridors were narrow and shadowed, high stone ceilings arching overhead. Torches burned with a steady flame, flickering against the walls and casting long shadows that seemed to shift subtly, almost as if the building itself were alive, watching. The river beneath the stone hummed faintly, threading through the floor and resonating with the pulse of Lucien's awareness. Step. Pivot. Slide. Bend.
"Dormitories for first-year students this way," a faculty member intoned. Their voice carried a measured weight, deliberate and precise, making every step feel significant. Lucien noted the other students walking around him. Lysander's heir kept pace with an elegant poise, eyes scanning the corridors. Drayvane's heir strode with casual confidence, red hair catching the torchlight. Caelthorn's heiress maintained her rigid posture, observing everything silently. Step. Pivot. Slide. Bend.
At last, they arrived at a heavy wooden door etched with runes. A subtle pulse emanated from the symbols—a protective charm, perhaps, or a test. "This is the Seravain dormitory," the instructor said. "Room assignments are final. Learn to share and coexist. Cooperation may be necessary; competition is inevitable."
Lucien's pulse quickened as he stepped inside. The dormitory was wide, with high ceilings and large windows overlooking the Academy's gardens. Stone walls were lined with wooden wardrobes and simple but sturdy beds. Each student had a small desk, carved from polished oak, with compartments for books, scrolls, and personal effects.
Step. Pivot. Slide. Bend.
Other students were already present. Lysander's heiress opened a small trunk, setting out her belongings with precise care. Drayvane's heir tossed his cloak onto a bed without ceremony, smirking as he stretched. Caelthorn's heiress arranged her space meticulously, her eyes briefly meeting Lucien's with a hint of appraisal.
Side characters introduced previously moved quietly into the dorm:
The wiry boy with black hair claimed the farthest bed, already inspecting the layout like he might exploit weaknesses in the structure.
The golden-braided girl quietly unrolled a small dagger and scroll on her desk, her calm demeanor contrasting with the boy's restless energy.
The silver-haired boy with the pulsing pendant carefully arranged his few belongings, eyes glancing up occasionally, measuring the currents of everyone in the room.
Step. Pivot. Slide. Bend.
The faculty handed each student a small, folded parchment—schedules for their first term. Lucien unfolded his. Classes were staggered in waves: Sword Mastery, Elemental Control, Tactical Strategy, Diplomacy, Survival, and Ancient Lore. Each course had a fixed instructor, a designated hall or yard, and a series of practical and theoretical exercises. The schedule was rigorous, leaving little room for rest or distraction.
Step. Pivot. Slide. Bend.
As Lucien studied it, he noticed subtle cues in the other students' behavior. Lysander's heir glanced at the parchment, then at him, her expression unreadable but sharp. Drayvane's heir let out a low laugh, clearly pleased with his schedule, marking times for sparring practice. Caelthorn's heiress folded her parchment carefully, eyes narrowing slightly—an indication that she intended to analyze every detail before taking action.
Step. Pivot. Slide. Bend.
Lucien began organizing his own desk, laying out notebooks, scrolls, and small tools for practice. The flow of preparation reminded him of training with his father—the discipline, the focus, the integration of knowledge into movement. Step. Pivot. Slide. Bend.
The day passed slowly as students acclimated to the dormitory and the rules. Faculty observed from the hallways, their presence subtle but constant, like shadows on the edge of perception. Lucien took the opportunity to speak with some of the other students, learning names, habits, and tendencies:
The wiry boy with black hair introduced himself as Kael, sharp-witted and restless, always looking for opportunities to test limits.
The golden-braided girl was Maris, calm and observant, quietly asking questions about the Academy's history and rules.
The silver-haired boy, Selric, remained enigmatic, offering few words but observing everything with a calculated attention that made Lucien cautious.
Step. Pivot. Slide. Bend.
By evening, the first-year students were gathered for a final faculty briefing. "The Academy is not merely a place of learning," the head instructor's voice echoed through the hall. "It is a river of currents—skill, knowledge, politics, and power. Observe and adapt, or you will be swept aside. Dorms are your sanctuary and your battlefield. Schedules are your current and your challenge. Flow with them, and endure."
Lucien felt the weight of the words, letting them settle into his consciousness. Step. Pivot. Slide. Bend. The river beneath the Academy hummed stronger now, alive with anticipation of the challenges to come.
As night fell, torches flickering against the stone walls, Lucien lay on his bed, Aethercurrent beside him, and reflected on the day. He had learned much: the flow of the Academy, the strengths and tendencies of the other heirs, and the currents of the students around him. He was equal to his peers—not superior, not weak—but aware. Observation, patience, and flow would be his allies.
Step. Pivot. Slide. Bend.
The dormitory was quiet now, but he sensed movement in the shadows: whispers of politics, hidden rivalries, and subtle alliances forming even before the first formal class. The Academy was alive, testing everyone, and the river of currents would not rest.
The river moves. I move with it. And nothing else can bend me.