They retraced their steps down the spiralling tower, the air growing subtly cooler as they descended.
Gregory moved quickly but carefully, as though afraid to make the prince wait yet equally afraid to seem hurried.
Sora followed at an unbothered pace, hands in his pockets, steps light but deliberately unhurried.
The deeper they went, the more the academy seemed to shift around them.
The walls changed first, from the polished, mana-lit stone of the dormitories to older murals depicting floating citadels, ancient battles, and long-dead arch-mages whose names were whispered only in textbooks.
As they reached the lower floors, students grew more frequent, and their reactions sharper.
A group of second-years halted mid-conversation as Sora passed, their mana orbs dimming.
"Is that really—"
"No way…"
"That crest."
"His Highness… in our academy…?" The imperial quest on Sora's uniform was far too conspicuous to not be noticed immediately.
Even those trying to pretend indifference failed miserably. Eyes followed him everywhere.
Gregory kept his gaze forward, refusing to acknowledge any of it.
By the time they exited the tower into one of the main sky-bridges, a broad walkway suspended between colossal structures by thick mana streams, Sora could feel the shift in atmosphere.
Here, higher-ranked students roamed. Their uniforms bore additional markings. Their power was unmistakable.
And yet every single one of them stepped aside.
Some bowed.
Some stiffened.
Some whispered behind hands.
But all of them moved.
The Floating Academy was a meritocracy, but not one foolish enough to ignore royal blood. The imperial family's lineage was absolute.
All of it's descendants was an absolute geniuses in their own right. Those who had tried to undermine the imperial family's heirs had failed miserably, without exception.
Gregory glanced back to ensure Sora was still following. He seemed almost nervous that Sora might disappear without a word, or worse, grow irritated.
"Not far now," Gregory said softly. "The principal's office is located in the central spire."
Sora tilted his head slightly, eyeing the monstrous tower rising before them, a structure so tall and so heavily enchanted it seemed to distort the sky behind it.
"You've been avoiding telling me something," Sora said casually.
Gregory almost tripped.
"I— I beg your pardon?"
"Why the principal is calling for me immediately."
Gregory swallowed, adjusting his monocle with a trembling hand.
"…His request was absolute, Your Highness. Even I was not told the reason."
A half-lie.
Sora heard the slight tremor, the uptick in Gregory's mana, micro-signs of discomfort, of partial concealment .He didn't press. Not yet.
They reached the base of the central spire. Two gigantic stone guardians stood at the entrance, eyes glowing faintly with awareness.
They scanned Sora in silence, ancient enchantments vibrating with recognition.
They bowed.
The doors, engraved with runes older than the empire, parted without a touch.
Inside, the air thickened with potent, ancient mana. The halls were quiet, lined with portraits of previous principals, archmages whose eyes seemed to follow intruders as they walked.
Gregory's voice dropped.
"The principal will meet you in the Stellar Chamber."
Sora raised an eyebrow. "That's not a normal meeting room."
"No," Gregory admitted stiffly. "It is used only for the academy's highest matters."
Sora's curiosity sharpened. So the old man wasn't wasting time.
They ascended a final staircase, each step echoing through the hollow, high-ceilinged chamber.
The air felt heavier here, intertwined with star-like motes drifting lazily in the air, as though the ceiling itself opened into another sky.
At the end of the room stood a great arched doorway of shimmering silver.
Gregory stopped and bowed deeply again.
"Your Highness… the principal awaits beyond this point. I am not permitted inside."
Sora stepped past him without hesitation.
The door slid open.
And he entered a massive circular chamber where the ceiling vanished into a swirling night sky filled with constellations and drifting nebulas.
In the centre stood a single man, an elderly figure with snow-white hair and robes embroidered in shifting astral patterns.
The principal of the Floating Academy.
He did not turn immediately.
He spoke first, calm, but with a weight that filled the chamber.
"Seventh Prince, Sora of the Imperial Line." A pause. "You arrive bearing the aura of someone who has already defied fate."
Sora's eyes narrowed faintly.
"So," he said. "You really were expecting me."
The principal finally turned, and his gaze was sharp enough to cut stone.
"I was not only expecting you," the old man replied. "I have been waiting for you."
The chamber dimmed, as though the stars themselves leaned closer.
Because the principal didn't just look at Sora.
He looked into him.
"As of today," the principal said quietly, "you are no longer merely a prince."
He raised a hand.
Starlight responded.
"You are the bearer of a prophecy this academy has feared for a hundreds of years."
The stars overhead churned, slow at first, then accelerating into a spiralling constellation that formed a vast circular sigil above the principal. Light rained down in thin threads, illuminating the chamber in shifting hues of silver and blue.
Sora remained still.
Not intimidated.
Not impressed.
Simply watching.
"…A prophecy?" he said finally. "That sounds dramatic."
The principal's lips twitched, not quite a smile, but something like approval.
"Mock it if you wish. Most prophecies are vague shadows, misinterpreted half-truths…"His gaze hardened. "But not this one."
He lifted his left hand.
The starlight obeyed, condensing into a rotating sphere of runes. They were ancient, angular, and incomprehensibly old, the kind of symbols that made the air itself tremble.
"This prophecy was sealed by the Seventh Star Oracle. Her visions have never been wrong."
The sphere rotated slowly, and the runes aligned.
A single line of text burned across the centre:
'When the Thirteenth Star falls from the sky, the empire will tremble, and a crown of shadows will awaken.'
Sora stared at it, his expression unreadable. Almost, bored.