The great hall of Ashwright Academy breathed with quiet anticipation.
Moon-tinted lanterns hung from the vaulted ceiling, suspended by chains etched in runic script that glimmered faintly, as if whispering to the sharp-eyed. Students filled the rows of polished obsidian benches—some nervous, some excited, all aware that today marked the first step into the labyrinth of arcane study.
Aria Thorne sat near the center, straight-backed, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The Death God's presence—soft, almost idle—rested in the back of her mind. Calm. Watchful. As if he, too, was curious about this place.
The murmurs of students faded as a massive shadow darkened the stage.
A towering silhouette, broad-shouldered, regal, impossible to ignore.
Gasps.
Someone whispered, "Is… is that the Head Dean?"
The shadow stretched long and imposing—until its owner casually trotted into view.
A pug.
A tiny, grey-and-black pug with a silver collar shaped like an hourglass.
He padded forward on soft paws, tail curled, large eyes bright with an ageless intelligence that made his adorable appearance almost unsettling. Students blinked in stunned silence.
"Holy—he's tiny," a boy near the front whispered.
"Awwwwww," breathed half the first-year class.
Pedro, Head Dean of Ashwright Academy, exhaled slowly and—
BOOM.
His voice thundered across the hall like a shockwave.
"SILENCE."
The entire student body snapped upright.
The pug cleared his throat delicately, as if the explosion of sound had been no more than a polite cough.
"Much better," he said in a soft, warm voice—the kind that might belong to a grandfather telling bedtime stories. "Good morning, my bright little flames."
A few dared to smile. Others stared, bewildered.
Pedro sat primly on a golden pedestal, his paws resting with dignified precision.
"Welcome," he began, "to Ashwright Academy."
The hall shimmered faintly as runes along the walls activated, casting a soft amber glow.
"You stand upon foundations older than empires, older even than your gods—present company excepted."
Aria felt the death god hum amusedly in her mind.
Pedro continued, tail wagging once.
"Here, you will learn discipline. Wonder. Fear. And, if fortune smiles, mastery. Let me explain how your days will unfold, so you do not wander into the wrong classes like lost ducklings."
A few students laughed nervously.
"Your schedules rotate weekly," Pedro said. "Each of you will attend:
Foundational Magic—where you learn the principles of spellcasting and intent.
Magical Literacy—runes, etymology, sigils, and glyph logic.
Elemental Theory—for those who enjoy explosions.
Physical and Tactical Training—for those who enjoy causing explosions."
The last line earned him a wave of laughter.
"You will also receive elective assignments. Some of you will thrive. Some of you will cry. Both responses are acceptable."
Aria felt a soft pulse from the death god—like a chuckle submerged in darkness.
Pedro's tone shifted—still gentle, but heavier now.
"In six weeks' time," he said, "you will face your first midterm examinations. They consist of three trials."
The lanterns dimmed slightly as his voice deepened.
"One: A written assessment on basic magical theory."
He paused. "If you cannot read runes, start crying now. It will save time later."
A few students exchanged nervous glances.
"Two: A controlled duel."
More whispers. Excitement. Fear.
"You will battle a classmate chosen at random. Your aim is not to win—though that helps—but to demonstrate discipline and magical restraint. If you injure someone intentionally, I will personally rewind your day and force you to do it again until you behave."
Someone swallowed loudly.
"Three: A survival examination."
Even Aria tensed.
Pedro's eyes glowed faintly blue—time magic stirring, ancient and cold.
"You will be taken somewhere of the faculty's choosing. Forest, cavern, ruin… perhaps someplace delightful. Perhaps someplace terrifying."
A beat.
"You will adapt. You will endure. You will demonstrate that you belong here."
the death god flared in the back of Aria's thoughts—interest piqued.
Survival, he murmured. Death is a patient evaluator.
Pedro's paws tapped lightly on the pedestal.
"I will not sugarcoat this for you," he said gently. "You are here because you possess potential. But potential means nothing without perseverance."
His eyes softened—old, knowing, eternal.
"Ashwright is a crucible. It will burn impurities from you. And when the flames die down, what remains… will be truth."
He hopped down, landing with a soft pff of paws on stone.
"And now," he said cheerfully, "find your advisors, get your dorm assignments, and try not to set anything on fire before lunch."
The hall erupted into chatter—relief, excitement, fear mingling in the air.
Aria stood slowly, absorbing the electric hum of the place.
Students flowed around her, brushing past with their papers, their expectations, their futures.
the death god whispered, voice a soft curl of shadow:
This academy thinks it will shape you. How quaint.
Aria swallowed.
Because she knew the truth—
She was not here to be shaped.
She was here to change everything.
The great hall dissolved into motion—students gathering bags, schedules, and whispered hopes as they dispersed into the maze of Ashwright Academy's volcanic corridors.
Aria lingered a moment longer beneath the fading glow of the runes overhead, steadying her breath.
This place will test you, the death god murmured, his voice curling through her mind like drifting smoke.
Do not forget what you are.
She stepped forward, the echo of Pedro's ceremony still pulsing in the stones beneath her boots. A stream of first-years flowed into the branching halls like tributaries feeding a river of magic and ambition.
Aria tightened her grip on her schedule.
Foundational Magic — Room Obsidian-3.
Her first real class.
The hallway air warmed as she walked, the temperature rising with every step toward the academy's inner chambers. Glowing veins of magma pulsed beneath the transparent floors, illuminating the path like a heartbeat.
She inhaled deeply.
The smell of hot stone.
Burnt ether.
Possibility.
Then she pushed open the classroom door—