The headmaster's voice carried easily through the orientation hall, practiced and resonant in a way that suggested decades of repetition. He welcomed the incoming students with warmth that felt measured rather than sincere, speaking of opportunity, excellence, and the many disciplines the academy offered. Magic, scholarship, diplomacy, and martial prowess were all presented as paths of equal merit, so long as they were pursued with discipline.
"What we hold above all else," he continued, hands clasped behind his back as he paced the dais, "is decorum."
"This academy exists to uphold the standards that have shaped our kingdom, standards that we are honored to share with those entrusted to our care." Juniper shifted slightly in her seat, the unfamiliar weight of skirt over trousers tugging at her awareness. She adjusted her posture, careful not to fidget, while the fabric brushed against her legs in a way that felt subtly wrong. It was not painful, only inconvenient, but the constant reminder made it difficult to forget how carefully she was being asked to perform. The headmaster's gaze lifted toward the balcony above the stage as his tone sharpened with pride.
"This year," he announced, "we welcome not only a new class of promising students, but the heirs of three of our highest ducal houses." A ripple of excitement passed through the hall, contained but unmistakable. Juniper felt it before she heard it, the collective intake of breath, the shifting anticipation, the barely restrained energy of the noble girls seated closer to the front.
"These houses," the headmaster continued, "have long honored this institution with their patronage and trust."
"It is my privilege to invite their heirs to address you."
Juniper did not need the names spoken to know who was about to appear. The realization settled over her with quiet certainty, like a piece clicking into place.
The game, she thought distantly, has truly started.The first heir stepped onto the dais with the ease of someone accustomed to being watched.
Iris Immaculele stood tall even among nobles, his height striking for his age, his broad shoulders and long proportions giving him the unmistakable build of a swordsman. His uniform bore the small but unmistakable pin of his house, a unicorn rendered in silver, marking him as superior before he ever spoke. His skin was a warm brown, sun-kissed and even, contrasting beautifully with the stark academy colors. Long black hair fell freely down his back, deliberately unbound, a subtle provocation that did not escape Juniper's notice. She caught the faint tension in the headmaster's jaw as Iris inclined his head, his silver-blue eyes luminous and unblinking.
Those eyes were the kind people wrote poetry about, pristine and pale, radiating an almost unsettling purity. They matched the myth of his house perfectly, projecting an image of righteousness that felt carefully cultivated. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and confident, the sound of someone who had never doubted his place in the world.
The applause that followed was immediate and enthusiastic. Juniper could hear the delighted murmurs ripple through the noble seating, voices rising with barely concealed admiration. The second heir followed with a presence that was no less commanding, though markedly different in tone.
Oriason of the Daphne house stood taller still, his red hair cut in a loose wolfish style that framed his face without softness. His features were sharply defined, from the pronounced bridge of his nose to the naturally arched brows that lent him a perpetually intense expression. Dark eyes surveyed the hall with cool calculation, grounding his appearance in something earthy and severe. The pin at his chest bore the image of Daphne herself, a reminder of devotion, prayer, and transformation through suffering. His speech was concise and measured, respectful without warmth, and the applause that followed was just as fervent.
Juniper noted the difference in reaction, the way admiration here carried a sharper edge, almost in comparison to a battle area's ringleader announcing himself. This was a beauty that promised discipline, not comfort. The third heir approached last, and the shift in atmosphere was subtle but undeniable.
Kurenai Rougedieu moved with deliberate restraint, his posture immaculate, his long midnight hair drawn back into a tight, long tail. His features bore the influence of both his parents, the elegance of French bone structure softened by unmistakably Eastern lines. His skin was dark olive, his expression composed, and his eyes revealed nothing.
The pin at his chest gleamed faintly, the emblem of a red deity rendered with reverence rather than ostentation. He offered only a brief greeting, his voice calm and controlled, before stepping back without inviting applause.
It came anyway, though quieter, tinged with respect rather than infatuation. Juniper exhaled slowly, her attention drifting from the stage as the noise swelled. That was when she noticed the students standing along the walls.
They wore brown uniforms, unadorned and severe, their long charcoal cravats dulling the lines of their clothing. Among them were knights, servants, and a small group of students who did not sit, who were not given space among the tiers. They were commoners, separated so cleanly it felt intentional.Her stomach tightened as she studied them more closely. There was one girl among them who stood out despite the uniform's attempt to erase her. She carried herself with quiet grace, her presence softening the ugliness of the fabric, as though beauty had found a way to persist regardless.
This was not how the game had presented things. Segregation had been implied, but never so blunt, never so visible. Juniper felt the weight of it settle uncomfortably in her chest. This world, she reminded herself, was real. Her parents were real, François was real, her village was real, and the people she loved were not abstractions. The cruelty she was witnessing was not decorative, nor incidental.
As applause thundered again, she forced her attention back to the stage, her expression composed. The ducal heirs stood in a line now, flawless and revered, the embodiment of everything the academy valued. And somewhere within this spectacle, she understood with sudden clarity, her place was meant to be small. Her fingers curled briefly in her lap as she steadied herself.
Four years was more than enough time to learn how this world truly worked. As the applause finally subsided and the headmaster moved to dismiss the assembly, a colder thought settled over Juniper's mind.
If commoners were already being sorted and displayed like this within the academy walls, then the knight's division would be no kinder. She imagined François standing in a similar line, stripped of distinction, measured not by merit but by origin, and the image tightened something sharp in her chest. He would endure it without complaint, she knew that much with painful certainty. He would bow, comply, and make himself smaller if it meant protecting their family and their people.
The realization left a bitter taste behind her composure, souring what little excitement the day had managed to stir. By the time the hall began to empty and students rose around her, Juniper's earlier resolve had dimmed into something heavier. This academy was not merely a place of learning, nor was it content to hide its cruelty behind tradition.
She gathered her things quietly and followed the flow of bodies toward the exits, her mood darkened for the evening in a way she could not easily shake.