The doors seal with a sound that's too soft to be reassuring.
It isn't a slam or a clang.
It's a whisper,stone meeting stone, magic settling into place,like the academy has exhaled and decided I'm now part of its breath.
The moment the doors finish closing, the air shifts.
Heavier.
Charged.
I fight the instinct to turn around and test them, because I already know they won't move.
Headmistress Thorne strides ahead without waiting to see if I follow.
Her long coat glides over the marble floor, dark fabric swallowing the light.
I trail behind, my footsteps echoing too loudly in the cavernous hall.
The ceiling arches high above us, painted with constellations that don't match any sky I know.
Some of the stars move when I look at them too closely.
"You'll find that hesitation is noticed here," she says, not slowing.
"I'm not hesitating," I reply.
She glances back, one sharp brow lifting.
"Then you should work on appearing less like prey."
The words sting more than I expect.
I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin, even though every instinct tells me this place was built to unmake people like me.
Students line the walls as we pass,some openly curious, others pretending not to stare.
Their eyes slide over me, assessing, measuring.
I feel like an object placed on a table for inspection.
A girl with copper braids watches me with open interest.
A boy with silver rings on every finger smirks, whispering something to his companion.
When my gaze flicks back to the stairs, he's there again.
The boy from outside.
He hasn't moved.
Still leaning against the column, arms crossed loosely, posture relaxed in a way that feels intentional.
His gaze meets mine without surprise, as if he expected me to look back.
The hum in the air tightens, winding around my ribs like invisible wire.
I stumble.
It's barely noticeable, just a misstep, but Headmistress Thorne's hand shoots out, fingers gripping my arm with surprising strength.
The contact jolts something awake beneath my skin.
Heat flares, then vanishes.
"Careful," she murmurs.
"You don't want to draw attention too soon."
Too soon for what? I want to ask.
But she's already letting go, already moving again.
We ascend a staircase carved with runes worn smooth by time.
With every step, the academy feels less like a building and more like a living thing,
listening,
remembering.
I think of my apartment door closing behind me, of the life I left folded into a single bag, and the thought feels distant.
Unimportant.
At the top of the stairs, the corridor opens into a wide hall buzzing with low conversation.
A banner hangs overhead, its fabric shifting colors as if undecided.
Headmistress Thorne stops at the center of the room and finally turns to face me fully.
"You'll be assigned quarters shortly," she says. "Orientation begins in one hour.
Attendance is mandatory."
She studies me then,not my clothes, not my bag, but my face.
My eyes.
Whatever she sees there makes her expression tighten.
"Your records are sealed," she continues.
"For now.
Do not attempt to access restricted wings.
Do not provoke students of older bloodlines.
And above all,
Her gaze sharpens. ",do not form unnecessary attachments."
I swallow. "Isn't that a little hard to control?"
"No," she says flatly. "It isn't."
She steps back, already dismissing me.
"A student guide will find you."
Before I can ask anything else, she's gone, swallowed by the crowd.
I stand there awkwardly, shifting my weight as the room slowly fills.
Conversations resume, quieter now.
I catch only fragments,rankings, legacy, and the heaviness they bring.
before a voice cuts through it all.
"You look lost."
I turn to find a girl about my age smiling at me.
Her hair is a riot of curls pulled into a messy knot, freckles scattered across her nose like constellations of their own.
"I am," I admit.
"Good," she says brightly. "So was I my first day.
I'm Elowen.
Room Twelve,
East Wing. You?"
"Nyra."
Her smile falters for half a second.
Just long enough for me to notice.
Then it's back, brighter than before.
"Nice to meet you," she says. "Come on.
I'll show you where we sleep, assuming they've decided where to put you."
We walk together through branching corridors that seem to rearrange themselves when I'm not looking.
Elowen fills the silence easily, talking about classes,
professors, the food ("Don't trust the soup on Thursdays"),and the unofficial rules no one writes down.
"Most important thing," she says, glancing around as if the walls might be listening,
"is knowing who not to annoy."
"Anyone specific?" I ask.
She stops walking.
Her voice drops.
"Did you see him?"
I don't need to ask who she means.
My chest tightens anyway.
"Yes."
Elowen exhales slowly.
"Then stay away."
"Why?"
"Because Morwyns bring trouble," she says.
"And the academy doesn't forgive the people who stand too close when it arrives."
Before I can press her, we reach a heavy wooden door etched with sigils.
Elowen pushes it open.
The room is surprisingly warm.
Two beds, neatly made.
Tall windows overlooking a courtyard wrapped in mist.
My bag appears at the foot of the bed on the left, as if it's always been there.
"That's yours," Elowen says.
"Looks like we're roommates."
She flops onto her bed, grinning.
"Lucky me."
I sit slowly, the mattress dipping beneath my weight.
The room hums softly,like the rest of the academy.
Like it recognizes me.
An hour later, we file into the orientation hall.
Students arrange themselves instinctively, drawn into invisible lines.
I end up in the second row, closer to the front than I'm comfortable with.
Murmurs ripple when they realize where I'm standing.
A platform rises at the front of the room.
Faculty members step into place, robes heavy with insignia.
Headmistress Thorne stands at the center.
"Welcome," she begins"
"You are here because of what you carry.
Not talent.
Not ambition.
Legacy."
The word lands like a weight.
"As students of Aurelian Academy, you will be ranked accordingly."
Names are called.
Bloodlines announced.
Students move forward, ascending or descending the steps as if pulled by strings.
When my name echoes through the hall, the room goes silent.
"Nyra Vale," Headmistress Thorne says.
"Sealed legacy."
I step forward, heart pounding.
The platform shifts beneath my feet, lifting me higher than expected.
Whispers erupt.
I keep my face still, even as my pulse roars in my ears.
From the corner of my vision, I see him.
Cael Morwyn.
He stands alone on the lowest tier, eyes locked on me.
There's no surprise in his expression.
Only recognition.
The hum in the air spikes violently.
Headmistress Thorne's gaze flicks between us, sharp and assessing.
For a moment,
just a moment,
I think she might stop the proceedings entirely.
Instead, she raises her hand.
"Orientation will continue," she says coolly.
But nothing feels normal anymore.
When the hall finally empties, I linger, trying to steady my breathing.
Elowen chatters nervously beside me, but her voice feels far away.
I can still feel his gaze, even after he's gone.
As I turn to leave, a shadow falls across my path.
"Nyra Vale."
I look up.
Cael Morwyn stands far too close.
His presence presses against me like a held breath, dangerous and controlled.
Up close, his eyes are darker than I thought.
Not black.
Something deeper.
"You shouldn't be here," he says quietly.
My heart stutters. "You don't k
now that."
A muscle in his jaw tightens.
"I know exactly that."
Before I can respond, the lights in the hall flicker.
The hum surges, sharp and violent.
Cael's eyes widen,not in fear, but alarm,as something ancient and unseen shifts beneath our feet.
And somewhere deep within the academy, a ward begins to fail.