If Luminara was a city built from dreams, then Lumina Academy was the stuff of legends. It didn't rest on the ground or even on the main floating islands of the capital. It hung in the sky above the city, a breathtaking chain of anchored islands, each one a different biome, all connected by bridges of light, stone, and living wood. Waterfalls fell from the edges of the highest islands, their spray dissolving into the clouds below, creating a permanent halo of mist around the Academy's foundations. Buildings didn't look like they were constructed; they seemed to have grown organically from the rock, their spires and domes echoing the shapes of the mountains and trees around them. It was a place designed to inspire awe, to remind every student that they were now part of something greater than their own House, greater than their own ambition.
*It's also a deathtrap,* the Azrael part of my mind noted with grim satisfaction. *A beautifully designed, perfectly isolated, indefensible deathtrap. The Vex'Arak couldn't have chosen a better location for their party.*
Our small procession made its way to a dedicated transport spire in Luminara. A massive, open-air crystal platform lifted us silently into the sky, rising through the clouds towards the Academy's lowest entrance island. The view was staggering. The whole of Luminara spread out below us, a glittering tapestry of gold and light. But my attention was fixed upwards, on the floating islands that grew larger and more detailed with every passing moment. I could see the four main dormitory halls, each situated on its own island and reflecting the nature of its associated Houses.
There was Emberhold, built on a volcanic island of black rock, with streams of lava flowing in controlled channels around it—the traditional home for students from House Pyralis and other fire-aspected families. Frostspire was a crystalline palace carved from a single, massive glacier, shimmering with a cold, blue light, the domain of House Glaciem and the other "cold" logic-based Houses. Stonehaven was a fortress of brown and grey rock, solid and unyielding, built into the side of a floating mountain, favored by House Terranova and their ilk.
And then there was Blackwood Hall. It was situated on an island covered in a dense forest of dark, ancient trees, their leaves a deep shade of purple. The hall itself was a sprawling manor of dark wood and grey stone, elegant but somber, with tall, narrow windows that looked like suspicious eyes. It was the traditional home for the "darker" affinities—Shadow, Death, and their various offshoots. It was my new home.
The platform docked with a soft chime at the Academy's main reception hall. The air here was different—charged with a palpable energy, a thrum of a thousand powerful young souls gathered in one place. It was a nexus of potential, a powder keg of ambition, hormones, and reality-warping power.
The registration process was a lesson in the casual bureaucracy of power. I presented my House credentials—a small, obsidian scroll bearing the Mournblade seal—to an administrator. He was a minor noble from some forgotten house, his face a mask of bored indifference. He barely glanced at the scroll, his eyes flicking over my name and title. "Mournblade, Damon. Second Son." He stamped a document with a flourish. "Assigned to Blackwood Hall, Room 304. Your orientation packet and schedule will be delivered to your room. Next."
I was dismissed. No welcome, no pleasantries. In this world, a second son from a grim, reclusive House was utterly unremarkable. I was just another face in the crowd, another name on a long list. This suited me perfectly. The more unremarkable I appeared, the more freedom I would have to move.
My servant, who had accompanied me this far, gave a final, stiff bow. "My duties are concluded, Second Son. May your studies bring honor to the House." He then turned and made his way back to the transport platform, leaving me truly alone for the first time since my… arrival.
Finding my way to Blackwood Hall was easy enough, thanks to Damon's memories of a previous visit years ago. I crossed a bridge of woven, living roots that swayed gently in the wind, the forest island of Blackwood looming before me. The air grew cooler under the canopy of the dark-leaved trees, and the sounds of the bustling reception hall faded, replaced by the whisper of the wind and the distant call of some unseen bird.
Blackwood Hall was even more imposing up close. It was old, ancient even, and it felt it. The stone was worn smooth by centuries of wind and rain, and the dark wood of its walls seemed to have absorbed the secrets of every student who had ever lived here. I pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped inside.
The common room was vast, with a high, vaulted ceiling and a massive, unlit fireplace at one end. The furniture was dark leather and polished wood, comfortable but severe. A few other students were scattered around the room, speaking in low tones or reading. They glanced up as I entered, their eyes taking in my Mournblade attire, and then looked away. A silent acknowledgment. I was one of them, a creature of the shadows.
Room 304 was on the third floor, at the end of a long, quiet corridor. The room was modest, but private—a luxury afforded by noble birth. Commoner students, I knew from the novel, were typically assigned roommates. It consisted of a single bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a small, attached washroom. The single window looked out over the dark forest, and beyond it, the endless, open sky. It was spartan, silent, and isolated. It was perfect.
I placed my single travel bag on the bed and stood in the center of the room, letting the silence settle around me. This was it. The stage was set. The players were arriving. The conspiracy was already in motion. According to Azrael's memory of the novel, the Vex'Arak had spent decades subtly altering the Academy's foundations during various "renovations" and "expansions." They had woven a web of corrupted artifacts and spatial weaknesses into the very bones of this place, all leading to the grand summoning ritual that would take place during the entrance examinations.
As I stood there, letting my new, heightened senses expand into my surroundings, I felt it.
It was a whisper. Not a sound, but a feeling. A flicker at the very edge of my perception. A subtle wrongness in the fabric of reality. It was like a single, discordant note in a perfect symphony, almost imperceptible unless you were listening for it. The walls. It was coming from the walls. They felt… thin. Porous. As if the space between the stones was not entirely solid.
*Xylos, the Whisper in the Walls.* The name of the Outer God they would summon echoed in my mind. The cultists weren't just planning a ritual; they had turned the entire Academy into the ritual circle. The whispers were the first signs of the veil between worlds growing thin.
I dismissed the feeling, smoothing my expression into one of calm indifference, a mask that was quickly becoming second nature. I couldn't afford to seem spooked or paranoid. But the knowledge was a cold weight in my gut. I had thought I would have weeks, maybe months, to prepare. But the feeling in the walls told me a different story. The conspiracy was not just in motion; it was nearing its climax. The whispers were already here. And they were listening.