But first things first... I needed to get changed.
There was something inherently humiliating about rushing to put on a regal uniform while still damp from a panic-shower and trying not to drip on royal-grade embroidery.
I yanked the uniform out of the wardrobe like it had personally offended me.
The jacket was midnight black, sharp and pristine, the kind of fabric that made you question whether you were allowed to breathe while wearing it.
Its high collar rose like the wall of a fortress, hugging my neck in a way that was slightly threatening and somehow still elegant.
The shoulders carried a deep navy trim, folded with military precision.
Silver buttons shaped like crescent runes gleamed along the chest, catching the light with an arrogant kind of glint.
And then there was the crest.
Sewn into the left breast of the jacket in silver thread: a silver mist curling through a broken crown. Regal. Worn. Beautiful.
The kind of symbol that made you feel like a tragic heir to a doomed dynasty. Fitting.
I pulled the jacket on over my shirt, then began hopping awkwardly on one foot as I tried to shove a leg into the stiff black trousers.
A button pinged off the dresser.
{You really should do this more often} Echo commented in my head, dry as sandpaper.
'Do what? Get dressed?'
{No. Struggle. It's good for your ego.}
'Says the digital ghost with no pants.'
{Touche.}
I had almost everything on—belt, boots, jacket, dignity.
Almost.
The tie was the final boss.
It was one of those strange, rune-stitched silver-crimson things that looped around the neck in a complicated knot only a lunatic or an upper noble would invent.
I stared at it. It stared back.
"Okay," I muttered. "I can dodge lightning-fast claws, survive a death tournament. I can tie a tie."
I tried once.
Then twice.
I ended up with a mess that looked like it belonged on a drunken bard at the end of a very long wedding.
{You're strangling it, not wearing it} Echo offered helpfully.
{Want a hint or do you prefer looking like you mugged a priest?}
'Fine.'
Echo walked me through it like some smug tutorial. Over, under, loop, cross—blah blah knot.
By the time I was done, it actually looked... decent. I gave myself a glance in the mirror.
"Damn," I whispered. "Is that a villain or a high-ranking noble who drinks blood for breakfast?
{You forgot 'perpetually late disaster in tailored pants.}
"Haters gonna hate."
I stepped out of my—ahem—penthouse, not "dorm." Let's be clear: I was not going to call it a dorm. Dorms were for regular students.
People with bunk beds and smelly socks and passive-aggressive sticky notes about stolen bread.
What I had? Was sleek marble floors.
A private bath that smelled like lavender and faint eldritch nightmares.
A bed so large it felt like a social experiment in loneliness.
And a view from the veranda that could make a demigod weep.
So yeah. Penthouse.
I stepped into the veranda's cool air.
And paused.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
The air was still, like even the breeze had forgotten its job. No voices. No laughter.
No panicked footsteps of other late first-years running for their lives.
The neighboring penthouse dorms across the stone bridge corridor all had their doors closed.
No lights in the windows. No one pacing or yelling about misplacing their identification rune badge.
Everyone was already gone.
"Well, that's comforting," I muttered. "Clearly I'm just... early."
{It's 9:14.}
'Still time for coffee.'
{You don't even know where the Orientation is being held.}
Right.
That.
Teleportation wasn't going to help either.
Beyond the Veil of Reality only worked if I had a mental image of the destination. I needed space, details, coordinates.
Unless I just wanted to blink into thin air and pray not to land in a bathroom stall or someone's summoning circle. It was of no use now.
Which meant...
I was going to have to find it the old-fashioned way.
But I couldn't just wander around like an idiot.
'Echo, where would you hold an overly dramatic, overly important Orientation for a school full of arrogant brats?'
{The cathedral-sized hall with the massive rune arch and golden banners. Y'know. The one you haven't seen yet.}
Right.
'So... we're winging it.'
{As always.}
I sighed, tugged the tie a little tighter, and stepped away from the veranda and into the hallway.
The corridor was long and arched, made from polished stone and soft glowing crystal veins embedded along the walls.
The air smelled faintly of rain and mint, as if someone had enchanted the ventilation with seasonal moods.
And it was empty.
My footsteps echoed across the floor like I was the last soul on earth.
I walked slowly at first, then faster.
Tried a few random doors. One opened to a study room.
Another to what looked like a meditation chamber with floating stones.
The third nearly gave me a stroke when a floating golem librarian hissed at me.
No luck.
I stopped.
Took a breath.
'Okay. What would a hungry student do if they didn't know the way to Orientation?'
{Eat.}
'Exactly.'
Because if there was one universal truth in every world...
The cafeteria always knows.
If I could find the cafeteria, I could find the Orientation was behind held.
So I adjusted my collar, gave myself one last motivational nod, and strolled down the endless, rune-lit hallway like I knew exactly what I was doing.
'Fake it till I make it.'
{You're wearing black like it's a funeral. Fitting, considering you're about to walk in late.}
'I'm not late.'
{Then why are you speed-walking like your ex is the guest speaker?}
'I swear if this Orientation is just some long speech and a PowerPoint, I'm breaking something.'
{Don't worry. You'll probably be the something that breaks.}
---
After walking for what felt like eternity, I had a moment of clarity.
The kind that doesn't come from insight or enlightenment—just pure, unfiltered what-the-hell-am-I-doing exhaustion.
I stopped walking.
Stared at the endless stretch of curved crystal walls that all looked like they'd been copy-pasted by an overachieving architect.
Then blinked.
Wait… how did I even get to my room in the first place?
Silence.
'...Echo?'
{Oh no. He's thinking again.}
'I never actually walked to my room, did I?'
{Correct. You appeared. Like a dramatic entrance from a low-budget stage play.}
And that was it. That one thought sent my brain unraveling faster than a scroll in a windstorm.
Because now that I really thought about it—I didn't remember a hallway.
Or stairs. Or even a fancy academy welcome saying 'Please proceed to your luxury penthouse.'
Nope.
What I did remember was Miris—stressed, unblinking, caffeine-fueled Miris—thrusting my keycard into my hand after I'd helped her deal with that cursed bureaucratic file, then turning to a door that looked like it belonged in a haunted museum.
A plain, silver key had appeared from her spatial ring—and without even blinking, she slid it into this ancient, crusty door with a click that sounded far too dramatic for my comfort.
"Since you helped me," she'd said, "I'll make your trip to your dorm faster."
{Faster} Echo repeated now, voice laced with a heavy helping of air quotes.
"Just walk in," she told me. "You'll appear straight in your room"
And like a perfectly-behaved idiot, I had.
Didn't question the creepy keyhole in a high-tech academy that ran on biometrics and floating runes.
Didn't stop to think why she smirked like someone planting a surprise in my shoes.
I just stepped through.
And boom—next second, I'm in a celestial-level penthouse, overlooking clouds, soft jazz playing from somewhere I never found, and a mattress that probably had feelings.
"I think she tricked me," I muttered aloud.
{You're just now figuring that out? I've seen compost process faster than your critical thinking.}
I groaned and ran a hand down my face, leaning against a cold wall panel I may or may not have passed six times already.
"Ahh, fuck."
And looking around now, I wasn't even in the Academy.
Not really.
No banners. No student crowd. No staff. No bell towers.
Just academy crest stamped everywhere and a smooth obsidian plaza stretching outward in all directions, framed by massive angular buildings that shimmered faintly with aetheric seals.
The kind of architecture that made you feel like you were trespassing on power itself.
There were floating platforms gliding between towers.
Mana-forged walkways webbing overhead like glowing circuits.
One side of the complex even had a hovering training ring with embedded rune pads and dueling dummies that floated mid-air, arms moving in slow mechanical rhythm.
It looked less like a school... and more like a hidden city designed by perfectionist gods with too much free time.
No wonder it was quiet. Too quiet.
'Echo?'
{Mmhm?}
'...Where am I?'
{You're just now asking that?}
'I thought this was the academy.'
{No. This is 'The Aetherian Heights'—also called the Cloudspire Quarter.
It's the private estate for ranked first-years. And your dorm is in the west wing side were the top 10 to 50 reside.}
Fuck!
I wasn't just late. I was late and hadn't even been on academy grounds.
I exhaled slowly, adjusted the fit of my black-collared uniform—still couldn't get the cuffs to sit right—and started walking.
The Cloudspire complex faded behind me as I crossed a wide bridge of pale crystal veins, each pulse syncing to the slow beat of my footsteps.
The arch beneath it spanned across a vast moat of swirling aether—the kind you don't fall into unless you want to be rematerialized in a hundred different timelines.
Once I passed the gate shaped like a sideways crescent, the true campus unfolded before me.
And gods—it was alive.
The soft murmur of conversation drifted through the air like a tide. Laughter. Footsteps. Blasts of magic from training fields.
Silver Mist Academy wasn't just a school—it was a kingdom in motion.
High towers soared in the distance, crowned with rotating crests and glittering runes.
Trees with silver-white leaves swayed above marble gardens.
Students walked the curved stone paths in well-fitted uniforms, eyes sharp, voices low, posture precise.
I passed a group of third-years near the gardens, dressed in grey-trimmed variants of the uniform.
They were practicing something—maybe a spell technique—until one of them caught sight of me.
He nudged his friend.
"Is that him?"
The other boy squinted.
"You mean the one from the first year's? The classless?"
I didn't flinch. Just kept walking, the breeze lifting the ends of my clothes as my boots tapped rhythmically against the stone.
A few steps later, two girls standing near the edge of a fountain paused in mid-conversation.
One leaned toward the other and whispered—loud enough for me to hear.
"He's way too pretty to be dangerous."
"That's exactly why he's dangerous."
"Ugh, shut up."
Another group—seniors this time—stood beneath a row of hanging lanterns, robes fluttering slightly as they leaned against the wall.
One of them, a tall boy with obsidian cuffs and a scar across his cheek, locked eyes with me.
He didn't blink.
Didn't smile.
Just tilted his head once, like he was marking me.
I nodded slightly. Didn't smile either.
I passed a stone arch with a rotating clockwork mechanism ticking above it—each rune-etched gear measuring time in ways I couldn't begin to understand.
Through it, I could see a class of fourth-years practicing some sort of teleportation formation under the guidance of a white-robed instructor.
No one paid them attention.
They were too busy looking at me.
Girls brushed their hair behind their ears.
Boys narrowed their eyes.
I heard someone mutter, "Tch. Just another pretty face riding on a moment of fame."
Another voice replied, "That pretty face fought Valois barehanded."
And still—no first-years. None.
Everyone around me looked seasoned. Already settled into the rhythm of the term.
Already assigned classes, training drills, dueling groups.
Which meant one thing.
'They're all at the Orientation already.'
{Correct.}
'And I'm not.'
{Double correct.}
I sighed and slowed my pace just slightly, glancing up at the hovering runic banners now rising from distant towers.
I was starting to wonder if I'd have to break a window and leap out when—
Tap.
A soft touch landed on my shoulder.
And I froze.
I didn't even hear footsteps. No breathing. No aura. Just... tap.
I turned slowly, half expecting Glory, Cassia, or maybe a teacher ready to vaporize me for being late.
Instead...
She stood there.
Smiling.
All white and silver and gold, hair braided to perfection, eyes glowing like a moonlight blade.
"Hello, baby brother."
It was Aurora.