The towering spires of Aetherion Academy loomed against the horizon, casting long shadows across the sprawling campus as Sharo Velcryn made his way toward the main hall. The academy was unlike anything he'd ever seen—its stone walls pulsed with ancient magic, the air thick with the hum of power. It was a place where futures were forged, and legends took root.
He had little interest in the spectacle of it all.
His footsteps echoed through the marble halls, the sound muted by the stillness of the early morning. Most students were still unpacking their things or meeting with their families, but Sharo was already familiar with solitude. He approached the administration desk with the same detached air he always carried. The clerk, an older woman with spectacles perched at the tip of her nose, handed him a small parchment, her eyes lingering on him a moment too long.
"Your dormitory number and timetable," she said, her voice clipped. "You'll find your room on the third floor, number 307. Classes begin promptly at nine, and your first lecture is Introduction to Arcana with Professor Myrwin. Be there on time, or he will not hesitate to make an example of you."
Sharo glanced at the parchment without a word, his gaze flicking over the neatly written details. He didn't need to hear the warning. It was clear that Myrwin's reputation spoke for itself.
He tucked the paper into the inside pocket of his coat, nodded, and turned to leave. The clerk watched him go, her expression unreadable. Sharo didn't mind.
The corridors were empty now, the grand hallways stretching out before him like a silent challenge. He could feel the weight of gazes as he passed through, but none of them touched him. He was just another shadow, another face among the throngs of young prodigies here to prove their worth.
The lecture hall of Aetherion Academy was a grand place. The stone walls shimmered with the glow of arcane runes, glowing faintly in the dim light. It felt ancient, timeless, a place where history itself had been written into the walls. Sharo stepped inside with a quiet ease, his long coat trailing behind him like a shadow. The room was large, tiered seats rising up around a central dais etched with mystic symbols. A faint hum of magic resonated from the stone beneath his boots, as though the very floor held centuries of knowledge.
The students were slowly filling the seats, their conversations low but filled with excitement. House emblems glimmered from robes and cloaks, each bearing the sigils of powerful families or illustrious lineages. Some wore the deep colors of nobility, others the simpler garb of those not marked by wealth, but no less ambitious.
Sharo moved through them without a sound, his presence barely noticed as he made his way to the back of the hall. He chose the last seat, in the farthest row, and settled into the shadows. His arms folded across his chest, and his eyes fixed on nothing in particular, though the icy frost that had long settled within him stirred at the unfamiliar surroundings.
As the room filled with more students, Sharo observed a few familiar faces, their names whispered in the currents of conversation around him.
First, there was Alistair Karrel, a member of the infamous House Karrel, known for its vast military influence and ruthless ambition. The tall, muscular boy with fiery copper hair strutted into the room, his eyes scanning the students with the arrogance that came from being born into privilege. His crimson cloak billowed behind him, the emblem of House Karrel gleaming proudly on his chestplate. He took a seat in the row directly in front of Sharo, his back straight and his posture one of dominance.
Then came Emberith Nyx, a daughter of House Nyx, known for her mastery of illusion magic and quiet ruthlessness. She glided into the room with the air of someone who had been trained from birth to carry herself with regal poise. Her midnight-black hair shimmered like shadows, and her eyes, the color of twilight, scanned the room for any sign of weakness. She took a seat near the middle, her presence commanding immediate respect.
A few rows over, Gareth Vorn of House Vorn strode in. His family was known for its command over elemental fire magic, and Gareth carried that legacy like a blazing torch. His amber eyes burned with intensity, and his fiery red robes seemed to pulse with an inner energy. He sat with an unbothered air, seemingly at ease despite the gravity of the occasion.
And finally, Lira Evandriel walked in.
She moved as if she belonged to another world, her very presence commanding attention. Her silver hair shimmered like liquid moonlight, cascading down her back in soft waves. Her crimson eyes swept over the room with the grace of someone who had never been daunted by the gaze of others. There was an undeniable aura about her—an edge of power, of a fate tied to something far greater than anyone here could truly comprehend.
Sharo's eyes flicked to her the moment she entered, though he did not turn his head. There was something about the way she walked, something that made the space around her feel quieter, like the world had paused to take note. She seemed to feel his gaze as well. For a brief moment, their eyes locked.
Her breath caught. Her step faltered, just for a fraction of a second.
Then, just as quickly, the spell was broken. She blinked, a soft, fleeting smile playing on her lips as she turned away and continued toward the front, choosing a seat not far from the professor's dais. But even as she sat, her gaze lingered for just a heartbeat longer, before shifting back to the lecture.
The door swung open once more with a burst of energy, and the room fell into a hushed silence. A figure clad in shimmering robes of aetherglass appeared in the doorway, his presence commanding immediate respect. Professor Myrwin. His eyes glinted with arcane knowledge, and his every movement seemed measured, purposeful.
"Let's begin," he said, his voice deep and rich with authority.
A soft flick of his wrist and the air around him shimmered briefly. A holographic list of names appeared before him, flickering with arcane light.
"Attendance," Myrwin said, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade.
One by one, he called the names of the students, and they responded, either raising their hands or calling out "present" in turn. The students' voices melded into a quiet chorus, but Sharo said nothing. His name was called, and his voice was calm as he answered.
"Velcryn."
"Present."
Professor Myrwin's gaze flickered briefly to Sharo, a momentary pause that made the air feel heavier. It was as if Myrwin was silently measuring him, deciding if this stranger would be a footnote in the academy's history or a player on the grand stage.
"Very well," Myrwin continued, unfazed. "Now, as you are all aware, you have come here not just to learn, but to compete. Soon, the ranking exams will begin. These exams are your first true test of worth. They will determine who rises, who falls. The strongest will have access to the best resources, the most challenging lessons. The weakest, however…" He let the words hang in the air like a shadow.
"Remember," he said, his voice lowering slightly, "Only those who excel will be rewarded. The rest will be left to struggle."
There was a slight chill in his words, a reminder that here, excellence was not optional—it was a necessity.
The professor continued speaking about the intricacies of arcane magic and leyline theory, but Sharo's attention wavered. The tension from Lira's gaze lingered in his mind, but it wasn't enough to distract him from the steady pulse of his own thoughts.
He sat in silence, lost in the rhythmic flow of the lecture, until the sound of the class coming to an end brought him back to reality.
Books were packed away, students began gathering their things, and the room stirred with low conversation. Sharo slowly stood and began to make his way toward the door, his movements fluid, as if he had no particular place to be, but he knew exactly where he was headed.
Then, the confrontation.
A loud voice broke through the hum of chatter.
"Oi!" The voice was grating, rough, and full of derision. "You're the one who sat in the back like a gloomy little ghost?"
Sharo's eyes flicked toward the source of the interruption. A tall, broad-shouldered boy stood before him, his chest puffed out in a posture that screamed superiority. His hair was a fiery copper, combed back neatly, and the sigil of House Karrel gleamed proudly on his chestplate.
"You think you're better than us just because you sit in the back? What—are you brooding? Trying to be all mysterious and dark? Pathetic."
Sharo said nothing at first, his gaze steady. The boy's words hung in the air, trying to provoke a response. The arrogance in his voice was like a scent of something rotten.
"I'm talking to you, commoner," the boy sneered. "You've got no crest, no lineage. You're nothing but a charity case here. A stray dog hoping to get scraps from the gods."
Sharo's eyes remained cold, unblinking. The temperature around them dropped just slightly. A chill, subtle, but present. The air felt heavier, as if the very space around them was growing colder, drawn toward the boy like ice on the verge of breaking free.
"Are you finished?" Sharo's voice was low, his tone carrying the quiet weight of an approaching storm.
The boy faltered, his words slipping into silence. He sneered again, but his bravado wavered.
Sharo tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. "I asked, are you finished?"
The frost crept silently, spreading from the ground like a whisper of ice.
The bully flinched, his breath coming out in shallow gasps. His lackeys shifted uneasily behind him, their faces pale.
"I asked," Sharo repeated, voice sharp now. "Are. You. Finished?"
And then, in a flash, the bully was on his back, sprawled across the cold stone floor. Frost had already crept up his legs, binding him to the ground in a silent testament to the power Sharo had barely unleashed.
The bully's breath came out in ragged gasps, the frosted air making each exhale visible as he scrambled backward, eyes wide with disbelief.
Sharo didn't even look at him anymore.
He turned away, heading for the door. The lecture hall was silent.
He turned away, his coat flowing behind him like a shadow, and walked toward the door. The frost receded as he moved, but the tension lingered.
Just before he reached the exit, he passed her again.
Lira.
She hadn't moved from her seat, still sitting near the front, her gaze lingering on him. Her crimson eyes, ever perceptive, were locked on his figure as he walked past. There was no fear in her eyes, only curiosity—curiosity about the strange, broken soul that had captured her attention in an instant.
As he passed, her voice drifted to him.
"Your eyes…" she said, her voice filled with an understanding that seemed beyond her years. "They're like ice that remembers fire."
Sharo paused. Just for a moment. His heart, buried deep beneath layers of ice, stirred slightly—like a long-forgotten ember flickering in the dark.
He didn't turn to face her. But he murmured, low and steady, "And yours… see too much."
A small smile tugged at the corner of Lira's lips, fleeting and bittersweet, before she lowered her gaze.
Sharo continued walking, his steps measured, his face a mask of cold indifference. He didn't look back. But in that moment, something had shifted. There was a spark—silent, subtle, but undeniable.
Two stars, isolated in the vastness of the universe, had noticed each other in the void.
And somewhere deep beneath the academy, where the leyline heart pulsed with ancient power, the frost stirred once more.