The dormitories of Aetherreach Academy towered like castles. Each class had its own wing, and the Aether Class had the highest—both literally and in prestige.
Lucian stood in front of his assigned room on the seventh floor. The hallway shimmered faintly with enchanted light, and polished marble floors muffled his steps. As he opened the door, he found a clean, sunlit chamber with two beds, two desks, and a window overlooking the capital's skyline. His roommate hadn't arrived yet.
He dropped his bag and sat by the window. Below, he could see courtyards, spell training grounds, and a sprawling dueling arena. The city beyond glittered with airships and sigil lanterns.
He had made it. But this wasn't the peak—it was the beginning of the climb.
The orientation hall was shaped like a dome, with floating platforms forming stair-like seating. Lucian sat quietly, cloak still on, wings hidden. Around him, students laughed, whispered, and exchanged glances.
"Is that him?" someone said nearby."The one with the weird sigil?""I heard he doesn't even have a mark on his face.""Probably bribed his way in."
Lucian clenched his fists under the table but said nothing.
Then the room dimmed as an instructor stepped forward—an elderly man with a long coat of starlight blue and a beard that sparkled with particles of floating light.
"I am Headmaster Orion Vael," he said. "To be chosen for the Aether Class means more than raw talent. It means the realm sees promise in you—promise that could one day protect us all."
His voice deepened.
"Here, you will be trained harder than anyone else. You will study not only magic, but diplomacy, combat theory, and the mysteries of the Constellations. Many of you will fail. Only a few rise to the highest rank: Sigil Knight."
Murmurs echoed.
Lucian's chest tightened. Sigil Knight. That was what his father once dreamed of becoming.
Then came the instructors.
A woman with silver armor and flame tattoos up her neck introduced herself as Instructor Veyra of Pyros—strict, blunt, and known for forcing students to duel weekly.
Next came Instructor Halden, a man whose eyes constantly shifted colors—he taught strategy and Constellation history. He eyed Lucian for just a moment longer than the others.
The final instructor was absent—one known only as "The Shard." No one explained why.
After orientation, Lucian entered his first class—basic elemental channeling. Students were already lined up, forming gusts, flame jets, stone barricades.
"Begin channeling," Instructor Veyra ordered. "Show me what you know."
Lucian stepped up. His wind spiraled around him. He raised both hands and created a small, compressed vortex that hovered in place. Controlled. Clean. He let it burst outward gently before absorbing it again.
"Hmm," Veyra said. "Sloppy form. But better than most."
A noble boy with blazing red eyes—clearly from a Pyros-bloodline—grunted nearby. "Controlled? That looked like a leaf farting," he muttered.
The class laughed. Lucian said nothing. Not yet.
Later that day, Lucian walked the stone gardens alone when someone called out behind him.
"Hey. Silver hair."
He turned. A girl stood there—tall, lean, wearing sleek emerald robes. Her face bore a constellation mark of Naeris, the water deity. But it shimmered faintly.
"I saw your test," she said. "The crystal flickered. That doesn't happen with normal wind users."
Lucian tensed. "Maybe it glitched."
She tilted her head. "Maybe. Or maybe… you're something else."
Before he could answer, bells rang across the academy.
"Class dismissed for today," echoed the instructors' voices. "Tomorrow, battle assessments begin."
That night, Lucian lay in bed staring at the ceiling. His roommate hadn't arrived. The moonlight spilled through the window, painting his wings in silver beneath his cloak.
He remembered the flicker in the crystal. The strange warmth when he channeled wind. The way the instructors whispered.
Something is different.
But different didn't mean weak.
He smiled faintly, eyes closing.
Tomorrow, they would see.
He wasn't just here to pass.
He was here to rise.