The sky above the capital shimmered like shattered glass.
From the window of the air-carriage, Angel watched as towers of crystal and marble pierced the clouds, glowing faintly with runes that pulsed like living veins. The Academy of Arcanum—the oldest, most powerful magical institution in the world—sat not on the land, but above it, floating atop a massive ring of stone suspended by ancient wards. Waterfalls cascaded from its edges into the sky itself, vanishing into swirling mist.
He'd imagined castles and magic schools in his old life—places where stories began.
But nothing prepared him for this.
The carriage landed on a circular platform inscribed with glowing glyphs. Angel stepped out, his family close behind. Marina waved excitedly, even as their mother wiped a tear from her eye. Cael stood silently, one hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes scanning the perimeter like a bodyguard sensing unseen predators.
A robed woman awaited them at the edge of the platform. She wore violet robes that shimmered like stardust, her long silver hair braided with gold thread.
"I am Archmistress Vireya," she said in a cool, clear voice. "Welcome, Angel Galván. You are late… but fate tends to favor the unexpected."
Angel gave a slight bow. "Thank you. I'll do my best."
Her eyes narrowed. "Here, we do not train for 'best.' We train for survival."
She turned sharply and began walking toward the massive obsidian gates that led into the Academy. They opened not by hand or spell, but will—responding to her presence with a groan like shifting mountains.
Angel swallowed hard and followed.
❖ ❖ ❖
The inside of the Academy was a world unto itself.
Floating staircases led to impossible heights.
Hallways rearranged based on time of day.
Students from across the realms moved in robes of every color, each hue tied to their magical affinity.
Some trailed elemental sparks. Others walked with summoned familiars or shadows that didn't match their movements.
Angel walked in silence, drawing stares.
The Dreamborn had arrived.
❖ ❖ ❖
Vireya led him to a chamber shaped like a dome, its ceiling made entirely of enchanted glass. A single chair sat at the center of a circular glyph.
"Sit," she commanded.
As soon as he did, the glyph beneath him ignited. Symbols pulsed outward. Books flew open on nearby shelves. Quills wrote by themselves. And above him, a sphere of thought formed—light and shadow mixing in an orb that reflected not just images… but ideas.
"Your Gift is dangerous," Vireya said. "Not for what it does, but for what it could become. You can imagine a phoenix into flame. Or imagine the sun into breaking. Imagination bends reality—but only if reality doesn't bend you first."
She waved her hand, and a curtain of energy opened like a window to another part of the Academy.
A training ground—vast and surreal. Gravity twisted, platforms floated, and illusion and reality blended into one.
"Your training begins now," she said. "Not in spells. Not in swords. But in control."
Then, the window shimmered. Inside the arena, a dozen figures appeared—shadows formed of Angel's own dreams. Characters he'd once imagined: a knight of smoke, a beast of laughter, a sword made of falling stars.
His own mind was now his opponent.
"You will fight your own creations," Vireya said. "And if they kill you here—your Gift will be locked forever."
Angel stared into the arena as one of the dream-beasts lifted its head, its inky eyes glowing with hunger.
He took a step forward.
"I created them once," he said quietly. "I can un-create them too."
And with that, he entered the arena.
❖ ❖ ❖
Far above, unseen behind the walls of the highest spire, a circle of cloaked figures watched through an enchanted mirror.
One whispered, "He's more than Dreamborn. He remembers something… older."
Another said, "We must guide him."
A third voice, colder than the others, replied:
"No. We must chain him. Before he dreams the end of us all."