The second morning at Aurelia was calmer. No magical trumpet this time, just sunlight spilling across the floor in a warm golden band. The storm clouds were still there, but they'd pulled back from the mountain's peak, leaving the Academy in a strange half-light — bright overhead, but with shadows pooling unnaturally deep in the corners of the courtyards.
Finn was already gone when Thalen woke. He found a note scrawled in messy ink on the desk:
Gone to breakfast early. If Cade's there, sit far away. Also: avoid the porridge unless you want your tongue to glow for an hour. Don't ask how I know.
By the time Thalen made it to the dining hall, most of the long tables were already half-empty. He slid onto a bench near the end, next to a basket of bread rolls and across from a girl with dark hair braided in silver threads. She wore the deep crimson sash of the dragonkin, though in human form she looked barely older than Thalen.
"You're the one from yesterday," she said without looking up from the book she was reading. Her voice had a faint rasp to it, like firewood catching.
Thalen hesitated. "I guess that depends who you've been talking to."
Her eyes lifted, sharp and golden. "Lyra Drakenhart. And everyone's been talking."
He waited for the insult that usually followed when people mentioned him being race-less. Instead, Lyra closed her book and leaned forward slightly. "Cade's a fool, but he's not wrong about one thing — you don't fight like an untrained human. That force you used on him? I've only ever seen magic respond that fast when it's… tied to blood."
Before Thalen could answer, Finn dropped into the seat beside him, balancing a plate stacked high with toast. "Morning, storm boy. Princess."
"Don't call me that," Lyra said without heat, rolling her eyes.
"I heard your father breathes actual lightning," Finn continued, as if this was perfectly normal breakfast conversation. "Does that mean your family dinners are just barbeques waiting to happen?"
Lyra ignored him and turned back to Thalen. "Combat class is this afternoon. Cade's going to come for you again. If you're smart, you'll make sure you're ready before then."
She stood, tucking the book under her arm, and swept away toward the dragonkin table, her steps as precise as sword cuts.
Finn grinned. "She likes you. That's her version of a love letter."
Thalen shook his head. "I'm pretty sure that was a warning."
The morning passed in a blur of classes. In Runes & Relics, the shadow elf instructor kept glancing at Thalen's hands when he copied symbols from the board, as if expecting them to do something strange. In Magical Ethics, the Aetherborn lecturer — tall, graceful, with feathers where hair should be — spoke about the Great Accord that allowed the races to live in peace… while a dragonkin boy behind Thalen whispered that peace never lasted.
By midday, the halls were a shifting river of students heading toward the courtyard. Finn waved Thalen over to a shaded bench. "This is where the different groups hang out between classes," he explained, gesturing across the lawn. "See the dragonkin? Always near the sunny side, it's a pride thing. Shadow elves? Over there, in the shade, looking like they're planning someone's funeral. Aetherborn? Usually flying around the tower or perched up top. And humans are… well, everywhere."
Thalen's gaze wandered. The dragonkin laughed loudly, their voices carrying over the clink of armor and the hiss of steam. The shadow elves were quiet but watchful, their eyes following anyone who passed too close. The Aetherborn dove in elegant arcs through the air, their wings catching the sunlight like stained glass.
It was strange, seeing so many different races in one place — stranger still knowing he wasn't any of them.
That thought was still in his head later that afternoon, during Combat Arts. Cade kept his distance this time, but Thalen could feel the dragonkin's gaze on him, sharp and calculating. When the instructor paired them for sparring drills, Cade didn't attack outright. Instead, he circled, testing Thalen's reactions, looking for an opening.
By the end of the class, Thalen's muscles ached and sweat soaked through his tunic. He left the training hall with Finn, too tired to notice the shadowy figure leaning against the wall until they were almost past her.
Serenya Moonveil.
Her silver eyes were unsettling, reflecting light like water at night. She stepped into their path, her dark hair brushing her shoulders. "You don't belong here," she said softly.
Thalen stiffened. "Thanks for the reminder."
"That wasn't an insult," Serenya continued. "It's a fact. The magic in this place doesn't know what to do with you… and it's calling to you."
Thalen frowned. "Calling?"
She tilted her head, as if listening to something far away. "If you start hearing it, don't follow. Not yet."
Before he could ask what she meant, she slipped away into the crowd, vanishing between two shadow elves as if she'd melted into the darkness itself.
That night, after lights-out, Thalen lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Finn was already asleep, muttering something about "flying sandwiches" in his dreams. The storm outside had grown restless again, wind rattling the window frame.
He was just beginning to drift when it happened.
A voice — low, distant, but unmistakable — brushed against his thoughts.
Find the sealed door.
Thalen's eyes snapped open. He sat up, but the room was empty and still except for the soft snoring from Finn's side.
The voice didn't speak again.
But Thalen knew, with a certainty he couldn't explain, that it wasn't going to be the last time he heard it.