The wind howled against the cliffside, pulling at cloaks and hair, carrying with it the thin, biting cold of the high mountains. Yet none of them shivered. Not when before them, across the yawning chasm, stood the fortress that was no mere school but a kingdom of its own.
Heaven's School.
Elira's breath hitched as she drank in the sight. The towers pierced the heavens, crystal spires glimmering with threads of starlight even in the waning dusk. Marble walls rose impossibly high, etched with runes that shimmered faintly, as if alive. Bridges of translucent fire arched gracefully between towers, their glow steady yet shifting with hues of gold, blue, and silver.
It was as though the architects had blended the majesty of ancient royal palaces with the cutting edge of arcane design—stone carved with reverence, glass humming with enchantments, and magic woven seamlessly into every line. The effect was breathtaking, both eternal and otherworldly.
"Looks like a palace," Marcell muttered beside her, awe tangled with nerves. "A palace made by gods who thought normal buildings were too boring."
He wasn't wrong.
The others fell silent, even the sharp-tongued copper-haired girl. Only the twins whispered, their laughter faint and uneasy for once.
A shimmer rippled across the chasm. Then, as though answering an unspoken command, a bridge of light stretched outward from the fortress gates. It arched across the abyss in silence, solidifying under their eyes, until it lay complete: a radiant path straight into the heart of Heaven's School.
Elira's stomach tightened.
There was no going back.
The chosen students crossed the bridge.
Each step hummed beneath their feet, as if the light itself recognized them, weighing their worth. Elira felt it most keenly—an invisible hand brushing against the ember in her chest, testing it, prodding it. Her silver flame stirred uneasily, sparks prickling along her skin.
She clenched her fists. Not here. Not now.
At the end of the bridge, gates of crystal and gold loomed, taller than any temple doors she had ever seen. They opened not with creaking hinges but with a whisper of air, as though the fortress had breathed them wide.
And beyond—
A courtyard stretched vast and gleaming, marble floors inlaid with patterns of fire sigils that pulsed faintly with life. Fountains sprayed liquid light into the air, which scattered into sparks instead of droplets. Statues of past Sovereigns lined the walkways, each cloaked in eternal flame. And overhead, spells shimmered like constellations, weaving a canopy of shifting stars above the grounds.
"By the embers…" Marcell whispered. "We're ants in a world of giants."
Elira nodded faintly, but her eyes were already on the figures waiting at the far end of the courtyard.
Instructors.
Each radiated power so thick it warped the air around them. Their flames burned in hues Elira had never seen before—white, indigo, even emerald. Cloaks embroidered with ancient runes swept behind them as they stood, backs straight, eyes sharp as blades.
One stepped forward, his presence commanding silence.
"You stand at the threshold of Heaven's School," he intoned, his voice resonant and amplified by magic. "Here, you will rise—or you will fall. You have been chosen because you bear fire worth testing. But know this: the heavens are not merciful. They demand excellence. They demand sacrifice."
His gaze swept across them, pausing for a fraction of a heartbeat on Elira.
Her chest tightened.
"You will be sorted into dormitories," he continued. "There, you will live, train, and bleed beside those fated to shape your path. Learn from them. Surpass them. Or be consumed."
His hand flicked. Magic shimmered, forming glowing symbols in the air. Each mark drifted down to settle upon a student's chest.
Elira looked down. A silver emblem burned faintly against her skin—the crest of a phoenix wrapped in chains.
"Phoenix Wing," the instructor declared. "Your dormitory."
Marcell whooped beside her, showing off the same crest. "Lucky you," he grinned. "Still stuck with me."
Despite the weight pressing against her chest, Elira couldn't help but smile.
The Phoenix Wing dormitory stood at the western edge of the fortress. Its exterior blended old-world grandeur with enchantments that shimmered faintly under moonlight. The building resembled a royal manor—arched windows, carved stone columns—yet the walls shifted subtly when touched by magic, rearranging themselves like living architecture.
Inside, it was both elegant and alive. Chandeliers of floating flame drifted lazily across the high ceilings. Staircases curved upward, their steps glowing faintly with runes. The halls smelled faintly of old parchment, steel, and incense.
And the dorm rooms—
Elira stepped into hers with wide eyes. It was larger than any chamber she'd known, with three beds draped in deep crimson sheets, each framed by enchanted wood that adjusted shape when touched. A desk shimmered with runes ready to scribe thoughts. Windows opened not to the outside world, but to enchanted illusions of gardens and skies that shifted with mood.
Two other girls were already inside.
The first had hair like spun gold, braided neatly, her posture regal as she unpacked books and scrolls with methodical precision. Her eyes flicked up, cool but not unkind.
The second lounged on her bed, dark curls spilling across her pillow, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips as she waved lazily at Elira. "Well, well. The silver flame herself."
Elira stiffened.
The golden-haired girl sighed, snapping her book shut. "Ignore Liora," she said crisply. "She enjoys provoking reactions."
Liora winked. "Guilty."
Elira hesitated before stepping further inside. Marcell wasn't here—he'd been assigned to the male wing. The realization made the space feel larger, emptier.
She set her pack on the remaining bed, her fingers brushing the obsidian shard hidden within. Serenya, Vaelith… you'd laugh at me being nervous about roommates.
The regal girl returned to her books. Liora hummed softly, her grin never fading.
It wasn't friendship. Not yet. But it wasn't hostility either.
It was a beginning.
Night fell.
From her bed, Elira watched the enchanted ceiling shift, stars swirling across it in perfect mimicry of the heavens. The fortress buzzed faintly with magic, alive with secrets she had only begun to sense.
Her thoughts drifted to Serenya's fierce grip, Vaelith's shadowed warning, Marcell's stubborn grin. To the way her flame had burst in the forest, uncontrollable yet undeniable.
This place would demand answers she wasn't ready to give. But it would also hold the keys to truths she had long sought.
I'll find them myself, she vowed silently, clutching the obsidian shard to her chest. No matter what it takes.
The silver ember pulsed once, as though in agreement.
And with that, Elira closed her eyes, letting the fortress cradle her in uneasy dreams.
Tomorrow, the true trial began.