The morning light poured over the God Academy like a quiet proclamation. The air itself seemed sharper, fuller—charged by the presence of hundreds of prodigies who could bend the world's laws with a gesture.
Eryndor, Kaelus, and Darius walked together across the marble causeway, each heading toward their assigned building.
Darius kept his hood low, hands in his pockets, his steps almost silent.
Kaelus—wind user, eternal talker, perpetual optimist—kept nudging Eryndor with his elbow.
"First official day," Kaelus grinned. "Think they'll let us blow something up?"
Eryndor smirked. "Knowing you, definitely."
Darius muttered, "You two are loud."
Kaelus whirled toward him. "No, no—this is called excitement. You should try it sometime. Might cure that 'I-stare-into-the-void' look you always have."
"I don't stare into the void," Darius said flatly. "Darkness isn't a void. It breathes. It moves. It listens."
Kaelus blinked. "Okay. That's… comforting."
Eryndor laughed under his breath. Even he couldn't read Darius completely—but something told him the quiet boy was far more dangerous than he looked.
The three split paths at the courtyard.
Kaelus shot Eryndor a thumbs-up before vanishing through a corridor that opened into a dome of swirling currents. The entire hall breathed with wind—moving, speaking, bending like a living creature.
A man floated ten feet off the ground, legs crossed, long silver hair drifting around him like weightless strands.
"Welcome, new wind practitioners," he said without opening his eyes. "I am Master Aerilon Galecrest. If you are here, it means you have chosen a path that demands clarity, precision, and fearlessness. The wind shows no mercy to the hesitant."
Kaelus exhaled, awestruck.
This… this is perfect.
Master Aerilon finally opened one eye and looked directly at him.
"You," he said. "Kaelus Magna. Your wind is loud. Reckless. Unrefined. But it has potential."
Kaelus grinned like a child getting praised for breaking a window.
"I'll take that!"
Darius continued alone toward a secluded building where daylight refused to cling to the outer walls.
Inside, shadows flowed like mist.
A single lantern burned with a purple flame.
From the darkness, a figure stepped forward—a tall man, gaunt but composed, eyes glowing a muted silver.
"I am Instructor Vaelor Nightreed," the man said. "Shadow is not a curse. It is not evil. It is possibility. It is the truth beneath everything the world pretends to be."
Darius lifted his gaze.
For the first time, he didn't look alone. He looked seen.
Vaelor studied him for a long moment.
"Your darkness is… unusual, boy. It is not born from pain. It is born from will. That makes you dangerous. And it makes you perfect for this class."
Darius nodded once.
A thin smile pulled at Vaelor's lips.
"We will make something… remarkable out of you."
Eryndor walked into a spacious chamber built entirely of pale stone veined with faint golden traces. The air hummed lightly, vibrating through his bones.
Dozens of students murmured as he entered—some curious, some cautious.
Then a faint ringing sound swept the hall.
Not a bell. Not metal.
More like reality being tapped lightly with a finger.
A man appeared at the center of the room—not teleported, not summoned.
He simply was, as if he'd been there the entire time and only now chose to be visible.
He wore a simple robe. No ornaments. No weapons. His aura was quiet—almost ordinary.
Yet every student straightened subconsciously.
Even without pressure, he felt… inevitable.
The man tapped his fingers together once, and the air folded like paper before smoothing itself out again.
"Good morning," he said. "I am Professor Lysan Eravon. My element is Ether—energy in its pure, unshaped form."
He lifted a hand.
A piece of the desk nearest him unraveled into glowing strands, each strand a precise layer of matter separated into floating patterns. With a flick of his wrist, the strands reassembled perfectly.
"It is not creation," Lysan said. "Nor destruction. It is understanding."
He walked forward slowly.
"With Ether, one can disassemble the world to the smallest unit, study its intent, and re-form it. For this reason, Ether is feared. Misused, it can erase the boundary between what should exist and what shouldn't."
He stopped in front of Eryndor.
"You are Eryndor Nasarik."
Eryndor nodded.
Lysan's eyes narrowed—not with hostility, but with interest.
"Storm affinity," he murmured. "Lightning and Wind merged through resonance rather than inheritance. A rare evolution. You will find Ether complements your nature more than you realize. Storms break boundaries. Ether reveals them."
Before Eryndor could respond, Lysan added:
"But it also means your path will be difficult. Storms are volatile. Ether is precise. You will learn to reconcile the two, or they will tear you apart."
Eryndor straightened.
"I'll manage."
Lysan's smile was faint but genuine.
"I expect no less from the boy connected to the Black Sun."
The room stopped breathing.
Even Eryndor froze.
Lysan turned away casually, as if he had not just dropped a bomb on half the academy.
"Take your seats. We begin immediately."