The road had devoured the desert.
Hour after hour, the engine's low growl had become a rhythm, a heartbeat echoing through the hollow silence of the wasteland.
Orien had drifted into a restless sleep against the window, his breath fogging the cold glass. The hum of the machine lulled him, the vibrations seeping through his bones until even his dreams turned weightless.
Then a voice reached him.
Seth's voice. Calm, roughened by the wind.
"Wake up, kid. You'll want to see this."
Orien blinked. His eyes adjusted slowly.
Light flooded the cabin.
But it wasn't the same light.
It wasn't the cruel heat of the desert sun or the ghostly shimmer of the Umbra.
This light was different.
Golden.
Soft at first glance, but vast, endless, too perfect to be kind. It filled the air with a brilliance that felt almost sacred, and yet cold — a light that watched more than it warmed.
He turned his head.
And then, he saw it.
Soléara.
The city stretched across the horizon like an ocean of stone and light.
Towers rose upon towers, bridges wove through the air like silver veins, and walls of pale metal shone beneath the sun. The sight seemed impossible, as though the city itself had grown from the bones of some ancient god.
And above it all hung the sky's crown.
The Celestial Garden.
An island suspended in the heavens.
Rivers of light poured from its edges, breaking into streams of golden mist before falling back to the city below. Vast trees with translucent leaves shimmered in the sunlight.
At the center stood a palace of crystal and white stone, its walls alive with light, its foundations hidden in the clouds.
Around the garden floated immense golden discs, turning silently in orbit.
Each one pulsed with glowing runes, lines of living energy that cascaded down through the air like threads of fire, feeding the world beneath.
Orien forgot how to breathe.
He had no words.
Only the quiet awe that came when a human mind met something it was never meant to see.
"By the stars…" he whispered.
Cassandra sat beside him, her expression unreadable. The golden glow painted her face in shifting shades of violet and bronze. Her eyes followed the spinning discs as if counting their rhythm.
"It's real?" Orien asked at last.
Seth's faint smile appeared in the mirror.
"As real as anything still left standing. You're looking at Soléara, capital of the central continent. Some call it the Suspended City. Others call it the Heart of the World."
Orien didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Every part of him was locked on the garden, on the impossible calm floating above the chaos of the earth.
Cassandra's voice broke through the silence.
"See the garden up there? That's the Celestial Garden. No one enters it except the Empress and her bloodline. The rest of us aren't even allowed to look for too long."
Orien turned, disbelief flickering in his eyes.
"So… they live up there? Above everyone?"
"Yes," Cassandra said. "And everyone else lives beneath them."
Seth's tone darkened slightly.
"There are millions down here. Awakened, initiates, merchants, soldiers, beggars. People stacked layer upon layer, all living under someone else's light."
Orien frowned, still tracing the outlines of the floating discs.
"Millions?"
"Maybe more," Seth said. "Soléara isn't just a city. It's a world. They say it stretches deep underground, that the lowest levels touch the bones of the old gods."
Orien fell silent again.
He couldn't decide what he was seeing — beauty or madness.
The closer they drew, the more the city came alive.
Shadows moved among the bridges.
Metal beasts hauled cargo through the streets.
Children ran past guards clad in black armor that shimmered faintly beneath the light.
Every sound, every color, every smell felt sharper, overwhelming.
The scent of oil and incense, the tang of smoke, the pulse of thousands of lives moving at once.
It was alive.
Too alive.
Orien pressed his hand against the window.
"This place… it's incredible."
Cassandra turned to him. Her eyes held no wonder.
"You think it's beautiful?"
"How could it not be?"
"Then look longer."
Her voice was soft, but there was steel beneath it.
"Stay here long enough, and you'll see what hides beneath the gold."
Orien wanted to ask what she meant, but Seth's voice cut through the hum of the engine.
"Hold on. We're here."
The machine rumbled louder.
Ahead, the gates of Soléara towered into the sky, forged from metal that rippled like living water.
Runes flared across the surface, burning white as they responded to the vehicle's approach.
The gates opened with a sound like distant thunder.
Light poured through the widening crack, flooding the road, so bright it hurt to look at.
Orien felt his fingers tremble against the glass.
He didn't know if it was fear or awe.
When the vehicle crossed the threshold, he knew only one thing.
The world he had known no longer existed.
***
The car moved through the endless arteries of Soléara, a small, breathing fragment of life inside a city that felt alive in its own way. The streets curved like veins of silver, and the hum of engines rose and fell like the pulse of a sleeping god.
Orien pressed his forehead against the glass. His reflection shimmered faintly against the background of towers and light. He had never seen anything like it. Every turn revealed another impossible piece of the city's heart. Bridges hung in the air, anchored to spires of gold and marble. Vast arches of crystal stretched across entire districts, glowing softly beneath the eternal sunlight. People flowed beneath them like rivers, thousands upon thousands of faces, each moving with purpose.
The deeper they went, the more the city changed. The crowded markets of the lower rings gave way to wide boulevards lined with statues and banners. The air here was thinner, cooler, touched by something sterile. Soldiers in white armor marched in perfect formation. Machines shaped like beasts carried carts of metal and glass. High above, the floating discs continued to turn, radiating light that fell like molten rain on the towers below.
It was beautiful, and it was terrifying.
Orien said nothing for a long time. His fingers tapped restlessly against his knee. The world outside the window looked like a dream that someone had forced to become real.
Seth broke the silence first. His voice was rough but steady. "Never left your bastion, have you?"
Orien shook his head slowly. "No. I thought I knew what a city was."
Seth laughed under his breath. "No one knows what this place really is. Even after years, you'll still feel like it's looking back at you."
Cassandra turned slightly in her seat, her eyes still on the horizon. The light from the floating discs flickered across her face, painting faint shades of violet across her pale skin. "Soléara isn't a city," she said quietly. "It's a living thing. It breathes. It feeds. It decides who deserves to stay."
Orien let out a soft, nervous breath. "That sounds… comforting."
Seth smiled without humor. "She's right. The city chooses who it likes. The rest get eaten."
They drove on. The engine's sound became softer as the streets widened. The crowds faded. Ornate gates appeared ahead, marking the transition into another district. The air changed again — cleaner now, but colder, as though the warmth of humanity had been filtered out.
And then, in the distance, Orien saw it.
The Academy.
It rose from the center of the district like a monument carved by time itself. A fortress of white stone and silver metal, surrounded by high walls that gleamed beneath the light. Towers pierced the sky, connected by arcs of energy that pulsed rhythmically, like the heartbeat of a creature too immense to comprehend. An enormous golden ring floated above the tallest spire, spinning in silence, scattering threads of light across the courtyard below.
Even from afar, it radiated power. Not warmth, not welcome — power.
Seth's voice dropped to a whisper. "There it is. The Academy of the Awakened."
Orien could only stare. His eyes traced the walls, the vast banners, the silhouettes of students walking in perfect order. Their dark uniforms shimmered faintly, each marked with glowing sigils. They looked like warriors born from light and discipline, nothing like him.
Cassandra glanced at him, her tone unreadable. "This is where the chosen are sent. Those marked by the Voice. It's where they learn to wield what's inside them. Some leave as heroes. Most… don't leave at all."
He swallowed. "So it's not really an academy then."
"No," she said softly. "It's a forge."
The car slowed and came to a stop at the base of the main gate. The doors ahead were enormous, carved from pale metal that shimmered like liquid glass.
Cassandra stepped out first. The air outside was sharp, filled with the scent of stone, rain, and something faintly electric.
She turned to him. "Go to the registration hall. Straight through the main arch. They'll be expecting you."
Orien hesitated, his hand resting on the door. "Why are you helping me?"
For the first time, her expression softened — not with warmth, but with a flicker of curiosity. "Because I want to know what you are before someone else does."
She closed the door and walked away. Seth gave a brief nod before driving off, leaving Orien standing alone in front of the Academy.
He stared at it for a long moment, feeling the weight of its shadow fall over him. The hum of the floating ring echoed faintly above. The wind carried whispers across the courtyard, the distant murmur of training grounds and unseen machinery.
He took a slow breath. His heart beat too fast, but his steps were steady as he crossed the threshold.
Behind him, the gates closed with the sound of thunder.
And ahead, the light of Soléara swallowed him whole.
***
The hall of the Academy breathed like a living thing.
Golden light slid down the towering walls, fractured by stained glass that painted the marble floor with symbols older than the empire itself.
Every sound was swallowed by the air, every heartbeat echoed like a whisper in a cathedral.
Orien walked in silence.
His boots clicked against the immaculate floor, each step sounding too loud, too human, for a place like this.
Students crossed the vast space around him, disciplined shadows dressed in black uniforms threaded with silver.
None of them looked at him directly, but he could feel it — the quiet weight of their judgment, the unspoken distance between his dust-covered skin and their perfection.
He stopped at the registration desk.
A woman sat there, her copper hair tied neatly, the faint light catching on her glasses.
When she lifted her eyes, her expression flickered — a flash of confusion, then composure.
"Are you here for registration?" she asked.
"Yes."
She dipped her quill, wrote something quickly, and turned away for a moment.
When she came back, she carried a crystal mounted on a silver base, its surface faintly pulsing with light.
Threads of brilliance moved inside it, like veins under translucent skin.
"Place your hand on it," she said quietly.
"The crystal will read your essence. It will reveal your gifts."
Orien obeyed.
The stone was cold, almost metallic.
He felt the vibration before he saw the light — a faint hum, a pulse, a breath.
Then it began to glow.
A first light appeared, golden and calm, pure and steady.
The woman nodded without surprise.
"One gift. Normal."
A second light flared.
Silver.
Soft at first, then bright enough to catch on her glasses.
She froze.
"Two?" she whispered.
Her brows furrowed; she adjusted her lenses with a trembling hand.
"That's… rare. Extremely rare. Even in Soléara, fewer than a hundred Awakened have ever received two gifts upon initiation."
Orien said nothing.
The crystal pulsed again.
Gold and silver twined together, dancing across the surface like molten metal.
Then the third light appeared.
Red.
Deep, violent, alive.
The glow spilled out across the room, staining the marble floor in shades of blood and fire.
Heat rose in the air — subtle at first, then suffocating.
The woman stiffened.
Something inside her recoiled.
Her skin prickled.
Her breath caught in her throat.
That red light was not just energy. It was intent.
It was looking at her.
And it wanted her dead.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
Her mouth went dry.
She stepped back instinctively, her chair scraping the floor.
"This isn't right…" she whispered.
Her voice trembled.
"I've never seen this color before."
The red light pulsed harder.
Then, deep within the crystal, something else began to stir.
A thread of shadow.
Thin at first.
Then thicker.
It moved like smoke — but it did not rise. It devoured.
The gold dimmed.
The silver twisted.
The red folded inward, swallowed whole.
Silence fell.
The black light spread, heavy and soundless, eating the glow around it until nothing remained but the void.
The crystal began to tremble.
Tiny cracks formed across its surface, glowing faintly white against the darkness within.
A sharp, ringing tone filled the room.
And then, it shattered.
The explosion was quiet — a breath more than a blast — yet the wave it released rippled through the entire hall.
Registers flew from their shelves.
Lamps went dark.
A cloud of golden dust filled the air, glittering like dying stars.
Orien staggered but stayed upright.
His arm burned as if molten fire had seeped beneath his skin.
The woman collapsed to her knees, too shocked even to scream.
The light faded.
And from within the settling dust, another light began to rise.
Soft.
Golden.
Alive.
A figure formed within it.
An imposing man stepped through the haze, his every movement quiet and deliberate.
Short golden hair caught the dim light, and silver eyes, sharp and cold, swept across the ruined hall.
An intricate mark was carved into his forehead — a clock-like sigil whose hands turned slowly backward with every breath he took.
He wore a light, functional uniform, its edges trimmed in red, a long crimson cloak flowing behind him like liquid fire.
Even without armor, his presence filled the space — absolute, unyielding, divine.
The woman gasped.
Her face drained of color.
She dropped to one knee, trembling.
"Director Gawain… I—I didn't see you arrive…"
Her voice broke halfway through the sentence.
She bowed her head, not daring to meet his gaze.
The man did not look at her.
His eyes, pale as moonlight, were fixed on Orien.
There was no emotion in them, only an unfathomable stillness.
"Three gifts revealed," he said at last, his voice calm and resonant, carrying through the hall like a quiet command.
"And a fourth the Knowledge itself refused to name."
Orien stood frozen.
The air felt thick, as if the entire Academy was holding its breath.
Gawain took a step forward.
The clock mark on his forehead glowed faintly.
The faint hum of energy rippled through the marble floor.
He stopped a few paces away, eyes narrowing slightly.
When he spoke again, his tone was quiet — but it carried the weight of inevitability.
"What is your name?"
"Orien."
The word echoed once and vanished.
The golden dust continued to fall, turning the silence sacred.
Gawain watched him in silence, the faint silver reflection of the shattered crystal flickering in his gaze.
The clock on his forehead slowed until its hands were completely still.
And in that perfect stillness, even time itself seemed to stop.