My tower, as it turns out, looks less like a dorm and more like somebody's idea of a dramatic establishing shot.
The Forge dorm tower rises up around us: a tall, cylindrical space with a spiraling staircase hugging the outer wall, landings branching off into ring-shaped corridors on each level. Warm light glows from hanging fixtures shaped like stylized gears; constellations of tiny blue LEDs track along the railings, pulsing gently like the tower has its own heartbeat.
On the ground floor, clusters of kids my age swarm the atrium—first-year Forge jackets a little too crisp, voices bouncing off the stone as they argue over room numbers. Above them, second-years lean over railings, watching the chaos with smug older-sibling energy. Higher still, I catch glimpses of third and fourth years in more customized jackets, darting in and out of open doors, the hum of projects and arguments drifting down.
"So," Leo says, sweeping an arm up the height of the tower, "welcome to Forge housing. First floor: baby geniuses. Second: slightly less baby geniuses. Third and fourth: sleep-deprived cryptids."
"And at the top," Lía adds, "the suites."
I follow her gaze. Way up near the ceiling, a band of tinted glass wraps around the tower, broken by a few discreet doors. No one's running around up there. It feels quieter, more contained—like the place the camera pans to when something important is about to happen.
"How do we… get up there?" I ask. "I don't see any more stairs."
Alice gestures to a sleek panel set into the wall off to the side, easy to miss if you weren't looking. A narrow door, no handle, just a small square of dark glass at wrist height.
"Private lift," she says. "S-class suites, senior faculty, and certain secured labs only. It will key to your comm band once we're upstairs."
Of course the tower has a secret elevator. Of course it does.
We cross the atrium. As we go, the first-years on the ground level fall quiet one by one, eyes tracking us. A couple of them straighten when they see Lía and Leo, half-raising hands like they want to say something, then think better of it. Someone near the stairs whispers, "She's going to the suites?" like I'm being led to a throne room instead of a dorm.
I try not to trip over my own feet.
Alice taps her own band to the glass. The panel glows gold and the door slides open with a soft hiss, revealing a small, minimalist elevator: brushed metal walls, faint light strips, and a simple control plate with only a handful of options.
"After this," she tells me, "your band will do the same. No codes to memorize. No keycards to lose."
We step inside: Alice, then Lía, then me, then Leo. The door slides shut, muffling the tower noise to a distant hum.
"Suites level," Alice says.
The lift hums to life, a smooth upward motion instead of the jerky box-rides I'm used to. Through a narrow vertical slit of glass, I watch floors slide past: first years laughing around beanbags, second years arguing over schematics pinned to a wall, third years fast-walking with armfuls of gear, fourth years slumped against doorframes with the thousand-yard stare of people who've made friends with deadlines.
Then the main floors fall away, and all that's left is sky and the faint curve of the tower's outer wall. My ears pop. My heart does that strange double-beat that's half fear, half thrill.
The lift slows, then opens with a soft chime.
We step out into a quieter, brighter corridor. The ceiling is higher here, the walls lined with tall windows showing Aeternum spread out below: training fields, other House towers, the distant shimmer of the city. The floor is cushioned, sound-softening; my footsteps don't echo the way they did downstairs.
Doors line the corridor at measured intervals—each one a little different. Some have subtle personal touches: a sigil projected above the frame, a quietly hovering holo of a name, a small potted plant that looks suspiciously like it might try to bite.
Alice leads us to one of the central doors.
Above it, a projection flickers briefly, then resolves into:
ARANDA, LÍA — HOUSE FORGE — S-CLASS SUITE
To the right of it, there's another door with a blank space where a name should be, like a placeholder.
"That one's yours," Alice says, nodding to the second door. "We'll link it in a moment."
Standing here, at the very top of the Forge tower with a private elevator at my back and an empty space waiting for my name, I feel that pinch-yourself urge again—but this time I don't. I curl my fingers around the comm band instead, feel the warmth of it against my skin.
Leo rocks back on his heels, looking between the two doors. "See?" he says. "Hotel-room-adjacent. You get your own Fortress of Solitude, plus instant access to Lía's library from hell."
"It is not 'from hell,'" Lía says automatically. "It's meticulously curated."
I huff a laugh, nerves fizzing less like terror and more like soda bubbles now. Dark blue and gold tech. Private elevator. Ravenclaw-coded tower for mad scientists. A suite of my own connected to the scariest genius on campus.
Yeah, okay. I can work with this.
We're still standing between the two doors—Lía's name glowing neatly over one, a blank space waiting over the other—when my wrist buzzes.
Not just mine. All three of our comm bands light up in sync, gold pulsing once, twice.
A translucent panel pops into the air in front of my face:
NOTICE: FIRST-DAY GENERAL ASSEMBLY
Time: 1 hour
Location: Grand Hall, Central Campus
Attendance: MANDATORY
Opening remarks: School President Harrow
Student address: Top student, Lía Aranda (House Forge)
I read it once. Then again. Then a third time, just in case.
"Oh my God," I whisper. "Top student who?"
Leo groans loudly. "Ugh, they put it in the notification? They really want her to die of embarrassment this year."
Lía's panel is floating in front of her too. She dismisses it with a tiny, irritated flick of her fingers, jaw tightening.
"It is hardly necessary to broadcast that part," she mutters. "Everyone on campus already knows who is giving the student address."
"Not everyone," I say faintly. "Some of us are still catching up on the whole 'my mentor is basically valedictorian with superpowers' thing."
Leo's band is still glowing; he doesn't dismiss it, just stares at the line with his mouth twisted. "First-years get the full experience," he sighs. "President's 'you are the future' speech, Lía's terrifyingly good welcome address, ten different safety disclaimers, and then we all stand up and pretend we're not checking out each other's power tags."
My stomach flips. "Wait. Do I have to… like… sit somewhere special? S-class pen? Archive cage?"
Lía actually snorts. Quiet, but real. "No," she says. "There's no 'S-class pen.' You'll sit with House Forge. I'll be on stage. Leo will lurk somewhere highly visible so Mother can point to him in the crowd and think sentimental thoughts."
"Lies," Leo says. "I will lurk somewhere with good acoustics so I can heckle in morally supportive ways."
Alice, who's been watching us with that fond, slightly exasperated expression adults get when teenagers are being Very Dramatic, clears her throat gently.
"You have time to peek at your suite, drop your things, and freshen up," she says. "Then we'll head to the Grand Hall together. Director Aranda will be watching the broadcast; I'd prefer not to have to explain why you were late on your very first day, Marisol."
My comm band pings again with a tiny follow-up:
REMINDER: Dress code for assemblies: House jacket required.
No active powers during speeches.
"Mandatory," I mutter, closing the panel. "Got it. No skipping."
Leo stretches his arms over his head, joints cracking. "Look at it this way," he says, flashing me a grin. "You get an hour to freak out privately about the fact that you now live in the tower, and then we all go sit in a giant room while a thousand people try to figure out what kind of disaster the new Archive is going to be."
"Comforting," I say dryly.
Lía's gaze softens just a fraction. "You will not be alone on that stage," she says. "And you will not be alone in that hall." She nods at my door—the blank space waiting. "Five minutes," she decides. "We show you your suite. Then assembly. You can start panicking about public perception after you've seen your bed."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and nod. "Okay," I say. "Five minutes of 'holy crap I live here' and then 'holy crap the whole school is going to be in one room.' I can multitask."
Leo taps his band against mine, a soft chime ringing between us. "That's the spirit, Sol. Welcome to Aeternum: where the schedule never sleeps and neither do we."
I laugh, shaky but genuine, and turn toward the door that's about to get my name on it—my comm band still warm on my wrist, assembly countdown ticking quietly in the corner of my vision.
Alice presses my hand to the panel and my comm band warms, a soft chime sounding as the lock accepts me.
The door slides open.
I thought I was ready.
I was not ready.
It's… a whole mini house.
The first thing that hits me is light: a wall of tall windows stretching two stories up, framed in matte black metal, looking out over the campus and the city beyond. The main level is one big open space—living room, kitchen, and workspace all in one—done in deep navy and black with little flares of gold catching the light.
On the right, there's a ridiculous sunken couch in dark charcoal, modular pieces wrapped around a low table: black metal base, circular glass top, gold trim. Navy and midnight-blue pillows spill across it, with one soft blanket in a slightly lighter blue thrown over the back like someone staged the place for a magazine shoot. A thick rug in a muted oatmeal color grounds it all, warm against the sleek dark floor.
Above, a loft level floats like a mezzanine, accessible by a minimalist black metal staircase. The ceiling there is warm wood, broken by track lighting and a cluster of hanging globes that give off a soft golden glow. My eyes go up: the bed is on the loft, big and low, dressed in navy with black piping and gold-threaded throw pillows. Behind it, a whole wall of shelving units—half empty, waiting for books and whatever else my brain decides to hoard.
"You can tailor it further, of course," Alice says, stepping in like this is all perfectly normal. "Furniture, lighting presets, ambient sound, decor. Put in a request and Facilities will adjust."
I'm barely listening. My gaze has already snagged on the desk.
Along the far wall, under the loft, there's a workstation the size of my old kitchen table. Two wide monitors float above it on articulated arms, glossy black frames edged in subtle gold. A sleek navy laptop sits on the desk itself, open and humming. To one side, a compact tower glows softly with Forge-blue light through a tempered-glass panel. There's a proper ergonomic chair in dark mesh and leather, plus a secondary stool tucked under the side for… visitors? Co-conspirators?
To the left of that, mounted on the wall, is a massive TV—thin, black, almost frameless. Beneath it, a console setup: newest-generation system, controllers docked neatly, a VR headset on a stand that looks like sculpture. There's even a small rack for physical game cases and a charging station with more ports than I can count at a glance.
"The works," Leo breathes, sounding honestly impressed. "She really went all out."
"You have a better machine than most of the Forge labs," Lía says, half scandalized, half approving. "Mother must have… negotiated."
"The desktop is tuned for high-load simulations, visual modeling, and whatever Arc-Grade nonsense the Echo research team dreams up," Alice explains. "The console and VR rig are technically for 'reflex training' and 'spatial awareness drills,' but I am told they're also… fun."
I laugh, a little hysterically. "Fun. Right. Totally. Let me just… process that I have more screens in this one room than my entire apartment complex."
I drift toward the kitchen area just to stop staring at the tech. It's all clean lines and warm wood: black counters, navy cabinets with brushed-gold handles, shelves displaying neatly stacked dishes and mugs in matching colors. The fridge is full-size, matte black, and when I pull it open it's already stocked—fresh produce, neatly labeled containers, juice, milk, eggs, yogurt, stuff I recognize and stuff I don't. There's a small chalkboard on the wall with "WELCOME, SOL" written in tidy handwriting and a note underneath: Add preferences via comm band.
"Food, computer, bed," Leo says. "You are now officially self-sufficient."
"And there," Lía points, "is the connecting door."
On the left-hand wall, near the base of the loft stairs, is another door—simpler, no hallway beyond, just a panel with a tiny glowing icon at handle height.
"When both of you approve it on your bands, it unlocks," she says. "Otherwise it's as secure as any external door. You have full control."
"Oh my God," I murmur. "I have a… connecting door. Like a very dramatic hotel."
"Exactly like a very dramatic hotel," Leo says. "Except the neighbors can throw you through a wall if you don't sleep."
"Leo," Lía warns, but there's no heat in it.
I turn in a slow circle, taking it all in again: the height of the windows, the rich dark colors, the gold glints in the fixtures, the sofa, the loft bed, the workhorse of a desk, the ridiculous gaming setup, the real grown-up kitchen. Plants, even—two tall green ones in black pots by the windows, a smaller one on the coffee table looking smug and healthy.
It's everything I never let myself even imagine, because imagining hurt.
I swallow hard, throat tight. "This is…" I start, and trail off, because I don't even have the vocabulary. "It's like someone went into my brain and took every 'someday' and just—"
"Installed it," Leo supplies gently.
"Yes," Alice says. "That was the idea."
My comm band pings softly, a tiny countdown ticking from 0:51 to 0:50 until the assembly.
"We should let you catch your breath," she says. "You can explore the details later. For now, hang your jacket, splash some water on your face, and we'll head down in ten minutes."
I nod, still half dazed, fingers dragging lightly over the back of the couch as I walk toward the stairs. For the first time in my life, "home" is more than a place I sleep and worry in. It's a loft in the top of a tower, in my colors, with my name about to light up over the door. And a desk with two monitors, a laptop, a TV, a console, and a VR headset waiting like the future just showed up early for me.
"Okay," I whisper to myself as I set my bag down on the steps. "First day of school, supercharged loft, and a mandatory assembly in less than an hour. No pressure."
From below, Leo calls, "Don't forget to admire the view from the bed!"
Lía adds, "And don't forget your jacket."
I grin despite myself and climb.
I pad a few steps further in and realize there's another little doorway tucked just off the kitchen, half-hidden behind a column. Curiosity wins. I nudge it open.
It's a half bath—small but stupidly nice. Dark tile, floating black sink with a gold faucet, backlit mirror that turns on automatically when I step inside. There's even a little shelf with rolled navy hand towels and a tiny potted plant like, yes, welcome to your fancy super-toilet.
I laugh under my breath. "Okay. Sure. Guest bathroom. Why not."
Up the stairs, the loft opens out fully and I actually stop again. The bed is even bigger up close, navy comforter so plush I want to faceplant into it immediately. To one side, though, is another door, this one slightly ajar, a faint misty glow coming from inside.
I push it open and just… stare.
The full bath looks like something off a rich-people Pinterest board. Black stone floor, walls in deep slate with thin veins that catch the light. Along one side: a long counter with two sinks, each with its own round, backlit mirror. Gold fixtures everywhere—faucets, towel bars, even the tiny knobs on the cabinets.
"His and hers," I murmur, then snort. "Or… hers and hers. Or whatever. Either way, that's two more sinks than I've ever had."
Opposite the counter, tucked into a corner by the window, is a jetted tub. Not huge, but deep, with sleek black sides and a row of discreet controls that probably hook into the comm band if I let them. I can already imagine collapsing in there after whatever nightmare training day they throw at us.
At the far end, behind a pane of clear glass that fogs over as I approach, is the shower. Hi-tech doesn't even cover it. Multiple showerheads—overhead rainfall, wall jets, a handheld—plus a little control panel glowing softly with options: temperature presets, pressure, "hydro-massage modes," even a chroma setting that changes the color of the light.
I touch the panel and it chirps, syncing to my band.
DEFAULT PROFILE: VEGA, MARISOL.
Would you like to configure?
I back away, laughing a little. "Later. If I start playing with this now I'll miss the assembly."
From downstairs, faintly, Leo yells, "Sol! Don't fall in love with the tub, we've got a president speech to suffer through!"
"I'm not in love," I call back. "We're just… talking."
Lía's voice floats up, exasperated and fond all at once. "Jacket, Vega!"
I take one last look around this utterly ridiculous bathroom—double sinks, jetted tub, sci-fi shower—and shake my head. Half bath downstairs, full spa upstairs, bed with a view, desk of doom, tower loft. Yeah. This is officially beyond anything I ever let myself dream about.
I turn off the mirror, tug my House Forge jacket straight, and head back down the stairs to meet my absurd new life—and the absurd opening ceremony that comes with it.
Downstairs, the scene looks weirdly domestic for how unreal everything feels.
Alice is at the kitchen island, tapping away at a tablet with the efficiency of someone who could probably run three governments before breakfast. Leo is in the middle of the living area, flicking his fingers to make tiny motes of light pop in and out of existence like fireflies, clearly seeing how close he can get to the rug before Lía murders him. She stands off to the side, arms folded, expression permanently set to exasperated older prefect.
Alice finishes whatever she's doing, then turns toward the entryway and makes a small, casual sweeping motion with her hand. A cabinet by the door clicks and swings open on its own, revealing row after row of shoes—sneakers, boots, slip-ons—in my size, all in shades of black, navy, and white.
"Shoe cabinet," she says. "Fully stocked."
At first I'm still watching Leo's light show, mesmerized—then my attention snaps back to Alice. That little movement of her hand. The way the cabinet responded like it was on a leash.
Something in me tilts.
The world narrows; a faint hum rises in my ears. My vision sharpens, edging gold at the borders.
"Telekinesis and telepath," I hear myself say, voice gone oddly flat. "Grade A."
The words don't feel like mine. They feel… retrieved. Like I just read a file that doesn't exist on any screen.
I blink hard, shaking my head as if I can rattle the weird out of it. "Woah, what—"
I lift my hand toward my forehead on reflex, like I'm checking for a fever.
Across the room, the open cabinet slams shut in perfect sync with the gesture.
Everyone freezes.
Leo's lights wink out. Lía's eyes widen just enough to count. Alice goes very, very still.
I stare at the closed cabinet, my own hand hovering stupidly in midair. "Did I—did I just—?"
"Echo," Lía breathes. "That was an Echo."
Alice's gaze clicks from the cabinet to me, assessing, then softens with something like pride and worry mixed together. "Well," she says quietly. "It seems you've just acquired your first imprint, Miss Vega."
Leo lets out a low whistle. "You copied Mom by accident," he says, half awed, half delighted. "Okay, yeah, we are definitely going to need all those extra safety protocols."
My heart is hammering. "I didn't mean to," I blurt. "I just—saw—and then I knew things and then my hand moved and—"
"Breathe," Alice says gently.
She steps closer, careful and unthreatening, like someone approaching a spooked animal. "You saw a power in use, your Archive responded, and you echoed a fragment. That's exactly what the Assessment predicted. It simply happened… sooner than expected."
Lía's brain is clearly already twelve moves ahead. "Low-level telekinetic response at line-of-sight, plus metadata retrieval," she murmurs. "No visible strain, minor dissociation. We'll need to document the trigger conditions."
"Document later," Leo says. "Assembly in forty minutes, remember? Maybe let Sol sit down before she accidentally starts opening every cabinet in the tower."
I laugh weakly, more breath than sound. "Yeah, I'd like to not redecorate the whole dorm with flying shoes."
Alice gives my shoulder a light, grounding squeeze. "For now, focus on not using it," she says. "No more deliberate gestures, no reaching for that sensation. After the assembly, we'll schedule a controlled session in the lab."
Lía nods. "One imprint only, remember. You've already got mine and Leo's proximity to contend with; let's not add half the campus before lunch."
I nod, swallowing, deliberately lowering my hand to my side. "Okay," I whisper. "No more cabinet magic. Assembly first. Existential crisis later."
Leo grins, some of the tension leaking out of the room. "Now you're talking like a real Aeternum student."
Alice's tablet starts chiming with alerts the second the cabinet slams. She's already tapping furiously, eyes flicking between windows only she can see.
"Okay," she mutters, more to herself than us, "looks like protocol is going to have to change." She swipes, brings up a comms window on her band. "I have a distinct feeling this 'one echo at a time' guideline is not going to hold."
She lifts her wrist slightly. "Navarro to Kaur… yes. We've had an early manifestation. Archive imprint on visual contact only. No, not faculty—me. Yes, I know. I'll make some calls and we'll talk policy. For now, standard observation with… added paranoia."
She ends the call, exhales, then looks back at us.
"You three go ahead and attend the assembly," she says. "I'll coordinate with Forge and the League liaison. We'll adjust the rules before they break themselves."
Then the steel eases out of her shoulders and the mom energy slides back in.
She steps over to Lía first, reaching up to gently pat that one stubborn ahoge back into place. "I'll be there for your speech, little light," she says softly.
Lía's cheeks go faintly pink. "It's just an address," she mumbles, but she doesn't move away.
Next, Alice turns to Leo, thumb automatically catching another imaginary smudge at the corner of his mouth. "No mischief, please," she tells him.
He gives her his most innocent grin. "Define mischief."
"Leo."
"…Fine. Minimal mischief."
Finally, she stops in front of me.
She takes a moment, just looking—at the jacket, at the comm band, at my probably shell-shocked face—then reaches out and straightens my lapels with careful fingers.
"My children, my wife, and I," she says, and there's something fierce under the warmth now, "we have your back now. Okay?"
My throat gets tight. I manage a nod. "Okay," I whisper.
Her expression softens even more. "Good. Then do your best to just have fun," she adds. "You only get one first day at Aeternum."
She squeezes my shoulders once, steps back, and with that, the spell breaks—Leo is already heading for the door, Lía checking the time on her band, my comm quietly counting down to the assembly.
As we step out of the suite together—one accidental Echo, two S-class mentors, and a very determined almost-mom at our backs—I feel less like I'm walking into a school auditorium and more like I'm stepping onto the first page of whatever story this is turning into.