Eye of the Storm

I can’t wait to have his heart.

Now, I know this might sound romantic, but I mean it literally. I want to feel its heat as I tear it from his chest.

The vision sears into my mind—his heart, slick and red, pulsing frantically between my fingers. Thick, warm blood flows down my hands, each drop heavy as it splatters onto the ground, echoing in the silence. The puddle grows beneath me, and I feel it seeping between my toes, slippery and cold, yet I’m rooted, unshakable, as if the earth itself has anchored me.

Slowly, I squeeze the heart, and it fights back, thrumming against my palm. A ragged, pained gasp tears through the air, and I snap my gaze up to meet his eyes. They’re a deep, endless brown, ringed with a crown of gold that glimmers even now, like a fading ember. I know those eyes—they’ve haunted my dreams, seared into my soul.

My eyes snapped open, the darkness of my room swallowing the bloody vision, but the phantom sensation of blood still clung to my skin. My breath came in ragged bursts, like I’d been running for miles through a thick fog. Sweat slicked my skin, and my hair stuck to my forehead, damp and heavy. I shot up, my heart battering against my ribs as if it, too, feared being wrenched from my chest.

Shaking, I pressed my palms to my temples, trying to push away the remnants of the nightmare. Tremors ran through my fingers, and a chill spidered down my spine, leaving a trail of ice in its wake. I forced my eyes shut, dragging in slow, deep breaths, each one a struggle, trying to ground myself back to reality. Each inhale was a struggle, each exhale a reluctant release of the terror that had gripped me.

The room around me was dark and silent, but the echoes of that horrifying image still clawed at the edges of my mind. I glanced at the clock—5:45 AM. Too early to start the day, yet too late to fall back into uneasy sleep. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet hitting the cold floor, grounding me further. I rubbed my clammy hands against my pajama pants, the simple, repetitive motion soothing.

Ah, what a perfect way to start the morning.

I forced myself to stand, the lingering heat of the night clinging to me like a stifling shroud. I moved to the window, pushing it open slightly. The warm summer air flowed in, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass. It wasn’t exactly cold enough to call it refreshing, but the change in atmosphere helped. My breath began to even out, the fog of the nightmare slowly lifting. I let the warmth wrap around me, feeling the familiar smells and sounds of late summer pull me back to reality, each breath grounding me further, making me feel present, alive.

I forced myself to stand, the lingering heat of the night wrapping around me like a stifling blanket.

Now that I set my mood right with a nightmare for the first day back at school, I am ready for the day. We arrived at the dormitories last night—dinner was a blur, and soon after, we retreated to our rooms. My school uniform awaited me on the bed, neatly folded, tailored precisely to the measurements they had taken just weeks ago.

As a third-year student, my uniform bore the marks of seniority. The embroidery and lace had become more pronounced, more intricate with each passing year. What once was a plain white blouse now featured delicate lacework that traced patterns along the collar and cuffs. The blazer had silver threads stitched into elaborate designs that curled around the edges, and a matching cape hung beside it, a necessity for colder months. But some things remained unchanging: the high-waisted, pleated charcoal gray skirt; the black knee-high stockings (or waist-high ones for winter); and the polished black leather scholar shoes. The boys’ uniform mirrored ours, only with gray trousers instead of skirts.

I ran my fingers over the uniform’s fabric, feeling the texture of each stitch, every detailed embroidery that marked my progression. At least they got my measurements right this year.

This regular uniform was just one of many we received over the years. As first-years, we only had the basics, but as we advanced, we acquired new uniforms—special ones reserved for various occasions and classes. Thankfully, most of them rarely left their hangers.

Today is Day Zero-Plus-One. For most students, it’s just day zero, but for the chosen few—those lucky enough to arrive early and play tour guide for the first-years—it’s our second day back. And, of course, to make things even more delightful, it’s one of those special days when we’re required to don our celebratory uniforms. Because nothing says “welcome” like being stuffed into an outfit that screams I’m here to inspire.

The celebratory uniform for my house, Elysium, is a tunic showcasing our house colors and patterns—black and silver. Elysium, home to the brightest minds and most skilled leaders. And me. Not that I’m complaining though; black and silver looks great on me.

To my surprise, the tunic is a lot less suffocating than last year’s. Someone must have realized we have to breathe in these things. The design has changed subtly, fitting my body much better. Despite taking our measurements down to the last millimeter, the school has this talent for turning fabric into torture devices, but this year, I have to give credit where it’s due.

The ensemble itself is a blend of elegance and mysticism, starting with a long, flowing black robe. The sleeves sweep out with each movement, giving it that dramatic flair they love so much. Delicate silver vines twist down the fabric, as if nature itself decided to embroider my clothes. Beneath the robe, a silver under-tunic shimmers with patterns that ripple like water, catching the light with every step. It adds this ethereal touch, like I’m supposed to look both regal and slightly otherworldly. A silver leather belt cinches the waist, and its leaf-shaped buckle is a nod to our “connection with nature” or something equally poetic. At least it looks nice. Knee-high leather boots, decorated with leaf motifs, complete the look, grounding it all—both literally and metaphorically.

School policy strictly forbids makeup, which they think keeps us “unblemished and pure.” Sure. But nail art? Totally acceptable. It’s become a battlefield for creative expression. Some girls and boys have designs so elaborate, they could be miniature works of art. Meanwhile, my own nail art skills are… let’s just say, nonexistent. So, I stick with plain black—matches the uniform and requires zero talent.

I take a moment to assess my hair. Even though it falls in perfect waves—thanks to a few well-placed spells—it feels a little too simple. Empty, almost. So, I clip back a section with a silver hairpin, keeping a bit of hair out of my face. It’s a small touch, but it adds just enough to make me look like I tried.

I glance at the clock near my bed. Just past 7 AM. The first-years won’t arrive until after 10, so I’ve got plenty of time to kill. I learned my lesson from last year’s disaster: an hour of wrestling with a uniform that felt two sizes too small, followed by a twenty-minute meltdown. This year? I finished both tasks in under twenty-five minutes. Progress, people. Serious progress.

With time to spare, I spend the next hour unpacking. By third year, you’d think it’s a finely honed skill, and you’d be right—I can have everything in its rightful place with military precision. It helps when you know exactly where you want each item. My dorm room, currently shared with four other girls, will feel a lot fuller once Mika (our resident sixth-year) and the two fourth-years, Alia and Naomi, show up. They’ll stroll in later today since they’re blessed with no welcoming committee duty. Our fourth roommate graduated last year, so her bed will be occupied by a fresh-faced first-year.

When I finally finish, it’s already 8, and I make a dash out of my room, zipping down the corridor to the common room of our house. Elysium’s colors—gray, silver, and black—should make the space gloomy, but it’s far from that. The soft glow of silver runes on the light gray walls bathes the room in a magical, almost otherworldly light. The runes shift as I move past, like they’re dancing just for me. Not that I mind—it’s a nice touch. The satin bed covers, light gray and shimmering, and the billowing curtains add a graceful, ethereal vibe. And the sleek black wood furniture, polished to a near mirror finish, catches the silvery glow, making everything feel warm and welcoming despite the somber palette.

As I walk through the corridors, the portraits of past house members stare back, their eyes following my every move—nothing creepy about that. The enchanted plants along the walls sway as I pass, whispering secrets in voices too soft to catch. I’ve learned to ignore them. Then, there are the crystals and gems, scattered like jewels, providing light in constantly shifting hues. They throw rainbows across the hallways, shimmering and glinting with each step. At least the corridors have some flair.

The common room at the center of the dormitory is the real showstopper. The glass ceiling lets sunlight or moonlight filter in, depending on the hour, and it’s enchanted to filter the light perfectly, creating a serene ambiance regardless of the time of day. The room is filled with everything a student could want: plush couches, swing beds that sway gently, and soft carpets for those who prefer sitting on the floor. The tables, supposedly meant for studying, are mostly shoved to the sides because, let’s be honest, no one actually studies here.

The grand fireplace takes center stage, its black and silver stones arranged in patterns so intricate you’d think it was crafted by some ancient mage (probably was). The flames flicker, casting hues of blue and green, and they never burn down completely. In front of it, there’s this big, open space where we sit in a circle to play games, though it usually ends with someone trying to hex someone else. All in good fun, of course.

The walls are lined with bookshelves, crammed full of ancient spell tomes, the latest magical theories, and—my personal favorite—random memorabilia from past students. Some of these treasures include Leo’s collection of teeth lost in duels (later regrown by healers), Miles’ infamous potion that he brewed while intoxicated by another potion (no one’s dared to test it), and Delilah’s self-portrait that somehow ended up looking like Mrs. Elsher, our herbology teacher, who then signed it.

“You on morning duty too?” Oliver called from one of the couches, looking entirely too put together for this hour. His hair was perfectly brushed, his uniform crisp and spotless, every bit as intricate as mine. He even had tea in hand, steam curling up like he was in a cozy commercial. He’d clearly been awake for hours.

“How could I not be? There’s nothing I love more than dragging myself out of bed at dawn to greet a bunch of nervous first-years while melting under the sun.”

He chuckled, the kind that said I feel you.

“I’d trade it with you if I could.”

“Why? Where are you stationed?”

“I’m at the Entrance Hall,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

Ah, the Entrance Hall duty: the assignment from the seventh circle of hell. You’re on call from 10 AM until 6 PM, stuck answering every single question that pops into a first-year’s mind (and trust me, they’ll ask everything, and by that, I mean everything). You also get to perform the thrilling job of mind-numbing admin tasks. Oh, and the best part? Reciting the academy’s history, architecture details, and other unnecessary trivia they insist you memorize for funs. It’s not only exceptionally boring but unreasonably long too.

“Have fun!” I called back, my voice laced with mock cheer as I made my escape out the door.

The room opened into a narrow corridor that led to the dorm entrance, which itself led to a small porch and the bridge connecting our dorm to the school building. Passing through, I couldn’t help but admire it, as I always did. And yes, maybe I’m biased, but I’m convinced our bridge is the most stunning one on campus. It’s crafted from black glass, veined with silver linings and etched runes that mimic the walls inside. The surface shimmers under the sunlight, and the best part? It’s see-through. You can watch the river and its glowing fish far below as you walk. The tall arches, draped with silver vines, create a tunnel effect, making the whole thing feel like walking through an enchanted gateway.

My heels clacked loudly as I crossed the bridge, the sound echoing in the open air. From the bridge, I entered the Scholar’s Tower, veering left to spiral down the stairs. The tower opened up into the fifth floor of the main building. I sped through the hall that stretched in front of the library, eventually reaching the Staircase Chamber.

Each floor of King’s Academy is ridiculously tall, with ceilings so high they probably have their own weather patterns. The corridors? They’re either a decorator’s dream – or maybe a nightmare, depending on your taste – with their over-the-top elegance and enchantment. The walls are a kaleidoscope of styles—each section feels like it’s competing for your attention, refusing to settle for anything subtle. Each section has its own unique charm and character, as if the academy couldn’t decide on just one style.

Some hallways are draped in tapestries that retell the academy’s glorious history, each one depicting epic battles, renowned mages, and dramatic magical events. These aren’t your grandma’s tapestries, though; the threads shimmer and shift, making the scenes move. You can watch entire battles unfold if you stare long enough.

Other corridors opt for polished wood paneling, covered in floral designs and arcane symbols carved so intricately you’d think the wood was enchanted to grow that way. The carvings are often inlaid with jewels and metals that catch the light, making the entire hallway look like a glittering treasure hoard. The wood itself gives off a scent that changes with the seasons—right now, it smells like fresh flowers mixed with the tang of magic. No idea how they manage that, but it’s one of those charming details you get used to.

The corridors also have alcoves filled with statues and busts of the academy’s most notable alumni. They’re not just there for decoration, either; they nod, wink, or gesture as you pass. Some even offer cryptic advice if you stand there long enough. It’s like having stone teachers who occasionally feel like talking. I used to try listening to them, but after getting “Wisdom is a river” one too many times, I figured my time was better spent elsewhere.

The lighting? A mix of glowing crystals embedded in the walls and enchanted chandeliers hanging from the ceilings. The crystals cast a soft, warm light, making the tapestries and carvings look even more magical. The chandeliers have their own flair, with magical flames that flicker and dance, creating the kind of ambiance you’d expect in a grand castle. It’s all very storybook-perfect, and it works, I guess.

The staircases connecting the floors aren’t just functional; they’re masterpieces. The banisters are carved from the same enchanted wood that lines the walls, and the steps are either polished stone or wood, each tread shining as if it’s meant to be admired. The spiral staircases, in particular, wind through the floors with a graceful twist, giving glimpses of the academy’s grandeur from different angles. Honestly, it feels like the staircases themselves are showing off.

As I walked past the portraits of former students, my eyes landed on the shimmering golden plaque of some gold bloodline alum. Gold bloodline—what a joke. I rolled my eyes, recalling the hours of history and sociology lectures drilling into our heads how these families, with their “pure” magical lineage, are the best and strongest, destined to lead society. And yet, I couldn’t help but remember the look on one “superior” student’s face last year when he struggled to lift a feather with his magic. A bronze bloodline kid nailed the spell moments later, just so effortlessly. So much for superior.

Sure, gold bloodlines are rare—2% of Aldean society, according to the boring stats they make us memorize—but from what I’ve seen, the supposed power tied to your bloodline rank is a load of nonsense. In fact, some silver or bronze bloodlines seem to have only grown stronger over time. The whole hierarchy feels like a convenient excuse to keep the same old families at the top.

The corridors have these massive windows that open up to views of the floating islands and the landscapes surrounding the academy. They’re framed with enchanted glass that changes opacity at a touch, so you can get a pristine view or privacy when you need it.

Despite its labyrinthine design, by third year, you’ve either got the layout down or you’re doomed to wander forever. Some poor souls never figure it out though, even after six years.

I finally hit the ground floor, leave the chamber, and head down another corridor. It physically pains me not to take the right turn into the courtyard—my favorite spot on campus—but I begrudgingly take the left toward the Dining Hall. The food here appears like clockwork, each day different and freshly made. I’m guessing with lots of love too because it’s always delicious.

Standing in the doorway, I scan the room. None of my actual friends—the ones I’d willingly spend time with—are here. My brother, who’s not on duty but graciously accompanied me back yesterday because he didn’t want to travel alone, is probably still asleep and won’t grace the world with his presence until at least 11 AM.

I notice a few groups scattered around, munching on breakfast. I recognize most of them. Two years here and I've somehow managed to get to know nearly everyone – mostly by luck and often against my wishes.

“Ellie!” A piercing voice cuts through the air. I don’t need to look to know it’s Ariella Adair. “I had no idea you were here too! It’s so good to see you!” I wish I could say the same, but alas, not all wishes come true.

“Good to see you too, Ariella,” I reply, pasting on my best fake smile.

“Come, sit with us!” she insists, patting the seat beside her. Great. That’s exactly what I wanted on my first morning back here. I know it’s rude to decline, but I am so tempted. I sigh inwardly, resigning myself to the inevitable and take a seat, bracing for the boredom.

The dining hall stretches wide, bathed in the soft glow of morning light streaming through the tall, arched windows. The high ceiling is supported by intricately carved beams, and the expansive windows allow sunlight to flood the space, illuminating the banners of the various houses draped along the walls. By night, the hall transforms into a magical realm, lit by floating candles and chandeliers that cast a warm, golden glow, making the space feel both majestic and inviting.

Silver platters gleam in the light, and the air is rich with the mouthwatering aromas of freshly baked bread, sizzling bacon, and freshly brewed coffee. Every mealtime here is an invitation to indulge. The murmur of conversations drifts through the hall, mingling with the clinking of silverware and the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby table. It’s a lively, inviting space—one that should feel comforting. But today, with Ariella sitting across from me, it feels more like a gilded cage.

“So,” she begins—and if a story kicks off with “so,” you know it’s going to be a long one—“we were supposed to spend the whole summer at the Summer Palace— you know, that huge mansion hotel on the West Coast where we always go—but it’s under renovation, so we decided to go abroad! My mom wanted to visit the Realms, but it’s sooo far away, so we just went to Eldermere instead. We stayed at this villa near Rosemont. It was quite a humble holiday, but it did have its own beach and a vineyard!”

Humble, huh? I take a long sip of coffee, hiding my expression behind the mug.

Ariella’s eyes light up as she continues, not even noticing my muted reaction. “The villa had the most magnificent gardens! But, of course, nothing compares to the rose gardens at the Summer Palace. Still, they did try, you know? They even had peacocks roaming around the lawns—though, honestly, they weren’t as vibrant as the ones back home.”

My gaze drifts to the tall windows, where sunlight pours in, bathing the room in warm, golden hue. I catch glimpses of other students enjoying their meals, their carefree chatter blending with the clinking of cutlery. Must be nice to start the day off without having to endure a play-by-play of someone’s summer escapades. I’ve heard Ariella’s vacation tales a hundred times—each one delivered with the same perfectly crafted smile. Impressive, really, how she never misses a beat.

“Oh, and the shopping!” she gushes, her hands fluttering in excitement. “Rosemont has these adorable boutiques—very quaint. I found the most exquisite set of hairpins and a new charm bracelet. Mother said it was a ‘modest’ spree, considering the local selection, but I think it added a nice touch to our trip.”

A ‘modest’ spree. I force my lips into another polite smile, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m sure they’re beautiful,” I say, and nod again, hoping she doesn’t notice the strain in my voice.

I grab a plate and start assembling my breakfast—a croissant, a few slices of fruit, and a chocolate muffin. I take my time, hoping the process distracts me. The croissant is warm, flaky, and buttery; I pull off a piece, savoring it as she goes on about her “quaint” shopping spree.

I nod, trying to look interested. “Sounds…lovely,” I manage, though all I can think about is how much I’d rather be somewhere—anywhere—else.

I guess that’s what a humble holiday looks like when you’re an Adair. Her family practically sits at the top of the social ladder, just under the royal family itself. And Ariella loves to remind everyone of that—especially the first-years who might not yet be aware of her illustrious status. She’s the eldest daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Adair, a fact she will likely broadcast to every new student today – a gold bloodline family through and through.

So, if you’re wondering how I ended up with this pretentious group, that’s how. Being born into the Alarie family and carrying the title of Archduchess, with a distant link to the royal family, has its perks—but it also means people like Ariella feel the need to latch onto you. It’s all politics, even at school.

“So how did you spend the summer, Ellie?” she asks, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“I was mostly at home in Aria,” I reply, keeping it vague. “I should leave now; I don’t want to be late.” With that, I make a swift exit, grabbing a cup of coffee and a chocolate muffin as I go. The quicker I get out of this, the better.

“Late? What duty are you on?”

“Gatekeeping.”

One of my favorite quirks of this place has to be the enchanted doors that swing open when you’re close enough—perfect for when your hands are full, or you’re in desperate need of a quick exit. Like, say, from an awkward conversation.

Past the Staircase Chamber, the Entrance Hall sprawls out before me, unusually quiet today. Normally, it’s alive with students, a constant hum of activity, but now my footsteps echo through the vast space, bouncing off the marble floors that shine like mirrors underfoot. The ceiling above is a masterpiece—vaulted and adorned with enchanted frescoes that tell the story of pivotal magical moments. The images shift subtly, the figures moving as if caught in an endless dance that changes with the time of day.

The hall is a visual feast, filled with displays that seem designed to dazzle and distract. Glass cases hold rare and powerful artifacts, each with a detailed inscription recounting its origin and significance—everything from enchanted orbs and ancient wands to relics once wielded by legendary mages. Life-sized portraits and busts of the academy’s most esteemed alumni and professors line the walls, and occasionally, they shift, their eyes following you as they briefly come to life to recount their “glorious” achievements. The hall even has a section dedicated to outstanding students, complete with shining plaques and trophies that catch the light from the floating magical candles above. It’s basically a giant, enchanted pat-on-the-back for all the overachievers—and a reminder for the rest of us to “aim for greatness.”

Then there’s the Wall of Houses—a spectacle in its own right. Six sections, each representing a different house, are carved into the stone with intricate motifs and accents matching their respective colors. Crystals embedded in the carvings shimmer and gleam, making the whole thing sparkle like it’s trying too hard to impress. Each house’s emblem sits proudly at the center of its section, surrounded by swirling patterns that apparently “capture the essence” of each house. And, at the very heart of the wall is a magical display that shows the current house points. Numbers flicker and shift as points are added or deducted, right there in real-time. It’s the ultimate motivator, fueling rivalries and keeping everyone just a little bit on edge.

The walls themselves are practically works of art—botanical patterns of vines and flowers twist their way across the stone, enchanted to look almost alive. The vines sway gently as you walk past, giving you the eerie feeling they’re watching. Stained glass panels are nestled between these botanical designs, depicting scenes of natural beauty and magical prowess. When the sunlight hits, it sends a cascade of colors across the hall, the hues shifting and swirling like a kaleidoscope. Clusters of glowing crystals are embedded in the walls, casting a soft light that changes with the time of day. Right now, it’s a gentle morning glow, the colors warm and welcoming. The overall effect is a space that feels alive—like it’s trying to merge the wonders of nature and magic into one seamless experience.

Near the entrance is the massive notice board, brimming with announcements, upcoming events, class schedules, and club activities. The parchments pinned there are enchanted, constantly updating themselves in real-time, ensuring everything stays current. It’s a hub of information, the kind of place you’d visit if you actually cared about the countless events and gatherings the school organizes. I personally skim the headlines, hoping for something interesting, but it’s mostly the same—study sessions, club meetings, and mandatory assemblies. Thrilling.

The Entrance Hall isn’t just a passageway; it’s a vibrant hub of daily activity and it’s where all the important school ceremonies, assemblies, and celebrations happen. Its sheer size can comfortably hold the entire student body and then some, which is perfect for the academy’s tendency to host gatherings at the drop of a hat. For now, though, it’s empty, waiting for the first-years and the chaos they’ll inevitably bring.

I move on, cutting through the park and following the paved path leading to the main bridge. It’s a stone construction with decorated railings and glowing crystals that give it a touch of elegance, but compared to Elysium’s bridge, it’s pretty basic. The walk feels longer than it should, and the occasional gusts of wind don’t make it any easier. At the end of the bridge is a smaller stone building, same material as the bridge, blocking the sun but otherwise serving no real purpose.

Standing in front of it is the school gate’s guard, facing away from me as usual. As I approach, it slowly turns around.

The guard is one of those beings you see and immediately think, definitely not human. I have no clue what it actually is, only that it resembles a human figure but with an eerie, otherworldly quality. Alive? Technically, sure, but it’s not alive in the way humans are. It’s more like a magical entity pretending to have a heartbeat. Its entire body is wrapped in a gray tunic, covered in symbols that look like runes, obscuring everything except its right hand. That hand, skeletal and gray, clutching a wooden walking stick, looks like it’s been there for centuries—wrinkled skin, long black nails. It stands perfectly still, always facing the gate but never looking directly at it, its head bowed as if deep in thought—or maybe just bored.

As I get closer, it lifts its head, and I’m greeted by the same face I’ve seen since my first day: ancient, gray, and with eyes are completely white, devoid of irises, adding to its creepy appearance. It's impossible to tell if it was once male or female, or if it even had a human form to begin with. It’s like looking at a statue that suddenly moves.

“Sup?” I mutter, waving a hand. The creature seems to recognize me, lowering its head again and turning back to its eternal task of gate-watching. “Rude,” I mumble under my breath as I move past it.

Just as I’m about to continue, the guard shifts, turning back toward the path. I pause, curious, and spot someone approaching. A figure wearing almost the same uniform as me—just the male version. I recognize him immediately: Ash.

We started school together three years ago and ended up sitting next to each other on that chaotic first day after getting sorted into Elysium. This led to long conversations about the importance (and rather the annoying presence) of mosquitoes in the ecosystem. That lasted about a week, and thus, we became friends. It is quite beautiful if you ask me.

“I overslept,” he announces, which, judging by the state of his uniform and the boots barely hanging onto his feet, is the most obvious thing I’ve heard today. His hair is its usual disaster—untamed waves that clearly didn’t see a brush this morning, not that they ever do.

“Good morning to you too,” I reply with a smirk, holding out the coffee and muffin I’d brought for him.

“And that’s why you’re my favorite person,” he says, downing the coffee in three massive gulps. “But you should’ve brought two.”

“If you don’t want the muffin, just say so.”

“On second thought, I think one is perfect for today.”

On gate welcoming duty—though we much prefer to call it gatekeeping—there are always two third-years stationed, just in case one of us needs a break from the endless line of confused first-years. Students arrive between 10 and 12 AM, and our job is to greet them, make sure the guard doesn’t decide they’re intruders, and point them in the direction of the school. You’d think it’s obvious enough, but I remember my first year. Without someone guiding me, I would’ve probably stayed frozen at the gate.

The gate itself is a sight. It’s a waterfall that cascades from the top of the archway, flowing down to the ground below us in a continuous, shimmering sheet of water. It’s like liquid glass, always in motion but somehow solid enough to block entry unless you have the permission. When the sunlight hits, tiny rainbows sparkle across the surface, adding a touch of enchantment to the whole thing.

Just as I settle in front of the top of the waterfall, the first student arrives. It’s a boy in the standard-issue first-year uniform, and I could tell he’s a first-year from how startled he looks when he arrives. At least this one didn’t throw up after teleporting through the waterfall.

“Welcome to King’s Academy!” Ash announces, all bright and loud. The poor kid jumps like he wasn’t expecting anyone to be standing there—despite the fact that we’re right in front of him. “I’m gonna need a name, please.”

“Uh… Lincoln Dustfinger.”

Ash pauses for a second, raising his eyebrows slightly as if to confirm what he just heard, but then writes it down without further questions. A tiny smirk plays at the corners of his mouth, but the boy doesn’t seem to notice, still looking past us, trying to take in the view.

As Ash finishes writing the name, the ink vanishes from the otherwise blank page, and the booklet starts flipping through its pages until it lands on the sixth one, highlighting the name with a neat little tick mark. So, we did hear it correctly.

“Great,” Ash looks up, handing the boy a smile that’s just shy of genuine. “Just pass through the main bridge and enter the building. You’ll end up in the Entrance Hall. Wait there until further instructions.”

The boy nods, takes a few cautious steps, and then practically jumps out of his skin when the guard raises her head and stares at him with those soulless, white eyes.

I can’t help but chuckle a little. “Don’t mind Isadora; she’s the guardian of the gates. Today, she only attacks if she senses danger or sees an attack. Since we let you through, she’ll memorize your face and let you pass anytime from now on. She’s a gem, really—just don’t get aggressive around here if you don’t want to… Well, anyway, go ahead.”