NOVEL WEB Chapter 18: Arrival
The sky had begun to turn a dusky lavender as the carriage soared gracefully above the clouds, the golden hue of the setting sun casting long shadows over the landscape below. The wind whispered against the magically silenced windows, and inside, Eira sat in quiet awe as the mountains grew larger on the horizon.
After a while As the evening deepened, and with an uncomfortable silence lingering inside the carriage—which Eira assumed was simply the nervousness of first-year students.
The carriages began their descent. Twilight blanketed the mountains, cloaking the scenery outside in velvety darkness. Eira pressed her nose to the window, but the last sliver of daylight had vanished. Only when they finally touched down could she see again.
One by one, the carriages landed smoothly in a vast courtyard paved with pale stone. As Eira stepped down, a gust of cool mountain air brushed past her cheeks—and her breath caught in her throat.
Before her stood a vision that seemed torn from the pages of a storybook.
Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.
Perched atop terraced cliffs and nestled among ancient pines, the château rose with breathtaking elegance. Its towers were tall and slender, adorned with pale-blue rooftops that shimmered faintly under the glow of lanternlight. Golden orbs of flame floated in midair, illuminating winding walkways, cascading waterfalls, and manicured gardens carved directly into the rock face. A crystalline lake stretched out just beyond the courtyard, its still waters mirroring the castle's reflection like polished glass touched by moonlight.
Marble fountains trickled gently at the base of the castle, and flowering trees bloomed in soft pinks and whites. Statues with wings—graceful women, solemn-faced angels, and mythic beasts—lined the paths, shifting slightly in their poses as if stretching after a long slumber, enchanted into slow, perpetual motion.
Eira let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"It's… beautiful."
Beside her, Aurel nodded, equally enchanted. "Now I see why Mum insisted I come."
Around them, dozens of first-years stepped out of their carriages, their faces bathed in wonder. The air was thick with the scent of fresh roses, lavender, and crisp mountain breeze. Staff members in flowing blue and silver robes moved like dancers through the yard, guiding students and carriages with effortless grace.
A clear, kindly voice rang out in French:
"Premières années, suivez-moi ! Ne vous laissez pas distraire—restez groupés !"
("First-years, follow me! Do not get distracted—stay with the group!")
Eira turned and spotted the speaker: a tall, auburn-haired witch in a sky-blue pointed hat. She waved a wand tipped with a soft silver light, beckoning them forward.
Eira and Aurel fell into line, following a garden path lit with floating orbs of soft gold. The path wound gently through hedges and flower beds, leading to a grand staircase carved from gleaming white stone. Every few steps, the railing shimmered with spells—soft melodies drifted into the air, a gentle harp here, a violin there—turning the climb into something dreamlike.
At the top, the massive double doors of the château creaked open, revealing a breathtaking entrance hall.
The floor was polished marble, so finely reflective that it mirrored the students' shoes like rippling water. The high, vaulted ceilings floated with enchanted chandeliers—each one a cluster of hovering crystal spheres, glowing softly like captured starlight. The walls were carved with ancient runes and adorned with majestic tapestries, their silver threads weaving tales of magical history—grand duels, legendary inventions, royal courts, and wizarding triumphs.
At the far end of the hall stood a towering figure—easily the tallest witch Eira had ever seen. She wore robes the color of a storm-tossed sea and a feathered bonnet that gave her an air of noble elegance. Her curly black hair was swept high, and her expression, though serene, commanded attention.
When she spoke, her voice carried effortlessly through the hall.
"Bienvenue à Beauxbâtons," she said. "Welcome to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. I am Madame Olympe Maxime, your Headmistress."
The hall immediately fell silent.
Not a sound stirred among the first-years too.
"You have come from many countries, many families, and many magical traditions," she continued, her voice a rich blend of strength and grace. "Here, you will grow—not as separate people, but as a community. As witches and wizards united by knowledge, discipline, and beauty. Tonight, we shall dine together in our Grand Hall, but first… it is time to sort you into your Maisons, Then, as tradition dictates, you will be welcomed by a ceremonial dance from your seniors to begin the new school year."
At her signal, three older students stepped forward, each bearing a floating banner. One was emerald green and bore the image of a flourishing leaf. Another was silver, etched with a luminous crescent moon. The third shimmered in violet and displayed a delicate butterfly mid-flight.
"These are the three Maisons of Beauxbatons," said Madame Maxime. Her eyes gleamed with pride as she introduced them. "[Maison Bellefeuille]—the House of the Beautiful Leaf—values kindness, compassion, and harmony with the natural world.
[Maison Ombrelune], the House of the Shadow Moon, cherishes ambition, intellect, and the pursuit of subtle magic.
And [Maison Papillonlisse], the House of the Silken Butterfly, honors creativity, elegance, and personal transformation."
A silver curtain was drawn aside to reveal an ornate, freestanding mirror resting atop a circular dais. Its frame was carved from white gold and starlit crystal, and at its crown blazed a single carved star.
"This," said Maxime, "is the Miroir de l'Étoile Première—the Mirror of the First Star. It was crafted centuries ago by Nicolas Flamel himself, as a gift to our Academy. When you step before it, the mirror will read the truth in your heart and reflect the strongest traits within you. Then, the Étoile Première—the First Star—will glow in the color of your destined Maison: green for Bellefeuille, silver for Ombrelune, or violet for Papillonlisse."
There was a ripple of excitement and nervous whispers among the students.
"Now," Madame Maxime concluded, her lips curving into a faint smile, "let us begin."