The High Arcanum's Eye blinked for the first time in 3,000 years.
Floating in the sky over the capital of the Istral Empire, the Eye—a god-forged artifact designed to watch magical anomalies—flared red for a single moment. Just one.
But in that moment, all over the world, seers screamed.
In ancient towers, blind oracles clawed at their faces.
In the frozen kingdom of Wyrmreach, dragons howled beneath black ice.
And in the halls of Aurorium, the Headmaster awakened from a nightmare he had not dreamt in centuries.
Kael stood on the edge of the mountain pass, looking up.
The Academy of Aurorium was not built on land—it was built across floating isles, each tethered by ancient skyroots grown from the bones of a fallen god. Waterfalls poured from one isle to the next. Bridges of light arced between stone towers. Ships glided between the peaks like birds.
It was… otherworldly.
"Not bad for a glorified prison," muttered Varron beside him.
Kael glanced over. "This is a prison?"
"In a way. Every noble family wants their child here. Most for power. A few… to be watched."
Kael's admission papers were forged. His name: Kael Veyrion—a supposed son of a forgotten frontier noble. No record. No past.
Perfect.
Upon entry, each student passed through the Flame of Convergence—a ritual fire that responded not to who you were, but who you could become.
As Kael stepped through, the fire turned black.
Silence fell.
All around, students gasped. The instructors stood still.
The flame flickered, then turned silver.
The old man beside the flame—a judge in golden robes—narrowed his eyes.
"We've not seen silver flame in a thousand years," he murmured. "Not since the Shattered Prince."
Kael kept walking. He did not look back.
But he could feel it:
Someone was watching from the top tower.
And they had recognized what he carried.
Kael was assigned to Ember Dormitory, known for misfits, fallen nobles, and scholarship students. It was the farthest from the main hall, but closest to the old ruins beneath the campus.
There, he met his first two roommates:
Riven Duskmoor — a brooding second-year who rarely spoke, wielding shadow magic laced with necrotic fire. His family fell during a rebellion, and he wore the guilt like armor.
Lia Aerenthil — bright-eyed and fast-talking, a wind mage with a sarcastic streak. Her family were sky-sailors and smugglers with minor nobility status.
Kael offered few words. Just his name.
"Veyrion, huh?" Riven muttered. "You've got the look of a liar."
Kael smiled slightly. "So do you."
Lia grinned. "We're going to get along just fine."
That night, Kael awoke from a dream.
He was standing in a place of mirrors and ash—where every reflection was a version of him, twisted by choice and regret.
When he woke, his hand was warm.
The Epochbrand, now hidden in a dimensional fold stitched into his ring, was glowing faintly.
It pulsed once—then stopped.
He rose, followed the pulse through the halls, and found himself in the eastern courtyard, where broken statues lined a forgotten garden.
There, half-buried in the ivy-covered wall, was an archway not on any map.
A sigil glowed at its keystone: ∆
He traced it.
The door opened.
Beneath the academy was an ancient passage—a ruin older than the academy itself. As Kael descended, torches lit with blue flame. Whispered voices echoed through the air—fragments of spells lost to time.
At the bottom, he found a circular chamber covered in mirrors.
In the center: a chair made of glass and bone.
He approached.
Then froze.
A woman stood in the reflection—not behind him, not beside him. In the mirror.
She wore armor of white and black, her hair like flowing ink, her eyes like twin eclipses.
"You came," she said softly. "It has begun again."
Kael stepped back. "Who are you?"
"I am what remains of the girl who failed to kill the first god."
"And you are the one fated to finish what we began."
She raised her hand.
The mirrors shattered—
And Kael awoke in his bed.
But in his palm… was a single silver feather.
Still warm.
Across the continent, Serenya Mal'Quen sat in a black tent lit by braziers.
Her assassins had failed to intercept Kael. The monastery was lost.
She did not punish them.
Instead, she laid out a map of the world—and drew a circle around Aurorium.
"Let him train," she said to her lieutenant, a man with golden skin and snake eyes. "Let him make allies. The stronger he becomes, the more pieces I claim when he falls."
She smiled.
"Begin infiltrating the noble lines. We start with House Thorneveil."