Lumaire, the capital of Edenbarrow, was breathtaking.
Tall towers of whitestone kissed the skies, their golden spires gleaming in the sun like celestial beacons. Flowers hung from wrought iron balconies, and the streets shimmered with enchanted glass bricks that glowed faintly underfoot. Music drifted from open cafés, blending with the laughter of scholars and nobles alike. Even the air smelled sweet—lavender, rain, and baked honeybread.
Elian Tarlowe had arrived in Lumaire two weeks ago to begin his tesciary studies in mytho-mechanics at the prestigious Solas Academy. Back home in Wetherstead, they had called him a dreamer. In Lumaire, dreamers built machines that touched the sky. It felt like a new world.
Litch Tarlowe stood beneath the soaring gates of Solas Academy, the wind pulling at his coat, the scent of flower-oils and clean stone filling his nose. Lumaire—the capital of Edenbarrow—was unlike anything he had imagined: a symphony of art, magic, and industry. Skylifts hummed above glass bridges. Fountains danced in choreographed streams.
"You can do this... just one step..one stepp.."
Elian draws a breath, squares his shoulders, and steps through the gates of Solas Academy.
The campus stretches before him—clean stone paths, modern lecture halls with curved glass façades, and the soft hum of conversations carried on the breeze. Buildings rise in elegant tiers, blending old-world stone with steel supports. Overhead, rail-pods glide silently along sleek tracks, whispering past in perfect rhythm. Everything feels curated....timeless.
In the central plaza, students swarm around makeshift booths beneath flapping banners. Upper-year students call out, trying to recruit freshers into clubs and collectives.
"Join the Systems Collective,design the future!"
"Visual thinkers, history lovers,Archive Society welcomes you!"
"Solas Forum: Think. Build. Lead!"
Elian takes it all in, wide-eyed. Back home in Wetherstead, school meant flickering lights, rusted lockers, and teachers who taught because they couldn't leave. This place feels alive,buzzing with purpose. Every face is going somewhere. Every step seems intentional.
Then it hits him.
" SHIT..The coronation."
He checks his wristband.
17:46.
His stomach drops. He's late.
He starts moving fast, scanning for a map or sign. Concrete paths twist around glass gardens and raised walkways. At the edge of a reflecting pool, he turns too sharply—colliding into someone.
Books scatter.
"Ah—sorry!" Elian kneels, already gathering papers.
"No worries," the other boy says with a grin. "That's the third time today."
He lifts a slim tablet and tucks a sketchpad under his arm.
"You late for the coronation too?" he asks.
"Yeah," Elian mutters. "Totally lost."
"Same. I'm Ravi."
"I'm Elian."
Ravi pulls out a folded map—paper, not Elian stares skeptically
"what? I like the classics.Doesn't glitch"
Together, they follow the path past quiet courts and clean stairwells, eventually arriving at the Grand Theatre,a circular structure of brushed metal and pale stone. The entrance glows under evening light.
Beyond the doors:
Knowledge is the blueprint. People are the architects.
Inside, they slip into the back just in time to hear the final words.
"…and to each of you, I offer this: you are not here to learn facts. You are here to ask the right questions. Welcome to Solas."
Polite applause. The moment lands anyway.
Outside, the light has faded to dusk. The banners ripple overhead. They walk toward Emberlock Hall together, boots tapping against smooth tile.
The dorm door clicks open with their ID bands. Two bunks, a wide desk, clean walls. Everything efficient, ready.
Ravi throws his bag down. "Day one,almost a disaster."
"Almost," Elian agrees, grinning.
As they unpack, Elian notices Ravi's things,clean lines, high-quality fabrics, initials stitched into collars. Even the cologne smells expensive.
"You dress like your closet has a title," Elian jokes.
Ravi smirks. "It kind of does."
When lights go out and silence settles, Elian lies staring at the ceiling. A beat passes.
"You awake?" he asks.
"Barely."
"Where are you from? Really."
Ravi shifts under his blanket. "South Hill. Just past the River Quarter. My father's the Count of Bravenne."
Elian turns. "Wait. Bravenne?"
"Unfortunately." A beat. "Big house. Portraits. Staff. No soul. My brother used to call it the prettiest prison in Edenbarrow."
"And your brother?"
"Disappeared last year."
Elian doesn't push. "I'm from Wetherstead. Coastal town. My dad works the docks. Mum teaches local kids. Nothing noble about it."
"No engineers?"
"Just busted heaters, old radios, and me—trying to fix them in a tin shed."
Ravi chuckles. "That tracks."
Elian shifts, eyes on the ceiling.
"I didn't just come here to study mechanics," he says softly.
"No?"
"I came to find the truth about the White King's Curse."
"Ughhhhhhh..."
Ravi groans into his pillow. "Not this again."
"I'm serious."
"I know. That's what worries me."
Elian sits up a little. "Whole districts were shut down. People vanished. There are records some redacted before the event even happened. The city's powered by something we don't understand. And it watches us."
"Elian…" Ravi exhales. "Cities are complicated. Governments are worse. That doesn't mean there's a curse."
"I'm not looking for magic. I'm looking for truth."
Silence.
Then Ravi says, "Just don't disappear like my brother, alright?"
Elian doesn't promise.
But he doesn't laugh it off either.
Outside, the wind hums against the glass.
And inside, two boys lie awake,one born to power, wondering if they really belong.....
TO BE CONTINUED.....