The city of Riverhall was nothing like Kael had imagined. It wasn't the sparkling jewel of legends or the grand city painted in old songs. Instead, it was a sprawling maze of towering stone buildings, narrow winding alleys, and crowded marketplaces smelling of bread, sweat, and distant ocean salt. The morning light barely broke through thick clouds that hung heavy and gray.
Kael stood at the edge of the city's outer wall, clutching the letter from Highwind Academy tightly in his dirt-stained hands. His threadbare cloak did little to protect him from the sharp chill that bit into his bones. Around him, dozens of other young hopefuls—some cloaked in rich velvet, others clad in robes embroidered with gold—whispered excitedly or paced nervously.
Kael swallowed the lump in his throat. He was the poorest here, a village ghost walking into a palace of magic and privilege.
The road led him to the Stone Gate itself — a colossal archway carved from pure white marble, towering high into the foggy sky. Intricate runes shimmered faintly along its surface, weaving silver light like liquid threads. The gate seemed alive, humming with ancient magic.
Two armored guards stood sentinel beneath the arch, their spears gleaming cold. They watched the line of students with unreadable expressions, allowing only those with the official summons to pass.
A man stepped forward from a small group nearby, tall and thin, draped in flowing robes dyed deep blue. His silver hair caught what little light there was, shining like a beacon in the gloom. His eyes—pale as frost—scanned the gathered students, lingering on Kael's unkempt form for a moment.
"Kael Riven of Ashmoor," the man called, voice calm and commanding.
Kael's heart jumped. He stepped forward, hands trembling slightly as he held out the letter.
The man took the letter and broke the wax seal with a practiced flick of his wrist. His eyes scanned the paper, and then he nodded.
"Welcome to Highwind Academy," he said, inclining his head with the faintest smile. "I am Headmaster Silvenhart."
Kael bowed awkwardly, feeling the eyes of the other students burning into his back. Some sneered, others whispered behind their hands. He was an outsider here, a shadow from a forgotten village.
Headmaster Silvenhart gestured toward the gate.
"Enter. Your training begins now."
Kael took a deep breath, stepped through the threshold, and into a world unlike any he had known.
Inside the academy walls, the air smelled of parchment, herbs, and faint incense. The courtyard spread wide, paved with cobblestones worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. Towering statues of legendary mages stood guard, their stone faces frozen in expressions of wisdom and power.
Students bustled about, dressed in finely embroidered robes bearing the academy's crest—a silver tree with branches that seemed to glow faintly, pulsing with life. Many looked Kael up and down, curiosity or disdain flickering in their eyes.
Ahead, a group of instructors gathered near a grand oak tree, their robes fluttering in the cool breeze. One of them, a tall woman with fiery red hair and eyes like molten gold, caught Kael's gaze.
"You there," she called, voice sharp and commanding. "What is your name?"
Kael stepped forward, voice steady despite the nervous churn in his stomach.
"Kael Riven."
The woman's lips curved into a slight smile. "We'll see if you're worthy of that name."
The first test was unlike anything Kael had ever faced. In a courtyard surrounded by soaring walls covered in ivy, the instructors summoned magical orbs of light that floated like fireflies. Each student was to channel their power and ignite their orb until it blazed bright.
Kael's hands shook as he reached out. Magic flared wildly from within him—a flicker of blue flame that danced like a living thing—but he struggled to control it. The orb sputtered, dimmed, then flickered again.
Around him, other students laughed or sneered. One boy, tall and arrogant with dark hair, muttered, "Village trash can't even light a spark."
Kael clenched his fists. He wouldn't fail here. Not after everything.