The iron gates groaned as they swung open, the sound echoing like a scream through the fiery chasm below. Zia stepped across the obsidian bridge, each footfall sending ripples across the lava river underneath. Her pulse quickened, yet she kept walking, unwilling to show fear. A hot gust blew upward from below, carrying the scent of sulfur and scorched stone. It was a place that warned strangers to turn back, but also lured them in with promises of ancient power.
As she passed through the threshold, the air changed. It thickened with magic, heavy and intoxicating. The academy's interior was vast—an enormous hall built from black stone and etched with glowing runes. Blue fire flickered in sconces along the walls, casting long shadows that danced with their own will. The walls pulsed faintly as if responding to her arrival. With every breath, she felt the heat swirl through her lungs and settle in her bones.
A line of statues flanked the corridor. They were cloaked and faceless, each crowned in a different type of flame—red, gold, blue, violet, and black. Their presence felt almost sentient, as if they watched her silently, judging. She shivered and tried not to meet the gaze of any single one for too long. The air between them seemed heavier, and the silence in their presence almost deafening.
The hooded figure walked ahead of her, unhurried. His footsteps made no sound. She followed in silence, trying to take it all in—the architecture, the ambient heat, the feeling that the building itself was alive. Whispers echoed down unseen hallways, and every now and then she thought she glimpsed movement in the corners of her eyes. It was like walking through the pages of a living myth.
Soon, they entered a grand atrium where dozens of others were already gathered. Students—her age or slightly older—stood in loose clusters. Some wore fine robes lined with gold thread. Others, like her, looked out of place, uncertain, overwhelmed.
Magic crackled in the air. A tall boy floated three feet off the ground, his arms folded. A girl nearby whispered to a ball of fire cupped in her hands. Another with ash-grey skin and burning eyes leaned against a pillar, watching everyone like a predator. Their power was evident, but so was their arrogance.
Zia wrapped her shawl tighter. Her skin still tingled from the orb's awakening. It felt like something had unlocked inside her—a door she didn't know existed. But she didn't know how to use what was on the other side, and the uncertainty gnawed at her. Every glance from the other students felt like a weight pressing against her ribs.
A platform at the center of the atrium rose into the air, and atop it stood a woman in robes of ember and gold. Her voice boomed without amplification, sharp and clear:
"Welcome to the Academy of Cursed Flames. You are not here because you are the best. You are here because you are needed."
The room quieted. All eyes turned to her.
"Magic is dying. The balance has broken. The Tenth Convergence is not just a gathering—it is a reckoning. You will either rise from the flame… or burn in it."
A boy with silver hair scoffed. "Dramatic much?"
The woman's eyes locked onto him. A spark flashed—and in an instant, he was yanked into the air by invisible force, gasping.
"Doubt burns quickest," she said coldly, before lowering him gently. He crumpled to the ground, pale and silent.
Zia swallowed hard. This was no ordinary school. This was a crucible.
The platform lowered. As it touched the ground, four more robed figures stepped forward. Each held a staff with a glowing crystal atop it—one red, one green, one blue, and one obsidian. Their faces were hidden, but their presence was overwhelming.
"You will now be sorted," the lead instructor declared. "The flame reveals your path."
The students were called one by one to step into a circle of flame that appeared in the center of the floor. The fire reacted—changing color, shape, and sound—to reveal their affinity. The first girl was claimed by blue flame and sent toward the robed figure with the sapphire staff. A boy followed, engulfed briefly in green, then sent another way.
Each demonstration drew gasps, applause, or quiet murmurs. The flames never behaved the same way twice. They roared, whispered, shimmered, or surged depending on the individual. Zia watched with wide eyes, her heartbeat growing louder with every name that wasn't hers.
Then, it was.
Zia's name echoed through the chamber: "Zia of the Unnamed Flame."
A hush fell.
She stepped forward slowly, her heart pounding. Whispers followed her.
"Did she say 'unnamed'?"
"No lineage?"
"She looks ordinary."
Zia entered the circle.
For a moment—nothing.
Then, the flames shot upward, tall as towers. They turned crimson, then gold, then black. They roared, not like fire, but like something ancient—alive. It was not a flame of destruction, but of memory. The air vibrated with power, and a pressure settled over the atrium like a blanket of heat.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
When the flames lowered, Zia stood unchanged. But her eyes were glowing faintly, and her hair floated slightly as if caught in a breeze that wasn't there. The power inside her now hummed in tune with the academy itself. Her feet no longer felt like they stood on stone, but on something more sacred.
The lead instructor's gaze was unreadable. "The Fifth Path," she murmured. Even the other robed figures turned toward her at the mention.
One of the robed figures stepped forward—the one holding the obsidian crystal. He nodded once to Zia, and the others stepped back.
"Come. There is much to unlearn."
She followed him, feeling the weight of a thousand stares on her back. But for the first time, her steps did not falter. Something inside her had shifted. A whisper had become a voice.
Behind her, the flames in the circle did not extinguish.
They burned taller.
Hungrier.
As if awakened by her presence.