Lucan had never seen a ceiling so high.
The academy hall rose like the heartwood of an ancient tree, tall white-marble pillars etched with ivy patterns supporting a ceiling of green stone tiles. Light filtered through long, arched windows of pale emerald glass, casting the room in a gentle woodland hue. Rows of students filled the benches, the murmur of fresh robes and nervous hearts echoing through the high chamber.
Banners of forest green and silver hung between the columns, each bearing the Great Oak's crest. A single leaf unfurling around a sword. The floor beneath shimmered subtly with veins of gold inlaid through polished marble, forming roots that spiralled out from the central stage like the veins of an old tree, alive with memory.
Cassian whistled low. "You'd think they were crowning a king, not just letting us in the building."
Lucan smirked, but his nerves didn't agree. He found himself fiddling with the small relic in his pocket, the cold relic Lance had given him. He turned it between his fingers like a coin.
Then, he heard her voice.
"You didn't disappoint."
He turned to find Lyra standing a few feet away, arms crossed, her red and white coat sharp against the marble of the hall. She wasn't smiling, not exactly, but the edge of her mouth curled just slightly.
"Lyra," Lucan said, exhaling more than speaking. "You saw?"
She nodded. "So did Lance the Steelhand. You had his full attention."
Lucan paused, then pulled out the relic. It caught the light from the windows and shimmered softly.
"He gave me this during the first trial," Lucan said. "Helped me pass the test. He's... odd. Thorne cut off his hand, right? Yet he talks about him with reverence."
Lyra leaned slightly closer. "Lance is driven by the fight. Losing his hand didn't make him hate Thorne, it made him respect him. It's like he wants someone to prove him beatable."
Lucan gave a dry laugh. "Great. So he's hoping I might be the one to do it someday."
"Maybe," she said. "But that means you'll have to work twice as hard, wouldn't want to disappoint one of the strongest fighters ever," she continued tongue in cheek.
Behind them, the crowd stirred as a bell tolled, rich and resonant. The lights in the ceiling brightened with a pulse of blue and flame, and a hush fell over the hall.
A figure stepped onto the stage.
Headmaster Vael, robes of layered green and white, his white beard braided in three lengths. The pressure in the room shifted when he walked like gravity itself bowed to him. His voice, when it came, echoed like it was speaking through the heart of the world.
"Children of unity, of fire, of sun, of land and sea. Welcome."
The silence deepened. Lucan felt it. The weight of history, the kind that didn't need to be explained to be understood.
"You come to Great Oak not as warriors," the Headmaster continued, "but as seedlings. And in this forest, you will grow into something far greater. Some of you arrive through trial. blood, sweat, and desperate flame. Others come from lineage, letters, and legacy. All of you now walk the same path."
He gestured behind him, and a set of massive golden doors flared to life, each engraved with a different symbol: a sword, a sun, a tree, a fish, and a dragon's skull.
"You will learn. You will falter. You will rise again. And in time, you will carry the roots of this place beyond these walls, as many have before you."
He turned back to face them.
"Remember this: You were not chosen to be safe. You were chosen to be tested. Welcome to The Great Oak Academy."
The hall erupted in thunderous applause. Enchanted banners snapped as if to cheer. The ground beneath Lucan's boots thudded with a quiet, steady heartbeat.
Cassian grinned. "Dramatic old man, isn't he?"
They laughed, and Lyra stepped forward again. Cassian offered his hand. "Cassian Westmark," he said. "Son of Mavrick Westmark, brother to the king. You must be Lord Emberlily's daughter?"
Lyra shook his hand firmly. "I am."
"I respect your father," Cassian said. "A man who came from nothing and made it further than most."
Lucan watched Lyra soften just a little. Melendra stood nearby, watching quietly, her copper hair catching the glow of the torches above. She hadn't said much since the duel but something in her eyes had changed since the fight. She was steadier now. Focused.
Soon after, the crowd began to shift as attendants called names, assigning individual dormitories across the massive campus.
Lucan's name was called. As he walked toward the northern wing, he looked back once. The others were still watching the stage, murmuring, talking, breathing in the same wonder he felt.
For the first time, he belonged somewhere.
For the first time, the path forward didn't seem so impossible.
If not a little dangerous.
And strangely, that felt… good.