The morning air at the Blackhart estate was colder than usual.
Ashborn stood on the outer steps in silence, his travel cloak fluttering behind him. No fanfare. No send off. Just him, a single bag, and the long road east. Verrian didn't see him off. That wasn't his way.
He didn't need to.
Ashborn knew what his father expected, strength, discipline, control. And that's exactly what he planned to deliver… in his own way.
The path to Mirestrom was a winding one, carved through ancient woods and quiet towns that whispered of magic and old ruins. The journey took three days, most of it spent in a hired transport carriage one too small to stretch out but too quiet to ignore the weight of what was coming.
Mirestrom Hall.
He'd heard stories, of course. Every noble house had. A place where magic and blade were treated as equals. Where prodigies were shaped into champions. Where the elite sent their heirs to climb or fall.
But stories didn't do it justice.
When the carriage finally rounded the cliff pass and the academy came into view, Ashborn felt it like a current in his chest.
Mirestrom wasn't a castle. It was a monument.
Built into the side of a jagged mountain, the school rose in layers of stone towers and glowing arches. Banners snapped in the wind above its tallest spires, each marked with the twin circle sigil, a sword and a spell tome.
The gate loomed ahead, guarded by golems, magical humanoid figures made of iron and stone, standing silent and still.
Ashborn stepped down from the carriage without a word.
He passed beneath the archway as hundreds of other new students gathered in the main courtyard. Some arrived by carriage like him. Others descended from flying mounts. A few stepped through shimmering portals.
All of them looked around with wide eyes.
Ashborn didn't.
His gaze moved with calm precision, noting exits, watching the way magic flowed through the walls, observing who stood tall and who looked afraid.
That's when he saw them.
Two figures, twins by the look of them, arguing near the center fountain. The boy carried a sword slung casually over one shoulder, while the girl wore a sharp pin in the shape of a flame.
"See?" He said "That glare? that's why you don't get invited to tea parties."
The girl rolled her eyes but smiled. Then her gaze locked with Ashborn's.
Her brother turned to follow her line of sight. "Oh you're a Blackhart right?"
Ashborn nodded. "Ashborn"
The boy reached out his hand without hesitation and said "I'm Renar Valebrand. That's my twin sister Lyessa unfortunately. We're Duke Valebrands kids."
Ashborn smiled and shook his hand.
Lyessa spoke up and noted that they've heard of his father.
Everyone had.
"You must be here for placement into the sword track right" Renar asked.
"Among other things" Ashborn replied.
Renar tilted his head but didn't press. Instead he glanced around the courtyard. "Seems like we're not the only ones being watched."
And then someone spoke.
"Look at that one," someone sneered nearby. "The Blackhart kid. Thought they were extinct."
Ashborn turned his head just enough to see who'd spoken.
It was Cedric Drelan, a noble boy in crimson, draped in arrogance.
Ashborn said nothing.
But in his mind, one thought repeated:
*Let them talk. I'm not here for their approval.*
Just then, a bell rang through the courtyard.
Orientation was about to begin.
Ashborn's time at Mirestrom… was officially starting.