A thin mist still blanketed the grounds where the Eclothera Academy of Magic stood. In the heart of a forest veiled in dew, where ancient trees whispered in the language of sorcery, towered a grand building of white stone veined with gold—the main hall of the academy. Massive pillars upheld an arched roof adorned with carvings of five dragons and other mythical beasts, symbols of ancient power passed down through the ages.
Today marked the beginning of a new semester, and the grand courtyard of Eclothera swelled with hundreds of new students from across the lands of Aechtery. The air buzzed with the sound of footsteps, whispers of curiosity, and awe.
After Nelvan had entered the eastern hall, he and the other new students were guided toward a much larger space that rose so high, it nearly blocked out the golden sunlight.
Nelvan glanced around, taking in everything. The murmur of voices filled his ears. Like him, the other students were overwhelmed by the splendor.
He stepped across a beautifully paved stone floor, following the others.
Once inside the building, Nelvan's eyes widened in awe, and his jaw locked in place. His feet now stood upon priceless marble flooring. The walls were lined with bluish-green copper stones.
As he wandered the grand hall, a sudden burst of light forced him to squint. His ruby-red eyes narrowed against the brilliance. When his vision adjusted, he looked up. At the center of the ceiling was a glass dome that let sunlight stream directly in.
But the giant window above was not made of ordinary glass. It was a mosaic of colored fragments, arranged deliberately—not abstractly.
Ahead was a large podium, backed by a massive dark red curtain. Nelvan saw several figures standing there—undoubtedly the academy's instructors.
The tap of his shoes echoed against the marble, mingling with the irregular shuffle of thousands of feet—like a tide with no end. Nelvan weaved through the crowd of strangers, eventually standing in line as a voice in the air directed them to form neat, symmetrical rows.
"Welcome to Eclothera," Spoke a deep, resonant voice from the podium, the sound carrying like telepathy. Behind the speaker, his shadow danced across the curtain—a tall man with pointed ears and flowing white hair, about to begin his address.
In front of him, a crystal orb shimmered with magical energy. Even without squinting, Nelvan could see it clearly. It appeared to be the source of the projection—simple, yet powerful.
"You are not the first to come here," The Elfair man continued, "but you are the chosen heirs. Here, you will be tested and forged anew."
As the speech went on, several sharply dressed individuals—clearly instructors—moved among the student ranks. Some were short with long white beards. Others were tall with pointed ears and fine, thin hair.
Nelvan realized something: Eclothera wasn't merely a school of magic—it was a unifier of all races across Aechtery. He recalled what Ezrell had told him two years ago, about the diverse peoples across the continents. Now he saw it for himself.
"There are three towers here, each one nurturing a different magical path," the speaker explained. "The Nebula Tower, for elementalists. The Supernova Tower, for those who wield magic through tools. And the Cosmic Tower, for those gifted in healing arts." He paused to clear his throat, then continued.
"Your letters will determine which tower you are assigned to."
When the speech ended and the crowd dispersed, the Elfair man stepped down from the podium, joining the other instructors. Around Nelvan, new students eagerly opened their letters. A rune of soft golden light shimmered from each page, forming fresh inscriptions. Some rejoiced, others complained, disappointed to be separated from friends.
Nelvan did not rush to open his letter. He remained observant—watching the crowd, the hall, taking in this unfamiliar new world.
Suddenly, a powerful shove struck him hard. He fell to the ground, his temple smashing against the marble. Blood trickled down as he stared in shock. Raising his gaze, he saw who had struck him—a tall, broad Elfair male, the same one he'd glimpsed earlier near the eastern gate.
"Next time, use your eyes!" The Elfair snapped. Behind him, two others stood with arms crossed, chuckling mockingly. Nelvan wiped the blood from his face. At that moment, a Hamoursh boy approached and whispered something into the Elfair's ear.
Nelvan caught a glance of their sharp stares before they turned and walked away.
"What did they do to you?" the stranger asked. Nelvan shook his head. "I think they just pushed me," he replied. "Come on, we need to get out of the main hall." The boy helped Nelvan to his feet, leading him away.
In a corridor to the north side of the main hall, a garden came into view—neatly tended, vibrant with carefully arranged flowers. The air at Eclothera was crisp, despite the climbing sun. Nelvan and his rescuer now sat on a stone bench between pillars wrapped in leafy vines.
Nelvan's head throbbed, not badly, but the bleeding hadn't stopped despite repeated attempts to wipe it away. It wasn't serious, but clearly an inconvenience. His companion knew this—he mixed a small balm from herbal ingredients and applied it gently to the wound.
Though Nelvan felt awkward, he was deeply grateful. The boy was a Hamoursh, with tidy blond hair, bright aquamarine eyes, and a noble air that suggested he wasn't of the lower classes.
"Thank you," Nelvan said, trying to ease the tension.
"It's nothing," The boy replied. "Just be more careful next time."
Nelvan nodded absently.
The boy wrapped the wound with clean bandages and secured it with the herbal salve.
"What's your name?" The Hamoursh asked once he finished tending the wound.
Nelvan Aetherion," He answered. The boy nodded thoughtfully.
"I'm Leighton Granavel Brandish." He extended a hand. Nelvan shook it and returned the nod.
"I owe you one," Nelvan said.
"No problem," Leighton replied casually. "So, what's your magical talent?" He asked next.
Nelvan swallowed hard. It was a question he didn't want to hear again—one that kept echoing within him. He hesitated for a moment.
"I'm skilled in dagger combat," He said.
That's gotta be cool!" Leighton looked genuinely impressed—but not Nelvan. He had only practiced with daggers in the past few days, and only during his journey to this place. Nelvan couldn't feel any magical aura within himself—not even in Leighton. As mages, they should have been able to sense such things in one another.
***