The Bronze Wing stood in the Academy's western quadrant, its stone walls devoid of the decorative flourishes found in higher-ranked quarters. Narrow staircases connected three floors of functional rooms, each accomodating two students. The design clearly conveyed its purpose: adequate shelter for those who had earned modest recognition but not true privilege.
A steward with graying hair guided Ethan down a corridor lined with identical wooden doors. "Room B-12," he announced, pushing open the door at the end of the hallway.
Inside, a pale boy with neat hands sat cross-legged on his bed, organizing clothes in a small trunk. He looked up as Ethan entered, his sharp, calculating eyes assessing the newcomer.
"Bronze?" the boy asked, noticing the trim of Ethan's uniform.
"Bronze," Ethan confirmed.
"Could've been worse. Welcome to the middle." The boy extended a thin hand. "Calen Dorne, from Westmere. My father trades in books and ledgers."
Ethan shook his hand. "Ethan Cole. Rivermill."
Calen nodded, wisely refraining from probing for more details. Questions attracted attention, and attention often led to trouble in places like this.
The room contained two narrow beds, a shared washbasin, and a single desk positioned beneath a window overlooking the practice yards. Ethan's uniform lay folded on the unclaimed bed—heavy gray fabric with bronze threading that caught the afternoon light.
"Punctuality matters here," Calen said as Ethan changed into his Academy clothes. "Instructors track everything: late arrivals, missed meals, even how you hold your utensils during dinner."
The uniform fit surprisingly well, tailored with precision despite being standard issue. Ethan tucked his knife into the belt, hidden beneath the fold of his tunic.
A bell rang in the distance, promoting Calen to stand immediately. "Orientation tour. They'll separate us by paths after dinner."
Students gathered in the courtyard, Bronze ranks mingling with Copper and Silver in loose clusters. As they walked, the Academy's layout unfolded before them—combat training areas to the east, magical studies concentrated in the northern Arcanum complex, and administrative buildings surrounding the central Grand Spire.
Ethan absorbed every detail while appearing to listen casually. The guard rotations around the Vault followed the same pattern he remembered from his previous life. The abandoned corridor behind the mess hall kitchens still existed, though ivy now cloaked its entrance more thickly. Some things had changes, but the Academy's core remained the same.
The tour guide, a Gold-ranked third-year student, pointed out different sections with practiced efficiency. "Combat paths train at the eastern yards and the Tower of Blades. Mages study in the Arcanum Spine. Schedules will be posted after the evening meal."
As they passed the magical complex, Ethan caught glimpses through tall windows. Blue runes flickered along the walls while students practiced basic cantrips under careful supervision. The air felt different near the Arcanum—charged with potential energy that made his teeth ache.
Evening brought all students to the mess hall, a cavernous room with tables arranged in a clear hierarchical order. Gold and Silver ranks occupied raised platforms at the front, dining from polished plates while servants refilled their goblets. Bronze tables were level with the main floor, receiving standard portions from the Academy kitchens. Copper ranks served themselves from communal cauldrons at the back of the room.
Ethan claimed a seat where he could observe the entire hall. The social dynamics played out in subtle gestures—how servants bowed deeper to higher ranks, how lower-ranked students avoided eye contact with their superiors, and how conversations hushed when instructors entered.
Across the room, Tomas sat with other Copper students, his face still bearing faint bruises from the forest trials. Their eyes met briefly. No acknowledgment passed between them, but understanding did. They were allies, albeit careful ones.
A Silver-ranked noble at a nearby raised table deliberately knocked over his water goblet, snapping his fingers at a passing servant. "Clean this mess. Quickly."
The servant, a first-year Copper student, hurried to comply while other nobles laughed at his clumsiness. No one offered assistance. The lesson was clear—rank determined everything here.
After the meal, students crowded around enchanted slates posted near the main hall entrance. Names glowed in neat rows beside class assignments. Ethan quickly found his schedule:
Ethan Cole - Combat Path
Morning: Blade Conditioning (Master Donovan)
Midday: Kingdom History (Professor Ashton)
Afternoon: Tactical Survival & Strategy (Sergeant Cael)
Evening: Personal Study (Bronze Library Access)
Master Donovan's name made his pulse quicken slightly. The man who had trained him in his previous life would now teach him again, though neither would acknowledge their shared past.
As students dispersed toward their dormitories, Ethan walked slowly through corridors illuminated by torches and magical fixtures. Near the Arcanum tower, a pulse of mana rippled outward like a heartbeat. The sensation was familiar yet stronger than he remembered. Something had shifted in the Academy's magical foundations.
Back in Room B-12, Calen lit the wall-rune that provided reading light. He settled at the desk with a leather-bound journal, making notes in precise handwriting.
"Quiet first day," Calen observed without looking up. "That's good. Loud ones get noticed. Noticed ones disappear."
The casual tone made the warning all the more chilling. Ethan filed it away with his other observations about Academy life.
"Disappear how?"
"Transfer to different sections. Special assignments. Sometimes they just... leave." Calen's pen paused over his journal. "The Academy has many needs. Not all of them pleasant."
After Calen fell asleep, Ethan quietly detoured to the Bronze library—a smaller version of the Academy's main collection, containing books deemed suitable for students of moderate rank. History texts dominated one wall, their titles promising glorious accounts of Aldorian triumph.
He selected a volume titled "The Valerian Ascension" and opened it to a random page:
"King Valerian the First cleansed the corrupted lands with righteous light, overthrowing the demon-worshipping Luminars whose blood magic had poisoned the very soil. Through divine blessing and noble sacrifice, House Valerian saved the kingdom from supernatural tyranny."
Ethan's jaw tightened as he read the fabricated account. Every word was a carefully constructed lie, transforming the Valerian usurpation into a tale of heroic salvation. In reality, the Luminar dynasty had ruled justly for a thousand years before being murdered in their sleep by blood ritual practitioners.
He closed the book carefully and returned it to its shelf without comment. The Academy's version of history would be drilled into every student's mind through repetition and testing. Those who questioned the official accounts faced correction—or worse.
Back in his room, Ethan waited until Calen's breathing deepened into the rhythm of sleep. Then he retrieved a worn leather journal from his pack, hidden beneath spare clothes and personal items. The book had accompanied him from his previous life, though its pages remained blank—filled only with memories no one else could see.
By the soft light of the wall-rune, he began writing:
Critical Events - First Term
Ashton's lectures will follow rewritten scripts. Watch for tone changes in historical accounts.
Lightning Tree checkpoint: Aldric used real steel with intent to kill. Is there escalating privilege abuse among nobles? The pattern is worth tracking.
The Vault area maintains a constant guard rotation. Is it the same as before? Confirm if construction predated the Tidehaven rebellion.
Donovan hasn't pressed me about my background yet. Will he remember the training methods he once taught?
Below that, he began a list of names with brief notations:
Calen Dorne: Observant merchant's son. Possibly a reliable ally.
Tomas: Steady under pressure. Maintain a careful distance.
Lydia Hayes: Combat skills exceed self-taught explanations. Investigate her true background.
Aldric Vannon: Dangerous. Connected. Will escalate conflicts.
The lamplight flickered once, as if responding to some unseen disturbance. Ethan paused his writing, listening to the Academy's nighttime sounds—distant footsteps, closing doors, and the faint hum of magical energy flowing through ancient stones.
He finished his notes and closed the journal, then pried up a loose floorboard he had identified earlier. The hiding spot was cramped but secure, invisible to casual inspection. His secrets would remain safe there.
As he settled back into bed, the Academy's routine began to make sense. Every detail served the system's purpose—separating students by ability, controlling information, and reinforcing hierarchies that would shape their entire lives. He had navigated these waters before, but from a position of ignorance.
This time would be different.
The wall-rune dimmed as magical energy cycled through the Academy's network. In the growing darkness, Ethan heard something that made him sit up suddenly—footsteps in the corridor outside, too careful and measured for a student's casual movement.
Someone was prowling the Bronze dormitory in the deep hours of night.