The soft toll of the enchanted bell rang across the vast campus of the Grand Arcanum Institute. Its harmonic chime stirred the students from their dormitories, its notes resonating with subtle magic that roused even the deepest sleepers. The first day of the new academic year had begun.
Alaric Durnhart, dressed in his freshly pressed uniform—a dark-blue tunic lined with silver, with the sigil of the Arcanum stitched over the heart—stepped through the main promenade with Malric, Lira, and Jorin. The three of them, already third-years, grinned at the wide-eyed first-years streaming through the gates.
"Still feels like yesterday when we stood there gawking," Jorin said with a chuckle, nudging Alaric.
Malric grinned. "Don't worry, Alaric. You'll be the one causing gawks soon enough."
Lira added, "He's already in Class Alpha. Half of them will know his name before the first week's over."
Alaric shook his head. "I'd rather earn it quietly."
The courtyard was alive with activity—students chattering, familiars flitting about, instructors observing from the towers. At the central stage of the main plaza, banners of the five school dormitories fluttered in the breeze, colored by their respective elements.
An assembly of hundreds gathered under the sky for the official welcome ceremony.
From the central stage came the regal voice of the announcer. "Presenting the Student Council President—Her Highness, Crown Princess Seraphina Caelrith."
All turned.
Seraphina stepped forward in formal Arcanum attire, her white hair braided with golden threads, her expression composed and luminous. She stood as a paragon of grace—Knight Rank 5, Light Mage Rank 4—and at seventeen, already a legend among students.
"Welcome, new students," she said. "Here at the Grand Arcanum, strength alone is not enough. We forge character, test resolve, and temper ambition. What you become over the next five years will echo beyond these halls—into battlefields, courts, and history itself. I wish you courage and clarity."
A reverent hush followed, broken only by polite applause.
Then came the second address—from Headmaster Zephran Caelum himself.
He appeared without fanfare, standing tall with winds gently swirling around his coat. His presence was quiet, but it rippled across the field like a sudden change in pressure.
"Growth comes not only through power," he said, "but through understanding. Through challenge. Through the forging of bonds that will outlast blades or spells. You are no longer mere children of noble bloodlines or distant provinces. Here, you are equals. Let the trials begin."
And just like that, the year had begun.
After orientation, Alaric parted ways with the twins and Jorin—each heading to their respective dorms.
"Back to Frostspire," Malric said, stretching.
"Emberwatch for me," Jorin added, cracking his neck.
"I'll catch you both later," Lira waved, adjusting her satchel toward Skyreach Hall.
Ironleaf Hall was a dormitory known for balance—often producing solid fighters, mages, and support specialists alike. Not the flashiest, but dependable.
The hallway was long and wood-paneled, and the dormitory's stone construction exuded warmth and age. Alaric found his room—third floor, left wing.
He entered.
Inside were two others.
The first, already unpacking a trunk, looked up. He had sharp brown eyes and short, disciplined black hair. "You're the last one," he said.
"I'm Alaric Durnhart," he said, offering a hand.
The boy nodded. "Lance Ferren. Son of House Ferren, a minor noble family from the Western garrison line. Knight Rank 2, Earth Mage Rank 1."
Alaric shook his hand, then turned to the other.
A broad-shouldered boy with sun-darkened skin grinned. "Name's Braen Tull. From a mountain village down South. Got in on the scholarship. Knight Rank 2, Earth Mage Rank 1."
Alaric smiled. "Nice to meet you both."
"Wait… Durnhart?" Braen blinked. "You're the guy who beat a Direfang during the entrance exam, right? Class Alpha?"
"I… yeah. Didn't know it was a big deal."
Lance whistled. "Class Alpha's no joke. That's top fifty in our year."
Braen blinked. "We're in Class Beta. One tier down—but still top two classes."
Alaric sat on his bed. "Guess we'll be seeing each other a lot then."
That evening, the Ironleaf Hall common area was filled with first-years seated in rows. Before them stood the current student leaders—representatives from each year level.
"Quiet down!" came the voice of the Ironleaf Fifth-Year Representative.
A tall youth with a scar down one cheek stood in front of them. His armor was polished but worn—earned through battle, not coin.
"I'm Dren Halward. Fifth-Year. Knight Rank 7. Fire Mage Rank 3. I wasn't born a noble, and I wasn't handed anything. This dorm taught me to stand tall. To fight hard. You do the same, and you'll have my respect."
Applause.
Beside him stood:
Sirela Meredyn – Fourth-Year, daughter of the East Duchess. Wind and Fire Magic Rank 5. Water, Earth, and Lightning Rank 4.
Velren Duskvale – Third-Year. A quiet, cold-eyed mage from the Dark Tower. Dark Magic Rank 4.
Prince Kaelen Caelrith – Second-Year. Crown Prince of the kingdom. Knight Rank 3, Light Mage Rank 2. Regal, calm, and observant.
Dren continued, "There are five dorms: Ironleaf, Frostspire, Emberwatch, Stonegate, and Skyreach. We don't care what title you carry or who your parents are. You bleed and earn here."
Cheers echoed.
After the speeches, the first-years mingled. Alaric was approached by several curious classmates.
Among them:
Thalen Varic – Knight Rank 2. Northern merchant's son. Calm and strategic.
Rhea Almist – Mage Rank 2, Water. Intelligent and polite. Daughter of a master apothecary.
Korran Veyl – Knight Rank 1, Wind Mage Rank 1. Loud, proud, and friendly. Central region native.
Mirae Drenn – Summoner Rank 1. A humble girl from a fishing village, already bonded with a mid-tier wind spirit.
Fenric Talros – Mage Rank 2, Fire. Noble lineage. Ambitious and a bit smug.
Some offered friendship. Others measured him.
But Alaric had grown used to both.
First-Years were split into 10 classes:
Alpha
Beta
Gamma
Delta
Epsilon
Zeta
Eta
Theta
Iota
Sigma
The next morning, Alaric stood outside the grand stone building labeled Class Alpha – Year One.
The classrooms of the Arcanum weren't like any he'd known before. The walls shimmered faintly with preservation magic, books floated between shelves, and elemental lamps adjusted their brightness with a word.
Inside, rows of fifty seats awaited the best of the first-year batch. Students took their places, some whispering excitedly, others already scribbling notes.
The instructor entered—a gray-haired elf with golden eyes.
"I am Master Valen Thorne," he said. "Knight Rank 8. Lightning Mage Rank 4. I'll be the advisor of this class."
He looked over the class.
"You're here because you've proven yourselves. Now prove you can stay."
He snapped his fingers. The windows darkened. The first lesson began.