Not long after Instructor Adams left the hall, Elira returned with her usual bright smile. Her golden hair caught the faint light spilling from the tall arched windows, giving her an almost ethereal glow. Her presence immediately shifted the air in the room — warm, calm, and reassuring.
Among all the instructors they had seen since arriving at the academy, it was Elira they felt most at ease with. Some of the candidates returned her smile, others straightened in their seats with quiet respect.
"Why are you all standing?" she chuckled, gesturing lightly. "Your class isn't over yet. Sit, sit. Don't worry — I know some of you are hungry. After this class, we'll be going to the Academy's cafeteria."
The room brightened instantly. Murmurs rippled through the rows of candidates, their faces lighting up with relief. It was true — most of them had gone to bed on an empty stomach the night before, wondering when they'd get a proper meal.
Elira's tone softened, but her expression turned a bit more serious. "Instructor Kate will be with you soon," she said, turning toward the door.
As she stepped out, another woman entered — and the room seemed to hold its breath for a moment.
She was fair-skinned, with soft brown hair neatly tied behind her shoulders. Her eyes, framed by a pair of elegant glasses, gleamed with quiet intelligence. Her curvy figure carried grace rather than pride, and the faint dimple that appeared when she smiled made her presence all the more striking.
"Welcome, candidates," she said warmly. "My name is Instructor Kate."
Her voice was crisp, yet melodic — confident without arrogance. She let her eyes sweep through the crowd, lips curling slightly.
"I'd love to get to know you all, but unfortunately, there are too many of you." She clicked her tongue in mock disappointment, then laughed softly. "But don't worry — I'll get to know you soon enough."
Her openness made the room ease up. Shoulders that had been stiff from nerves began to relax.
"For today's class," Kate began, clasping her hands, "we'll be learning something very important — something every Writer's Academy candidate must understand apart from the Ink Point System."
She paused for effect, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "And it is…"
She let the silence hang for a moment. "…the Officials and Instructors of the Writer's Academy."
Several candidates leaned forward with curiosity.
"It's crucial to know who governs this place," she continued. "What the Writer's Academy is built upon — and the people who make it all possible."
Kate gestured subtly, and a faint whir echoed through the hall. A projector, already set up earlier, flickered to life on the whiteboard behind her — no need for new equipment to be brought in. The image that formed was clean and golden, displaying the academy's emblem before fading into diagrams of its hierarchy.
"The Writer's Academy is comprised of Officials, Instructors, and Caretakers — those who keep the academy running smoothly."
"The Officials," she said, pacing slowly before the front row, "are the top figures — the guiding minds of the academy. There are eight of them in total. Each one is an expert in writing — not just good, but masters of their craft."
She pointed to the first glowing image — a man with silver hair and a kind, stern face.
"The Headmaster, Mr. Townsend — founder of the Writer's Academy. His vision is what made all this possible. He believed writing could shape worlds, and sought to give that gift to young minds like yours."
She clicked to the next figure. "The Vice Headmaster, Mr. Alastair — a celebrated author with countless awards. Despite his young age, he's carved his name deep into the world of literature."
Murmurs spread among the students.
Clinton whispered to Francis, "He looks barely older than thirty."
Francis smirked slightly, eyes never leaving the screen. "Age doesn't matter when talent speaks louder."
Kate smiled faintly, clearly overhearing. "Exactly," she said, continuing her pace. "The other officials are Lord Reinhardt, Keeper of Tradition — wise, strict, but fair. Lady Seraphine, Mistress of Order — known for her precision and discipline. Then there's Master Kieran — sharp-witted, compassionate, a screenwriter and novelist both."
Images of each flashed on the screen in sequence, their names elegantly inscribed beneath.
"Lady Mirabel," she continued, "the Council's gentle conscience."
Then her tone dipped slightly, playful but secretive. "The last two…" She halted, lowering her voice. "They're a secret. You'll get to know them soon enough."
A wave of confusion spread across the hall.
When she noticed the students' puzzled looks, she laughed softly. "You've already seen them — your first day here."
The candidates exchanged uncertain glances, some whispering.
Kate folded her arms. "You'll understand later. For now, let's move on.
"She turned back to the screen. "The Writer's Academy has over two hundred instructors, apart from the Officials."
Gasps filled the room.
Two hundred might not sound large, but knowing each was a qualified expert made the number daunting.
'No wonder Instructor Elira said we've only seen a fraction,' Clinton thought, gripping his pen tightly.
Kate chuckled lightly at their expressions. "Yes, that many. You'll meet them gradually."
---
Far from the classroom, in a quiet observation chamber, several instructors sat before a large crystal-like screen showing the same class in real time.
Greem leaned closer to Betty with a sly grin. "So… who do you have your eyes on among the girls?"
Betty rolled her eyes, lips curving into a wry smile. "You're incorrigible. It's too early for that."
"True," he chuckled. "But still…"
They both laughed quietly, even as their attention returned to the monitor. They'd been tasked by the Council to observe every candidate's progress closely.
Greem sighed, leaning back. "This is going to be a long day."
---
Meanwhile, back in the main hall, the display behind Kate shifted — now revealing a sprawling aerial view of the academy grounds, drawn in exquisite golden lines. The map shimmered as if ink itself was flowing across it.
Angel gasped. "Is this place really that big?"
Angelina chuckled beside her. "Guess we've barely seen a corner of it."
Kate smiled at their awe. "Indeed. This," she gestured gracefully, "is your world now."
She pointed toward a grand building at the entrance. "This is the General Hall — where all major announcements are made. It's also where you'll meet the Council occasionally."
"To the left," she continued, "stands the Tower of Silence — a place of deep focus and solitude. Most instructors adore it; it's where ideas are born in quiet."
"To the right," she motioned, "is the Scribes' Tower — where instructors copy ancient texts to refine discipline and patience. This tower, however," she added firmly, "is restricted to instructors only."
The candidates nodded solemnly.
She clicked again, and new structures appeared. "Next is the Library of Endless Quills — home to countless archives and writing tomes. Then the Arena of Words — the stage for your writing performances and competitions."
Her tone turned sharp. "The Council Chamber — final place of judgment. It is forbidden to all except the Officials. If you wish to stay long in this academy…" she paused, eyes narrowing slightly, "stay away."
The room grew silent. A few candidates swallowed hard.
Kate smiled again, letting the tension ease. "Now, lighter things — the Fountain of Ink, our mythic centerpiece. The Hall of Drafts, where you'll rehearse your written works. The Garden of Inspiration, perfect for clearing your mind."
"And, of course," she added with a teasing smile, "your dormitories — and the Academy's cafeteria."
At that, a wave of laughter and relief swept through the room.
"Who's ready to eat some delicious food?" she asked, her voice lilting.
Almost everyone raised their hands.
Francis allowed himself a rare smile. For once, the world didn't feel so cold.
'Finally,' he thought.