Chapter 3 — The Sorting of Sparks
> The Great Hall of Qasr al-Jinnah was carved from moonstone and dragon glass, shimmering with veins of light that pulsed like breathing stars. When Zamira stepped inside, the air itself seemed to hum — ancient magic tangled with the scent of steel and incense.
At the end of the long chamber stood an elf draped in robes of deep blue and gold. His hair was silver, braided with threads of glowing script. His eyes were not kind, but not cruel either — they saw everything.
"Welcome home, child of two worlds," he said. His voice echoed softly, like it was carried by the wind.
Zamira stiffened. "Home?"
"We call it that," he replied, smiling faintly. "I am Archwarden Calithor, guardian of this sanctuary. You have come here under the Treaty of Reclamation — to learn, to heal, and to prove that peace can still grow from blood."
"You talk like a priest," she muttered.
He ignored that, gesturing toward the floating ring of crystal at the center of the hall. Runes circled it like a galaxy in motion.
"Every soul brought to Qasr al-Jinnah must be sorted. The Tower you belong to will shape your path — how you learn, how you live, who stands beside you. It will not choose what you deserve, but what you need."
Zamira eyed the glowing circle. "And if I refuse?"
"Then it will choose anyway."
The crystals pulsed brighter, reacting to her presence. Magic tasted like lightning on her tongue.
"Step forward, Zamira of the second Rebellion."
She hesitated. Then she did.
The moment her boots crossed the ring, the world ignited.
Flames — not hot, not burning, but alive — spiraled around her. Shadows twisted into symbols. Voices whispered in languages she'd never learned. The runes flared, one by one: crimson, gold, violet, black.
And then all light drained into a single color — silver, cold and sharp as a blade.
The air boomed. The Archwarden's robes rippled with wind.
"Regulas Tower," he announced. "The Tower of Resolve and Shadow. The mark of those who defy fate — and often die trying."
The hall murmured. A few elves exchanged worried glances. Even some dragonborn stepped back.
Zamira just crossed her arms. "Figures."
Calithor smiled faintly, almost pitying. "You will have a guide — Rosalith Everen, senior of Regulas Tower."
A tall girl with copper hair and silver-threaded eyes stepped forward, her uniform crisp, her expression unreadable. She bowed slightly.
"Follow me."
---
The dormitories of Regulas Tower rose like a black spire over the northern courtyard. Magic shimmered through its walls — constellations trapped in glass. Inside, corridors wound like veins, lined with floating lanterns.
Rosalith led her to a wide chamber divided by silver curtains.
"You'll stay here," she said. "Your side is with Nova and me. The other 3 beds are for Rami, Remus, and Sirius — loud, mostly harmless."
"Mostly?" Zamira asked.
Rosalith smirked. "You'll see."
---
That night, the students gathered in the lower hall for dinner. Platters of fruit, roasted meat, and glowing bread filled the tables. It smelled heavenly, but Zamira ate in silence, barely tasting it. Around her, laughter and chatter mixed with flickers of magic — utensils floating, cups refilling themselves.
She wasn't used to noise. Or kindness that didn't cost something.
Rosalith tried to make conversation once or twice, but Zamira just nodded and kept her eyes on the food. The warmth of the room pressed against her like armor she didn't ask for.
When dinner ended, she returned to her dorm early. The bed was soft. Too soft. She stared at the ceiling until sleep finally dragged her down.
---
Morning light spilled through the window. Bells chimed — the start of her first day.
In the tower's classroom, the scent of parchment and ink filled the air. Rows of young mages murmured quietly as instructors prepared their sigils.
Zamira took the seat near the back, her posture cold and alert.
That's when she noticed the boy beside her — warm skin, messy black hair, eyes bright with trouble. He grinned like the sun had personally told him a joke.
"You're the new one, right?" he whispered. "Zamira, the rebellion girl?"
She gave him a side glance. "And you are?"
"Rami. Regulas Tower's resident genius-slash-problem. You'll like me."
"Doubt it."
"Everyone does at first."
The bell rang. Sparks flared from the instructor's hand.
Rami leaned closer and whispered, "Welcome to Regulus, Zamira. Try not to set anything on fire your first week."
She smirked faintly. "No promises."
---