The moment Professor Draven Veyr entered the hall, the air changed.
It wasn't dramatic. There was no flash of magic, no announcement louder than the one already given. He simply walked in, long coat brushing against the marble floor, posture straight, expression unreadable.
And everyone stood straighter.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, his presence commanding without effort. Streaks of silver ran through his dark hair, not from age alone, but from years that had taken something out of him. His eyes were sharp, observant, the kind that missed nothing and forgave even less.
This was the man who had survived the Ashen Accord War.
This was Draven Veyr.
"You are here," he began, voice calm and even, "because someone believed you were worth the risk."
The hall was silent.
"The Aurelian Institute does not promise glory. It promises hardship. Pain. Failure. Most of you will not last six months." His gaze moved slowly across the room. "Only those who prove discipline, control, and loyalty will remain."
Elio listened carefully.
Draven spoke of balance. Of order. Of why magic must never be ruled by emotion. Of how uncontrolled power had once nearly destroyed the world.
"Emotion," Draven said, "is a weakness. Those who let it guide their magic will lose control. And those who lose control become dangers."
Something in Elio twisted.
Before he could stop himself, his hand rose.
The movement was so sudden it drew every eye in the room.
"Yes?" Draven said, surprised despite himself.
Elio swallowed. "If emotion is weakness," he asked, voice steady despite the pounding in his chest, "then why does magic respond to it at all?"
The silence that followed was sharp.
No one questioned Draven Veyr. Not students. Not colleagues. Not even veterans of the Order.
Mirel stared at Elio in horror. Thane looked like he'd forgotten how to breathe.
Draven's eyes narrowed.
For a moment, something dark flickered across his face. Annoyance. Displeasure. And beneath it, something sharper, more personal. His gaze fixed on Elio's face, studying him as if trying to place a memory he did not want.
"You mistake response for dependence," Draven replied coolly. "Magic reacts to emotion the way fire reacts to wind. It does not mean the wind should decide where it burns."
Elio nodded slowly. He wasn't convinced, but he didn't argue further.
"That will be all," Draven said. "You may proceed to your assigned quarters. Your schedules are already prepared."
Relief rippled through the hall as students began to move.
Behind Elio, Thane leaned in. "Elio," he whispered, stunned, "you are wild. I thought you were going to be some kind of quiet bookworm. That was… brave."
Elio smirked, eyes forward, and said nothing.
---
Their room was on the third floor of the west wing.
Large. High-ceilinged. Divided neatly into five sections, each marked with subtle elemental symbols. It was clear the institute believed balance began at home.
Mirel claimed a space near the window. Thane dropped his bag without ceremony. The other two arrived shortly after.
One was an earth wielder, solidly built, quiet-eyed, movements careful and deliberate. His name was Bram Hale.
The other was fire.
Kaien Volst, sharp-featured, confident, with heat that clung to him even when he wasn't using magic. His presence filled the room.
They exchanged brief introductions, then immediately began unpacking.
Elio watched them for a moment, then felt restlessness crawl back into his bones.
"I'll just… look around," he said, already halfway to the door.
No one stopped him.
The institute was quieter now.
Most newcomers had settled into their rooms. Corridors echoed faintly with distant footsteps. Elio wandered, turning corners without paying attention, following nothing but curiosity.
That was how he got lost.
He stopped in front of a door slightly ajar. From inside came the sound of impact. Heat. The sharp crackle of fire colliding with fire.
Elio hesitated.
Then, predictably, opened the door.
Inside, flames danced in controlled arcs between a boy and a girl, moving fast but precise. Two professors stood nearby, watching closely.
One of them was Draven.
"Stop," he commanded.
The fire vanished instantly.
All three turned toward Elio.
Draven's gaze hardened. "Why are you here?" he asked. "Aren't you supposed to be in your room?"
Elio opened his mouth, then immediately chose the worst possible answer.
"They seem like newcomers too," he said honestly. "But they're here…"
Realization hit him a second too late.
"I'm sorry," he added quickly. "I didn't mean— I'll leave."
Draven's expression cooled into something sharper.
"Listen carefully, arrogant boy," he said. "These two are Seris Calder and Rothern Ashren. They are here because they are exceptional. They train beyond the standard curriculum. They do not waste time roaming halls."
Elio froze.
Now that he was looking properly, he saw it.
Seris stood calm and composed, firelight fading from her hands. She had fair skin, sharp features softened by long brunette hair pulled back neatly. Her posture was flawless, her presence controlled, almost intimidating in its quiet confidence.
She was beautiful in a way that felt deliberate.
Rothern stood beside her, fire still faintly clinging to his fingers. Tall, intense, eyes always drawn toward Seris even when pretending otherwise.
Draven himself looked every bit the legend. Power held tightly beneath restraint, authority worn like armor.
Elio bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Professor," he said again, genuinely this time.
He turned and left, closing the door behind him.
His heart pounded, embarrassment burning hotter than any flame he had just witnessed.
And somewhere deep inside, something stirred, as if amused by his inability to stay out of trouble.