The dormitories were quieter than Aurelian expected.
Not silent—never silent—but subdued in a way that reminded him of places where people carried ambition carefully, like glass that could shatter if handled too roughly. The Eastern Dormitory rose in pale stone tiers, each level marked by subtle runes that regulated temperature, mana density, and privacy. Unlike the grandeur of the academy halls, this place felt… lived in.
Aurelian stood at the base of the stairs with a single trunk at his side.
Everything he owned fit inside it.
That, too, felt strange.
A uniformed attendant checked his name against a slate, eyes flicking up briefly—white hair, purple eyes—before snapping back down again with professional neutrality.
"Aurelian Valemont," she said. "First-year. Combat and Mana Integration Course. Top talent bracket."
She hesitated, then added, "Floor Seven."
Aurelian nodded. "Thank you."
"Rooms are pre-assigned," she continued. "Single occupancy. Neighbors are… compatible."
Whatever that meant.
He took the stairs rather than the lift. Old habit. Each step grounded him, reminded him that this place—clean, ordered, protected—was real. That no one was going to drag him away in chains tonight.
Floor Seven opened into a long corridor lined with identical doors, each marked by a number and a faint personal ward that would attune itself to the occupant.
Three doors near the far end pulsed faintly brighter than the rest.
Aurelian slowed.
He could feel it.
Mana density here was different—not heavier, but sharper, as if reality itself paid closer attention to these rooms.
He stopped in front of Room 7–13.
The ward reacted instantly, light shifting to acknowledge him. The door unlocked with a soft chime.
Before he entered, another door down the hall opened.
A girl stepped out.
She was his age—or close enough—and wore the same first-year uniform, though hers was immaculate in a way his never quite was. Her hair was a deep, rich silver rather than white, falling in a loose braid over one shoulder. Her eyes were a clear, piercing blue that missed nothing.
She took one look at Aurelian and froze.
Not in fear.
In recognition.
"…You're one of them," she said.
Aurelian blinked. "One of what?"
Her gaze flicked briefly to his eyes, then to the door number, then back to his face.
"SSS+," she said simply.
He exhaled slowly. "So are you."
That earned him a faint, surprised smile.
"Yes," she said. "I am."
A moment passed.
Then she extended her hand.
"I'm Seraphina Vale," she said. "Same course. Looks like we're neighbors."
Aurelian stared at her hand for half a second too long.
Social interactions still caught him off-guard sometimes—especially ones that began without hostility or expectation.
He took her hand carefully.
"Aurelian Valemont."
Her grip was firm. Confident. Warm.
"Valemont," she repeated, thoughtful rather than impressed. "That explains… some things."
Before he could respond, a third door opened.
The boy who stepped out was tall, broad-shouldered, with jet-black hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck. His eyes were a sharp amber, and unlike most academy students, he looked entirely at ease—as if the world rarely surprised him and he was content with that.
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and assessed the scene in one glance.
"Well," he said mildly, "that didn't take long."
Seraphina rolled her eyes. "You're late."
He shrugged. "Fashionably."
His gaze settled on Aurelian, sharp and curious.
"So you're the third," he said. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
Aurelian met his stare evenly. "Third what?"
"SSS+," the boy replied. "There are three of us this year. No more. No less."
Seraphina nodded. "They put us on the same floor. Probably to make us easier to watch."
The boy grinned. "Or easier to contain if we blow something up."
Aurelian did not smile.
He filed the information away instead.
The boy noticed—and his grin softened into something more neutral.
"I'm Kaelen Rhys," he said. "Room 7–15. Looks like fate wants us close."
Aurelian inclined his head slightly. "Aurelian. Room 7–13."
Seraphina gestured between them. "And I'm in 7–14. So unless someone complains, this corridor is ours."
Kaelen let out a low whistle. "Three monsters on one floor. The instructors are either very confident… or very stupid."
Seraphina's eyes glinted. "Probably both."
Aurelian watched them—listened to the rhythm of their banter, the ease of it. It felt foreign. Not unpleasant. Just unfamiliar.
Neighbors.
He had never had neighbors before.
The entrance ceremony was held that evening in the Grand Amphitheater.
Thousands of students filled the tiered seating, robes and uniforms creating a mosaic of color and crest. Floating sigils illuminated the space, casting soft light without shadows. At the center stood the Headmaster's platform, flanked by senior instructors whose presence alone bent the air.
Aurelian sat between Seraphina and Kaelen.
Not by design.
By coincidence—or at least that was what he told himself.
Seraphina leaned slightly toward him. "You don't look nervous."
"I am," Aurelian replied honestly. "I just don't show it well."
She smiled faintly. "That might be useful here."
Kaelen glanced sideways. "You grew up fighting, didn't you?"
Aurelian stiffened—just a fraction.
"Yes."
Kaelen nodded once, as if that answered more than the single word should have.
The Headmaster began to speak, voice carrying effortlessly across the amphitheater. Words about legacy. Responsibility. The academy's role in shaping the future.
Aurelian listened—but his attention kept drifting.
To the presence beside him.
Seraphina's mana was precise, elegant—like a finely tuned instrument. Kaelen's was dense and stable, grounded like bedrock. And somewhere between them sat Aurelian, carrying a blade and a bow that remembered blood and sacrifice.
Three SSS+.
Three paths.
When the ceremony ended and students began to disperse, whispers followed them.
"That's them."
"Three on the same floor?"
"Valemont… Vale… Rhys…"
"This year is going to be dangerous."
Aurelian rose with the others and followed the flow back toward the dormitories.
At the entrance to their floor, Seraphina stopped.
"Well," she said, turning to face them both, "we're neighbors. Same course. Same ridiculous expectations."
Kaelen smirked. "Guess we should at least be civil."
Seraphina extended her hand again—this time to both of them.
"To surviving the academy," she said lightly. "And not letting it chew us up."
Kaelen placed his hand over hers. "I'm in."
Aurelian hesitated.
Then, slowly, he placed his hand atop theirs.
The contact was brief.
But something settled.
Not trust.
Not yet.
But possibility.
That night, as Aurelian lay on his bed in Room 7–13, staring at a ceiling unmarred by cracks or runes of suppression, he listened to the faint sounds of life on either side of him.
A laugh from Kaelen's room.
A soft melody drifting from Seraphina's—practice, perhaps.
For the first time since he could remember, Aurelian was not alone.
And that, he realized, might be the most dangerous thing of all.