Academy Year Two Begins
George stood in the heart of the Larrisan Magic Academy's great hall, now reserved for second-year students, surrounded by a low, restless buzz of excitement. The air crackled faintly with residual magic, humming like a living thing, while the riot of robes, sigils, and glowing artifacts worn by students and faculty painted the hall in shifting color. It felt louder than last year. Sharper. As if the academy itself had grown more alert. Nana and Kayn flanked him, his closest friends, their expressions mirroring his own mixture of anticipation and nerves as they stepped into the new school year. As the trio entered, George noticed that nearly every seat had already been filled. Conversations hushed in ripples as heads turned, eyes lingering just a moment longer than politeness required. The sight of familiar classmates and professors stirred something warm in his chest—a sense of belonging carried over from the year before. It felt like a welcome back, a quiet promise of new challenges waiting just beyond reach. When they took their seats, the noise gradually died away. Headmaster Joseph Crane ascended the stage. He did not rush. His presence alone commanded the room. Silver hair caught the glow of the enchanted lights overhead, and when his piercing gaze swept across the hall, it felt as though it settled on each student individually. The great hall fell into complete silence. When he spoke, his voice echoed off the stone walls with practiced authority. George felt a shiver run down his spine as Crane laid out the expectations for the coming year. This was no longer a place of simple discovery. No longer a space where mistakes were expected and gently corrected. This was where refinement began—where raw potential would be shaped, tested, and, if necessary, broken. This year would demand more. George listened intently, understanding with sudden clarity that the pressure would be heavier now. The margin for failure thinner. As Headmaster Crane reintroduced the second-year students one by one, George's attention drifted. His eyes caught the faint scar etched above Kayn's eye, the mark briefly catching the light before Kayn sat back down. It was a reminder carved in flesh—of recklessness, consequence, and survival. He shifted, noticing Nana beside him. She stood straighter than she had last year, her posture rigid with purpose, her gaze sharper, more focused. Whatever she had lost, whatever she had endured, it had hardened into resolve. When George name was called, the boy rose confidently, shoulders squared. George felt a brief flicker of pride—in himself. Memories surfaced unbidden: failures that stung, lessons learned the hard way, moments of humiliation, and moments of quiet triumph. Year One had forged them. Year Two would test whether they deserved to remain.
As the final name was spoken, the students rose in unison.
Headmaster Crane surveyed them once more before allowing the faintest trace of approval to enter his expression.
"You are no longer first-years," he said. "You are now officially second-year students of the Larrisan Magic Academy."
The words settled over George like a weight—and a promise.