Thorne strode toward House Umbra, the deep violet glow of the Nexus fading behind him. The cavernous hall still hummed with murmurs, whispers slithering through the gathered students like restless spirits.

He ignored them.

Even as he stepped past the initiates of other Houses, he felt their gazes, their silent assessments.

A few were simply curious.

Others, notably some of the nobles from Zephyrus and Ignis, looked wary, even resentful.

Thorne wasn't surprised.

Being chosen by Umbra wasn't just unusual.

It meant he was an unknown factor. A wildcard. A threat.

Lucian had already settled among the Umbra initiates, his expression indifferent, almost bored, before he gave a single slow nod.

No words were exchanged.

None were needed.

The sorting continued.

More students were called, more affiliations cemented.

Ronan was next from their group.

The young noble stepped forward, his shoulders squared, but there was tension in the way he walked. He hadn't expected to be called so soon, and as the Nexus swirled around him, his expression grew rigid.

A moment later, the Nexus pulsed. First red then gold. The colors twisted together before the golden glow overtook the red.

Zephyrus.

Ronan frowned.

It wasn't the relief of someone happy to find his place, it was disappointment, resentment.

His gaze flicked first toward Umbra, where Thorne stood, his face a thunderstorm. Then his eyes shifted toward Ignis, lingering on the warriors and battle-hardened nobles who welcomed their newest members with nods of approval.

For a moment, his entire demeanor twisted with frustration.

He had wanted something else.

Thorne didn't react, simply watching as Ronan squared his jaw and walked toward his House without another glance in his direction.

One by one, the rest of their group was sorted.

Garridan was chosen by Ignis, the Nexus wavered on his selection before finally settling on the House of ambition and warriors.

He took it as a personal victory, throwing his shoulders back as he stomped toward his new House, already seeking out someone to challenge.

Then, finally...

Isadora Valienne.

The murmuring grew louder as the noblewoman stepped forward with effortless grace, her gown sweeping behind her. Unlike the others, she showed no apprehension, no hesitation, only supreme confidence.

The Nexus reacted immediately, pulsing with a singular, commanding color.

Umbra.

The room fell silent.

Thorne's brows lifted. That was… unexpected.

Isadora herself blinked in clear surprise, then frowned. She cast a glance at the nobles of Zephyrus, her people, the well-bred elites, the cunning socialites. For the first time, she hesitated.

Then, as if regaining control of herself, she lifted her chin and walked toward the gathering of Umbra students.

Thorne studied her carefully as she came to a stop beside him. Maybe she wasn't as simple as she seemed. He had pegged her as a spoiled socialite, a frivolous noblewoman who cared more for wine than wisdom. But Umbra had chosen her.

"Perhaps you have more layers than you let on," he murmured.

She turned to him with a lazy smile, though there was something sharp behind her eyes. "Darling, I'm a Valienne. We're nothing but layers."

Thorne smirked but said nothing.

The sorting continued. Another name was called.

Ingrid Valara.

The crowd hushed.

The Ice Princess of the North. A figure of legend already, a royal from the coldest kingdom in the world.

She stepped forward, composed and regal, and the Nexus flared around her, reacting as if it had been expecting her all along.

The color that emerged was pale blue and silver, the unmistakable colors of Ice and Water.

Her path was clear.

She strode toward Aegis, the House of scholars and guardians. The moment she reached her House, a handful of students greeted her immediately, not out of warmth, but out of recognition. They knew her status, knew her importance. She nodded in return but offered little else.

Isadora, standing beside Thorne, narrowed her eyes.

"She's got a reputation," she muttered. "Her magic is already famous in the North."

Thorne arched a brow. Famous already?

The next name was called.

Amira Nahir.

Isadora stiffened slightly.

"Another princess," she whispered to Thorne, keeping her voice low. "The third daughter of the Emerald Sands. Her father controls the southern trade routes. If you ever want something rare, you go through him."

Thorne watched as Amira stepped forward moving with the grace of a dancer, her golden bracelets jingling softly. Her skin was a warm bronze, her dark hair woven with delicate gold beads.

Her dark eyes shimmered with quiet amusement, as if this entire process was a game she had already mastered.

The Nexus pulsed.

Umbra.

Surprise flickered across a few faces. Zephyrus had seemed the obvious choice. But Amira only smiled knowingly, as if she had expected it all along.

She walked toward Umbra, slipping effortlessly into their ranks, not bothering to hide the delight from her face.

Thorne noted the interest from the people around him. They had been watching her closely, and now that she was in his House, their eyes lingered on Umbra's gathering a little longer than before.

Another name was called.

The next student was an elf, one that caught Thorne's attention immediately.

The one who had demonstrated Time Affinity during his trial.

Thorne perked up, his eyes narrowing slightly.

The brown-haired elf stepped forward with the unhurried grace of his people, his brown eyes calm and an easy smile on his face.

The Nexus pulsed with deep gold and violet.

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"Aegis," Isadora muttered, before the official even spoke the words.

Sure enough, the Nexus confirmed it.

The elf joined Aegis without a word, his presence drawing whispers from the other students.

Then, finally...

The last name was called.

Thorne straightened slightly. He expected her to join him in Umbra, she had been certain they would be sorted together. Or perhaps Ignis, for the short time he'd known her, she came off as a fighter through and through.

Rowenna rose from her place in the crowd with her usual calm, her movements precise and almost sharp, like a blade honed too finely. As she stepped toward the Nexus, her expression remained carefully neutral.

The Nexus flared. Pale blue and silver.

Thorne blinked.

Aegis.

He caught the faintest flicker of confusion in Rowenna's eyes. She hesitated for a heartbeat, just long enough for him to notice. Then her face smoothed, her shoulders squaring as though in defiance of the choice.

Their eyes met across the space, hers lingering, uncertain for a fraction of a second. He saw it. The brief crack in her composed exterior. Then it was gone.

Without further hesitation, she turned and marched toward the Aegis ranks, her steps even and unhurried. But something in the tension of her shoulders told Thorne she hadn't expected this.

A final surge of light, a last whisper of magic curling through the chamber.

And then.

It was done.

The Nexus dimmed, its radiance withdrawing like an exhale, and the official who had presided over the ceremony stepped forward once more.

His silver-threaded cloak glowed faintly in the dim light.

"It is done," he announced, his voice carrying effortlessly through the air.

"Welcome to Aetherhold, initiates."

A wave of anticipation rippled through the chamber.

Some of the initiates looked elated, triumphant.

Others, uneasy.

And a few, like Thorne stood in absolute silence, already wondering what came next.

The official raised a hand, and the four Houses shifted, dividing the students into designated sections.

"You are now members of your chosen Houses. Your first night at Aetherhold begins here."

Then without another word the doors to the academy itself swung open.

The moment the great doors opened, a rush of cold air swept into the cavernous chamber.

Beyond the threshold, a path of floating stone steps stretched toward the castle proper, each one carved with glowing sigils that pulsed as students stepped upon them.

No walls.

No railings.

Just an open, endless sky, the academy looming above them, suspended in the air like a palace of legends.

Thorne didn't hesitate.

As the first students began stepping forward, he followed, Isadora and Lucian falling in step beside him.

The magic beneath their feet was stable, though he could feel the raw currents of aether swirling around them, like unseen winds carrying them toward something far greater than themselves.

As they ascended, Thorne took in the view.

Evermist stretched below, its canals winding through the city, the architecture blending human spires, elven sky-gardens, dwarven stonework, and the unknown craftsmanship of the Therion and Darkling races.

Aether rivers flowed in the sky, twisting and turning like celestial currents, their radiance casting soft glows upon the academy's towers.

And above it all, Aetherhold stood, untouched by time.

The castle's floating bridges shifted and rearranged, as if responding to some unseen will, its many towers piercing the heavens.

This was no ordinary fortress of stone.

This was a place where magic lived, breathed, and ruled.

For the first time, as he ascended toward Aetherhold...

Thorne truly understood where he was.

As Thorne stepped off the final floating stone, a pulse of magic surged beneath his feet, marking his passage into Aetherhold.

The weight of it, of history, of power pressed against his skin like an unseen force.

The other initiates gathered behind him, stepping onto the vast, marble-paved courtyard that stretched before the towering entrance gates of the academy.

The gates stood colossal and unyielding, adorned with runes that shimmered faintly, their inscriptions shifting as if whispering ancient secrets.

Above them, an archway of pure crystal pulsed with golden light, a permanent sigil of Aetherhold's protection.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Even the most arrogant noble among them seemed struck by the sheer magnitude of where they stood.

Then, the silence was broken.

"Initiates."

A new voice, smooth, deep, and commanding rolled over them like thunder.

Thorne turned.

A man stood upon a raised platform of ivory stone, his robes embroidered with intricate sigils that glowed faintly with every movement.

His dark violet cloak, trimmed in silver, billowed slightly despite the lack of wind.

Unlike the other officials they had met, his presence carried weight.

His every motion seemed measured, deliberate, as though even the air around him bent to his will.

"I am Archmage Valcyr."

The moment he spoke his name, a ripple of recognition ran through the initiates.

Whispers broke out.

Thorne's gaze sharpened.

Even he had heard that name in hushed conversations among Alvar's information brokers.

Valcyr the Boundless.

A name whispered in reverence and fear.

Aetherhold's Master of the Arcane, one of the highest-ranking mages in the academy.

Valcyr's piercing silver eyes swept across them, assessing.

"You now stand upon the Threshold of the Arcane," he said, his voice smooth, resonant with restrained power.

"Some of you will rise to greatness."

The way he said it, certain, unquestionable, sent a shiver down Thorne's spine.

"Some of you will falter."

A flicker of amusement crossed the archmage's lips as he took in the silent crowd.

"And some of you… will not last a year."

The tension in the air hardened.

That wasn't a warning.

It was a fact.

Aetherhold was not a place for the weak.

Not a sanctuary for dreamers.

It was a forge.

And not all metal could withstand the flames.

"You have all proven you can wield magic," Valcyr continued. "But let me make one thing clear, magic alone will not save you."

He raised a single hand, fingers curling as if gripping something unseen.

And the air split apart.

For a single breath, Thorne felt like the very fabric of reality fractured.

The world twisted...

And then it snapped back into place.

The display had lasted less than a second, but it was enough to make even the most confident students shift uncomfortably.

Thorne didn't flinch.

But his mind raced.

That was Arcana magic.

He had never seen it used so effortlessly.

"Strength," Valcyr murmured, lowering his hand, "is not measured by your affinities. Nor by your lineage. Nor by your ambition alone."

He let those words sink in.

"Strength is measured by those who endure."

The courtyard was deathly silent.

Then, with a flick of his hand, the towering gates of Aetherhold groaned open.

A corridor of ethereal blue light stretched before them, lined with floating lanterns pulsing with arcane fire.

The archmage gestured without another word.

"Welcome to Aetherhold."

The invitation was clear.

Thorne stepped through the gates of Aetherhold.

The moment he crossed the threshold, he felt it.

A shift in the air.

A weight settling onto his shoulders.

A connection.

As if the very foundation of the academy acknowledged his presence.

He let out a slow breath.

He wasn't sure if that was comforting or unsettling.

The corridor widened into a grand hall.

Tall, spiraling pillars of translucent stone stretched toward an impossibly high ceiling.

Veins of light pulsed through the walls, like living conduits of magic.

Hovering orbs of soft illumination drifted lazily overhead, casting a dreamlike glow.

At the center of the hall, an immense spiral staircase rose upward, its steps shifting seamlessly between physical stone and floating aetherial bridges.

All around them, ghostly figures drifted past.

Not ghosts, Thorne realized, constructs of aether.

The students around him stared in awe.

Even the more composed nobles couldn't mask their astonishment.

"By the dead gods," Ronan breathed. "This place is… alive."

Lucian smirked. "Observant, aren't you?"

Ronan shot him a glare.

Thorne wasn't listening.

His Veil Sense was tingling.

The sheer density of magic in this place was overwhelming.

And somewhere… deep within the academy,

Something watched.

The grand hall buzzed with the murmurs of awe-struck students, but Thorne remained quiet. Observing. Calculating.

His eyes flickered between the shifting staircases, the hovering aether constructs, the pulsing veins of magic within the very walls, a living, breathing sanctuary of power.

Even now, his core pulsed subtly, still adjusting to the overwhelming ambient aether saturating the air.

It was disorienting.

It was thrilling.

"I expected grand," Lucian murmured beside him, hands stuffed in his pockets, his gaze sweeping the towering columns. "But this? This is something else."

Rowenna tilted her head slightly. "It feels…" she hesitated, as if searching for the right words, "old."

And she was right.

This place didn't just radiate power, it was steeped in history, a stronghold that had existed for longer than kingdoms, longer than bloodlines.

Aetherhold had been here before empires had risen and fallen.

And it would be here long after.

Thorne felt small in comparison.

Small, yet unchained.

For the first time since he was a child, there was no Uncle looming over him. No one dictating his steps.

This place had no chains for him.

Only secrets to unravel.

"First Years, this way!"

A clear, commanding voice rang through the hall.

A new figure stood at the base of the shifting staircase, a woman in deep blue robes, her sharp silver hair pulled into a severe knot.

Lines of arcane script shimmered over her sleeves, vanishing as she moved.

"Follow your designated House guides. You will be led to your dormitories."

There was a brief pause as students glanced around, uncertainty flickering across their faces.

Then, movement.

The first-years began splitting off, heading toward four different passageways that led deeper into the academy.

Thorne cast a glance toward the House Zephyrus students. There was Vivienne, standing among a few Zephyrus students, a radiant smile on her face as she said her goodbyes and left.

Ronan was standing stiffly near them, looking like he didn't quite belong, yet was desperate to.

Garridan and Rowenna, among the House Ignis initiates, was already boasting to a few wide-eyed students, gesturing animatedly as he recounted his duels.

But none of that mattered.

His path lay elsewhere.

Thorne fell in step with the Umbra initiates, following their guide through a winding corridor lined with arched windows until they reached a round chamber. At its center a massive, spinning wheel.

Thorne didn't have time to gauge because their guide took them through a dark opening.

Then a shift.

The air around them thickened, the torches dimming to soft violet flames.

They had descended without realizing it.

The walls here were darker, lined with silver filigree that pulsed with hidden inscriptions.

The ceiling stretched high, almost cavernous, with balconies and spiraling staircases leading into the unknown.

Aether flowed differently here.

Less like a river.

More like a whispering current, curling and shifting in unseen eddies.

A grand archway loomed ahead, its frame etched with forgotten symbols, ones even Thorne's aether vision struggled to comprehend.

Then a voice.

"Welcome to House Umbra."

A figure stood waiting beyond the archway.

A man dressed in elegant black robes, runes woven into his cuffs, a thin silver chain hanging from his waist.

His piercing obsidian eyes took them in, one by one.

Assessing. Measuring.

"You will come to learn that Umbra is not a house of swords," he said smoothly, his voice as crisp as winter air.

"But a house of secrets."

His gaze flickered to Thorne for only a moment.

Then he turned, walking deeper into the shadows.

"Follow."

And so, they did.

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