The common room of Umbra House was like stepping into another world.

Towering arched windows lined the curved walls, each one opening out into a panoramic sky of endless twilight. Stars shimmered like flecks of living silver, swirling lazily across the deep violet heavens. Distant moons, some small and sapphire, others massive and bronze, hung like lanterns in the sky, casting a strange light that bled through the stained-glass panes. The light was not quite bright, not quite dim. It wrapped the chamber in a constant, quiet dusk.

Cushioned alcoves and reading nooks were tucked between every pillar, shadows curling like silk in the corners. Wisps of aether drifted through the air in thin rivulets, drawn in by the quiet pulse of magic humming through the floors and hearths. Walls were lined with shelves carved from black-stained wood, stacked with tomes whose titles shifted when stared at too long.

The Umbra students had gathered in the center of the room on a sunken platform of smooth obsidian where there was a still, dark pond, circular and deep, its surface perfectly smooth like polished obsidian. At times, it shimmered with reflections that didn't quite match the room around it. Aether, Thorne realized. The pond was saturated with it, like a mirror for magic itself.

Around the pool, curved velvet sofas were arranged in concentric rings, their cushions plush and dark, embroidered with fine silver thread in swirling, arcane patterns. The entire place radiated calm and focus, shadows folding into corners and niches as if choosing to rest rather than be banished.

High above, floating candles burned with dim purple fire, drifting lazily in the air. Soft, weightless strands of aether wafted around them, drawn in slow spirals toward the heart of the room, toward the pond.

This place didn't feel like a common room.

It felt like a sanctuary.

Students had begun to gather, settling onto the couches around the pond. A few whispered to one another, but most simply looked around, drinking in the strangeness, the beauty, the quiet weight of it all.

Thorne took a seat near the edge, Lucien settling beside him without a word. He noticed that even Isadora, normally a bright, chaotic presence, was subdued.

Then the silence shifted.

The man that had welcomed them walked to the edge of the dark pond and turned to face them, his robes whispering behind him. The flickering candlelight played across his angular features, sharp cheekbones, iron-grey hair, and keen black eyes that gleamed like polished glass.

"Welcome," he began. "I am Archwarden Veredan. I will be your Head of House during your time here at Aetherhold. You've been chosen for Umbra not by chance, but because of who you are and what you are capable of becoming."

There was no dramatic pause. Just truth, clean and sharp.

"I imagine by now you've heard the whispers," he continued, hands clasped behind his back. "That Umbra is the shadow house. That we skulk in corners while the others blaze with glory."

A few students shifted uneasily.

"Good. Let them believe it."

He began to pace slowly, his boots silent on the polished floor.

"Let the others preen like peacocks, Ignis with its fire-eyed pride, Aegis with its gleaming oaths, Zephyrous with its windswept arrogance. While they bask in attention… we endure. We study. We listen."

His eyes swept across the room, resting for a breath on each student in turn.

"Umbra is not about shadows. It is about seeing clearly through the illusions others mistake for truth."

He stopped in front of the pond and gestured to its still surface.

"Observe."

The pond rippled. Faintly at first, then with growing clarity. Images shimmered across the surface, a spell cast in slow motion, the path of a falling blade, a mind unraveling in battle. Ghosts of truth, unflinching and sharp.

"This is the heart of our house," Veredan said quietly. "A scrying pool attuned not to the future, but to insight. Here, lies are swallowed. Illusions fade. What remains is what matters."

He turned again.

"You are first-years, but you are not children. You have survived the spellbinding. You have entered the gates of Aetherhold, an act many have died attempting. But your journey is only just beginning."

A hush fell over the room again, reverent now.

"In your rooms, you will find two lists. The first, your class options. Read them carefully. Choose wisely. The second… is your supply list."

He allowed that to hang in the air for a moment, and several students looked like they were already considering their options.

"Yes, you will need to acquire your tools. Wands, if you have not brought your own. Tomes. Uniforms. Ingredients. Foci. Everything your chosen studies require. These are not gifts. This is not charity. It is your responsibility. You will find Evermist a haven of wonders… and prices."

A few students chuckled. Veredan did not smile.

"For the next five days, you are free. Free to explore this castle, to walk its towers and courtyards. Free to study the Nexus. Free to journey below to Evermist. Free… to begin seeking a sponsor."

Now, he paused.

"I know many of you are eager for such a thing. And I know others scoff at the idea. That some of you view sponsorships as shackles, obligations that only the weak require."

His voice deepened, just a touch.

"You are wrong."

He let that settle before continuing.

"The right sponsor can change your life. Open doors that would otherwise be sealed for eternity. Grant you knowledge, protection, and power. Aetherhold is a place of learning, yes, but it is also a place of positioning. Of leverage. Of advantage."

His eyes burned with a quiet fire.

"We are Umbra. We take every opportunity. We do not beg, but we do not waste what is offered. Strength is not always in the sword, or the spell. Sometimes, it is knowing which hand to shake… and which to cut off."

Several students shifted again, this time for a different reason.

Thorne stared at the man, expression unreadable.

"Do not waste these five days. They are a gift. They are a test. They are a glimpse of the road ahead."

Veredan walked once more around the pond, then returned to the center.

"You have chosen your house. Now choose your path."

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He gave a shallow bow.

"Welcome to Umbra."

And with that, he stepped back… and vanished into the shadows between pillars.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then the room burst into whispers, and the aether-candles flickered in time with their excitement.

Thorne sat in silence, watching the ripples on the pond slowly fade into glass once more.

Umbra.

A house of silence, insight… and perhaps, ambition.

Yes, he thought.

He could work with this.

As Veredan's presence faded into the shadows, the murmurs in the common room swelled. A few students remained seated, quiet and contemplative, while others rose and moved to explore the chamber. The pond had grown still once more, its mirror surface reflecting not the room, but the stars above, impossibly vast and close.

Thorne stayed seated, his gaze fixed ahead, until Isadora flounced down beside him with a theatrical sigh.

"Well, I don't know about the rest of you," she said, sweeping her long hair over one shoulder, "but I feel like I just walked through a lecture by the god of drama and cryptic metaphors."

Lucien, lounging sideways across a nearby sofa, grunted. "You should've taken notes. He probably slipped in three threats, two riddles, and a syllabus without us noticing."

Thorne smirked faintly. "He wasn't trying to scare us. Just remind us that Umbra plays the long game."

Isadora wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. You mean the game where everyone's too clever for their own good and no one tells you the rules until you're already losing."

"You'll do fine," Lucien muttered. "You've got that terrifying lineage thing down."

Isadora beamed, flipping her hair again. "Why, thank you."

Thorne allowed himself a small smile. There was something oddly natural about this moment, sitting together in a common room lit by spectral candles, surrounded by aether currents and whispering stars.

Then Isadora suddenly stiffened.

Her smile faltered.

"Do you feel that?" she asked, her voice losing its usual lilt.

Thorne blinked. "Feel what?"

She stood up slowly, eyes narrowing, scanning the room. "Something just… pulled."

And then he felt it too.

It wasn't dramatic. Just a subtle, quiet tug, like a current brushing against his core, urging him to move. A gentle nudge at the edge of awareness, whispering that something was waiting. It wasn't pain or discomfort, it was instinct.

All around them, other students began to react the same way. Isadora looked around with suspicion, while Lucien straightened, his gaze flicking to the pond, then to the towering windows above.

Thorne turned his attention inward, focusing on the feeling. It was like a compass, his core, now reshaped and bound to Aetherhold, was reaching out.

Trying to guide him.

"It's the school," Lucien murmured, rising to his feet. "Our cores… they're resonating with it."

"What?" Thorne asked, but the answer came to him even before Lucien responded.

"The spellbinding wasn't just ceremonial," Lucien continued. "It forged a connection. We're part of the Nexus now. And it knows where we belong."

Thorne felt the tug again, more insistent this time. He turned his head and realized that the common room had changed.

Shadowed alcoves had opened in the curved walls, like mouths silently yawning into darkness. They hadn't been there before. No doors, no markings. Just arched recesses, shrouded in mist and shadow.

One by one, the students began to move.

Each person was clearly drawn to a different alcove, as if pulled by an invisible thread. No one questioned it. No one resisted. They simply… followed.

Some walked alone.

Others shared glances, nods of mutual understanding, then disappeared into the dark.

Thorne stood up, the pull in his chest unmistakable now. His path had opened on the far right side of the room, a long arch flanked by two slender obsidian columns. The stars above seemed to dim around it, casting the entryway in deeper twilight.

Isadora lingered beside him.

"Well," she said, her voice suddenly quiet. "This is… strange."

Lucien gave him a look. "Don't follow the light. Follow the pull. Aetherhold's strange about this kind of thing."

"Thanks," Thorne said, smirking. "That's so incredibly comforting."

Lucien chuckled and vanished into his own path.

Thorne turned back toward his.

The pull intensified. It wasn't harsh. It was gentle… but insistent. As if it knew him. As if the Nexus itself was inviting him deeper.

Thorne stepped into the darkened alcove, the tug at his core guiding him without hesitation. But before the shadows swallowed him fully, he heard the echo of footsteps behind him.

He turned, surprised to see Isadora following. Her expression, for once, wasn't playful, it was puzzled, almost… contemplative.

"You're following me?" he asked, raising a brow.

Isadora gave a shrug of her shoulders, her many silver bracelets clinking faintly. "I think the better question is, why is my core following you?" She gestured ahead. "Same direction. Same pull. Either you're secretly enchanting me, or the castle has a funny sense of humor."

Thorne gave her a flat look. "It's not me."

"Well," she said breezily, "that's your opinion."

They fell into step beside each other, ascending a narrow spiral staircase carved from deep grey stone. The walls were embedded with slivers of aetherglass, giving off a soft lavender glow. To their right, a series of arched windows opened to the impossible twilight sky.

Isadora slowed as one of the windows came into view, her eyes locked on the horizon. "You could get lost in that," she murmured. "It's like the stars are whispering old secrets to each other."

Thorne glanced out as well. The constellations shimmered in impossible arrangements, moons hung low like ornaments on invisible threads. "Feels like something's watching back."

"Mmm," she hummed, not disagreeing. "Good."

They climbed higher, footsteps echoing faintly, until the staircase opened into a modest common area, clearly a smaller offshoot from the massive Umbra chamber below. Plush midnight-blue sofas circled a central table carved from pale driftwood, and a few bookshelves lined the walls, already filled with tomes. On the far end, a dining table sat beneath a hanging orb of soft, shifting light, and was already piled high with fruits, pastries, and a steaming pitcher of some spiced drink.

A darkling student stood to one side of the room, peering into one of the six wooden doors with angular curiosity. His skin, veined with glinting copper aether patterns, reflected the starlight in strange ways. Down the staircase behind them, Thorne heard more footsteps, two more students ascending.

"Well," Isadora said, spinning in place and clapping her hands once. "This is delightful. Private hallway, magical snacks, eternal cosmic view. And..." she turned toward the row of six doors "... room selection!"

She wandered toward the doors with the practiced air of someone used to inspecting estates. "I hope mine has a self-filling crystal bath, heated floors, and a closet that can argue back when you pick the wrong shoes."

She gave Thorne a wink and disappeared behind one of the doors.

Thorne shook his head with a faint smirk and moved to the door that tugged at him most. As his fingers brushed the doorknob, his core gave a soft pulse of recognition. The door opened with a soft creak, and he stepped inside.

Inside was a room far simpler than he expected.

Warm wood paneling framed the walls, and a thick rug softened the stone beneath his bare feet. A single bed with navy blue sheets, neatly made. A deep armchair sat beside a compact desk, and a narrow wardrobe stood against the far wall. A small fireplace rested in the corner, already kindled with faint embers, its warmth curling through the room like a welcoming sigh.

He blinked. Would he actually need that? Did the temperature drop in the dead of night, even here? He wasn't sure.

No enchanted tapestries. No floating lights. No singing mirrors.

It felt… lived in.

It reminded him of the rooms above Jonah's shop, or his old room...

It reminded him of something real.

He looked around with cautious curiosity, to his right, he noticed a narrow door. Curious, he opened it and found a tiny private bath, half the space taken by a tub. He raised a brow. No buckets, no basin. Just the tub.

When he reached in to touch the porcelain, a symbol flared at the bottom, visible only to his aether vision. Suddenly, warm water bubbled up from the base of the tub in a steady, smooth arc, spilling into the basin like a miniature fountain.

Thorne stared for a moment, then chuckled. "That's the stuff."

He crouched, studying the glyph. It was delicate, elegant in its construction, unlike the brute-force enchantments he'd seen in Alvar or Valewind. It wasn't just functional, it was graceful.

With a sigh, he stepped back into the room. A tall, narrow glass door led onto a balcony barely wide enough for one chair.

Still, he stepped through, drawn forward by the view.

He stood under an endless night sky.

No castle walls. No cliffside. No ground below. Just the dark pond of the Umbra tower somewhere behind him and this, this curtain of stars and drifting moons ahead. He could feel the air, smell it. The faint hum of magic beneath it.

It was beautiful.

Terrifying.

But beautiful.

He frowned.

Umbra was supposed to be beneath the castle. Underground.

And yet…

"How does this exist?" he murmured.

He reached for his aether vision, just in case, but saw no hints of illusion magic. No glamour. No manipulation.

Whatever he was seeing… it was real.

Or real enough to fool him completely.

He leaned against the railing, staring into the infinite.

With an amused shake of his head, he muttered, "I could use a bath right about now."

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