Morning came...

Kyle already dressed, bouncing on his heels by the door.

Again.

Does this guy ever sleep in?

"Come on, Jin! Orientation starts in an hour! We gotta get good seats!"

He was practically vibrating with excitement. "This is it, man! Our first official day! Real Academy students!"

"Yeah," I said, splashing water on my face from the washbasin. "Real exciting."

"You're so negative."

"I'm realistic."

"Same thing to you."

Can't argue with that.

I grabbed my identity card, tucking into my jacket pocket. Kyle was already halfway out the door.

"Let's go, let's go!"

I followed, closing the door behind me.

The hallways of Building C were filling up with students, some looking nervous, others confident, all wearing the same uniform that somehow looked different on everyone.

Kyle waved at a few people as we passed. Most ignored him. A couple nodded back politely.

We stepped outside into crisp morning air. The campus was already buzzing, students streaming toward the central building in clusters, their voices mixing into a low hum of anticipation and nerves.

The Grand Hall loomed ahead.

It was exactly what you'd expect from a medieval fantasy academy, massive stone architecture, tall arched windows, banners bearing the Academy crest hanging from the facade.

The kind of building designed to make you feel small and insignificant the moment you walked through the doors.

Kyle's eyes were wide. "Whoa. That's... that's huge."

"Yeah."

"Like, really huge."

"I can see that."

We joined the flow of students heading through the main entrance. The doors were propped open, and the interior was even more impressive, vaulted ceilings that seemed to stretch endlessly upward, stone columns carved with intricate designs, enchanted lanterns floating near the ceiling that cast a warm, steady glow.

And at the far end, a massive stage with a podium and rows of chairs behind it.

Students were already filling the rows of seats that faced the stage, hundreds of them, maybe more.

Kyle grabbed my arm. "Come on, let's get seats before it's packed!"

He dragged me toward the middle section, not too far forward to draw attention, not so far back that we couldn't see. We slid into a row about halfway up, settling into wooden seats that were surprisingly comfortable.

I scanned the room while Kyle fidgeted beside me.

And near the very front, in a seat that might as well have had a spotlight on it, sat Toren Graves.

He wasn't wearing the standard uniform. His was modified, reinforced shoulders, extra plating along the arms, designed to accommodate his massive frame. He sat perfectly still, hands resting on his knees, staring straight ahead like he was carved from stone.

Rank one.

Kyle followed my gaze. "That's him, right? Toren Graves?"

"Yeah."

"He's... really big."

"Yeah."

"Like, really big."

"I noticed."

Kyle shuddered. "Glad I don't have to fight him."

Yet.

More students filed in, filling the remaining seats. The noise level rose, conversations overlapping, nervous laughter, the scrape of chairs against stone.

Then the lanterns dimmed.

And the room fell silent instantly.

A door at the back of the stage opened, and a man stepped out.

He was older, maybe sixty with silver hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and robes that marked him as faculty. He walked with the kind of unhurried confidence that said he'd done this a hundred times before.

Placing both hands on the podium, he looked out over the crowd.

"Welcome," he said, his voice amplified by magic so it filled every corner of the hall. "To the Royal Academy."

A few students clapped. Most stayed silent, waiting.

The professor continued.

"I am Professor Aldric Vane, Head of First Year Studies. You are here because you have proven yourselves capable, whether through combat, magic, or scholarly pursuit. But understand this: passing the entrance trials was the easy part."

A ripple of murmurs went through the crowd.

"The Academy does not coddle its students," Vane said. "You will be challenged. You will fail. Some of you will not make it to the end of the year. This is not a threat. It is a fact."

Well, that's comforting.

"However," Vane continued, "those who persevere will leave this institution as some of the finest warriors, mages, and strategists in the realm. You will shape the future. You will protect kingdoms. You will forge legacies."

He paused, letting the weight of that settle.

"But first, you must survive."

The silence was heavy.

Vane stepped back from the podium. "Now, I will yield the floor to Headmaster Corwin, who will address you directly."

Another door opened at the back of the stage, and an older man entered, this one even more imposing. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a presence that commanded attention without effort. His robes were deep crimson, trimmed with gold, and his expression was stern but not unkind.

Headmaster Corwin.

He took the podium, his gaze sweeping across the assembled students like he could see into each of them individually.

"First years," he began, his voice deep and resonant. "You stand at the threshold of greatness. What you do with this opportunity is entirely up to you."

He spoke for several minutes, about the Academy's history, its values, the expectations placed on students. It was the kind of speech you'd expect: inspiring, authoritative, designed to make you feel both honored and terrified to be here.

I half-listened.

Corwin finished his speech to polite applause, then stepped aside.

"And now," he said, "I present the Student Council, led by this year's President."

The side door opened again, and five students filed onto the stage.

All wearing modified uniforms with gold trim and sashes marking them as council members. They walked in formation, taking seats on the stage in a precise line.

Four of them I didn't recognize.

But the fifth...

She walked to the center of the stage with confident strides, her silver hair pulled back in an intricate braid, uniform perfectly pressed, posture radiating authority.

Kyle leaned forward, his eyes widening. "Whoa," he whispered. "She's gorgeous."

The girl—the Student Council President—stopped at the podium and surveyed the assembled first-years with cool, assessing grey eyes.

"Students," her voice carried clearly, controlled and precise. "I am Cassandra Raith, Student Council President. On behalf of the council, I welcome you to the Academy."

"Wait. Raith?" Kyle's head snapped toward me so fast I heard his neck crack.

"As in—"

"Yes," I muttered, not looking at him.

"Your—"

"Yes."

"Your sister is the Student Council President?!"

"Yes."

Several students nearby turned to look at us. I kept my expression carefully neutral, staring straight ahead at Cassandra on stage.

She continued her speech, talking about student resources, council responsibilities, the expectations placed on first-years.

I'd heard this tone before. The cold authority, the perfect composure, the way she commanded attention without raising her voice.

"Uphold the Academy's standards of excellence and integrity," Cassandra was saying. "Any violation of rules will be met with appropriate consequences, regardless of rank or family status."

Her eyes swept across the crowd and, for just a fraction of a second, landed on me.

Just a brief pause before moving on.

"The council is available for questions and concerns during designated hours," she concluded. "We expect great things from this incoming class. Do not disappoint us."

With that, she stepped back from the podium, and the council members filed off stage.

Polite applause rippled through the hall.

Professor Vane returned to the podium, waiting for the applause to die down before speaking again.

"Now, regarding your schedules," he said, "Classes will begin tomorrow morning. Your individual schedules will be delivered to your dormitory rooms by this evening. They are non-negotiable."

He paused, letting that sink in.

"Combat track students will have morning physical training, followed by weapons practice, tactical studies, and one elective of your choosing. Magic track students will focus on theory, practical spellwork, and mana control exercises. Scholarly track students will attend lectures on history, strategy, and diplomacy."

"Attendance is mandatory," Vane continued. "Three unexcused absences in any class will result in academic probation. Five will result in expulsion. Do not test this policy."

A few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

"The Academy library is open from dawn until midnight. The training grounds are available for personal use outside of scheduled class times. The dueling arena requires a faculty supervisor to be present. Violating any of these rules will result in disciplinary action."

He scanned the crowd with the kind of look teachers gave when they expected at least a third of their students to ignore everything they just said.

"You are dismissed. Use today to familiarize yourselves with the campus. Tomorrow, your education begins in earnest."

With that, he stepped away from the podium.

The hall erupted into motion, students standing, conversations resuming.

Kyle turned to me immediately, his eyes wide. "Dude. DUDE. Your sister is the Student Council President! Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Because it's not relevant."

"Not relevant?!" His voice pitched higher. "She's like, one of the most important students in the entire Academy! And she's your sister!"

And she hasn't spoken to me in eighteen months. And she looked at me like I was a stain on the wall.

"Just shut up," I said flatly.

Kyle blinked. "Oh. Okay."

The hall was starting to empty, students filing out in groups.

I stood, ready to leave.

"Hold on," Kyle said, grabbing my arm. "Shouldn't we, like, go say hi? I mean, she's your sister! Maybe—"

"No."

"But—"

"Kyle. Drop it."

He looked like he wanted to argue, his mouth opening and closing like a fish trying to figure out how to breathe on land.

But something in my expression must have stopped him, maybe the flatness in my tone, or the way my jaw was clenched tight enough to crack teeth.

"Okay," he said quietly. "Yeah. Sorry."

I nodded and joined the flow of students heading toward the exits.

As we passed through the massive doors, I caught one more glimpse of Cassandra standing near the stage. She was surrounded by other council members and several nobles already trying to curry favor, offering compliments, asking questions, laughing at things she said that probably weren't even jokes.

I turned away and kept walking.

Kyle fell into step beside me, unusually quiet. His earlier excitement had dimmed, replaced by something more hesitant.

"So..." he ventured after a moment, voice careful. "What do we do now? Classes don't start until tomorrow."

"I don't know. Explore? Find food? Sleep?"

"Sleep sounds boring."

"Sleep sounds perfect."

Kyle grinned, his usual enthusiasm creeping back. "Come on, man! First day at the Academy! We should do something! Maybe check out the training grounds? Or the library? Or, oh! We could go to the market district! I heard there are shops and food stalls and—"

I tuned him out, letting his voice become background noise as we walked through the Academy grounds.

Students milled about everywhere, some heading toward the dormitories, others already making their way to training fields or the library.

The sun was bright overhead, the air crisp and cool. The campus looked almost peaceful like this, stone pathways winding between buildings, gardens with benches and flowering trees, the distant sound of someone practicing sword forms echoing from the training grounds.

Almost peaceful.

If you ignored the politics, the enemies, and the sister who pretends I don't exist.

"And then we could check out that—Jin? You listening?"

I blinked, realizing Kyle had been talking the entire time. "Yeah."

"What did I just say?"

"Something about food."

Kyle laughed, loud and genuine. "Close enough! Come on!"

He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward whatever destination he'd decided on, probably food, knowing him.

And I let him, too tired to argue.

Already exhausted.

This is going to be a very long four years.

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