The carriage rattled to a stop as the road curved uphill, revealing a break in the trees.
Kyle lifted the worn canvas flap and squinted at the golden haze stretching beyond. His fingers gripped the wooden frame as he leaned out, curious to see what the world had in store.
The city of Ardenhall sprawled across the land like a dream painted in stone and flame.
Skyscrapers, more like spires, touched the sky, stitched with glowing threads of mana that shimmered in the air like starlight. Floating vehicles ferried robed and formally dressed figures across elevated pathways, and the hum of magic pulsed beneath the city's heartbeat.
Kyle had imagined a big city before, based on the stories from Willow's Rest. But no dream had prepared him for this.
This wasn't just a place. It was a different world.
"We have arrived, young master Kyle," the coachman announced, hopping down from the front. "Academy students follow the markers in yellow. A yellow brick road, if you will. If you're a late arrival, report to the southern gate, which would be right of the main entrance."
Kyle climbed out, clutching the satchel slung across his shoulder.
The Roland's had pooled everything for this journey—coin, supplies, even a tailored set of new clothes with a sleek cloak.
It still didn't match the pristine robes of other students stepping down from sleek carriages nearby.
He pulled his hood forward and followed the cobbled path toward the gate.
He walked in silence, absorbing every detail.
Children no older than him carried staves carved with strange symbols. A merchant argued with a metal-masked knight who stood like a statue. A hawker waved enchanted scarves that changed colour with mood.
All around him, magic was a utility, a weapon, a status.
And Kyle was an outsider.
The academy's southern gate loomed ahead—twin towers of black stone, with strange script carved deep into the arch.
An armoured golem stood sentinel, motionless, until a boy ahead of Kyle stepped forward.
The boy stood on a magic circle, and the golem's eyes blinked blue.
"Larsen Vance. Entry confirmed," a mechanical voice announced.
Kyle swallowed hard. He stepped into the circle.
The eyes glowed weakly. His heart skipped a beat.
"Kyle," he said quickly. "Invitation number... 1295."
There was a pause—long enough to stretch panic across his ribs.
Then the sentinel spoke:
"Kyle. Entry confirmed."
The gate creaked open.
He exhaled and moved through, his legs trembling.
The academy grounds were unlike anything he'd ever imagined.
Wide plazas paved with smooth stone stretched into verdant courtyards. Fountains danced with water shaped into animals—foxes, dragons, even a hydra that snapped at a giggling student.
Dormitories rose like miniature castles to one side, enclosing the academy, while the central campus glittered like a temple.
Kyle wandered in a daze, unsure of where to go until a chime echoed from a nearby tower.
"All new initiates," a voice boomed, magically amplified across the grounds. "Report to the Induction Hall within the hour. Follow the crystal-lit path."
The cobblestones at Kyle's feet flared with soft blue light, forming a pulsing trail.
As he walked, a voice beside him said, "First time here too?"
Kyle turned.
A lanky boy with a mop of silver hair and an oversized coat with too many pockets strolled beside him. A scroll was tucked under one arm, and behind his ears, a staff that looked suspiciously like a giant pen—only the gem embedded in it gave away its true nature.
"Yeah," Kyle replied. "You?"
"Oh, no. I grew up in the lower ring. But this—" the boy gestured at the sprawling academy, "—this is my first time inside the grounds. Name's Orin."
"Kyle."
Orin nodded. "You're not from the capital, are you?"
"Village south of Greywood," Kyle said. "Small place. Not much magic."
"Well, lucky you made it here," Orin said, grinning. "Wanna guess how many kids drop out before the first trial? My cousin says—"
But Kyle had stopped walking.
They'd reached the crest of the inner courtyard.
Ahead, carved from white stone and veined with glowing crystal, stood the Induction Hall—a massive dome-shaped structure with layered archways and a ceiling enchanted to mirror the sky.
Even from here, Kyle could feel the buzz of magic radiating from it like heat off summer roads.
Orin whistled low.
"Looks like we're not in the sticks anymore."
The inside of the hall swallowed sound.
Soft blue light bathed the marble floors. Stained-glass windows shimmered, depicting legendary mages—clad in flame, cloaked in stars, holding the world itself at bay.
Students filtered in from every direction.
Some laughed. Some looked pale.
Kyle scanned the room instinctively—spotting those who stood confidently alone, those who clumped into groups, and a few who melted into the shadows.
He found a corner near a column and leaned against it. Orin had already wandered off, chatting with a girl who looked like she was made of fire and sarcasm.
The room filled slowly, until silence fell.
A man in white robes stepped onto the central dais.
His hair was tied in silver braids, and his staff was coiled in gold and black metal.
"I am Headmaster Veylan," he said, voice calm but clear. "And this is the start of your reckoning."
No one breathed.
"You come here not to play at spells, but to grasp your purpose," he continued. "Some of you will fail. Some will break. And a rare few will rise."
He lifted his staff.
The stained-glass windows darkened.
"You will be tested—aptitude, mind, and soul. Tomorrow, you will be Sorted. For now, rest. The city awaits you. The Houses watch. Make your impressions wisely."
The lights returned.
Kyle stood frozen as students began to disperse into murmurs and cliques.
Tomorrow, the trials would begin.
But today, he was here.
And that had to count for something.