Welcome to Starfall Academy, Initiates."
The voice echoed through the grand marble hall like a low thunderclap. The old man stood at the summit of a high, star-shaped platform, robes of twilight blue billowing gently around his thin frame. He was ancient—not in the feeble, crumbling way of old peasants, but in the quiet, dignified stillness of stone and starlight. His eyes, sharp and silver, swept across the rows of young students assembled beneath him.
"You stand now at the threshold of something far greater than yourselves," he continued, his voice resonating through the vaulted chamber. "Beyond these walls, kingdoms wage silent wars and empires rise and fall. But here, in this place of stone and starlight, we do not care for titles or lineage."
His eyes narrowed slightly, scanning the crowd.
"We care for will. For potential. For the fire that flickers behind your eyes."
The hall fell completely silent. Even the wind that whispered through the open arches seemed to pause, listening.
"Each of you has been chosen not because of who you are—but because of who you might become. And let me be clear: the path ahead will test you. You will fail. You will break. And then, if you are worthy, you will rise again—stronger, sharper, forged by challenge and truth."
He took a breath, allowing the weight of his words to settle in their bones.
"This is Starfall Academy. Magic lives here, yes—but so do legacy, discipline, and sacrifice. If you came seeking comfort, turn back now."
He paused, and in that moment, the silence roared louder than any shout.
"But if you came to shape the world..." His hand lifted slowly, palm open.
"...Then step forward."
And with that, the old man—Headmaster Kaelen, as they would come to know him—descended from the pedestal, his speech concluded.
A moment later, another figure stepped forward. He was human in appearance, younger than Kaelen, yet still well into his middle years. He wore a black robe, meticulously pressed, and simple round glasses that glinted in the torchlight. A long silver chain hung from his neck, ending in a small crystal.
He adjusted his spectacles and began to speak, his tone clipped and precise.
"As you have all heard from Headmaster Kaelen," he said, "we will now present the representatives of the six kingdoms."
A murmur rippled through the hall. Then, one by one, six children—no older than twelve by their appearance—stepped forward onto the stage, their expressions calm and composed despite the hundreds of eyes upon them.
The man began calling them out, gesturing with a practiced hand.
"Princess Serenya of Liria."
A girl with an elegant, slender frame stepped into the light. Her golden hair was braided intricately with strands of silver, and her soft violet eyes gleamed with poise. She held her head high, her movements graceful.
"Prince Charles of Doroska."
A boy with silver-colored hair followed, his build ordinary but firm, the subtle outline of muscle hinting at training. His steel-blue eyes surveyed the room with cool detachment.
"Prince Kael of Varnoth."
He had vibrant, quiet blue eyes, but what stood out most was the small, triangular mark visible in the center of each pupil. His black hair fell in unruly layers over his brow, giving him a shadowed, mysterious air.
"Princess Thalia of Eldarim."
She strode forward, dark green hair cascading down her back like forest vines. Her soft green eyes were calm and analytical, constantly observing.
"Prince Alric of Thalmark."
Taller than the others, with silver hair and cold gray eyes, he had a noble bearing and an imposing posture, the kind that filled silence with presence alone.
"Princess Nyra of Nerathil."
The last of the six was a girl with raven-black hair and eyes just as dark. There was something unsettling in her stillness, an impenetrable silence that clung to her like a second skin.
Each of them wore a similar uniform: high-collared robes of midnight blue, trimmed with silver, layered over tight-fitting black shirts. The girls' outfits were modified into robe-like tunics paired with skirts. On the left breast of each uniform glimmered the Academy's sigil—a shooting star streaking downward, surrounded by a ring of golden light.
Once the introductions were completed, the six stepped back in unison and were led away through a tall, arched door on the left side of the hall, presumably toward their dormitories.
Among the watching crowd stood Elyon. He had listened intently, absorbing every word. Unlike the royals, he bore no title. Just one of many initiates. As the students began to disperse, he noticed others branching off into different corridors.
Some walked alone. Others moved in pairs.
He realized that many of the students were sharing rooms. The ones alone, he surmised, must be the royals or nobles, while the ones who shared were the common folk—like him.
Near the entrance to one of the dormitory wings, Elyon spotted a large wooden board mounted on the wall. Names were listed in neat rows, each paired with another and followed by a room number. Scanning the board, his eyes found his own name.
Elyon – Alan | Room 204
So Alan must be his roommate.
The hallway that led to Room 204 was dimly lit, with thick stone walls that absorbed sound. He passed other students along the way, some chatting quietly, others already unlocking doors and stepping into their rooms.
He stopped at a wooden door bearing the number 204, took a steadying breath, and opened it.
The room was modest, with smooth stone walls and a single tall window letting in pale light. To the right stood a wooden bunk bed, neatly made. Opposite that, near the window, was a sturdy desk with shelves above it.
A boy stood there, placing a few books and items onto the desk. He had jet-black hair and equally dark eyes. His expression was unreadable—blank, but not hostile. When the door creaked open, he didn't turn fully, but Elyon could tell he'd noticed.
Feeling it best to introduce himself, Elyon cleared his throat.
"Hello. I'm Elyon. I guess I'm your dorm mate."
The boy turned, his face still neutral. "Hi. I'm Alan."
They exchanged no more than that before returning to their tasks. Alan continued arranging his things, while Elyon crossed to the bunk bed and sat on the lower one.
"I'm taking the top bunk," Alan said flatly.
"Fine then," Elyon replied without fuss, settling down.
As they both unpacked, the silence stretched for several minutes—comfortable, but curious.
"So... where are you from?" Elyon asked,
"I'm from the village of Ramage," Alan replied simply. He didn't offer more.
Elyon tilted his head. "Ramage? I don't know where that is."
Alan finally glanced at him, his tone still even. "It's small and very far away Most maps don't mark it anymore."
Elyon nodded. "I'm from Vender village. Not big either, but people at least know where it is, I think."
''Would you mind clarifying your villages location '' Elyons says
"It's at the border of the Varnoth Kingdom," Alan said suddenly, picking up where their earlier conversation had paused. "My village. Ramage. It's not really well-known, so I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it."
"Oh, okay," Elyon replied, nodding slightly. "That makes sense. The border regions aren't talked about much where I'm from."
Alan didn't say anything more. Instead, he turned and pulled something from a small satchel lying on his bed. It was a neatly folded uniform—dark, clean, and identical in style to the ones worn during the entrance ceremony.
"Here," he said, handing it to Elyon. "This is your uniform. The old lady at the front desk gave it to me when I checked in. Told me to give it to my dorm mate."
Elyon took the uniform, unfolding it carefully. The midnight blue fabric shimmered faintly in the low light. The high collar and silver trim gave it a regal look, and the shooting star sigil stitched across the chest glimmered with faint arcane threadwork. Beneath the robe were tight black undershirts and trousers, fitted for agility and utility.
"Thanks," Elyon said as he stepped behind the divider in the corner to change.
A few minutes later, he stepped back out and glanced at himself in the tall mirror mounted on the wall near the closet. The uniform fit just right—not too loose, not too snug. He turned sideways, examining the seams and how the fabric sat on his shoulders. The cloth was lighter than he expected, yet it had a certain weight to it—like history.
Hmm. The uniform fits just right, he thought, running a hand down the sleeve.
Alan looked over briefly and gave a nod. "Looks fine."
"Hey," Elyon said, "when are classes supposed to begin?"
Alan checked a small parchment pinned above his bed, then looked back. "Pretty sure it's in a few minutes. We both have the same first class—with Mr. Renos."
"Mr. Renos?" Elyon asked, the name unfamiliar to him.
"Yeah. He's our spellcasting instructor," Alan replied, now moving toward the door and pulling on his boots. "I heard he's a very powerful c Core . Supposedly killed a dragon with one spell. At least… that's what people say."
Elyon raised his eyebrows. "A dragon? That sounds like one of those exaggerated academy rumors."
"Probably," Alan said with a shrug. "But still. If even half of it's true, we're in for something intense."
Just as the words left his mouth, a sharp, resonant bell rang through the dormitory corridor. The sound echoed through the stone halls like a chorus of enchanted gongs, each note rising and falling in perfect clarity.
Alan's eyes widened slightly. "That's the class bell. Come on—we'll be late."
"Yeah, let's go!" Elyon said, grabbing his satchel and securing it over his shoulder.
The two boys stepped out into the hallway, joining a stream of other students moving with urgency. The corridors buzzed with voices and the shuffle of boots against stone. Banners bearing the academy's emblem hung from the ceilings, fluttering slightly in the breeze from open archways.
Elyon and Alan navigated through the crowd, following signs carved into the stone walls—symbols pointing toward different wings of the academy. They passed under high arches, alongside tall stained-glass windows that painted the halls in rich, shifting colors.
Students around them were similarly dressed—some chattering nervously, others already comparing notes and parchment. The air carried a palpable mixture of excitement and anxiety. Starfall Academy was more than just a school; it was a proving ground, and everyone knew it.
As they neared their destination, Alan turned to Elyon.
"You nervous?"
Elyon considered the question a moment. "Not really. But I am curious."
Alan smiled slightly. "Yeah. Me too."
Together, they stepped through the threshold of the spellcasting hall, ready to begin the first lesson of their new lives at Starfall Academy.