I hesitated at the gate. The school was easily the fanciest thing I had ever seen.

  “You’ll be fine,” Ellara said, giving my arm a quick squeeze, apparently sensing my hesitation. “Gran says the principal already knows you’re coming.”

  “Don’t worry, Ellara,” I echoed. “I don’t expect anything to happen here.”

  We were directed to an administrative wing just off the main courtyard. A receptionist—who looked barely older than Ellara, with long pink hair and cute glasses—ushered us through polished doors into a long office that smelled faintly of old parchment and some sort of pipe smoke.

  Behind a carved desk sat the principal: an older man with silver hair tied back at the nape, his uniform immaculate but softened by the weight of years. His eyes, though, were sharp and assessing.

  Beside him stood the vice principal—younger in appearance, though still probably a century old by higher-plane standards. Slim, sharp-nosed, her robes were tailored like a noble’s suit of armor. She smiled thinly when we entered, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Cale Arcanus,” the principal said, rising to extend his hand. His grip was firm, measured. “Welcome to Arclight Academy. You’ve had… a difficult journey.”

  “That’s one way to put it,” I said.

  His mouth twitched, as if he appreciated the understatement. “You’ll find we are a place for rebuilding as well as learning. Knight-Captain Vanta spoke highly of you.”

  I glanced up. So the captain had called ahead. I hadn’t asked him to. The 34th Warden Cohort had kept me alive longer than I deserved, but I hadn’t expected them to smooth my way into a school full of nobles, celebrities, and rich merchants’ children.

  The vice principal’s voice cut in, cool and precise. “It is highly unusual for a student of your age to be placed into the sophomore year.”

  Her eyes flicked over me like I was a report with errors she was determined to correct. “We will expect you to work doubly hard to integrate. Arclight is not a place for… lingering.”

  The principal gave her a look, gentle but firm, and gestured toward a chair. “You’ll find the pace here rigorous, but you won’t be alone. Many students enter from diverse backgrounds. We welcome all who strive.”

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  I sat, enduring their questions. Basic things—my ambitions, my readiness, whether I understood the Academy’s expectations. I gave short answers. Yes. Yes. I’ll try. It felt like being briefed before a mission, except this time the mission was mana theory, magical transformation, and etiquette instead of raiding, assaulting, and armed escort.

  At last, the principal nodded. “Very well. You’ll join the sophomore cohort. Professor Halden’s class. He is… particular, but fair.”

  The vice principal’s thin smile returned. “Do try not to cause disruptions, Mr. Arcanus.”

  I stood, resisting the urge to salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  A student aide escorted Ellara and me through the halls. The corridors gleamed with enchanted murals that shifted as we walked—battle scenes, discoveries, moments from the Academy’s long history. Floating lamps bobbed overhead, their glow steady as heartbeats.

  Ellara kept close until we reached a branching hall. She stopped, hugging her Crystal Interface tighter. “This is me. You’ll be fine, right, Cale?”

  “Of course, Ellara,” I said. “Don’t worry about me.”

  She gave me a quick, nervous smile before peeling off toward her own classroom.

  The aide stopped outside a heavy carved door. “Here we are. Sophomore Class One. Homeroom. Professor Halden is already expecting you.”

  I nodded. My palms itched. The aide slipped away, leaving me alone with the door.

  Inside, thirty pairs of eyes turned toward me.

  The lecture hall was tiered, desks spaced evenly toward high windows that spilled sunlight across rune-etched illustration boards and Techina projectors. Students sat in neat rows—nobles with polished uniforms, merchant kids whispering behind jeweled hands, and a handful of quieter faces that watched without comment.

  At the front stood Professor Halden, a man who looked stern and solid, anywhere from thirty to seventy depending on how you judged him. He carried the kind of presence that filled a room. His suit was dark, his expression stern but not unkind. He didn’t waste words.

  “Class,” he said, his voice cutting through the whispers, “this is your new classmate. Introduce yourself, Mr. Arcanus.”

  Dozens of eyes burned holes into me. Some curious, some dismissive. A few already measuring.

  I cleared my throat. “Cale Arcanus. Sophomore.”

  Short. To the point. Sharing more than that with these people didn’t seem prudent.

  The room rippled with murmurs. A couple of nobles smirked, whispering about my age, my appearance, maybe even my smell. A girl in the back tilted her head, studying me with open curiosity. Most looked away, already writing me off.

  Professor Halden didn’t smile. He studied me the way a smith studies a blade—checking for weight, flaws, and sharpness.

  And then he said, flat and unyielding:

  “Mr. Arcanus. Remove the glamour.”

  The room went still.

  Every eye snapped back to me. Gasps broke out. Whispers flared. Someone laughed—sharp and disbelieving.

  I froze. My throat locked, my hands curling into fists at my sides.

  Shit.

  Halden’s gaze didn’t waver. “This is Arclight Academy. We don’t hide here. Magic requires focus and honesty—neither of which you’ll achieve if you cloak yourself from your classmates.”

  The silence stretched. I felt the weight of thirty stares pressing into me.

  And for the first time since I’d walked into the room, I had no idea what to do.

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