The iron-wrought gates of Arcanum Academy groaned as they swung open, revealing a path paved in shimmering obsidian that seemed to swallow the morning light. Alarion Spellcrest gripped the handle of his oversized wooden trunk, his knuckles turning a ghostly white against the dark grain."Hey, watch the toes, kid! You’re not the only one trying to make history today."Alarion jerked his trunk to the left, narrowly avoiding a tall student draped in silk robes. "Sorry! My bad. This thing has a mind of its own when the wheels lock up.""Maybe try a basic glide-charm next time?" the student laughed, gliding past with a suitcase that hovered effortlessly six inches off the ground. "Saves you the sweat and the embarrassment."Alarion wiped a bead of perspiration from his forehead, looking down at his stubborn luggage. "Yeah, well, some of us prefer the traditional way. Or the 'my-magic-is-currently-uncooperative' way."He took a deep breath, pulling the heavy chest toward the Grand Hall. The

The toast crumbs were still mocking him from the table when Alarion decided he couldn’t sit there a second longer. Eldric was still talking about the odds of surviving a Runehart’s ‘Standard Duel,’ but the words were just a buzzing noise in Alarion’s ears. He stood up abruptly, his knees knocking against the heavy oak table."I need to go, Eldric," Alarion said, his voice a bit thinner than he would have liked."Go? Go where? Breakfast isn't even over. They’re bringing out the enchanted marmalade!" Eldric called after him."The library," Alarion shouted back over his shoulder, already halfway to the Grand Hall’s exit. "I need a book! A very, very thick book on how to not die on Friday!"The walk to the Archive of Eternal Echoes felt like a march to the gallows. Every student he passed seemed to be whispering. He could have sworn a group of second-years pointed at his still-slightly-charred collar and snickered. By the time he reached the massive, silver-bound doors of the library, Ala

"I can still smell the slime. It’s in my pores, Spellcrest. I’ve showered four times, used a literal gallon of lemon-scented purification salts, and I still smell like a swamp’s digestive tract."Alarion groaned, leaning his head against the cold, damp stone of the dungeon corridor. "Give it a rest, Merovin. I’m the one who had to peel my shoes off with a spatula. My favorite pair, by the way. The leather is permanently neon green.""Your shoes? I had a piece of that... whatever it was... stuck in my ear for three hours. It was humming, Alarion. It had a heartbeat." Merovin paced the narrow hallway, his usually pristine robes replaced by a simpler, charcoal-colored set that looked like it was designed for manual labor. "And now this. Remedial stability training. In the dungeons. On a Monday morning.""It’s not just training," Alarion reminded him, checking the crumpled slip of parchment in his hand. "Professor Enchantor called it a 'collaborative mapping project.' Which is just academ

The blinding light of the black sphere was still burned into Alarion’s retinas, a ghost of violet energy that refused to fade even as the stone walls of the ancient basement were replaced by the sun-drenched, oak-paneled interior of the Alchemy Wing. The deep, tectonic resonance of the voice—𝘚𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴—clung to the inside of his ears like a physical weight."Alarion? Earth to the walking disaster. Are you actually here, or did your brain finally loop itself into permanent orbit?"Alarion blinked, his vision finally clearing. He wasn't in a graveyard of ambition anymore. He was sitting on a high wooden stool, the smell of sulfur and dried lavender replacing the sharp tang of ancient ozone."I’m here, Eldric. I’m just... I’m thinking.""That’s a dangerous pastime for someone with your track record," Eldric said, not looking up from a massive ham sandwich he’d smuggled into the lecture hall. "Seriously, you’ve been staring at that empty cauldron for ten minutes. You look like

"I look like a velvet-wrapped sausage, Eldric. Admit it. I’ve become the very thing I feared most: a fashion victim."Alarion stood before the cracked mirror in his dormitory, tugging at the high, stiff collar of his formal robes. The fabric was a deep, midnight blue—almost black—and shot through with silver threads that shimmered like distant nebulae. It was the finest thing he had ever worn, and it felt like a cage."You don't look like a sausage, Al. You look like... well, you look like a Spellcrest who actually remembered to bathe," Eldric said, lounging on his bed while tossing a piece of enchanted dried fruit into his mouth. "The fit is good. It hides the fact that you spend most of your time running away from explosions.""I can’t breathe," Alarion wheezed, adjusting the silver clasp at his throat. "How am I supposed to waltz if I can’t draw a full breath? And these shoes. They’re so stiff I feel like I’m walking on literal bricks.""Better than blocks of lead, which is what Ly