SL: Forester Academy

Valeryon jolted awake, her neck protesting the awkward angle she had slumped into. A dull ache throbbed at the base of her skull, and she winced, rolling her shoulders to ease the stiffness. Awareness seeped back slowly, like a cold draft creeping through cracks, and with it came the oppressive weight of all that loomed ahead.

The muted glow of the crystal chandelier overhead bathed the room in soft, golden light, scattering delicate patterns across the walls. The quiet murmur of voices beyond the door tugged at her senses—distant yet insistent. Yet it was neither the voices nor the chandelier that drew her attention.

Her thighs were pinned, soft warmth pressing down like an anchor tethering her to the waking world.

Laurel.

He lay sprawled across the couch, his head resting on her thighs, one arm dangling over the edge. His snow-white hair was a disheveled mess, stray strands sticking out at odd angles, catching the golden light like threads of spun moonlight. He slept with an enviable serenity, his breathing steady and untroubled, as if even all the world's weight dared not disturb him.

Valeryon remained still for a moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, her thoughts sluggish as she worked to collect herself.

Fragments of memory surfaced: the dry crackle of a page turned, the weight of a book in her hands, and the irresistible pull of exhaustion. The faint thud of something falling had roused her briefly, but not enough to wake her fully.

A glance down confirmed her suspicion—her book lay discarded on the floor beside her boots, its spine cracked, pages crushed at odd angles.

Her hand hovered at her side, unsure whether to retrieve the book or let it lie. However, before she could make a decision, Laurel stirred.

A deep inhale, a faint crease of his brow, and then his lavender eyes fluttered open, catching the chandelier's light like polished amethyst. He blinked, once, twice, then his gaze settled on her. A slow, languid smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Good morning, Val," he murmured, voice still thick with sleep. "Hope I didn't drool on you again."

Valeryon's lips twitched as the words she wanted to say formed in her mind, only to wither away before they could escape. She opened her mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. A stiff shake of her head was all she could muster in the end.

Laurel pushed himself upright with a low grunt, stretching his arms above his head in an indulgent motion. His back arched, a quiet crack echoing through his spine as his muscles unwound. A deep yawn escaped him, and his already-messy white hair fell even more wildly around his face. He groaned, running a hand through the mess, wincing when his fingers caught on a particularly stubborn knot.

"Well, this is just great," he muttered, tugging at the knot in vain. It only tightened. He leaned back against the couch with a sigh, raising an eyebrow at Valeryon, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "I probably look like a right mess right now, huh? Care to help me out, Val?"

Valeryon blinked, momentarily thrown by the casual request. He wanted her to help him with his…hair?

Laurel did not seem to notice her hesitation—or maybe he did and simply did not care. He turned his head slightly, exposing more of the tangled mess as if her compliance was a foregone conclusion.

Valeryon exhaled softly and reached for the brush from her storage rune, its cool handle familiar in her grip as she pulled it out.

She began at the crown of his head, combing through as she would her own, but immediately encountered resistance. The bristles snagged on a particularly stubborn tangle. Laurel flinched, his shoulders tensing.

"Did I hurt you?" Valeryon asked, brow furrowing.

"It's fine," he muttered, though the strain in his voice suggested otherwise.

Her frown deepened. It certainly was not fine.

Valeryon sifted through her memories, searching for something useful. Thankfully she did not have to think for long as a lesson surfaced from her days in the Trial Grounds—buried among the endless recordings on etiquette and appearances she had once been forced to consume, but dismissed as trivial.

Start from the ends, then work upward.

She adjusted her grip, focusing on the tips of his hair. Slowly, methodically, she worked through the tangles. The difference was immediate—Laurel's shoulders relaxed, the tension unwinding as she found a rhythm. Her movements were slightly awkward at first, but gradually, they became fluid. The task became almost meditative, her focus narrowing to the glide of the brush through his hair, the steady sound of each strand being untangled.

When the last tangle came free, Valeryon set the brush aside and gathered his now-smooth hair. Her fingers moved steadily as she parted the strands into three even sections and began braiding, weaving a tight, clean plait. When the braid was done, she tied it off with the same ivory silk ribbon that had held his hair before.

Laurel reached up and gave the braid a gentle tug, inspecting it with a grin. "Not bad," he said. "Thank you, my dear."

She simply nodded.

With his hair out of his face, Valeryon found her gaze lingering on Laurel's now-uncovered earlobes. An unbidden image flashed through her mind: the gleam of crystals against his skin, catching the light. Before she could second-guess herself, she reached out, brushing her fingers against the soft flesh.

"You would look good with earrings," she said, the words slipping out unfiltered.

Startled by her own audacity, she quickly withdrew her hand, but Laurel caught it mid-retreat, guiding it back to his ear. "Would I now?" he asked, leaning closer. "What would you have me wear, my princess?"

Valeryon hesitated, her instinct to dismiss the comment faltering under the genuine interest expressed in Laurel's gaze. She thought for a moment, then retrieved a small jewellery case from her storage rune. Inside, rows of earrings lay arranged by colour and design.

Her fingers hovered briefly before selecting a pair of amethyst studs. She held them out. "These."

Laurel took the earrings, inspecting them with a softened smile. "From last Beltane, aren't they?"

"Yes." She hesitated again. "Do you want me to…?"

"Please," he said, tilting his head.

Valeryon's heart raced as she summoned her magic. Her hands trembled briefly, but she steadied them under the soft green glow that enveloped her fingers. With deliberate care, she sterilised the area and numbed the surrounding pain receptors before positioning each stud with precision. The piercings were completed with a single smooth motion, each stud settling perfectly into place.

Laurel's hand twitched slightly at his side, but it seemed more like a reflex than a sign of pain.

It took barely any effort for Valeryon to accelerate the healing of the surrounding flesh. The faint glow of her magic smoothed the skin seamlessly, leaving no trace of the procedure. Afterward, she took a moment to fasten the small silver clasps at the back, securing the studs in place.

Valeryon sighed, leaning back to inspect her work. The studs glinted against his skin, catching the chandelier's light. They were just as striking as she had envisioned.

"All done," she said softly, brushing her fingers lightly over his earlobes one last time to ensure the skin was unbroken. "Would you like to check if they need adjusting?"

Laurel's hand rose to hover near his ear. A faint flush coloured his cheeks as he shook his head. "No need. I trust your judgement."

His quiet sincerity stirred something unfamiliar in her chest. Unsettled, she sought a distraction, glancing at her pocket watch. The sight of the time made her stiffen. "The bridge will manifest soon," she said briskly, rising to her feet.

Laurel followed suit without protest, falling into step beside her.

She bent to retrieve the book she had been reading earlier, but before she could close her fingers around it, Laurel smoothly took it from her. "I'll mend it and return it to you," he said, tucking it into his own storage rune.

Valeryon nodded, her voice softer than she intended. "Thank you."

They found their knights, who had been conspicuously absent from their room, outside.

Dame Fray and Sir Lowell were conversing quietly with the Vesalius knights in a shadowed alcove not far from their room. Snatches of whispered words—"intimate behaviour," "rumours," and "unemployment"—reached Valeryon's ears just before the knights noticed them. The conversation broke off abruptly, and a tense silence settled. The knights shifted awkwardly, their gazes suddenly intent on the polished wooden floorboards beneath their boots.

Valeryon intended to pass by without comment, but Laurel slowed slightly. A faint, amused smirk curved his lips, and his lavender eyes gleamed with mischief.

"What were you talking about?" he asked lightly, his voice carrying a deceptive warmth that made the knights visibly stiffen.

Dame Fray opened her mouth to respond, but the Vesalius knights beat her to it, stumbling over themselves with hurried denials that only confirmed the obvious: the subject of their whispers had been Valeryon and Laurel.

Valeryon exhaled softly and cleared her throat. "The bridge," she said, her tone brooking no argument. "We need to leave."

The knights snapped to attention, their embarrassment swiftly buried beneath professional discipline as they fell into formation. The Vesalius knights took the lead, while Dame Fray and Sir Lowell brought up the rear.

Descending to the inn's main floor, they were greeted by the bustling din of the common area. Voices rose and fell like restless tides, accompanied by the clinking of tankards and bursts of raucous laughter. The rich aroma of roasted meats and spiced ale hung thick in the air, mingling with the crackle of the hearth fire. Orwin, the innkeeper, paused in his tasks to greet them, wiping his hands on his apron before accepting the room keys from Laurel.

"Thank you for staying at the Roaring Hearth," Orwin said, his voice warm but pitched to carry over the clamour. He bowed low, his weathered face creasing with respect. "Safe travels, Your Highness. Young Master Laurel. Your patronage is, as always, greatly appreciated."

Valeryon inclined her head in acknowledgment. Together, they stepped back out into the unforgiving grip of Asua's winter, the cold folding around them like a familiar but unwelcome embrace. The streets of Asua were alive with motion—students, guardians, and foreign visitors alike wove through the slush-covered thoroughfares in a tapestry of vibrant colours and diverse accents. Overhead, the sky deepened into twilight, painted in streaks of violet and gold, while street lamps flickered to life, their warm glow reflecting off the churned snow..

Valeryon barely registered the crunch of the icy street beneath her boots when Laurel's cool fingers brushed against hers. Without hesitation, his hand naturally intertwined with hers. She glanced down briefly at their joined hands, but chose to say nothing, her attention returning to the winding streets ahead.

Their path was toward the cliff's edge, where Forester Academy's famed bridge would soon appear. The closer they came, the denser the crowd grew. The crisp air was alive with the sound of chatter and the soft crunch of boots on snow. Breath rose in pale clouds, and a shared sense of anticipation rippled through the crowd, tangible as static.

However, before they could get any further, the crowd nearby stirred like a restless tide. Valeryon's sharp gaze swept over the sea of shifting faces, quickly locating the source. Three students, flanked by a cadre of knights. Their sashes were conspicuously absent, marking them as first-years like Valeryon and Laurel. However, the crests on the knights' armour left little doubt about their identities: the golden apple of House Mallory, the coiled serpent of House Graham, and the raven of House Corbin—symbols of some of the most influential Noble Houses of Mainland Fiore.

As their groups came face-to-face, the tension in the air crystallised, thick and unyielding. The boy at the center, with sharp features and chestnut-brown hair, stepped forward. Placing a hand to his chest, he inclined his head.

"Heir Morpheus Graham of the Most Noble House of Graham, descendant of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Forester, greets Crown Princess Valeryon the Second."

The raven-haired boy to his right followed, his piercing grey eyes unreadable as he mirrored the gesture. "Aquila Corbin of the Most Noble House of Corbin greets Crown Princess Valeryon the Second."

Finally, the pale, blonde girl stepped forward, her curtsy precise and elegant. "Appoline Mallory of the Most Noble House of Mallory greets Crown Princess Valeryon the Second."

Valeryon regarded them with a measured nod, "Well met, Heir Graham, Heir Corbin, and Heiress Mallory."

Morpheus straightened, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Your Highness, I trust our greetings meet your expectations. Living under a democracy as we do in Mainland Fiore, encounters with individuals of your... caliber are rare. Why, when my father informed me of your enrolment, I was skeptical, given the lack of… fanfare regarding your arrival. How extraordinary it is to be proven wrong."

"It truly is an honour, Princess Valeryon," Appoline added warmly. "I look forward to learning alongside you and becoming better acquainted over the course of our studies."

Aquila's gaze narrowed slightly as he spoke, his tone probing. "If fate permits, perhaps our paths will align. We are each destined to follow our families' legacies—me as a Diviner, Appoline as a Psychic, and Morpheus as a Necromancer. Have you decided on your Path yet, Your Highness?"

Before Valeryon could respond, Appoline interjected with a reproachful look at Aquila. "That is hardly an appropriate question to ask. Princess Valeryon is of a Healer's lineage. Her path is clear."

Aquila raised an eyebrow, his tone cool. "Not entirely. Her lineage is diverse. King Vilram Valeryon was a Psychic-Diviner. King Valeryon the First, revered as a Healer, also demonstrated the skills of a Creator. And let us not forget King Varic, who also excelled as a Creator sorcerer. Therefore, the question is entirely valid. So, Princess Valeryon, what Path calls to you?"

"I have no preference," Valeryon replied evenly. "Each Path has its merits."

Morpheus scoffed, his voice dripping with derision. "How diplomatic. Personally, I find the Unspecialised Path laughable. It's nothing more than a glorified dumping ground for the inept and unremarkable. Dimwits, the lot of them."

"Morpheus!" Appoline snapped, glaring at him.

"What? It's true," he said with a shrug. "If I were ever assigned to that Path, I'd find the nearest tower and use that white sash to hang myself before my family had the chance to disown me."

Aquila snickered, crossing his arms. "He's not wrong, Appoline. Better a Kinaesthetician than Unspecialised, though only barely. At least brute strength has some utility, even if it is quite primitive."

A sharp voice cut through the conversation like a whip. "Watch your mouth, you Corbin crook!"

All eyes turned toward the speaker—a red-haired boy nearby, his jaw tight and fists clenched."Being a Kina—Kinaewhatever—being a hero is a hundred times better than joining the Paths of cowards, schemers, and murderers!"

Aquila rolled his eyes. "Careful, Ruadh. Don't strain yourself. It's pronounced Kinaesthetician. No need to thank me. And considering your family's... recent financial struggles, consider that lesson free."

Valeryon's interest piqued. Ruadh. Another of the Mainland's Noble Houses.

Morpheus sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "How incredible that you still have the nerve to show your face here after the disgrace your brother brought upon your House, Ruadh."

Ruadh's fists clenched. "My brother did nothing wrong! His only mistake was not having enough sense to stay away from your kind."

Appoline stepped forward. "Did nothing wrong? Have you forgotten how he broke his Oath to my sister on their betrothal day? For some—some—"

"The Oath wasn't binding!" Ruadh shot back, voice rising. "It was just a verbal promise. And even if they had made a magical oath, it wouldn't have mattered because your sister used mind magic to trap him!"

Appoline's expression turned withering. "If my sister truly used mind magic, why would she waste it on someone as insignificant as your brother? She could have had anyone from a far more respectable House. Frankly, your brother's filth stained our House."

Ruadh's face flushed with anger. "Do not speak about my brother or my family that way! Your sister bewitched him, and my sister-in-law helped him break free!"

Aquila snorted. "I'm sure she 'helped' plenty. Surprising that your family even managed to send you here, Ruadh. After the compensation your House paid to House Mallory, I figured they would have you working as well to make ends meet."

"Say what you want, Corbin," Ruadh shot back, "but all of Fiore knows your Houses are full of evil sorcerers, always looking to take advantage of honest, hard-working people like my parents."

The argument swelled into a cacophony of voices—accusations and retorts volleyed back and forth, each sharper and more biting than the last. It was chaos wrapped in decorum, polished insults barely concealing raw animosity. As the debate raged, Valeryon stood silently, watching with a keen, detached interest.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Laurel. He, too, was absorbed, though the hand covering his mouth, did a poor job of hiding the amusement he was trying to conceal. The corners of his lips twitched with the effort to suppress a grin, and his dimples twitched from the effort of it.

Though petty on the surface, the exchange laid bare deeper currents: old wounds festering beneath polished exteriors, rivalries sharpened over years of political manoeuvring, and alliances that clung together only out of convenience. It was a microcosm of Mainland politics, every sentence a weapon, every pause a calculated risk. Valeryon listened intently, her mind mapping the labyrinth of relationships and hidden motivations. She filed each revelation away, knowing that even the smallest detail might one day prove useful.

The surrounding crowd stirred, their murmurs growing restless as they shifted and craned their necks. But a glance around revealed nothing out of the ordinary—just the sea, glistening under the sun, and the endless stretch of sky above.

Valeryon pulled out her pocket watch, its polished surface gleaming briefly in the light. Flicking it open, she glanced at the hands before snapping it shut with a soft click. Her gaze turned seaward, scanning the distant horizon for the bridge. It should have appeared by now.

One minute passed. Then another. And another. The horizon remained stubbornly blank, an expanse of mocking blue that stretched to infinity.

Her brow furrowed, the faintest line marring her otherwise impassive expression. She checked the watch again—no mistake. The time was correct.

The ocean breeze, salty and cool, brushed against her face, tugging at the edges of her veil. She strained her eyes, peering into the distance once more.

"It's late," Valeryon murmured.

"Hm?" Laurel tilted his head, a smile curling his lips. "No, it's here. Look again."

And then, it began.

A deep, resonant rumble rose from beneath the waves, a sound that vibrated through the ground and up into the soles of her feet. The crowd fell silent, a collective gasp escaping as the waters stirred.

Before them, the sea parted with an almost ethereal grace, revealing a glimmering pathway stretching into the ocean's depths. Towering walls of translucent water rose on either side, refracting sunlight into a kaleidoscope of colours that danced across the faces of the awestruck onlookers. Schools of fish darted through the shimmering barriers, their forms distorted by the undulating surface.

A low grinding noise drew Valeryon's attention to the cliffs nearby, where massive stone disks adorned with intricate runes emerged from concealed recesses. With a ponderous groan, the disks slid forward, locking into place with thunderous finality. Atop each stood a robed figure, their silhouettes stark against the radiant sea. In unison, the figures raised their staffs and stamped them against the stone.

Above their heads, glowing numerals blazed to life, hovering in the air like fiery sigils: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

"Study years," Valeryon murmured, her gaze flicking toward Laurel. "We should head to platform one."

Navigating the throng was no simple task, but the knights flanking them moved with practiced efficiency, clearing a path through the dense crowd. As they approached the platform, Valeryon noticed a faint shimmer in the air—a ward.

She watched as a guardian tried to embrace their child, only to be gently repelled by the ward's unseen force. The parent lingered at the boundary, their fingers brushing futilely against the barrier as the child waved goodbye from within.

As they came to a stop just beyond the ward, Dame Fray stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Your Highness, before you depart, I must inform you that Sir Lowell and I will be stationed in Asua throughout your semester. Should you require anything—supplies, assistance, or protection—please do not hesitate to call upon us."

Valeryon inclined her head. "Thank you, Dame Fray. I shall keep that in mind. Please be sure to take good care of yourselves in the meantime."

Behind Dame Fray, a small cluster of people began to gather, their impatience clear as the knights' presence blocked their passage. Noting this, she glanced at Laurel.

Laurel's tone was breezy as he waved to his knights. "Don't lose sleep worrying about what the 'ancient relics' back home will think. We've got an agreement, and they won't meddle. But if you'd rather not risk it, you're welcome to stay in Asua with Her Highness's knights. I might need a few things later, and having you around could be... convenient. Your call—just send me a letter when you decide."

With their farewells exchanged, Valeryon and Laurel stepped onto the platform together. The ward hummed faintly, acknowledging their presence and allowing them through without obstruction.

Valeryon's eyes swept over the crowd, her initial composure faltering as surprise flickered across her face. Far more first-years than expected had gathered here. The platform, though vast, teemed with students, their eager, nervous faces a sea of unfamiliarity. Conversations buzzed in the air, blending into a cacophony that filled the space. She and Laurel wove their way toward a quieter corner, moving with an unspoken understanding to distance themselves from the pressing throng.

A sudden gust of icy wind sliced through the crowd, carrying with it the sharp bite of frost. It stirred skirts and tousled hair, sending shivers rippling through the gathered students. Laurel abandoned any attempt at composure, pressing himself firmly against Valeryon's side and linking his arm through hers without hesitation. His normally cool skin felt even colder against her, seeking whatever amount of warmth she could provide.

Valeryon gave him a sidelong glance. She could feel his weight leaning into her, but she said nothing, simply allowing the gesture. The chill subsided almost as quickly as it had come, though Laurel remained nestled close, his cheek brushing her shoulder as if reluctant to let go.

As the last of the students trickled onto the platform and the whispers began to quiet, the figure standing at the centre of the platform, a striking woman,—a staff member, no doubt—cleared her throat, instantly commanding attention. She stood atop a slightly raised dais, her presence radiating authority. A glowing runic crystal pendant hung from her neck, pulsing softly with light. The glow intensified as she spoke, her voice amplified, reverberating through the air.

"Welcome, first-years," she began, her tone steady yet laden with expectation. "I am Carmina Mayweather, Deputy Headmistress of Forester Academy and Professor of Arcane Defence. You may address me as Professor Mayweather. Before we proceed, there are several critical matters to discuss. First and foremost—your safety."

Her gaze swept over the crowd, lingering just long enough to silence any lingering murmurs. "This platform will carry us across the Bridge of Transference. While the wards surrounding us are robust and designed to protect against most external threats, they are not infallible. For your own safety, I strongly advise keeping a safe distance from the edges. Caution will serve you well here—and beyond."

Once the crowd, including Valeryon and Laurel, shifted to accommodate the suggestion, Professor Mayweather continued. "Now, I understand that this has probably been a long day for many of you, and rest is no doubt on your minds. But before that, we have a few more important matters to address. The first being the Pathway Selection Ceremony."

At this, a ripple of excitement coursed through the crowd, whispers flaring up among the students. Mayweather paused, allowing the chatter for a moment before raising a hand for silence.

"For those unfamiliar," she said, "the Pathway Selection Ceremony is one of the most significant milestones in a Furian sorcerer's life. It is during this ceremony that your magical potential, academic path, and future trajectory will be determined. Guiding this process is the Immortal Remnant Taurian. Their powers will assess your strengths, align them with your aspirations, and place you on the path best suited to your talents."

The mention of the Immortal Remnant immediately piqued Valeryon's interest. Any student familiar with the history of Forester Academy would know Psychic Diviner Taurian as the first Immortal Remnant ever created. This magical construct was the work of Necromancer Eridan Forester, one of the Academy's founders, who forged it after the untimely death of his co-founder, Psychic Diviner Taurian Davos. Davos had succumbed to a devastating plague that had ravaged the sorcerer population of that era, taking countless lives.

Although Valeryon had studied concept and had even had the opportunity to extensively interact with an Immortal Remnant in the form of Ophelia Vesalius, the concept still fascinated her: magical constructs infused with the essence, memories, and personality of a deceased individual—capable of offering wisdom and guidance as though they were still living.

The students' murmurings grew louder as they absorbed the significance of Professor Mayweather's words. Once again, she raised her hand, and silence fell.

"This year's intake," she said, "is our largest yet—five hundred students. To ensure the ceremony runs efficiently, we have established time deceleration zones within the Pathway Selection Hall. These zones will allow us to expedite the process. However, I must caution you: prolonged exposure to these zones will reduce your real-world lifespan. Make your selections swiftly."

Her words sent a ripple of unease through the students.

"Once the ceremony concludes," Professor Mayweather continued, "we will proceed to the Dining Hall, where Head Students of each Path will guide you to your respective tables. Afterward, they will escort you to your dormitories—Oh, and if you are carrying any large pieces of luggage on you, leave it on the platform—it will be delivered to your rooms upon your selection."

She paused, her gaze sweeping over the assembled students one last time. "Prepare yourselves. The platform will descend shortly."

A low vibration beneath their feet signalled the platform's activation. As the wards shimmered and the crowd shifted in anticipation, Valeryon cast a sidelong glance at Laurel, who still clung to her arm.

"Ready?" she asked, her voice low and calm.

Laurel's lips quirked into a grin. "With you? Always."

The platform shuddered softly before beginning its descent, accompanied by a resonant hum. As it lowered into the depths of the parted sea below, the scene transformed around them. The sky vanished behind a curtain of shimmering water, giving way to an underwater passage that unfolded like a dream. Luminous fish darted through the crystal-clear water, their iridescent scales scattering shimmering rainbows. Larger, more alien creatures glided by, their glowing fins casting ethereal patterns of light onto the platform.

The tranquility of the moment was interrupted by a distant roar. Ahead, a waterfall thundered down from jagged cliffs, its spray creating a misty veil that obscured what lay beyond. Unease rippled through the group as the platform moved steadily toward the cascade, showing no signs of stopping or diverting. Valeryon tensed, bracing herself for the inevitable icy deluge.

However, as they passed through, the waterfall dissolved into harmless mist, flowing over them without resistance.

"The waterfall is a security measure," Professor Mayweather explained, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "It nullifies advanced disguise magic. Any unapproved entities attempting entry would be ejected from this platform."

Valeryon's gaze flicked downward to the jagged rocks far below, her lips pressing into a thin line. An…ejection from such a height would most certainly be a one-way trip.

Beyond the waterfall, the platform emerged into a cavern of glittering ice. The walls shimmered like faceted gemstones, their fractured light scattering prismatic hues across the frost-coated expanse. Stalactites hung like crystalline daggers from the vaulted ceiling, their razor-sharp tips gleaming ominously. The temperature dropped sharply, the air crisp and biting against skin.

Their journey did not end there. The path ahead wound through a labyrinthine expanse of ice, its mirrored surfaces disorienting and surreal.

Valeryon tried to track their route, but the endless reflections and identical turns rendered it impossible. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she opened them again, the disorientation had passed—just in time for the platform to break free of the maze into a vast, snow-blanketed clearing.

The platform's hum softened as it settled into the clearing, its vibration fading into the whisper of wind through the frost-laden branches of the trees surrounding the clearing. The clearing stretched wide and pristine, broken only by a trail of footprints leading to a towering, octagonal structure in the distance. Its icy facade glimmered faintly under the pale light, and thin tendrils of mist coiled at its base, giving it an otherworldly presence.

"This way, please," Professor Mayweather instructed.

Inside, the tower was more extraordinary than its icy exterior suggested. The entrance hall soared skyward, its walls lined with intricate carvings that glowed faintly. The polished obsidian floor reflected the glow of floating orbs suspended in the air like captive stars.

At the centre of the hall, a massive stone platform shaped like a cog floated. The platform's edges were etched with ancient runes that glowed in rhythm, emitting a faint, almost musical, thrumming energy. Smaller rectangular platforms jutted from the floors of every level, aligning seamlessly with the central cog as it drifted toward them.

"This is the Floater," Professor Mayweather explained with a wave toward the central platform. "It is the primary means of navigating the tower. Step onto the glowing floor number corresponding to your destination, and the Floater will take you there."

Valeryon frowned. The name "Floater" carried a far more ominous meaning in the Origin. In the Void-infested zones like the Nihilim and Orcus Galaxies, Floaters were monstrous entities from an unknown universe, breaching the Origin through dimensional tears known as Void Portals. Having now seen the devastation they cause, the Floaters' emergence was an ominous harbinger, their presence signalling the chaos and devastation to follow as the first wave of invaders from their unknowable dimension.

They were far more than a mere menace; their arrival disrupted the fragile stability of entire star systems, leaving ruin in their wake. Valeryon had never encountered a Floater directly, but she had heard the stories. The mere thought of them made her muscles tighten, and she had to force herself to suppress the involuntary reaction.

As she shifted her weight, a faint sound caught her attention: coughing. It was soft, intermittent—a noise easily overlooked in a crowded space. But the irregular rhythm sent a chill down her spine. It wasn't just coughing; it was the distinct cadence of the Ban flaring up.

Her gaze swept unobtrusively over the first-years, scanning for the source. Despite her efforts, no one stood out. . Yet the cough continued, more noticeable now, louder in its inconsistency.

Her frown deepened. It seemed their cohort had quite a few more Trainees than Valeryon had anticipated.

They did not linger in the entrance hall for long, as Professor Mayweather led them onward through a corridor lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a breathtaking view of the winter landscape outside. The land stretched far beyond what Valeryon had imagined—an endless expanse of ice and snow, its cold beauty crowned by jagged mountains whose snow-capped peaks shimmered beneath the setting sun. Thin plumes of smoke curled upwards from various points in the icy expanse. People lived here—not just staff, but there seemed to be entire settlements hidden amidst the icy wilderness.

At the corridor's end, a set of colossal doors loomed, carved from dark, ancient wood and inlaid with crystalline patterns that shimmered faintly in the dim light. As the group drew closer, the doors groaned open with a deep, resonant creak.

Professor Mayweather turned sharply, her robes billowing. Adjusting her spectacles with a precise motion, she fixed the group with a steady gaze.

"As I mentioned, you are about to enter a time-altered space," she began. "This means that, while you are within it, time outside will seem to pass much more slowly. This space is divided into two zones. The outer zone operates at a temporal ratio of three minutes to every five seconds in the real world. The inner zone, where the Immortal Remnant Taurian resides, operates at a far more concentrated ratio: nine minutes for every five seconds outside. Your Path Selection will take place there."

With a smooth motion, she withdrew a roll of parchment from her sleeve. "When your name is called, you will enter the Path Selection Hall. Do not linger in the outer zone. Proceed directly to the inner zone, step into the circle, and stand before the Immortal Remnant Tau for evaluation. Once you have chosen your path, line up behind the pillar in the outer zone that corresponds to it. Wait there until all selections are complete."

She snapped her wrist, unrolling the parchment with a crisp crackle. "You will be called in alphabetical order," she announced.

"Andras Asztalos."

Murmurs rippled through the gathered first years as a boy with golden hair and a swagger in his step strode confidently forward. His arrogance was palpable, radiating from every movement, as though he wore it like a crown. His smirk widened as he disappeared through the threshold into the hall.

The whispers quieted, but only briefly, before the professor called again.

"Anikó Asztalos."

Valeryon's lips pressed into a thin line. A girl stepped forward with effortless grace—her golden hair flowing like sunlight, sun-kissed skin glowing in the flickering light of the magical sconces. Anikó's smile, warm and radiant, commanded the attention of every gaze in the room.

Then, the third name.

"Attila Asztalos."

The Asztalos heirs—all three of them—were here at Forester Academy this year. Valeryon had suspected it, but she'd clung to a flicker of hope that they might choose Azhar Academy in Ebren, as many Asztalos heirs had done before due to their mixed heritage. Yet here they were, and Anikó's presence in particular struck her like ice water cascading down her spine.

Golden Girl.

Valeryon's fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms.

What were the odds that the strange fairytale circulating in the Archipelago years ago would feature opposing characters that so eerily resembled the heirs of two feuding houses? A wicked, veiled princess and a beloved, golden-haired heroine.

What. Were. The. Chances?

Her breath hitched as memories rushed forward—unbidden, sharp. The rumours, the whispered taunts, the sidelong glances that followed her through the Junior Academy. And more recently, the frightened child in Vinora—his small hands clutching his mother's skirts, terrified, convinced she would abduct him.

That child had not just feared a storybook villain.

He had feared her.

Crown Princess Valeryon the Second.

The Evil Princess.

Her chest tightened. Her vision blurred. She swayed slightly on her feet.

Laurel, ever-watchful, caught her elbow in a firm grip. His voice, low and urgent, sliced through the haze in her mind. "Val, are you all right?"

Valeryon nodded weakly, drawing a shaky breath that did little to alleviate the crushing pressure building in her chest.

Laurel didn't look convinced, but he didn't press. He was perceptive enough to recognize that this wasn't the moment for questions.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and took a deep breath. Her nails dug deeper into her palms, just short of splitting skin. Golden Girl. The Sugar Crystal-laced food at the Terminal lounge. The werewolf attack in Asua. The traitors and non-magicals lurking in the palace. It all clicked together in a pattern she could no longer ignore.

A web.

A spider's web woven to ensnare its oblivious prey.

It wasn't just a children's story. It was an attack. A calculated effort to erode people's confidence in her as a leader—before she'd even had the chance to lead. They wanted to destroy her. Her image. Her authority. Her competence. Her security.

Had she truly been a child, isolated and vulnerable, it might have broken her. Left her powerless, unsure of why the world had turned on her.

They wanted Golden Girl to become a reality.

They wanted public perception to turn on her, for Valeryon to become the Evil Princess.

However, for there to be an Evil Princess, there had to be a Golden Girl after all, and that had to be Anikó Asztalos.

How bizarre.

How absurd.

They truly thought her a child.

A strange sound broke the air around her, startling both Valeryon and Laurel, who was still holding onto her.

"Val, are you… laughing?"

Valeryon blinked, caught off guard. She hadn't realised the laugh had escaped her lips, the sound foreign even to her own ears. Clamping down on the unfamiliar sensation, she schooled her expression back into its neutral state. "I just thought of something funny," she murmured, her voice flat and unconvincing.

Laurel frowned. "Funny? Val, are you sure you're okay? I'm really starting to get worried here."

"Yes," Valeryon replied, her mind already turning over the memories of her 'childhood,' looking at them through a new lens. How many more of these plots had she missed? How many more of these subtle, insidious, attacks against herself had she overlooked?

The drone of names being called faded into the background until one finally jolted her back into the present.

"Valeryon the Second."

The room hushed, every gaze descending on her like a tidal wave.

Laurel's hand brushed hers, a fleeting touch of reassurance, before he stepped back.

Straightening her shoulders, Valeryon forced herself to meet the weight of their scrutiny head-on.

The world has tried to shape her into something she didn't choose. A villain. A puppet. A character in someone else's story.

She could not stop them from trying, but she could ensure the final narrative was one within her control.

The doors yawned wider, the runes flaring brilliantly as she passed through.

Inside, the hall stretched out in a cavernous expanse, like a temple to some forgotten deity. The stone floor was etched with intricate circles, their grooves glowing faintly with an otherworldly luminescence. The magic-infused lines shifted like liquid, casting subtle ripples of light that danced across the walls. Encircling the innermost circle stood a ring of towering pillars, their surfaces ornately carved with runes and reliefs.Atop each pillar, magical flames flickered, each burning in its own distinct hue—sapphire blue, verdant green, fiery orange, and more—casting a kaleidoscope of light across the cavernous chamber.

At the centre of it all stood the statue.

The Immortal Remnant Taurian.

Its form was humanoid, but barely. Carved from a pale marble-like material that glistened, it was more a suggestion of a figure than a true representation—an impression of limbs and a face that seemed to shift when viewed too long, as though its true shape defied mortal comprehension.

The soft echo of Valeryon's boots against the stone floor reverberated through the hall. The gathered students near the pillars turned toward her, their gazes sharp. Whispers floated in her wake, hushed and urgent, like leaves caught in a sudden gust. he could feel their scrutiny like needles against her skin. Valeryon kept her eyes forward, her jaw set. The glowing circle ahead demanded her full attention.

The moment her feet crossed the glowing boundary, the atmosphere shifted. The temperature plummeted, and the murmurs around her snuff out, replaced by a suffocating silence that pressed against her ears.

Above her, the Immortal Remnant Taurian towered, its inscrutable features strangely watchful.

And then, she felt it.

A stirring—not physical, but deep within her mind.

A vast presence unfolded, ancient and immense, saturating her consciousness with its awareness. She felt it probing her consciousness, its awareness peeling back her mental defences as effortlessly as one might peel fruit.

Then, it spoke.

Ah, Chancellor Valeryon, is it already time for you to be here?

The voice resonated directly within her mind, bypassing sound entirely. Its weight was staggering, nearly buckling her knees.

Ah, no, allow me to correct myself—you are not Chancellor yet, are you? Crown Princess Valeryon the Second, yes? Yes. That is who you are at present.

Valeryon stood rigid, her lips a tight line, her breathing shallow. The Immortal Remnant's voice continued, conversational yet heavy with inevitability.

I have been looking forward to this meeting for quite some time. Your existence has been an unrelenting ripple in the currents of fate. Every iteration of the future I glimpse—every thread I tug upon—is saturated with your shadow. You are the axis upon which a thousand futures turn. Greatness. Horror. Majesty. Catastrophe. Your path is a tapestry woven from the most vibrant and devastating of threads.

Her jaw tightened, her awareness narrowing to the rhythm of her breathing.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Your brother, young King Vilram, spoke of you when we last met, it said. He asked me to take care of you. A remarkable man, your brother—misfortune looms over him so overwhelmingly, yet his light does not falter. But I suppose that is to be expected. Remarkable, truly, you Valeryons. From the progenitor, to you... a legacy spanning timelines and destinies.

Its tone shifted, almost fond, as if reminiscing.

Him being the first of you Outworlders I met was perhaps my greatest fortune, considering the madness I nearly succumbed to when we first crossed paths. People of this world do not carry fates as burdensome as Yours after all. Although I must say I am certainly one of the fortunate ones, given how many of my kind have been—continue to be—driven mad by the Uncertainty your kind has brought to this world. Your companion—ah, now there is one of us truly fortunate in that regard. So at ease with his limitations, with what is to be.

Valeryon's breathing quickened as the oppressive presence grew stronger.

You, though... Do you have any idea what you've gotten yourself into by associating with him? No, I suppose you do not. Not yet, at least. Certainly now for a while. Ignorance is bliss, or so they say. Not that I would know. I was born knowing, born seeing. The concept of ignorance is utterly alien to me.

A sharp, grating laugh echoed in her mind, scraping like claws against stone. Valeryon winced as searing pressure built in her skull. Instinctively, she touched her nose, her fingers coming away streaked with blood.

Ah, forgive me. I forget myself. It has been so long since I spoke this freely. However I realise that no matter how resilient a mortal, few minds are strong enough to withstand Truth.

Valeryon steadied herself, a faint green glow emanating from her hands as she willed the blood away. "What do you need from me?" she rasped.

The Immortal Remnant Taurian chuckled.

What do I need? No, child. This is about what you need. Now let me see... So many choices, so many possibilities… Your potential is formidable, but skill alone does not make one great, does it? Would you like to know where your greatness lies, Z̸̡̛͍̅̃͊̍̊̽é̷̛̟̜̦͔͙̞̬̑̉̍͑͛͆̒̒ŗ̵͈̹͈̪̠̬͎̎̈́̏̀̌̏́ͅơ̵͔̯̺͂̈̃͒͋̚ͅ-̶̣͔̩̘͚̥̒͆͝N̵̨͈͔̥̖̭͉̿̄̔̀̂͑̌̍̕ȋ̸̢̠̤̯͕͚̣̹͛̾͝n̵̢͈̬̰̜̳̔̋̀̔̎͗̅͝ę̵̬̖̖̖̞̞̘̺̜̽?

The distortion struck her like a hammer blow. Her knees buckled, and she gasped, clutching her temples as waves of agony surged through her. Blood dripped from her nose again, pooling on the floor with a patter.

"H-how?"

The Immortal Remnant Taurian's laughter echoed hollowly in her mind, each syllable a nail driven into her skull.

How indeed. I cannot claim to see all or know all, for no matter how statistically likely something is to happen, as long as those damned fellows, those Otherworlders who so easily toy with Fortune as your kind does Death—keep interfering here. Truly, ever since you Otherworlders began appearing here, I have not known a single moment of peace. There are simply too many iterations to keep track of. And that is perhaps what makes you so fascinating. So many, possibilities, so many iterations, yet your life follows a trajectory so unusually clear—always circling back to what was, and what must inevitably be. A beautiful inevitability, much like the stars that shine above. Ah, speaking of stars, the Celestials—

The pain in her head escalated, her throat burning as she coughed violently, blood splattering onto the stone floor, adding to the mess already there. She heaved for breath, her body trembling under the strain.

Oh my, I really must stop before I break you. There are consequences, after all—yours from my actions, mine from His. Mutually assured destruction that serves neither of us well.

"Enough," Valeryon croaked, her voice raw. "Just... tell me my options."

Very well. Skill is a foundation for greatness, but the paths before you differ greatly. Let me illuminate them.

The pillars surrounding the room flickered. Some flames extinguished, while others burned brighter. Valeryon's gaze darted to the symbols etched beneath each flame, but their meaning eluded her.

Behold. An emerald green flame grew brighter. As an Alchemist, your creations would be unparalleled—a master among masters. Peace, prosperity—this is perhaps the path where you may find the most solace, if we disregard the occasional... creative uses of your creations.

The emerald flame dimmed, and a golden flame surged.

As an Inscriber, you would shine brilliantly. So much so that your dedication to the craft would consume you, leaving no room for anything else. It would be a life entirely... singular in purpose.

Valeryon's brow furrowed. "Consume me?" she asked hesitantly, unable to withhold her curiosity.

Yes, the Remnant replied curtly. Let us leave it at that. We have much to cover after all, and I would prefer if we avoid increasing the risk of our mutual demise.

A silver flame and a dark blue flame brightened simultaneously.

As a Dimensioner, paired with Abjuration, you would be a visionary. Infrastructure, development—these would define your legacy. History would remember you kindly—a true architect of progress.

A multicoloured flame joined the ranks. Your creations would not merely echo those of your Progenitor and predecessors but surpass them in brilliance and scale. With this path, you could reshape worlds, bending the elements to your will in ways unimaginable. In this world, such specialists are aptly called 'Creators', and you would embody the pinnacle of that title, a living testament to the boundless potential of such a mastery.

The flames flickered and then slowly died, only for two new flames to burst into life atop opposing pillars—one as dark as night, the other a pale, almost ethereal blue.

Before you lies a crossroads. Paths to greatness and all it entails. Healing or Necromancy. Choose, and the course of your life changes irreversibly.

The blue flame flared brightly.

Choosing Healing is perhaps the most natural path for one of your bloodline. On this path you will achieve great things—truly great things. You would rise to prominence, command respect, and be revered. But… Taurian paused, as though savouring the weight of its words. It comes at the expense of your two ultimate goals in this life.

Valeryon's heart thundered in her chest. Her two ultimate goals—the Main Missions. The very reason she existed in this world. So choosing Healing wouldn't mean just fall of graduating short; she may not even survive long enough to see it through. To choose Healing would mean forsaking those goals entirely, abandoning her very purpose.

The blue flame dimmed and the black flame surged.

To walk the path of Necromancy, however… it trailed off, I can confidently say that, of all the Paths you choose, this is the only one where you have the potential to succeed in achieving both of your goals simultaneously.

Valeryon swallowed, the air in her lungs suddenly tight.

In the Orcus Galaxy, Necromancy was not merely forbidden; it was considered an abomination. Every native of the galaxy was born with the Will to Live, the ability that granted them ultimate agency over their death. To die was a deliberate act of final autonomy, one no individual had the right to overturn. Necromancy desecrated this sacred ethos, violating the sanctity of the dead and was therefore abhorred.

However, this was not the Orcus Galaxy.

Here, in Sorcerer's Legacy, death was unpredictable, inevitable, and permanent. Here, spirits did not simply fade. They lingered—tethered to the mortal plane by unfulfilled desires, by sheer refusal to move on. Necromancers were not heretics here, but necessary guides who ensured that order was maintained in a world where death's grip was imperfect.

In Ebren, necromancers were revered as sacred guides, peacekeepers who communicated with restless souls and brought calm to the lost—both dead and alive. In Simran, necromancy was outlawed, a practice deemed treasonous after a violent uprising by rogue necromancers. Fiore, where Valeryon now resided, took a precarious middle ground.

Necromancy, though allowed, was tightly regulated. Its practitioners balanced on a razor's edge—both revered and reviled, needed yet feared.

However at present this balance had reached a tipping point. The recent suicide of a prominent Diviner had come with a chilling final prophecy: a necromancer would bring calamity to the nation. Public distrust flared in response, and rumours began to spread—whispers of following in Simran's footsteps by banning necromancy once and for all. Such a drastic measure seemed inevitable to many. However Fiore could not afford to sever its ties with necromancy entirely. The disastrous aftermath of Simran's own ban loomed as a stark reminder of what occurred when spirits were left unchecked. Simran, after all, had been forced to turn to the Necromancers of its neighbours, Ebren and Fiore, swallowing their pride and paying exorbitant costs for their aid.

So even beyond the nation's internal struggles, such a ban would have far-reaching consequences on the world stage. Fiore had built an entire economic sector around necromancy, using it as both a strategic advantage and a valuable export. The nation's influence over Simran, and its economic growth, relied heavily on the practice. Banning necromancy would undermine Fiore's standing and severely damage its global power.

Necromancy was essential—no matter how much the nation loathed it.

To Valeryon, while the choice felt clear, it was agonising. To embrace necromancy was to step into an identity marked by suspicion, a mantle heavy with stigma. Her clan's legacy, intertwined with healing and preservation, was also antithetical to the art of necromancy. Yet, to abandon her missions, to deliberately set herself up for failure, to knowingly shorten her lifespan and let the family's enemies dismantle the power her family had fought so hard to maintain in this world, was even more unthinkable. Especially now, as she stood cornered, outmatched, her enemies circling like vultures waiting for her fall.

So, what path do you choose, Your Highness?

Valeryon's lips trembled. She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply before exhaling the single word that sealed her fate.

"Necromancy."

For a moment, silence. Then the Immortal Remnant Taurian erupted with such unrestrained glee that Valeryon almost stumbled from the force of it.

Oh, oh my. No way. No way! You actually chose it? Someone pinch me! Wait—never mind, I won't feel it. This is The timeline? This is my timeline? The one that gets fleshed out? The published one? But wait, does that mean this is the first timeline that She is in or the second one? Please be the second one, please be the second one, please be the second one.

Valeryon blinked, bewildered by the outburst. She pressed her glowing green hand to her nose, staunching the bleeding and erasing the evidence from her skin once more. Despite its supposed omniscience, the Immortal Remnant seemed genuinely surprised and strangely…delighted by her decision. She dared not ask why, unsure if its earlier warnings of mutual demise still held weight.

Ah, yes. Before I forget. Congratulations on your path selection, Necromancer Valeryon.

The black flame surged, detaching from its pillar and coiling around her waist, solidifying into a neatly tied sash. Her fingers brushed the material—it felt strikingly similar to the silk she wove herself, perhaps because it, too, had been crafted from condensed magic. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, she could not exert her influence over it.

Well, off you go then. There are still plenty more students to see, and people are going to talk about you enough as it is. Let's not add more fuel to the fire, shall we?

Valeryon glanced back outside the inner time-altered zone, a knot of dread twisting in her stomach. From her vantage point, it seemed as if no time had passed at all; the students outside were frozen in place, their movements so incremental they appeared suspended in the same positions as when she entered the space, just as Professor Mayweather as informed it would.

She took a deep breath and stepped back across the threshold into the main hall. The instant her foot crossed the boundary, time snapped back into motion. The hall fell into pin-drop silence, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the soft gasps of onlookers. Whispers rippled through the crowd, their focus unmistakable—the black sash tied around her waist. Valeryon pressed forward, steps deliberate, her head still pounding from the residual effects of her encounter with the Immortal Remnant Taurian, until she reached the Necromancy pillar, the black flame above burning with a hypnotic intensity.

Heir Graham stood alone behind the pillar, his expression unreadable as he inclined his head in subtle acknowledgment. To her left and right, the Divination and Psychic pillars were more populated. Heir Corbin and Heiress Mallory stood at the forefront of their respective paths, returning polite nods when Valeryon glanced their way.

The uneven distribution of students was stark. Necromancy was almost barren, with only Heir Graham and herself. The Divination line had six students, and the Psychic one was far larger, with at least a dozen. By contrast, the Unspecialised Path which Valeryon could see in her periphery stretched beyond sight, its line already teeming with over a hundred students. The some of the other nearby paths, visible through gaps between the towering columns, seemed to hold about forty students or more each.

Valeryon winced as the dull throb in her temples refused to ease. It was not unbearable—no nosebleeds or worse this time—but she could do without it. Exhaling quietly, she shifted her gaze toward the entryway just in time to see Laurel stride in, his lavender eyes scanning the hall with focused intensity. When his gaze landed on her, his expression transformed. The frown replaced by a radiant smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

Laurel waved with unrestrained enthusiasm, and the whispers around grew louder. Despite knowing full well that it would only add fuel to the fire, Valeryon raised her hand slightly in acknowledgment. Given what she knew of him, she half-expected Laurel to go against Professor Mayweather's instructions and approach her directly first , but to her surprise—and slight relief—he strode right past, heading toward the inner time-altered zone as instructed.

Moments later, he emerged with a purple sash tied at his waist, his movements brisk and agitated. His crossed arms and taught expression as he walked toward the Divination line made his feelings about the situation abundantly clear. As he took his place at the end of the line, he turned toward her, his lips puckered in an exaggerated pout, his wide eyes practically begging for sympathy.

Valeryon hesitated, feeling the weight of countless eyes honing in on her. She exhaled quietly, then stepped out of the Necromancy line and walked toward Laurel. Gasps and murmurs erupted in her wake, growing louder with every step she took.

Laurel's arms dropped to his sides, his jaw slack as she came to a stop in front of him. "Val," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "What are you doing?"

"I… I'm not sure," Valeryon admitted softly. "Are you alright?"

"Me? Yeah, of course I'm fine," Laurel replied quickly, but his brows furrowed as he examined her. "Why did you come over here? Not that I'm complaining—I'm delighted, really. It's just... you never..." He trailed off, exhaling slowly. A smile slowly crept across his face. "Thank you, Val. I'm fine now."

Valeryon nodded. "That's good." Her fingers reached out, brushing the edge of his purple sash. "Divination?"

Laurel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. It matched the earrings you gave me better than the other paths. Everything else—except maybe yours—would've clashed." He hesitated, his smile faltering. "Unfortunately, when I asked to join Necromancy, he said…"

Valeryon's eyes narrowed. "What did he say?"

Laurel shook his head, smile returning to his face. "Just that I have no talent for it. It was either this or that hideous yellow Path—not much of a choice, honestly. Said something about 'greatness' and 'hard work' in the other Path." He grimaced. "Divination seemed like the better option. From what I've heard, it's the most laid-back Path. Least stressful, lowest workload—probably to avoid piling on the pressure, since, well, you know…"

He swiped his hand across his neck in a slow, deliberate motion, tilting his head slightly to the side and sticking his tongue out, making his meaning unmistakably clear.

"So like I said," Laurel continued, "the choice was obvious. Forget greatness. There's no way I'm going to spend the next five years slaving away for something as stupid as that when there's an easier option available."

Valeryon's hands twitched at her sides. She inhaled slowly. "I see."

Laurel straightened, his expression softening into something more earnest. He reached for her hands, his touch tentative. "Hey, if you think I should switch, just say the word. I mean, yellow's not that bad—I could probably make it work with my incredibly good looks. We'd just need to find the right earrings to match."

"No need." Valeryon tugged lightly on the purple sash, lips curving up at the corners. "Purple suits you."

"Val…" His face flushed red, the colour spreading to the tips of his ears. "You really—"

A sharp intake of breath from behind cut him off. The next student had entered the room, freezing mid-step as their eyes darted between Laurel and Valeryon. They stumbled slightly before hurrying past to the inner zone, their face pale.

Valeryon turned back to Laurel, intending to say something, but the words caught in her throat when she saw his expression.

Laurel's eyes were locked on the retreating student, his expression dark and predatory, the warmth she had seen earlier completely erased. His jaw tightened, and the muscles coiled as though he was ready to spring forward.

As the student disappeared into the inner zone and returned almost immediately after to join the end of the Unspecialised line, Laurel directed his attention back to Valeryon, his features smoothing into a serene smile, the hostility erased from his features as though it had never been.

Valeryon gaze lingered on him for a moment before remembering what she meant to say. "I should get back," she murmured softly.

Laurel's face fell slightly, but he quickly masked it with a bright smile. "Right. See you later, Val."

Valeryon gave a small nod before turning, making her way back to the Necromancy line. The weight of countless eyes pressed down on her, the air thick with whispered conversations that followed every step—some hushed, others brazen and provocative.

She straightened her back, her steps purposeful and deliberate. Let them whisper, she thought. Let them judge. What does it matter anymore?

What had once been seen as scandalous, even inappropriate, would soon become the expected behaviour of a courting, soon-to-be betrothed couple. As she positioned herself at the front of the line, as insisted upon by Heir Graham gesturing for her to stand before him upon her return, a quiet sense of satisfaction settled in her chest. Laurel's careful manoeuvring had created this façade, giving them the space to exist together in public.

Due to the time period they existed within, the society they lived in, particularly among the upper class, remained exceptionally strict and prudish. So, even acting within the narrow confines of societal expectation, their relationship—especially considering their identities—was bound to attract attention, gossip, and scrutiny. However, it would be of a less consequential kind. One which Valeryon did not feel the need to bend to, not when they held no true weight.

Thankfully, the rest of the Path Selection passed without incident. For much of it, only Valeryon and Heir Graham occupied the Necromancy line. However, as the selections continued, more students trickled in. By the time the final student took their place, Valeryon counted seven others behind her—a surprisingly robust turnout given the line's sparse beginning.

A hush fell over the hall as the sharp click of Professor Mayweather's heels echoed against the polished stone floors. Her presence commanded immediate attention, and her gaze swept across the assembled students like the edge of a blade.

"Congratulations," she began, her magically amplified voice resonating through the chamber. "Today, you have made one of the most significant decisions of your lives. This choice will not only shape your studies but the very course of your futures. Wear it with pride and unwavering commitment."

She paused, letting the weight of her words settle over the students. Then, her lips curved into the faintest smirk. "Now, I believe we have kept everyone waiting long enough," she continued. "Brace yourselves."

With a single, deliberate motion, Professor Mayweather raised her staff high above her head. The crystal at its tip caught the light, glinting sharply before she brought its base down with a resounding thud. The sound reverberated like a crack of thunder, and a wave of magic pulsed through the air. Around them, the stone pillars groaned, and the circular platform beneath their feet began to rise with a deep, grinding rumble.

As the platform ascended, the surrounding pillars sank into the ground, revealing the rows of students previously concealed from view. Valeryon's gaze swept over the students, but it froze when it landed on something she had not anticipated—something that made her breath catch in her throat.

Standing directly across from her at the forefront of the Healing path, a pale blue sash neatly tied around her waist, was none other than Aniko Asztalos.

An Asztalos... a Healer?

The absurdity of it nearly made Valeryon question her own senses. Healing—rooted in selflessness, restoration, and care—was the antithesis of everything the Asztalos family stood for. For centuries, the blood feud between the Asztalos and Valeryon families had been defined by their cruelty, cunning, and an insatiable thirst for power. Never—not once—before this had an Asztalos ever chosen to pursue Healing, a path so intrinsically linked to the Valeryon bloodline.

Valeryon's gaze swept across the hall, seeking out the other Asztalos siblings. She spotted Andras first, standing proudly at the forefront of the Kinaesthetician Path. The crimson sash rested around his waist came as no surprise. The Kinaesthetician Path was all about pushing the human body to its absolute limits. It focused on enhancing strength, speed, and reflexes to superhuman levels. It focused on transforming its practitioners into living weapons, with the ability to physically overpower any opponent. For the Asztalos family, who revered power above all else, this path was the natural fit.

Then her eyes landed on Atilla, his yellow sash marking his place on the Runic Path. It was an unusual choice for an Asztalos, but not without its appeal. Unlike most magical disciplines, which prioritised enhancing a practitioner's inherent abilities, the Runic Path offered something radically different: boundless versatility. The Runic Path focused on unlocking and controlling the primal forces of inert magic through the inscription of runes. Rather than enhancing what already existed, and what was readily available to them, the Runic Path allowed its practitioners to rewrite the very rules of magic, turning dormant energy into a limitless resource. In the hands of a true master, the Runic Path offered near-omnipotence, limited only by the practitioner's creativity and willpower.

But Aniko... her decision was something entirely different.

Considering Valeryon's pre-existing suspicions regarding the Asztalos' intentions toward her, Aniko's choice to align with the Healing path confirmed the worst of it.

She recalled the warning from the Immortal Remnant Taurian regarding the outcome of her choosing the Healing path: It comes at the expense of your two ultimate goals in this life.

The pieces were slowly falling into place, gradually beginning to form a clearer picture, but the full image still eluded her.

Before Valeryon could lose herself further in her thoughts, the platform jolted to a sudden stop, its sharp grinding echoing through the air. Their arrival was immediately greeted by applause and cheers, a vibrant roar that yanked her attention outward, away from the chaos of her mind.

She lifted her gaze, taking in the awe-inspiring scene before her. Above, a vast glass dome arched high, revealing the night sky in all its brilliance. The stars shimmered like scattered diamonds, their light fractured by ribbons of colour that danced across the darkness—swaths of green, violet, and blue weaving together in a mesmerising display. Beneath the dome, orbs of light floated serenely, casting a soft, warm glow over the polished stone floors, their light adding an inviting ambiance to the sprawling hall.

The layout of the hall was meticulously planned. Tables were arranged in concentric arcs, each row radiating outward, all facing the elevated central platform where the faculty sat at a U-shaped table. Intricate symbols, representing the various magical paths, were etched into the stone floor in front of each seating area, marking the designated spots for each magical discipline.

A group of older students approached, their vibrant uniforms gleaming under the soft light, each one marking a different magical Path. As their badges caught Valeryon's eye, she realised that these were the Head Students Professor Mayweather had previously mentioned. Among them, naturally, was Heir Sachar who Valeryon had previously seen wearing an identical badge. As expected, he came to stand in front of the line of Unspecialised students.

Valeryon's attention shifted to focus on the Head Student that came to stand right before her. The woman was poised, her all-black uniform standing out sharply against the white attire of the first-years. Her dark, sleek hair was tied neatly at the nape of her neck, and her amber eyes—while striking, relatively dull in comparison to the glowing molten amber of the Lunarys—held an unwavering intensity. Her delicate features and distinctive colouring marked her as hailing from Estin, the eastern region of Fiore.

"Follow me," the Head Student instructed.

Following her, Valeryon and the other Necromancy students made their way to one of the empty curved tables in the first row. A glowing black skull, wreathed in thorny vines, was etched into the stone floor in front of their seats. To their left was the Divination table, and to their right, the Psionic table, all perfectly aligned with the arrangement from the Path Selection Hall.

As Valeryon and the others settled into their seats, her gaze returned to the Head Student, now seated across from them. Valeryon studied her intently—faint shadows under her eyes hinting at sleepless nights, and a scar running from her jawline to the edge of her mouth.

Friend, or foe? It was difficult to determine just yet.

Before Valeryon could continue her study, a hush fell over the hall. A figure at the staff table rose. All eyes turned toward the dais at the centre of the U-shaped table, where the woman ascended with an air of quiet authority, her presence enough to still even the most restless students.

Her robes, a deep navy velvet, shimmered with embroidered constellations that seemed to shift and twinkle as though plucked from the night sky itself. Auburn hair, braided into an intricate crown, caught the ambient light, lending her an almost ethereal glow. When she spoke, her voice resonated through the hall—smooth, confident, and utterly captivating.

"Welcome, students—both new and returning—to another year at Forester Academy," she began, her velvety voice wrapping the audience in its spell. "For those joining us for the first time, I am Headmistress Willowbank. This academy—Forester Academy— has stood as a bastion of knowledge, innovation, and community for millennia. Here, you will not only learn but also contribute to a legacy that endures through the ages."

She paused, letting her words settle. The stillness in the hall was absolute, her audience hanging on her every syllable. "This year, as always, we will uphold the cherished points system. Each Path will compete throughout the year, earning points for academic excellence, participation in extracurricular activities, and, most importantly, acts of courage and kindness. At year's end, we will celebrate both individual and collective achievements with awards befitting your efforts."

A gentle smile softened her regal demeanour, infusing her tone with warmth."Beyond academics, Forester Academy offers countless ways to enrich your journey. Like our many Societies. The Mirage Society honours our highest achievers. The Creator Society nurtures the brilliance of our most gifted Creator-Path sorcerers. Elysium Society celebrates artistry, beauty, and serenity. The Primordial Society champions athletic and duelling prowess, while Blue-Blood Society honours those who take pride in their magical heritage. And Valour Society provides a home for students hailing from the Valeryon Archipelago."

Her smile deepened. "For those eager to explore beyond societies, the academy boasts a wealth of clubs and activities. Cultivate rare magical flora in the Gardening Club, perform in the Forester Academy Orchestra, or study mystical creatures in Creature Care. For the competitive among you, our Duelling Club, Majesty's Court, and One Touch Ball teams are always seeking fresh talent."

Her gaze grew sharper, sweeping across the hall as her tone shifted to one of stern clarity. "Now, a word about the rules. Curfew will be strictly enforced—students must be in their dormitories by 10 p.m. Wandering after hours will result in point deductions and detention. Moreover, I strongly advise against venturing beyond the tower without a professor's supervision. The Isle of Forester is not merely the territory of this academy; it is a sanctuary for magical creatures, flora, and fauna. Tempting as it may be to explore, the island's dangers are not to be underestimated. More than one student has met a grim fate by ignoring this warning. Exercise caution at all times."

She directed their attention to the space beyond the Dining Hall with a gesture. "This floor offers ample recreational spaces to occupy your time responsibly. Should you feel restless, make use of them. So, allow me be clear once more: any student caught sneaking out of the tower—or persuading others to do so—will face serious consequences, up to and including expulsion from the academy."

Her voice softened again, her tone imbued with reassurance. "The staff offices on the ground floor are open throughout the day. If you have questions about your studies or concerns of any kind, do not hesitate to seek our guidance. We are here to support you."

At last, her lips curved into a warm, welcoming smile. "That is all for now. I imagine you are all famished after a long day. So, please, feast to your hearts' content!"

With a crisp clap of her hands, glowing runes etched into the tables flared to life, their warm golden light cascading across the hall. In an instant, an extravagant banquet appeared: platters piled high with succulent roasted meats, baskets of freshly baked bread, steaming bowls of rich soups, and an array of vibrant fruits and decadent desserts. The mouthwatering aroma wafted through the air, drawing delighted gasps from the students as they eagerly dove into the sumptuous spread.

The sight only intensified the growling ache in Valeryon's stomach—worse than usual as a consequence of her decision to skip lunch. Unwilling to bear it any longer, she filled her plate with a generous helping of dishes—tender meats, perfectly roasted vegetables, and a selection of delicate pastries. She had barely lifted her fork when a subtle movement beside her caught her attention.

Heir Graham, who was seated to her left quickly scooted away with an extremely displeased expression on his face, and across the table, even the Head Student glanced up with a furrowed brow. Valeryon turned toward the source of their concern and found Laurel slipping into the newly vacated seat, his face lit with a bright grin.

"Val, did you miss me?"

Valeryon did not bother responding, her gaze drifting to the fresh plate and cutlery that had appeared before him. Without a word, she picked up a serving fork and added a few choice cuts of roasted meat and some vegetables to his plate.

"Thank you, my dear," Laurel said, his voice warm as he dug in without hesitation, clearly just as ravenous as herself.

The dining hall hummed with the lively chatter of students, a chaotic symphony pressing against Valeryon like an abrasive shroud. Amidst the noise, she and Laurel shared a cocoon of companionable silence, the rhythmic clink of cutlery on porcelain their only contribution to the cacophony.

The peace however did not last long. A sharp clearing of a throat cut through the din. Laurel stiffened beside her, his fork halting mid-air. Following his gaze, Valeryon saw their Head Student shuffling to the corner of her bench, making room for three newcomers to seat themselves.

At the centre of the trio was a striking girl whose glowing amber eyes betrayed her Lunarys heritage. She wore the male uniform, the tailored coat and trousers lending her a sharp, commanding presence. The sash around her waist a rich red, just a few shades darker than than the rest of her uniform, which looked like it had only just begun to turn red. Her gaze locked onto Valeryon, sharp and unflinching, as though sizing up prey.

Flanking her were two male students, their relaxed postures a façade. The sharpness in their eyes betrayed readiness for confrontation. They carried themselves with the quiet arrogance of those accustomed to getting what they wanted, their undivided loyalty and deference to the amber-eyed girl was greatly evident in the way they aligned themselves with her.

Laurel placed his utensils down with a clink and brought a napkin up to dab at his lips, seemingly at ease, as his lavender eyes carefully surveyed the newcomers. However, being seated right beside him, the slight tightening of his jaw did not escape Valeryon's notice.

The amber-eyed girl tilted her head, her lips curling into a faint smirk. She said nothing, her silence heavy and expectant. It was clear she was waiting for Valeryon to speak first.

Before Valeryon could oblige, Laurel placed a firm hand over hers beneath the table.

Laurel's voice carried a lightness that belied the sharpness beneath it. "I can only hope that anyone with something important to say would have the decency to wait until after dinner, rather than disrupt it."

The girl's smirk didn't waver, but her eyes narrowed. "Of course," she replied, her tone saccharine. "I wouldn't dream of letting Her Highness go hungry. I'll make this quick."

Laurel's smile widened, though it never reached his eyes. "Much appreciated. Though, from the way you were so quiet earlier, I thought you might need a bit more... encouragement to speak up."

Irritation flickered across her face, but it was swiftly replaced with a smooth mask of composure. "Hesitation isn't a sign of weakness, Vesalius," she retorted. "It's wisdom—knowing when to speak and when to remain silent."

"Ah," Laurel said lightly, tilting his head as though truly considering her words. "Pity you chose the wrong moment to test that wisdom. Interrupting dinner isn't typically a demonstration of good judgment."

For the first time, the girl's smirk faltered, her gaze darting between Valeryon and Laurel. "Is there a reason you're speaking for the Princess?" she asked, her voice thick with disdain. "I didn't come here to address you, Vesalius."

Laurel chuckled softly. "That's truly unfortunate. Her Highness isn't accepting additional greetings tonight. Anyone with the foresight to do so already paid their respects in Asua, as courtesy demands."

The girl's lips thinned. "I regret missing that opportunity," she said, her tone tight. "I was ill at the time and needed rest. I hope Her Highness would make an exception and allow me to extend my apologies and greetings now, when it suits me better to do so."

Her companions subtly shifted away, as if to give more credence to her statement.

"How inconvenient," Laurel remarked. "And strange. If you were so unwell, why not send a messenger? You seem to have plenty of people to do your bidding." He gestured subtly to the two boys beside her. "Or were you hoping to infect Her Highness with whatever ailed you?"

The girl's composure cracked, just slightly. "I suffered only a migraine," she snapped, her voice biting. "Nothing infectious."

Laurel's smile turned razor-sharp. "Curious, then, that even your companions seemed to remember suddenly enough to keep their distance at the mention of your illness which you not claim is not infectious.

The girl's façade shattered. "Call your guard dog to heel, Princess," she spat. "I came to speak with you, not your pet. Considering Sachar visited you earlier, you must know who I am and how unwise it is to antagonise me."

Ah, so this was Estelle Lunarys. The leader of the Valour Society.

Valeryon's gaze hardened.

Through the entire exchange, Estelle had ignored all the proper protocol, never once showing the deference owed to the Crown Princess. This was not a lapse in judgement; it was a deliberate insult. And if Valeryon wasn't mistaken, there had been a veiled threat woven into those words as well.

Laurel's grin faded, his expression darkening. "Guard dog, is it? Bold words, coming from a Lunarys. Perhaps you're projecting. So, let me remind you—before you go continue barking up the wrong tree, dogs that don't know their place tend to get put down.".

"Did you just threaten me, Vesalius?" Estelle hissed, her voice rising sharply.

"Did you just threaten Her Highness?" Laurel countered, his tone calm but dangerous.

The girl's companions shifted uneasily, their earlier confidence dampened by the growing tension.

"Do you know who I am?" Estelle hissed, her voice rising slightly.

"I know you're clearly delusional. You seem to think your position entitles you to speak without consequence, Lunarys" Laurel said, leaning forward slightly. "Let me be clear—you're one of many possible heirs to your House, easily replaced if you prove to be a liability. But the person you're addressing? This is Her Highness Crown Princess Valeryon the Second. She is not someone you insult. She is not someone you threaten. Not now. Not ever. Show some fucking respect for your future master, mutt."

Estelle's face flushed crimson, but before she could respond, Valeryon decided it was time to intervene.

"Enough. This is neither the time nor place for this conversation," Valeryon said evenly, her gaze fixed on Estelle."You have disrupted my dinner long enough. Be silent."

For a moment, Estelle hesitated, her amber eyes flashing with indignation, and Valeryon wondered, considering how many other lines she had already crossed, whether the girl would defy a direct order from her too. Then, reluctantly, she dipped her head in acknowledgment, her companions following suit with subdued expressions.

While Valeryon did her best to appear indifferent and unaffected by the situation, beneath her veil, her face burned with heat, and her chest ached with an unfamiliar sensation. It took her little longer to realise that what she was experiencing was fury. She was furious. Furious at the humiliation Estelle had subjected her to in such a public manner, for all her peers to witness.

However, Estelle Lunarys' defiance was more than just a personal affront—it was a symptom of a deeper problem. Just how far had respect for the Royal House eroded among the Vassal Houses that an heir would dare show such blatant disregard for the Crown Princess, to whom she was to swear an Oath of service upon reaching adulthood?

And it wasn't just Estelle. Among the three hundred Valerite students at Forester Academy, fewer than forty had greeted her upon arrival. Whether this stemmed from the influence of their parents or their own apathy toward her authority, the implications were troubling.

A monarchy depended on respect—if not loyalty—from the majority of its subjects. Without that foundation, the entire system could falter, and it would only be a matter of time before it eventually collapsed.

Valeryon had planned to wait. She had planned to observe quietly for a while longer, but Estelle's open defiance made it clear: waiting was no longer an option.

She would soon need to respond, lest others come to believe that such behaviour would go unaddressed.

By the time dinner had come to an end, the room was abuzz with the soft rustling of students rising from their seats, ready to depart. Estelle Lunarys, glanced briefly at her companions. Without a word or a single glance backward, they left in silence, abandoning their unfinished plates as if the conversation that had begun earlier no longer warranted any further attention.

Upon their departure, the Head Student let out a deep sigh an shifted back, settling herself at the centre of the bench.

"Right, well. Now that all of you seem to have finished eating, I hope everyone enjoyed their dinner," the young woman began. "I'm the Head Student of the Necromancy Path, Mai Tanaka, and I'll be your guide this week as you begin your journey here at the Academy. We'll save the formalities for tomorrow, but for tonight, I'll show you to your dormitories so you can rest up and be ready for the day ahead."

She paused for a moment, her eyes narrowing as they landed on Laurel. "Unfortunately, the dormitories are organised by Path," she explained, "but given our small cohorts, students from Divination, Necromancy, and Psionic will share a common area, so It won't be much of a separation to bear."

Laurel, catching the hint, took a moment to adjust Valeryon's slightly askew hat with a quiet laugh. "Alright, guess I'll see you later then, Val," he said casually, before getting up and heading back to his table. Seeing him, the Divination Head Student waved to him, and as Laurel took his seat among them once more, the young man immediately leaned over the table and pulled Laurel into conversation.

Clearing her throat, the Head Student turned to Valeryon. "What is the nature of your relationship with him? You two seem very close."

Valeryon hesitated for a moment, unsure how to answer. She searched her thoughts for the simplest explanation and, after a beat, responded, "We're courting... with plans to be betrothed soon."

The Head Student's eyes widened briefly, eyebrows arching high, before her face shifted to express something that resembled a smile, but looked a bit more like a grimace. "Congratulations," she said after a moment. "You two seem like a good match."

"Thank you."

The conversation shifted back to the evening's plans, and with a nod of agreement, the group stood and moved toward the doors. As they exited the dining hall, Valeryon realised why Headmistress Willowbank had been confident that the top floor would be enough to occupy them. The top floor was an entire island unto itself—expansive, self-contained, and immaculately maintained.

Outside, the snow-covered fields stretched out in front of them, interrupted only by glass domes. Inside these structures, miniature ecosystems thrived, their warmth and lush greenery a stark contrast to the icy world outside. Between the domes lay expansive sports fields, tailored for games like One Touch Ball and Majesty's Court, their lines and markings faintly visible beneath a dusting of snow. Graceful wooden bridges spanned winding streams, their frozen surfaces glinting like glass, all converging into a serene lake bordered by weeping willows that swayed gently in the breeze.

At the heart of the top floor lay a peculiar opening, a void plunging into the depths below. The purpose of the shaft became clear moments later when a colossal stone platform—the Floater—ascended with a soft hum. Its surface shimmered faintly, runes etched along its edges glowing as it docked seamlessly with the floor.

The students formed orderly lines, their chatter subdued by the platform's presence. Valeryon observed the scene with quiet curiosity. When her turn came, she stepped onto the stone surface, her boots clicking faintly against the polished surface. She marvelled at its size—how it easily accommodated the entire student body with room to spare.

The Floater began its descent, the runes along its surface pulsating softly. As they approached the fourth floor, the platform slowed, aligning itself with an array of bridging platforms that jutted out like spokes on a wheel.

They followed their Head Student, Mai, along with the Heads of the Divination and Psionic disciplines, stepping onto the bridging platform that led to their dormitories.

The docking area they stepped onto was cavernous, its walls adorned with detailed carvings that symbolised the three Paths that shared the space. For Necromancy, a skull wreathed in thorny vines dominated the stonework, while Divination's sigil—a hand with an eye on its palm—gleamed nearby. Psionic's emblem, a series of three concentric circles, completed the triad. Ahead, an arched entryway shimmered with an iridescent mist, its surface rippling like water.

"It's a security ward," Mai explained, her tone brisk. "It allows entry only to those aligned with our Paths. We can't see inside, but those within can see out."

Inside, the floors were polished black marble, reflecting the soft glow of overhead chandeliers. Dark leather armchairs were arranged in small clusters around wooden tables, and a fireplace crackled on one wall, its flames dancing in a silver grate.

Clusters of older students lounged around, talking in low voices. They glanced briefly at the newcomers before returning to their conversations.

At the centre of the room stood a middle-aged man with dark hair greying at the temples. His expression was calm, but there was a weariness in his sharp, angular features, framed by a neatly trimmed beard. His piercing grey eyes scanned the room with quiet authority, settling on the students with an intensity that commanded attention. He wore black robes that draped over his tall, lean frame, the fabric catching the faint light and shimmering subtly. A belt, adorned with silver snakes coiling around it, cinched his waist, their emerald eyes gleaming ominously in the dim glow.

He took a step forward, and the room immediately quieted.

"I am Professor Arthurian Warrington," he announced. "While I do not directly teach your disciplines, you will all study Alchemy with me later in the year, each in accordance with your respective specialisations. I am the professor overseeing this dormitory. If there's something that needs addressing, you will come to me first, before any other staff member. Understand?"

His sharp gaze swept over the students, pausing on a few before continuing. "I expect discipline. Any conflicts between dorm-mates stay within these walls. Outside, you will present a united front—or at least, the appearance of civility. Injure another student, and you will be expelled—if. You. Are. caught."

Valeryon's brow furrowed, wondering if she'd misheard the strange emphasis on "caught." However, the pointed snickers from some older students nearby made it clear that she had not.

Professor Warrington continued without missing a beat. "Now, I understand that perhaps some of you may think that it may be pointless to worry about points, when the other Paths far outnumber yours, but in case you were not aware, the ranks of the Paths depend on the number of students in the top ten scorers, not the total points. So, stay on top of your readings, contribute to your classes, and you'll earn points for your respective Paths. With three Paths to look after, I expect at least one of you to bring me glory this year. Any student who falls behind or loses points better have a good explanation—or prepare to spend your evenings scrubbing cauldrons."

He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Breakfast is at 8. Don't be late."

With that, he turned sharply on his heel and left the room, his robes billowing behind him.

Seeing their attention return to her, Mai gestured to the three stone staircases that led from the common area, each flanked by intricate carvings of their respective Path crests. The one adorned with a skull was clearly meant for the Necromancy Path.

The Necromancy Head Student stepped forward, her expression stern. "I'll give you a proper tour tomorrow morning before breakfast. Be at the common room by seven sharp. If you're late, you'll have to find your way alone."

"Your names are engraved on your dormitory doors," she continued. "Boys to the left, girls to the right. Find your rooms and settle in."

With that, the students began to disperse toward their respective dorms.

As the students dispersed, Valeryon lingered at the base of the Necromancy stairs, her gaze drifting to the base of the Divination dormitory stairs just in time to see Laurel stood there, his snow-white hair catching the firelight. He waved, mouthing a quiet "Goodnight."

Valeryon hesitated before raising a hand in a small wave. With that, she turned and ascended the stairs, her thoughts heavy with the day's events.