Initiation

The Central Tower loomed at the very heart of the Eldhollow campus. It rose higher than any other.

Its silver stone spires stabbing into the sky, wrapped in shifting banners of every color from the Nine Divisions.

Unlike the Sun Tower, the Central Tower felt… older. Heavier. Like it remembered things the world had long tried to forget.

Nola walked in silence beside Maika and the others, their footsteps muffled on the polished stone path that wound toward the ceremonial doors.

The morning sunlight glinted off the stained glass windows overhead, casting long shadows of swords, wings, and flames across the courtyard.

Inside, the Initiation Hall stretched wide and high like a cathedral carved from obsidian.

Dozens of students sat in rows that formed a circle around the main platform, which rose gently from the center of the room.

At its heart stood a pedestal—and hovering above it, glowing faintly in pale blue and white light, was a crystal.

The same kind Nola had touched. But this one pulsed brighter. It felt alive. It was also thrice as large.

The Headmistress stood at the edge of the platform.

She didn't raise her voice, yet her words carried to every ear, clear as wind through still air.

"Each of you stands at the threshold of your power," she said.

"Not because you've earned it yet—but because you're brave enough to ask for it."

She walked slowly, her robe flowing like liquid flame behind her.

"Your Will is not a gift. It is a weight. A blade to carry, not wield recklessly. When a legend chooses you, they do not grant you ease. They give you expectations."

The room was silent.

She turned toward the crystal now, her voice softer but no less firm.

"Some of you will awaken today. Others will not. That does not mark failure—it marks timing. The story does not end for those who must wait."

Then, with a nod to her aides, she gestured for the names to begin.

One by one, the students were called.

They stepped forward to place their hand upon the crystal.

Some trembled. Some stood tall. A few closed their eyes and whispered something under their breath.

The results were instant.

Light bloomed sometimes in a burst, sometimes with a gentle glow.

Visions rippled across the room with echoes of past lives stepping forward, blades and books and wings flashing through the light.

Some students gasped, collapsed, or fell to their knees as the weight of their chosen Will sank into their souls.

Others touched the crystal and… nothing happened.

No light. No sound. Just silence and disappointment.

A pause. A quiet ache. And then they were gently ushered back to their seats, heads bowed but not broken.

Nola watched, remembering the cold stillness of her own moment. It felt different now. Then, she'd been afraid. Now, she felt steady.

"Maika Bell," the aide called.

Maika shot Nola with a look of half-excitement and half terror. She strode ahead slowly. She walked like someone pretending not to shake.

She placed her hand on the crystal. The light exploded outward.

A swirl of green and violet danced around her as a woman's silhouette formed—a regal figure, long-haired, eyes burning with cruel intelligence and beauty.

She held a staff wrapped in vines and songbirds—and around her shoulders, a cloak made of storm clouds and strange light.

The vision whispered one name: "Circe."

Maika's mouth dropped open. "Circe. An actual Greek sorceress witch. YES."

She stumbled back to her seat, beaming so hard she looked sunstruck.

"Taveer Ilyan."

Taveer's expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp as glass. He touched the crystal—and the lights around the hall turned cold.

A shadowed figure rose, tall and pale, cloaked in black. A long, blood-colored cape flowed behind him, and in his hands, a red chalice and a blade glowing with a bright black flame.

"Vlad Drăcula."

Taveer didn't say a word as he stepped back—but Nola saw the spark in his eyes. Like something ancient had opened inside him.

"Yuna Hale."

Yuna looked frightened. Her hands trembled.

She stepped up and whispered something under her breath—then placed her hand on the crystal.

The hall shimmered with gold and steel.

A warrior rose from the light—draped in armor, bow in hand, a stern gaze fixed forward. He moved with mathematical precision, like every breath was a calculated act of will.

"Dronacharya, the divine teacher."

Yuna stood there in silence, awe plain on her face. Then she bowed, slowly, as if in reverence.

"Brielle Ansa."

Brielle didn't hesitate. She walked like a blade already sharpened and touched the crystal without blinking.

A roar echoed through the room.

From the light emerged a tall figure with bronze skin and a hammer in one hand, a devious snake circled around his body. He moved like a blacksmith mid-strike, powerful and resolute.

"Silamaka, the warrior of bravery."

Brielle raised an eyebrow as the vision faded. "Alright. That'll do."

The crowd chuckled softly.

The Headmistress stepped forward again.

"To those who were not chosen today," she said, "do not leave with shame. The Will chooses in its own time. Train harder. Listen better. Open yourself."

She looked around the hall, her golden eyes glowing.

"Power does not make you worthy. Purpose does."

The crystal dimmed. The aides began escorting students out row by row.

As Maika rejoined Nola, she threw her arms around her and whispered, "I'm a Greek Witch Queen. You're a sword ghost. We're basically unstoppable now."

Nola laughed.

And for the first time since arriving at Eldhollow, she didn't feel like a girl trying to catch up.

She felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be.