The red sky rained, blood dripping from seared flesh. Bodies all around, death dancing in the deep shadow of the night.

  She woke up with a start, a sharp chime echoing across the twilight haze of her mind.

  The enchanted alarm, a delicate golden sigil of rebellion, hovered over her nightstand. She tore herself away from the dark tendrils of a dream she could faintly recall, listening to the silent whispers urging her to wake.

  She blinked away the last embers of sleep from her eyes, grey-gold irises catching the faint light that spilled through the carved lattice windows of her Twilight Garden.

  She looked at the alarm, her creation, a child of both thaumataurgy and sorcery, in a house which rejected the latter. Her one act of rebellion, the only one she dared.

  2:00 Dawnrise.

  A paltry four hours of sleep. Again.

  Selene exhaled, slow and measured, before forcing herself upright.

  The silken sheets pooled around her waist, the air cool against her skin. The crystallized Verdant flora surrounding her suite reacted to her shifting mood, soft pulses of sapphire light shimmering from their translucent petals.

  A reminder that even here, in the supposed sanctuary of her own chambers, nothing was truly private.

  Her chamber stretched wide, its high-vaulted ceiling draped in a delicate, silver-threaded gossamer that shimmered like trapped moonlight. It was a golden cage, made to enchant, but intended to imprison.

  She looked at the everlasting night sky, stretching beyond a massive window- an illusion, a mirage. They claimed it an aesthetic choice, she knew better. Just another beautiful bar for her lovely cage.

  The air was rich with the scent of Everlight orchids, a fragrance as suffocating as it was intoxicating. Once, long ago, she had found the hidden passages which traced the delicate seams across the floor where the tiles did not align.

  She had often toyed with the idea of escape since then, but she knew. Escape was futile, so was resistance. Physically, she could escape, but mentally she was forever bound by unseen ropes.

  Everbound, she chuckled darkly.

  Her eyes traced her one act of rebellion again.

  2:05 Dawnrise.

  She rose without hesitation, her movements methodical. At 3:00 Dawnrise, she was expected to leave for the Academy.

  Expected, not requested. House Thalorin did not operate on requests.

  Crossing the expansive chamber, she stepped into the adjoining bath, a masterpiece of Verdant-infused obsidian and mirrored Evergold. The water adjusted to the precise temperature she preferred, a touch of thaumaturgy woven into the very foundation of the palace. Steam curled around her as she let the heat chase away the remnants of fatigue.

  By 2:30 Dawnrise, she was dressed, the academy uniform tailored to perfection, not a wrinkle, not a thread out of place. Midnight blue, embroidered with gold along the lapels and cuffs, framing her form with an almost regal severity.

  The Wizard’s insignia lay stitched over her heart, silver runes gleaming faintly in the dim light. A path of her choosing. If only it were the only path she was bound to.

  Ivory fabric encased her throat, the high collar stiff and suffocatingly precise.. Her golden-blonde hair, streaked naturally with red, was neatly arranged—controlled, disciplined, imprisoned, allowing no room for disarray.

  The gloves on her hands, black and fingerless, contrasted sharply against her pale skin, their enchantments humming softly beneath her fingertips. Her gaze flicked downward, settling on the single silver ring encircling her middle finger—a stark, unadorned reminder of something she would never speak aloud.

  The ring was a reminder. The most precious memory she had. A scar, seared into her very soul.

  She did not adjust the uniform, there was nothing to adjust. She left her chamber, the door gliding shut behind her with a whisper of shifting runes.

  The hall was quieter than usual, yet its presence was no less oppressive. A vast expanse of marble and gilded splendor, the ceiling illuminated by floating thaumic chandeliers that pulsed in slow, rhythmic beats, like a heartbeat made of light. Tables of enchanted Silverwood adjusted their lengths as needed, but this morning, only one was occupied.

  Her parents.

  Her mother, Liliana Crowley-Thalorin, sat poised in quiet conversation with the man who had orchestrated the ruin of countless lives.

  At the head of the table, sat Celos Thalorin, draped in all his glory and authority. He did not simply command respect, he demanded submission, absolute, utterless submission.

  Her father. A traitor to his own kind, a tyrant who would one day be a God.

  She had hoped, oh so foolishly, she had hoped, that he would not be here, that he would leave the youngest trash to rot in solitude. She should have known better.

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  Her mother was the first to acknowledge her, a sweet smile gracing her beautiful face as she tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear. Once, her mother had been her goddess, her greatest friend. Now, she knew what she really was- a woman who had allowed her fate to be controlled, a woman who had traded love for ambition.

  Celos did not even bother looking up. Her father's presence was like a shadow stretched too far, consuming the entire palace without ever needing to, controlling her life without ever trying to.

  “You’re late.”

  His voice was smooth, effortless, his words calculated. Always calculated. She had learned her lesson long ago, arguing with her father was futile. He always won, one way or the other.

  “I’m not”, she said, her voice even, her gaze steady.

  Yes, she had learned her lessons, but learned lessons do not mean controlled emotions.

  Finally, he turned his gaze to her, cold and piercing, a thousand different knives aimed at her, each bearing the same feeling.

  Disappointment.

  "Soren was always earlier than you"

  Soren, her elder brother. The Heir, the favored child.

  He had always made her father proud, he had always been the perfect child. Cruel and arrogant, intelligent and powerful.

  It was Soren whose thaumic readings had been so absurdly powerful, they had insisted on testing him twice. It was Soren who had shown such potential that many had labelled him a future Minister, the first Half-Verdant Minister, and it was Soren who had come second in the GSE, despite already having his place secured through the Elite Quota.

  And then there was her, the disappointment. She had ranked somewhere in the thousands, nowhere near the top 200 who were allowed through Merit alone. The only reason she could wear this Uniform, the only reason she would be allowed entry into the most prestigious institution of her time, was her father.

  He never said it. It was too crass a thing for the elegant Celos Thalorin to say. But she could see it in his every glance, hear it with his every word. She knew, and she was certain he wanted her to know, he sometimes wished she had never been born. He wished there had only been Soren.

  Her father never mentioned Elias, and he had made sure no one else did either. He was a symbol of shame, the tragedy of her family. Soren's forgotten twin was only supposed to be acknowledged when Celos was not there.

  Elias had topped the GSE, surpassing even Soren. In the same year Soren placed second, Elias had stood above all. But her father did not care about excellence. For Celos Thalorin, only power and tradition existed.

  Power was magic. Tradition was the unbroken inheritance of Thaumaturgy in every Half-Verdant. Elias had not just failed, he had committed treason. He had proven he was no son of Celos Thalorin.

  Sometimes, in the quiet depths of defiance, she wished she had too.

  Her mother still loved Elias, it was obvious. Selene could see it in the way her gaze lingered on an empty seat, in her hesitation before she spoke his name, but love meant nothing in the presence of Celos Thalorin, and so her brother was reduced to a ghost who still lived.

  Selene moved to sit, but before she could, her father spoke again.

  "I hope you remember what happens this year. By the end of the year, you will take part in the Final Everbinding Oath."

  She did not react, though the words coiled around her ribs like iron chains.

  "And you will be told everything."

  Selene tightened her grip on the chair’s edge, nails pressing into polished Silverwood.

  Yes, she remembered. How could she ever forget? She had counted all days of her life, in hope that this day would never come. That she would simply go from being 15 to being 17. That her father would forget.

  Foolish thoughts.

  Foolish and Naive, as her father would say.

  She had tried so long to forget, to bury the inevitable beneath distractions and quiet defiance. But here, in the halls of the Thalorin Palace, there was no forgetting, there was only what was expected of her.

  The silence stretched long after her father’s final words, filling the vast Verdant Banquet Hall like a presence of its own. Only the soft clink of silverware against porcelain disturbed the heavy silence, a rhythm neither comforting nor distracting.

  Her parents continued their meal in that same effortless elegance, as though her existence at this table was a passing inconvenience, an obligation barely worth acknowledging.

  Sometimes, her father would look over at her. Her mother would mention something else Soren had achieved, and his eyes alone would taunt her; he had no need for words.

  Once, her father’s taunts would have drawn blood. Once, she might have sought to prove him wrong, to chase the approval she knew would never come. But now?

  Now she simply endured, and yet, somewhere deep down, she would know a small weak part of her was sobbing. She hated herself for that, hated that a part like that still existed. One day, one day she would ensure its death.

  She had no appetite. It has been long gone before she even arrived at this table. She ate little, enough to stave off exhaustion, then placed her utensils down with quiet finality. Her mother barely looked up, and she refused to acknowledge the weight behind her father's gaze.

  Selene rose, her chair gliding back with the barest whisper. The room was still with silence as she turned toward the far corner of the banquet hall, where the family teleportation circle awaited.

  The rune rested cool against her palm. An intricate sigil engraved with her name, given to every first-year, binding them to their predetermined path.

  Predetermined, she liked that word. It was an honest word, displaying the raw truth hidden behind the false aesthetic of the world.

  She traced the edges with a detached curiosity, so much of her life had been carved in stone before she had ever spoken a word.

  She pressed the rune to the circle.

  The moment it connected, light flared, gold and silver runes pulsing beneath her feet. In the space of a heartbeat, the banquet hall vanished, the weight of her parents’ stares replaced by the sudden pull of Thaumic displacement.

  For a mere moment, she was neither here nor there. For a mere moment, she could feel herself being washed away into nothingness. For a mere moment, she felt at peace.

  And then, her vision cleared. She was standing atop a personalized teleportation rune, one among many.

  The Aurelian Fleet was a divine marvel. An expanse of seamless thaumaturgy and engineering, a fleet of ships suspended in the sky, defying gravity with effortless grace. Around her, dozens of students flickered into existence, some arriving just as she had, others waiting their turn in the queue of still-glowing runes.

  She lifted her gaze to the massive arcane airships, their hulls gleaming in the dim light of early dawn. Engraved thaumic sigils pulsed faintly along their exteriors, tethering them against the boundless sky.

  White winged birds floated beside them, free as she would never be. White and blue, their wings and the sky, mixed in with the orange-red hue of rising sun, their beauty surrounding the magnificent visage of human capability.

  She barely noticed the murmur around her. With practiced ease, she activated the enchantment embedded in her irises, letting thaumaturgic energy flow through them.

  The embedding had been expensive, even for her, the daughter of Erdithia’s wealthiest family, but it had been worth it.

  For a moment, she felt as if she was magic itself.

  A faint shimmer rippled across her vision before the time materialized, translucent numbers, visible only to her.

  3:15 Dawnrise, fifteen minutes until departure.

  She let out a slow breath.

  "Oh well. Here, at least, she could pretend to be free."

  A bitter thought, a hollow hope.

  She did not know, could not know, that what awaited her was far more than a respite.

  It was the beginning of something far greater. Without even knowing, she had arrived home.