As if on key, Mortimer opened his eyes on the last chime of the 6th bell. Wiping the tears that had formed overnight, Mortimer got out of bed for the day fearful he wouldn't make it to the portals in time. After dressing, he made his way back to the front of the inn. The innkeeper was already awake and cooking at the stove.

  "Good Morning, Morty," her voice full of joy and energy, no trace of the sadness from last night. Despite that, Mortimer froze; Only one person had ever called him that, his grandmother. All doubts that the woman standing before him had known his grandmother had vanished completely. Noticing Mortimer's reaction, the innkeeper released the pan in her hand, but it remained in the air over the stove, continuing to cook without her, the utensils resuming the same steady motions.

  'I'm so sorry, dear, that was insensitive of me. It's what she used to call you, isn’t it, it just slipped out."

  "It's alright, it's just been a long time since I've been called that." Taking a breath, he sat at the counter where he'd first met the innkeeper. Thinking about it Mortimer spoke, "It didn't come up last night but what's your name is? I keep thinking of you as the innkeeper but that's a bit rude isn't it?" he asked with a shy smile playing at his lips, embarrassed at his lack of manners the night before.

  "Elise. And before you ask, I'm a fire witch. I'm known as the Hearth Witch here in the capital."

  Mortimer had heard about the Hearth Witch before, but it surprised him how empty the place was because she was quite famous. "So why is it so empty here?", he asked trying to pull together the image before him and the rumors he'd heard.

  "This place is only open to those who need it and are good-intentioned. This place is my home, a place for those in need of comfort or warmth and those longing for home. Occasionally, I'll cook for some nobles and the like, but the house doesn't like their type; y'know how they tend to be, the rich and entitled.

  After eating a hearty meal and asking lots of questions about his grandmother, the bell tolled, marking the end of the hour. Hugging the older woman, Mortimer wished her well and made a promise to come back when he could and to tell her some stories. With that, he dashed out of the inn to make it to the portals before they grew crowded.

  Standing at the door, Elise smiled, the sadness she had pushed away returning in full force. She shed a few tears as she watched his retreating figure, each dissipating into vapor as they streaked down her face. She had understood why Diana had sacrificed everything. The boy was special, she could feel that despite the spell his grandmother had placed on him, but what would happen when that spell was broken, when he awakened his magic, everyone would begin to see the truth.

  Shaking her head, she returned to the counter. No one would be able to tell unless they were a witch. And no witch would ever, ever end a curse another placed, an unspoken rule born of respect, one that had never been broken before. A pen and a few sheets of paper danced in the air toward her.

  As Mortimer turned toward the portal center, he panted a breath of relief. There were a total of five people hanging around the center. The portals themselves were dormant at the moment. They were large stone gateways that seemed like obelisks. Each stone that made up the massive archways was etched with a rune, an archaic symbol of power. Despite the weathered look of the stones, there was no doubt in Mortimer's mind that each was worth more than he had ever set eyes on.

  While he was marveling at the stones, the magicians in charge of the portals arrived. They arrived the another portal, but this one seemed unstable to Mortimer. The space around ebbed and wavered as if it would collapse in moments. Once the last magician stepped through, the one who Mortimer assumed had conjured the portal, the portal snapped closed.

  He was dressed differently from his colleagues, his clothes looked pristine and he lacked the standard cloak most working magicians donned symbolizing their rank. Mortimer realized that he was a noble, and based on the way the air seemed to distort around him, he would bet that the man was from the Weaver family. As the magicians he had brought with him began to supply the portals with magic, he began to inspect the gateways and make sure everything was as it should be.

  "The portals will be open soon if you could all gather your things and stand at the queue for your desired location, it would be greatly appreciated" The man intoned, his voice deadpan and a fake smile plastered to his face.

  After a few minutes of waiting, the portal whirled to life. The runes on the gate glowed with a pale blue. From the gate’s stones, a silvery mist crept inward, swirling with growing intensity. Streaks of purple, blue, and black flickered within, glowing ever brighter. By the time the mist fully coalesced, the space within the portal had become a churning blend of silver, gray, purple, blue, and black. Each hue pulsed as if somehow alive, swirling and mixing like the colors of an abstract painting.

  Grabbing his things, Mortimer rushed to the queue, glancing over shoulders to get a better look at the active portals before it was his turn.

  As Mortimer stepped through the portal, the air was momentarily ripped from his lungs. There was no pain, only a tug, a sense of being stretched and compressed all at once. Then, with a soft thud, his boots met stone again. The first thing he noticed was the crispness of the air, cool and tinged with the scent of ancient trees and distant rain.

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  He was finally here: Willow-Branch Academy.

  The portal behind him shimmered faintly, its swirling colors slowly bleeding into stillness. Before him stretched a wide, cobbled path leading up a gentle slope, flanked by towering silver-barked trees with leaves that shimmered faintly, catching invisible moonlight. Floating lanterns drifted lazily in the air, glowing softly despite the daylight, and faint runes pulsed on the stones beneath his feet.

  “Hey! Wait up, are you heading to orientation?”

  Mortimer turned, startled by the sudden voice. A boy about his age jogged up beside him, tall and striking, with blonde hair that burned like the last rays of a setting sun and eyes that shone a deep, dark red. There was something regal in the way he moved, but nothing arrogant; an open, genuine smile was plastered on his face.

  “You’re a first year, too, right? You’ve got that look.”

  Mortimer blinked. “What look?”

  The boy grinned wider. “The look of someone who just walked through a portal for the first time and realized this place is about ten times more impressive than the stories.”

  “That’s fair,” Mortimer admitted, a shy chuckle escaping him.

  “Oh, good. I was worried you were one of those ‘too serious for friends’ types. C’mon then, let’s walk together. The orientation’s up at the Grand Hall.” He jabbed a thumb toward the towering structure now slowly coming into view at the top of the hill. “They say the Headmaster shows up late every year just to test everyone’s patience.”

  “How does that work if everyone already knows about it?”

  “Well, most won’t know about it since it’s only really known by higher nobles, well, at least in Solaria. Plus, half the nobles coming here this year are so self-absorbed they probably won’t know any of the professors or the fact that the headmaster is a witch,” Caelum explained, giving a slight chuckle at the end.

  Chuckling, Mortimer turned to his newfound friend and stuck his hand out.

  “I’m Mortimer,” he offered.

  “Caelum,” the other replied with a smile, grasping his hand firmly.

  The two fell into step as they began the walk toward the academy. The path twisted through an enchanted grove where moss-covered statues of legendary beasts and forgotten witches peeked out from between roots and ferns. Waterfalls trickled down over stone faces, and arched bridges led them across clear streams glowing faintly with soft-blue magic.

  Buildings began to rise around them, slender towers with spiraling rooftops, some floating slightly off the ground, their bases hidden in drifting mist. Banners fluttered in the breeze, each bearing the sigil of a magical discipline: fire, water, storm, shadow, time, and more.

  “First time seeing the Academy?” Caelum asked, glancing at Mortimer’s wide eyes.

  “Yeah. It’s… overwhelming.”

  “You’ll get used to it. Took my sister a week just to figure out how to get to the Dining Hall. She still gets lost in the gardens.”

  As they approached the Grand Hall, it came into full view, and Mortimer understood why everyone had spoken of it with reverence.

  It rose from the hillside like a cathedral grown from the earth itself. Tall spires clawed toward the sky, draped in ever-blooming flowers and guarded by stone gargoyles with glowing eyes. Its enormous doors, thrice the height of a man, were carved with knights, mages, and witches in various scenes, scenes of weaving starlight, bending rivers, and whispering to dragons.

  The doors were open now, revealing a vast interior lined with floating chandeliers that burned with steady orbs of silver flame. Each float with a slight sway, giving the lighting in the room a bit of a dreamlike shimmer. The flickering reflections danced across polished marble floors and gilded pillars, casting long, wavering shadows that shifted with every breath of movement. The air was thick with the scent of old magic, rich, metallic, and humming softly just beneath the threshold of hearing. It was a place not merely entered, but stepped into as though crossing the boundary of a forgotten tale.

  Velvet banners hung from the vaulted ceilings, each embroidered with the crest of one of the Academy’s five Houses. At the far end stood a raised dais beneath a stained-glass window that bathed the room in soft, multicolored light. The Headmaster’s seat sat atop it, empty, but commanding. Its mere presence suggested authority and mystery. A grand staircase unfurled like a ribbon, its banisters carved with intricate scenes of starlit skies and winged beasts mid-flight.

  “They say he’s older than the capital itself,” Caelum said quietly, his voice more solemn now. “Headmaster Noxmere. No one knows what his element is, not really. Some say it’s Time, others say it's Cosmic, or Death itself. He knows things that he shouldn’t, there’s even a rumor he once banished a fae court just by naming each of its members.”

  Mortimer felt a chill dance down his spine, and excitement stirred within him. “You’ve seen him?”

  “No, but my older brother has,” Caelum replied. “He walked past during an exam. The air got so heavy my brother fainted.”

  Before Mortimer could respond, a bell tolled from the tower above, low and resonant, like the echo of some ancient clock.

  Students, first years like them, were filing in quietly now, their voices hushed. Mortimer and Caelum stepped forward, their footsteps lost beneath the quiet hum of magic that filled the hall.

  Though the Grand Hall’s splendor was enough to dwarf even the grandest cathedral, Mortimer felt a strange comfort walking beside Caelum. They entered together, two first-years lost in the grandeur of it all.