The violet-gold sky glowed softly through the Spire’s mirrored ceiling as morning light nudged Rikk awake. He shifted on the woven pallet, stiffness nagging his back from the stone floor. His silver eyes squinted against the brightness, and he brushed his black hair aside—still strange after his awakening. The mirror on the pedestal hummed faintly, anchoring him to last night’s truths: the Duskveils, his parents’ murderers; Raethar Aetheris, a name he wasn’t ready to claim; the Morgans, left behind. For now, he was still Rikk.

  Lysara walked in with a tray—fresh bread, a purple fruit, a steaming mug—and set it beside him, settling cross-legged on the floor. Her dark blue tunic contrasted her silver eyes. “Good morning,” she said with a small nod. “Go ahead and eat.”

  Rikk grabbed the bread, tearing off a chunk. “What’s this about?”

  “Just breakfast and a quick talk,” Lysara said, a faint smile tugging her lips. “You’re off to the Academy of Veils today, and I want you to know what’s ahead.”

  Rikk bit into the fruit—sweet with a sharp tang. “Training and staying out of the Duskveils’ sights, yeah?”

  “That’s the idea,” Lysara said, leaning forward a little. “The Spire’s safe enough, but it’s not where you’ll build your skills. The Academy’s tucked away, covered in wards. You’ll blend in, pick up the basics of magic, and keep those reflection gifts of yours quiet. It’s the best way to get stronger without the Duskveils sniffing you out.”

  Rikk sipped the mug—warm, spiced—and nodded. “So I’m just supposed to play the part of some random student?”

  “You’ll go as Rikk Veyn, a transfer from the outer provinces,” Lysara said. “Your mirror magic stays under wraps. I’ll train you on it privately once you’re settled in.”

  He chewed slowly, letting it sink in. “And after that, I deal with the Duskveils?”

  “When you’re ready,” Lysara said, her tone softening. “Your parents gave everything to protect you, Rikk. This is your shot to make that mean something—and take back what’s yours.”

  She handed him a bundle of gray clothes. “Here’s your uniform. Take a minute to get ready and meet us outside. You’ll be heading through a portal to the Academy.”

  Rikk took the bundle, the fabric coarse against his fingers. “Got it,” he said, standing as she left the room.

  _________________________________________

  Kael’s staff sparked violet light, ripping open a portal to reveal rolling hills and a sprawling stone building—the Academy of Veils. Rikk stepped through, the gray tunic and trousers stiff against his skin, a flimsy mask for his silver eyes and black hair. Students moved across the grounds—some tapping scry-pads that glowed with runes, others sipping drinks that shimmered faintly in the sunlight.

  Lysara led him to a heavy oak door and knocked. A woman with steel-gray hair and piercing amber eyes answered. “Lysara, Kael,” she said, her gaze shifting to Rikk. “This him?”

  “Headmistress Veyra,” Lysara said with a nod. “This is Rikk Veyn. He’s yours to look after now.”

  Veyra’s eyes lingered on him, assessing. “Welcome, Rikk. Magic awakens between fifteen and nineteen, so we see new faces year-round. You’re not the only one starting mid-term. Put in the work, and you’ll find your place.” She handed him a leather satchel. “Your books, extra uniforms, and essentials are waiting in your room. You’ll be sharing with Calden—Cal—a sixteen-year-old who’s been here a month. Follow me, I’ll get you oriented.”

  Lysara gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. “Stay alert, alright? We’ll swing by to check on you.” She and Kael stepped back through the portal, leaving him with Veyra.

  She guided him down a corridor lined with softly glowing runic tapestries. “Classes are just ahead,” she said, pointing. “Dining hall’s off to your left, dorms to your right. Your first lesson’s coming up—Professor Taryn will be expecting you.” They reached a narrow building with ivy creeping up the walls. She pushed open a door to a small room—two beds, a desk, a wardrobe. A stack of uniforms and a pile of books sat on one bed. “This one’s yours,” Veyra said, gesturing. “Cal’s bunk is across the hall. Settle in after your classes.”

  A lanky boy with freckles and red hair poked his head in, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Hey, you the new guy? I’m Cal—your roommate, I guess?”

  “Yeah,” Rikk said, managing a small nod. “Rikk Veyn.”

  “Nice! First class is starting soon—want me to show you the way?” Cal’s energy was hard to resist, and Rikk felt a bit of his unease slip away.

  “Sure,” he said. “Thanks, Headmistress.”

  Veyra waved a hand. “Off you go.”

  The classroom had tiered benches facing a wide window, students settling in with scry-pads and books. Cal snagged seats near the back, sliding in beside Rikk. Professor Taryn walked in—tall, dark hair streaked with silver, her hands glowing faintly. “Good morning, everyone,” she said with a warm smile. “Welcome to Introduction to Awakening and Simple Magic. Pull up Mana’s First Steps on your scry-pads or grab a hardcopy—today’s topic is ‘Light Manifestation,’ about halfway through the text.”

  She tapped her scry-pad, projecting a diagram of a figure with shifting eye and hair colors. “Awakening happens between fifteen and nineteen, when your body taps into mana to improve itself—your eyes might change color, your hair could shift, you might grow taller or gain strength. It’s a physical sign you’re becoming a healthier version of yourself. Today, though, we’re working on a basic mana skill: channeling it into a light orb above your palm. It’s not part of awakening—just a starting point. Think of your mana like a breath—draw it up from your core, that warm spot inside you. Picture a small, steady light, then use your will to make it happen. The steps are in your text—feel your mana first, then shape it. Take it slow.”

  Taryn raised her hand, a steady blue orb forming above her palm. “See how it stays solid? Give it a try when you’re ready.”

  Cal scrolled through his scry-pad, skimming the page. “Okay, let’s see what I’ve got,” he said, closing his eyes. A faint green orb flickered above his hand, holding for a moment before fading. “So close,” he said with a grin. “Your turn, Rikk.”

  Rikk felt his mana hum—too strong, too easy—but he couldn’t let it show. He glanced at the text—Feel the warmth, see the light—and faked a struggle, letting a dim, shaky orb flicker to life before snuffing it out. “Yeah, it’s harder than it looks,” he said, keeping his tone light.

  A wiry girl with short black hair sat nearby, her scry-pad open. A faint orange orb glowed above her hand, wavering slightly. Across the room, a tall boy with sharp cheekbones formed a crisp red orb without even glancing at his pad, a smirk playing on his lips. A few students managed wobbly glows; others stared at their hands, frowning.

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  Taryn walked between the benches, adjusting a student’s posture here and there. “Breathe into it—intent first, then will,” she said, stopping by Rikk. “Good effort, Veyn. Keep at it.” The bell hummed—a soft rune chime—and she nodded. “Read ‘Mana Flow’ for tomorrow.”

  Cal stretched as they headed out. “History’s next. Want to grab something to drink first?”

  Rikk nodded, trailing him to a hall vending rune. Cal tapped it, and two cups of shimmering juice slid out. “Better than it looks,” he said, handing one over.

  Rikk took a sip—tangy, warm. “Weird setup,” he said.

  “You’ll get the hang of it,” Cal said, leading the way.

  _______________________________

  Professor Halden’s room smelled of old paper, maps and books lining the walls. He stood at a podium, wiry and nasal-voiced. “Alright, everyone, open Realm and Rule,” he said, tapping his scry-pad to project a timeline. “Today’s lesson is ‘The Duskveil Ascension,’ sixteen years ago. The Aetherian line collapsed. Most of you are aware of the illness that struck the capital around 16 years ago. The plague decimated many families and leaders in the kingdom. The Duskveils, a noble house, stepped in with their shadow magic to bring order. They’ve ruled since, strengthening trade and borders.”

  Rikk’s jaw tightened as he pulled up the text. Illness? They were murdered. He glanced at Cal, keeping his voice low. “That’s not right.”

  Cal shrugged, scrolling his pad. “It’s the official story. Doesn’t add up, though.”

  A girl with braids leaned over from the next bench, her text marked with notes. “My gran says the Duskveils betrayed the Aetherians sixteen years ago,” she whispered. “This ‘collapse’ stuff is nonsense.”

  A broad-shouldered boy sat ahead, doodling on his scry-pad. “Who gives a crap about this?” he muttered, flicking a tiny breeze at the girl’s braids. She swatted it away, shooting him a glare, but he just grinned.

  “Focus, please,” Halden snapped, missing the breeze. “The Duskveils’ rule brought stability—write that down.” Rikk scribbled, the lie clawing at him. Sixteen years—his parents’ death, not some collapse. The Duskveils rewrote it.

  The chime rang, and students shuffled out. The broad-shouldered boy stretched. “Lunchtime—stew’s decent today.”

  “Let’s grab some,” the girl with braids said, tucking her scry-pad away. Rikk followed Cal, stomach growling but mind stuck on the Duskveils’ deception.

  _________________________________

  The dining hall buzzed—students grabbing trays, tapping scry-pads. Rikk sat with Cal, spooning lukewarm stew. The girl with braids slid in beside them, offering a small smile. “I’m Lina,” she said. “You’re the new guy, right?”

  “Yeah, Rikk Veyn,” he said, nodding.

  The broad-shouldered boy joined, tray in hand. “Jor,” he said, digging into his stew. “Welcome to the madness.”

  A wiry girl with short black hair sat across, her orange-tinted drink steaming. “Kess,” she said, nodding at Rikk. “First days are rough.”

  A blonde girl with a quiet air settled nearby, her scry-pad glowing faintly. “Vara,” she said softly. “Nice to meet you.”

  Another blonde, with short hair, plopped down next to Lina. “Erilyn,” she said, grinning. “You holding up alright, Rikk?”

  “Barely,” he said with a half-smile. “It’s a lot to take in.”

  “No kidding,” Erilyn said, sipping a shimmering drink. “First month’s always a slog.”

  Rikk took a bite, then glanced around the table. “So, are you all the only ones awakened in your families?”

  Cal shrugged. “Pretty much. My sister’s too young—might happen later.”

  “Same here,” Lina said. “My gran’s got stories, but no one else in my line’s shown it.”

  “My brother shot up a few inches,” Jor said with a smirk. “That count?”

  Erilyn laughed. “Maybe? I wouldn’t know about my real family—I was adopted. I do know that if there is bloodline magic, the firstborn will inherit it.”

  “Guess it takes time to figure out for most of us,” Lina said.

  Cal chuckled. “We’re all just muddling through. Next up’s runes—you ready, Rikk?”

  Rikk nodded, finishing his stew as the group chattered—Jor griping about Halden, Lina debating history with Kess. Names settled in his head, but Erilyn’s words lingered like a shadow.

  _____________________________________________

  The charcoal-scented room had tables covered with stones and chisels. Professor Mirene stood ready, her stout frame steady, hands stained with ink. “Good afternoon,” she said. “This is Permanent and Rune Magic. Open Runes of Binding on your pads—today’s topic is ‘Basic Light Runes.’ Runes lock mana into objects for lasting effects.”

  She carved a rune into a pebble, and it glowed blue, radiating warmth. “This holds heat for hours. You’ll etch a light rune today—the pattern’s on page twelve: three lines, crossed at the top. Pair up, grab a stone, and carve it carefully. Channel your mana as you work—too much, and it’ll burn out; too little, it won’t glow. Precision’s everything.”

  Rikk teamed with Cal, who picked up a chisel and stone. “Alright, let’s give it a shot,” Cal said, tracing the text’s pattern. His rune flared green for a moment, then faded. “Too fast,” he muttered, passing it to Rikk.

  Rikk took the chisel, copying the lines. His mana flowed too easily—he dulled it, letting the stone glow a faint silver before graying it out. “Think I got it,” he said.

  Mirene paused by their table. “Nice glow, Veyn—try sharper lines next time,” she said, moving on.

  Kess swore as her rune fizzled. “Too much mana,” she said. Jor’s stone pulsed orange, holding steady. “Nailed it,” he grinned.

  Vara’s rune glowed a soft yellow. “First try,” she said quietly, catching Rikk’s eye.

  Mirene went on about rune duration—hours for beginners, years with mastery. Rikk wondered if mirrors could hold runes, filing the thought away. The chime rang, and Cal yawned. “Meditation’s up next—let’s go.”

  “Yeah,” Rikk said, grabbing his satchel.

  _____________________________________

  Professor Soren’s room was dim, cushions scattered on the floor. He stood in loose robes, voice calm and even. “Welcome to Meditation,” he said. “Your handouts—Stillness and Mana—are on your pads, under ‘Inner Focus.’ This sharpens your will and focus, useful for every mage. For bloodline magic, it can reveal or control it. Sit down, close your eyes, breathe deep—follow the pattern in the text. Feel your mana, let it settle.”

  Rikk sat beside Cal, skimming the handout—slow breaths, calm mind. His mana surged—mirrors flickering in his head—but he locked it down, breathing evenly. “Does this actually help?” he whispered to Cal.

  “Yeah,” Cal murmured. “Makes my mana come to me smoother.”

  Erilyn sat nearby, breathing steadily. Purple sparks danced on her hands, bright, before she blinked them away. “Still no clue if I’ve got bloodline magic,” she said to Kess, who’d glanced her way. “Haven’t noticed anything yet.”

  Vara’s hands flickered with yellow light, then faded. Jor and Lina focused silently, no glows showing. Soren paced quietly. “Don’t force it—just let it flow,” he said. Rikk felt his mana tug—reflections calling—but kept it buried. Could this wake it more? Too dangerous here.

  The chime rang, ending the day’s classes. Cal stood up. “Lounge time—ready to unwind?”

  “Sure,” Rikk said, following him out.

  ______________________________________

  The student lounge glowed with rune-lit tables, a wall panel humming enchanted tunes. Cal flopped onto a cushioned bench, tapping his scry-pad to tweak the melody—sharp and lively. “Mana makes it pop,” he said with a grin.

  Lina grabbed a glowing drink from a rune dispenser. “Light-infused—crisp,” she said, taking a sip. She flicked a breeze, spinning a coaster lazily. “Keeps me chill.”

  Jor leaned back, scry-pad open to a game—mana bolts zapping targets. “Give it a try, Rikk,” he said, tossing it over. Rikk faked clumsy shots, hitting a few. “Not bad,” Jor laughed.

  Kess joined, her drink steaming orange. “Newbies stick together,” she said, nodding at Rikk and Vara. “First month’s a grind.”

  Vara sat sketching runes on her pad, a faint yellow glow tracing her lines. “Light’s my family’s thing—not bloodline, just a knack,” she said, glancing at Rikk.

  Erilyn dropped beside Lina. “Hey, Rikk, your family big on magic?” she asked, sipping her drink.

  Rikk shrugged, keeping it vague. “Not really. You?”

  “My adopted family is,” Erilyn said with a small laugh. “The Duskveils raised me. My cousin Torin’s here too—he’s awakened, always rubbing in his shadow bloodline magic and how powerful he is.”

  Rikk’s stomach lurched. Duskveils? They adopted her. Does she know what they did? Wiping out his parents and all those people. Is Torin the heir? His grip tightened on his drink, the tang turning bitter. Did she know what they’d done, what their shadow magic stood for? His own mirror magic twitched, a secret he couldn’t let slip—not with her so close, not with another Duskveil roaming these halls. He forced a casual nod, swallowing hard. She doesn’t know. She can’t.

  “Guess it takes time to figure out,” Lina said, oblivious.

  Rikk sipped, listening as the others chatted—Cal about runes, Jor about combat. Erilyn’s words stuck, the Duskveils’ shadow creeping closer. For now, he was Rikk Veyn, blending in.

  Cal stretched. “Academy’s one to two years, depends how fast you pick it up. After that, you can apprentice with wizards—advanced stuff. I’m leaning toward runes.”

  “Wind for me,” Lina said. Jor grinned. “Combat vibes.”

  Rikk nodded, half-present. Four classes—light orbs, Duskveil lies, rune tricks, meditation’s pull. His mirror magic simmered, locked tight. The Morgans’ safety, his parents’ deaths, the Duskveils’ rule—it weighed heavier now, with Erilyn and Torin in the mix.