High in the mountains of the Libra Nation stood the Grand Citadel, its marble towers and shimmering crystal spires catching the light of Semsara's lone sun. Once golden, the sun now burned a deep crimson to mortal eyes, its rays filtered through centuries of industrial scars. Yet here, high among the peaks where the air was thin and sharp, the world glowed with a strange, austere beauty.
The Citadel was no mere palace or fortress; it was the heartbeat of Semsara's political world. Within its walls, world commerce was negotiated, banking secured, judgments rendered, and councils convened to decide the fates of nations. Every stone was carved with purpose, every pillar etched with symbols of balance, fairness, and law.
To the east of the Citadel, on the far slope of the tallest mountain, lay something even more sacred: the School of Mystical Arts. Its domes shimmered like pearls, its gardens thrived despite the cold winds, nourished by enchantments older than empires. The school admitted only those chosen by the gods: Casters, wielders of creation, and their sworn protectors, the Guardians.
The courtyard of the School of Mystical Arts had been transformed into something magnificent. Normally a place of study and practice, today it was unrecognizable. Rows of benches carved from living stone curved in great crescents around a central marble dais, the surface inlaid with glowing runes that shimmered faintly in the fading light. The banners of each zodiac nation hung high, fastened to spires enchanted so that the cloth seemed to ripple even without wind. Their colors—Leo's gold, Virgo's silver, Scorpio's black and crimson, Cancer's deep blue—painted the air with a spectrum of pride and rivalry.
Everywhere, students buzzed like a restless hive. Some whispered nervously, their voices breaking with excitement; others spoke with the calm bravado of those eager to prove themselves. The Guardians-in-training sat on one side, their ranks filled with young men and women dressed in practical uniforms but marked by the symbols of their divine patrons. Across from them, the Casters gathered in robes of flowing fabric, each cut uniquely to their nation's tradition, their sleeves and hems stitched with patterns of their gods.
From the topmost bench, a cluster of Leos lounged like kings already crowned, their golden manes carefully combed, their teeth flashing white when they laughed too loudly. They kept glancing toward the audience of parents and dignitaries, basking in attention even before their names were called. By contrast, a knot of Virgo initiates sat rigid and silent, their robes immaculately pressed, their eyes focused on the dais as though already rehearsing their vows.
The Scorpios clacked their stingers against the stone benches in a steady rhythm, sharp and unnerving, like the beating of war drums. Some nearby Gemini twins winced at the sound, muttering in unison that the Scorpios only wanted to intimidate. The Geminis, restless by nature, kept finishing each other's sentences, their double-voiced chatter drawing both amusement and annoyance from their peers.
Even the Taureans, usually calm and steady, looked uneasy in the charged air. Their heavy frames shifted uncomfortably, hooves scraping the stone floor. One of them exhaled loudly, earning a sharp glare from a Capricorn beside him, whose polished scales shimmered faintly in the copper sunlight.
And above them all, the master of ceremonies stood at the center of the dais, robes flowing like a river of white and gold. He raised his hands and the murmurs died instantly. A hush settled over the courtyard, broken only by the low hum of enchantments woven into the walls. The banners above glowed faintly, their colors brightening as if the gods themselves leaned closer to watch.
"Today," the announcer intoned, his voice amplified by spellcraft until it echoed from every stone, "is a moment that will live in history. Today, before the eyes of the gods, we welcome a Libran Guardian into these sacred halls for the first time in three thousand years."
A wave of whispers rippled through the crowd. Some were awestruck, others resentful.
"Daxom Tyrell of House Tyrell," the announcer called.
Heads swiveled. Breath caught. But no one stood.
"Daxom, please stand!"
Confusion rolled through the audience. Guardians craned their necks, Casters twisted in their seats. Where was the boy who bore such a name?
A Scorpio snickered under her breath. "Maybe the Libran is too proud to sit with us."
"Or maybe he got lost," another muttered, though there was no way to mistake the path to the courtyard today.
The tension sharpened, a string pulled taut, as everyone waited for the name to be answered.
East of the school stretched a meadow, rolling and serene, where the Citadel's shadow gave way to open sky. The grass swayed like an emerald sea beneath the copper-tinged light of the sun, and clusters of wildflowers bloomed in vibrant purples, blues, and golds. A silver brook wound through the field, its waters glistening as it carried the sound of peace into the mountain air.
Ella drifted in the center of the clearing, robes of white fluttering as she hovered just above the ground. Her hair lifted slightly in the breeze, and the sleeve of her robe rippled like silk on still water. With her eyes closed, she breathed deeply, savoring the calm.
"We're late, you know," came a voice from behind her, rich with playful reproach.
Her lips curved into a smile. "I know." Slowly she descended, feet touching the soft grass. "But how could I leave this? The meadow is so quiet today. One last chance to be myself before the noise of the ceremony."
She turned. Daxom Tyrell stood a few paces away, the setting sun painting his features in bronze and shadow. His expression was steady, but his eyes carried the tension of someone who knew his life would never again be simple.
"Once we leave here, we won't be alone again until graduation," Ella whispered, voice trembling.
"I know," Daxom said. He stepped forward, taking her hand gently. "But the gods will see, one day. They'll understand us. And when that day comes, nothing will keep us apart."
She searched his face, desperate for certainty. "You believe that?"
"With everything I am," he said, brushing his thumb across her knuckles. "Besides… you're the only one I want, Ella. That hasn't changed since the day we met."
Her chest tightened, remembering that first day—a summer festival when she'd stumbled in the market square, nearly crushed by a stampede of Scorpio traders, only to find his hand reaching down to steady her. She hadn't let go since.
"Sometimes I think the gods gave me my gift just to bring me here," she admitted, her voice fragile. "To bring me to you. And yet, they forbid it."
"They can forbid it all they want," Daxom said softly, "but they can't make me feel differently."
A laugh broke through her worry, and she rose on her toes, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was soft, lingering just long enough to make parting feel unbearable.
When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against his chest. "This has to last me a long time," she murmured. "Until the day we walk out of here."
"It will," he promised, kissing the crown of her head.
For a few precious minutes, they simply stood together, listening to the brook's quiet song and the rustle of grass in the wind. But time pressed, as it always did.
"Come on," Ella said at last, her voice laced with reluctant humor. "Before we miss the whole procession."
"Right behind you," Daxom replied.
Hand in hand, they walked from the meadow, the peace of their stolen moment fading with every step closer to the crowd.
The roar of the crowd surged as the ceremony continued, voices overlapping in a sea of noise. From the Guardians' benches came the sound of clashing handshakes, playful jabs, and the stomp of boots against stone; from the Casters' side came softer laughter and hushed exchanges, robes whispering as students shifted nervously in their seats. Above it all, the banners swayed like living things, as if the gods themselves leaned closer to watch.
"DAXOM!"
Four familiar voices cut through the clamor, and before he could even react, his squad surrounded him. Axel clapped him hard on the back, nearly knocking him forward. Shen threw an arm around his shoulders with exaggerated ceremony, while Lilith and Marcus—quieter, steadier—offered respectful nods.
"Squad leader already, huh?" Shen grinned, saluting mockingly. "Guess that means you'll be barking orders before we even get rooms assigned."
"Or making us polish his boots," Axel added dryly.
"Or his ego," Marcus muttered, though his lips twitched with the hint of a smile.
"Knock it off," Daxom said, but his smirk betrayed amusement.
"You know it's only because of your name," Shen pressed, eyes dancing. "Tyrell. The headmaster couldn't resist."
"Yeah?" Daxom shot back. "And you're only here because your parents bribed the headmaster."
The words hung heavy for a heartbeat. Axel's brows rose. Marcus shifted uncomfortably. Lilith tilted her head, her expression unreadable. Shen's grin faltered—then split into booming laughter.
"HA! You're right!" he roared, doubling over. "They practically carried me in with a sack of coin!"
Relief spread through the squad, their laughter rising in harmony. Daxom chuckled, shaking his head. For a moment, the weight of expectation lifted, and he was just another student among friends.
Lilith spoke softly, though her words cut through their noise. "Leader or not, Daxom doesn't need to command us. We'd follow him anyway."
The others went quiet, acknowledging truth in her tone. Even Shen, still chuckling, nodded sheepishly.
Across the courtyard, Ella slipped into the Casters' ranks, greeted by Rose's bright smile.
"You missed the headmaster's speech," Rose said, nudging her.
"I had something important," Ella replied quickly, cheeks pink.
Rose arched a brow. "Meditation in the meadow? Or maybe… something less solitary?"
"Shh!" Ella hissed, glancing around.
"I'm not saying anything," Rose promised, smirk widening. "But honestly? I think it's romantic."
Ella's eyes strayed across the crowd until they found Daxom, laughing with his squad. A smile crept across her face before she could stop it.
"There it is," Rose sighed. "The look I want one day. That smile that says someone's your whole world."
"Don't worry," Ella teased. "You'll find someone. Maybe I'll conjure them for you and save you the trouble."
Rose laughed, shaking her head. "No way. I want the real thing. The old-fashioned way."
"Fairy tales don't happen for nerds like you."
The mocking voice cut into their conversation like a blade. Ella and Rose turned to see Conner, tall and lean, his black-scaled exoskeleton gleaming in the coppery light. His eyes gleamed with cruel amusement as he sneered down at them.
Both girls muttered his name with disgust. "Conner."
The crowd stilled. Daxom's voice cut through the air, calm but commanding.
"That's enough, Conner."
Conner turned, smirk spreading. "Always the hero, huh?"
The tension broke when Conner lashed out with his stinger. Daxom moved like water—catching it mid-strike, twisting, and sending Conner crashing to the ground. He pinned him with one knee, forcing his head up so the crowd could see his humiliation.
Gasps and whispers rippled through the courtyard.
Then—a warm hand on his shoulder.
"Daxom."
Headmaster Andros Mars stood tall, his presence radiating calm authority. "Let him go."
"Yes, sir." Daxom released him, bowing slightly.
Conner scrambled up, stinger drooping. "When my mother hears—"
Andros' gaze cut him off, burning with quiet intensity. Conner faltered, then spat, "Fine! But next time, you won't have the headmaster to hide behind." He stormed off.
Andros turned to Daxom, his sternness melting into amusement. "Reminds me of your father. Always quick to make an impression."
A Virgo aide whispered in his ear. Andros' smile vanished. He nodded and departed swiftly.
"Odd," Rose murmured. "Not much can move him that fast."
"The headmaster's business is his own," Daxom replied, though unease tugged at him.
That evening, the great hall glowed with life. Chandeliers of crystal hung high above, reflecting the light of enchanted orbs that shimmered like captured stars. Long banquet tables stretched the length of the chamber, groaning under the weight of food brought from every nation in Semsara. The air was thick with the mingling scents of roasted meats, spiced stews, fresh bread, and honeyed fruit.
The Scorpio tables were marked by bowls of steaming broth so dark it shimmered like oil, the air around it sharp with spices that burned the nose. Few outside their kind dared taste it, but the Scorpios slurped it down with pride, stingers twitching happily. Across from them, the Cancerians cracked open platters of shellfish with massive claws, passing morsels of meat to their children in a ritual of bonding. Their eyes, always attuned to emotion, shimmered with quiet sadness as they prepared to leave their young behind.
The Leos could not help but make a spectacle of themselves. Their platters overflowed with golden roasts, their laughter boomed across the hall. One father lifted a goblet high and roared, "Tonight we feast as kings, and tomorrow my son shall fight as one!" His family joined him, their voices echoing until others groaned in irritation.
The Aquarians dined with elegance, their dishes of seafood and kelp arranged like art upon crystal plates. A mother clasped her daughter's hands across the table, whispering with a smile, "Remember, water holds memory. Wherever you go, my love will flow with you." The girl's eyes shimmered with tears, but she smiled, repeating the words like a vow.
At one corner, Gemini families doubled the volume. Parents attempted to hug two children at once, only to be pulled into tangled embraces that ended in laughter. A father threw up his hands. "Always together, never apart!" he declared. The twins echoed him in perfect unison, grinning ear to ear.
The Taureans kept to quieter rituals. One broad-shouldered father pressed his forehead to his son's, murmuring, "Strength lies not in conquest, but in patience." The boy nodded solemnly, clutching the carved wooden token his father slipped into his palm.
Nearby, a Virgo mother adjusted her daughter's robes for the fifth time, muttering about precision and discipline even as her hands trembled with pride.
The Sagittarians, half-man and half-horse, stood to embrace their children in powerful, sweeping hugs. "Aim true," one father said, his deep voice like rolling thunder. "The stars never lie, but it is your hand that must release the arrow." His son nodded, determination blazing in his eyes.
And then there were the Capricorns—rare and dignified, their scaled bodies shimmering faintly as they clasped their children in long, silent embraces. One elder whispered, "You are born of earth and sea both. Remember, ambition is your inheritance. Let it carry you where even wings cannot."
Everywhere the hall pulsed with life—songs, laughter, tears. Parents cried openly, especially the mothers who clung to their children as though their arms could shield them from destiny. Some goodbyes were short and proud, others long and messy.
At the center of it all sat Daxom, alone. His family had left that morning, leaving only the memory of their farewell. The noise of the hall swirled around him, but it felt strangely distant, as though he sat behind glass. He pushed his food around his plate, gaze drifting until it found Ella at the Casters' table. She laughed at something Rose said, but when her eyes flicked up to meet his, the laughter softened into something gentler—an unspoken promise across the crowded hall.
For that heartbeat, the chaos faded. There was only her smile.
Later that night, the Guardians gathered at the edge of the barracks grounds, where seven great halls stretched in a semicircle, each built in the likeness of a legendary beast. The Griffin House gleamed with banners of white and gold, its peaked roof crowned by a carved eagle's head.
Kraken House loomed with spires coiled in tentacle-like arches, water flowing down its walls in endless streams.
Dragon House glowed faintly from within, its carved stone scales catching the torchlight. Phoenix House was wreathed in warmth, a faint shimmer of heat rippling across its open archways.
Unicorn House radiated elegance, its silver spires reaching skyward.
Hydra House seemed almost alive, its many wings twisting around each other in spiraling towers.
And then there was Chimera. Its archways were dark, its walls weathered, runes half-erased with time. Moss clung to its base, and though torches burned outside its door, the flames sputtered as if reluctant to shine. Students passing by glanced at it uneasily, whispering as they gave it a wide berth.
"Chimera House," Daxom said firmly. His squad froze.
"Are you serious?" Axel asked, voice cracking. "You know the curse."
"They say the last Chimera squad woke screaming every night," Shen muttered, shifting nervously. "That the walls whispered in voices not their own."
Lilith folded her arms, but her eyes flicked to the dark archway. "Superstition," she said evenly. "Nothing more."
"Superstition with too many graves to prove it," Axel shot back. He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"My brother told me about a squad—thirty years ago. Half of them dropped out before graduation. The rest… didn't live long enough to see service."
Shen swallowed. "I heard it goes back even further. That every squad who chose Chimera carried some mark of tragedy. The barracks itself is cursed—built on ground that should never have been touched." He gestured toward the runes carved into the stone. "Those weren't made to protect. They were made to warn."
Marcus, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, his tone low and steady. "The gods would not allow a curse to persist in their academy. The whispers, the graves… perhaps they were weak squads who could not endure." His gaze shifted to Daxom. "But if we are strong, Chimera could be our crucible."
Lilith nodded slightly. "Isolation has its advantages. No rival squads breathing down our necks. No distractions."
"Or allies," Axel muttered.
"Better whispers than chains," Daxom said at last, his voice cutting through their uncertainty. He turned to them, meeting each gaze in turn. "If we choose Chimera, no one will dare interfere. We'll have space, freedom, and the chance to shape ourselves into something greater. When graduation comes, they won't be able to deny us."
Still, hesitation lingered. Finally, Lilith asked the question the others would not. "And what if the curse is real?"
Daxom's expression didn't waver. "Then we prove we're stronger than it."
Silence hung heavy. Then, one by one, they nodded. Shen sighed dramatically, muttering about doomed fates, but even he managed a grin.
Together they crossed the threshold. The torches sputtered as they entered, the air inside strangely cold, smelling faintly of ash and stone. The barracks stretched in shadowed halls, doors lining each side, each marked with faded carvings of chimera heads. The walls seemed to breathe faintly, a sound just at the edge of hearing, like stone settling—or whispers too quiet to understand.
As the others dispersed to claim rooms, Daxom lingered alone in the entry hall. He pressed a hand to one of the carved runes, feeling the faint vibration beneath his palm. And then the voice came.
Do not fear graduation. Do not fear whispers. Your squad will be one of the greatest ever—not because of fate, but because you lead them.
The words resonated through his bones. For a moment he saw flashes: a battlefield shrouded in smoke, shadows twisting in unnatural forms, his squad standing at his side, battered but unbroken. And in the distance—Ella's face, eyes filled with both love and sorrow.
Daxom staggered, clutching the doorframe. The vision faded as quickly as it came, leaving only the steady echo of the voice.
He exhaled slowly, grounding himself. Whether the voice was divine, a dream, or madness, he did not know. But he trusted it.
Straightening his shoulders, he stepped into Chimera House, the door closing behind him with a hollow boom that echoed like the closing of fate.