A hundred pairs of eyes lock onto me the moment Gwen steps aside. Some wide with awe, some narrowed with ambition, others bright with raw, dangerous curiosity.
First-years straighten up so fast their backs practically crack. Older students sit forward, as if leaning into a coming storm.
Typical.
I exhale, stepping onto the podium. The wood creaks softly under my weight-a reminder that the hall, like the world, has weathered far worse.
Gwen brushes past me, her voice sliding into my mind on the aether thread we share:
"Do NOT improvise. I mean it, Michael. Just-don't start another cult."
"It was one time," I mutter back.
"They named themselves the Blades of Dawn!"
"I didn't ask them to."
She just glares.
I turn toward the sea of students. Silence ripples across the hall like a cold wind. Even the honor students stop writing. Even the bragging second-years go still. Even the delinquents in the back-shadows sharp under their eyes-sit up straighter.
Good.
I let my aura rise just a little. Not enough to intimidate… just enough to remind them who I am.
"Students," I begin, voice carrying easily across the room, "you know me. Some of you look up to me. Some of you want to surpass me."
My gaze sweeps over the fourth-years-they don't even try to hide their smirks.
"Some of you," I add, eyes flicking to the troublemakers in the back, "want to punch me."
A few chuckles slip out.
Good. They're listening.
"But all of you," I continue, tone sharpening like a blade being drawn, "need to understand what this academy truly is."
I pause-long enough to feel the tension tighten the air.
"This place is not safe, this world is not safe."
A murmur slips through the room. Gwen winces. She should know by now that I'm not one for soft openings.
"This academy exists because the world outside these walls wants you dead. The shadows want you to become one with them. The sun, if it its rays so much as touches you. And ignorance?"
I tap the podium.
"Ignorance will kill you faster than any shadow."
The hall goes silent again.
"Your first lesson… starts now."
I step forward, pulse steady, posture still carrying echoes of battle.
"Stand up."
Students blink.
Someone mutters, "Huh?"
Another whispers, "Is this a drill?"
A nervous first-year trembles like a leaf.
"I said...stand up."
Chairs scrape. Hundreds of bodies rise. The sound is sharp, unified… obedient.
"Look at the person to your left," I say. "Now the one to your right."
They do.
"One of them," I continue quietly, "will be your keeper."
Gasps. A few confused breaths. Someone swears under their breath.
Gwen slaps her palm to her forehead.
"You are not here to play hero," I say. "You are here to survive long enough to become one."
I let the words settle. Heavy. Real. True.
"Your first lesson is simple: awareness.
Awareness of your surroundings.
Awareness of your limits.
Awareness of the enemy."
I take a step back. "Sit."
They obey instantly.
"You will learn technique from your instructors. You will learn discipline from your clubs. You will learn courage from facing the shadows and if it be, you may have to slay one of your loved ones."
My voice softens- just slightly.
"But you will learn survival… from each other."
I rest my hands behind my back.
"Welcome to a new year. And good luck."
The hall erupts-whispers, excitement, fear, resolve. Exactly what a new generation needs.
Behind me, Gwen leans in, whispering through clenched teeth:
"Michael. That was supposed to be reassuring."
I shrug.
"They'll thank me later."
''But before you depart for your classes, we shall have a short history lesson.''
''Third years are allowed to fill in any gaps I may miss, and first years may ask any questions.''
''Capiché?''
''Yes sir.'' they respond back. I take a moment to recollect my thoughts.
"Dawn Academy was first established over thirty years ago, just one year after the Fall. Originally built as a research center to study the sudden, catastrophic changes in natural phenomena occurring across the world, scientists and researchers from every major nation gathered here. Through collaboration, desperation, and no shortage of sacrifice, they uncovered what we now call aether. That knowledge was then distributed worldwide in the hopes of uniting humanity under a single cause."
I shift my weight, letting the words hang for a moment.
"But we would never have made that discovery if not for that accursed thing in the sky."
A quiet ripple spreads through the hall.
"The rays it emits absorb the light - the very life - of any sentient creature they touch, twisting them into shadows that obey its will. Animals mutated under those same rays, developing traits that could only be described as mythological. Their instincts sharpened, their bloodlust amplified, and humanity became their preferred prey."
I see first-years swallow hard. Good. They need to understand reality.
"All across the world, humans were forced to hide during the day and move only at night to avoid becoming one with the shadows. It wasn't until a stroke of pure luck - or fate - that we discovered a rare mineral capable of absorbing those rays. It stores them, but cannot release them. We named it silver shade."
The projector flickers, displaying the gleaming crystal.
"Massive quantities were mined globally, allowing us to construct cities shielded from the sun's corruption. Strongholds. It took twenty-five long, grueling years to build them. And even with the entire world working together, we have only managed to complete five: here in the United States, in the United Kingdom, China, India, and Russia."
I pause, considering whether to re-explain the foundation of the lesson.
Then decide: yes, I should.
"As most of you know, aether is the essence that flows through all living things. It is the source of every natural phenomenon. Because of that, it was universally agreed that aether is the closest thing our world has to a fundamental law - the invisible thread woven through the natural order."
Groans rise from the third- and fourth-years. They've heard this before. Too bad.
"After the abomination appeared, we discovered we could manipulate the aether within our bodies. But as with all things, power comes with a cost."
A hush falls over the room.
"Aether obeys the law of conservation of energy. Energy cannot be created or destroyed - only transferred. When you use the aether inside you, you are converting your own life force, your own nutrients, into energy to achieve superhuman feats."
I let that sink in. Some first-years look pale.
"And as scientists do, they pushed the limits. They tested. They experimented. And they found the consequences."
I fold my hands behind my back.
"Using large amounts of aether all at once strains your body to the point where death becomes instantaneous the moment the power fades. But using it in small quantities is safe. Moderate use causes manageable symptoms - headaches, dizziness, nausea."
My eyes sweep the hall.
"And reckless use gets you a coffin."
For a heartbeat, the entire lecture hall is silent.
Not the respectful silence from earlier.
A heavier one.
The kind that settles on people when they finally grasp the weight of the world they're inheriting.
Then the room begins to respond-quietly at first, in scattered whispers.
In the front rows, the first-years look like they've been slapped with reality. Wide-eyed. Pale. A few clutch their notebooks a little tighter, knuckles white. One girl mutters something like, "My brother never told me it was that dangerous…" Another boy forces a shaky laugh, but no one joins him.
The second-years sit straighter, trying-and mostly failing-to look composed. They steal glances at one another as if to confirm:
Okay… this is real.
Complacence of their peaceful school life had worn down their situational awareness
The third-years lean back with a mix of boredom and grim acceptance. They've heard this speech before, lived through enough training to know he isn't bluffing. Still, even they shift nervously at the reminder of what reckless aether use can do. One taps his temple, murmuring to his friend,
"Told you the migraines aren't something to joke about."
And the fourth-years…
Their expressions are the strangest.
Hardened.
Determined.
Some even proud.
They've survived long enough in the academy to understand the risk, and they nod along with a kind of veteran's solemnity. A few look directly at Sir Michael-not with awe, but with a quiet, fierce hunger. The kind of ambition that says:
I'm ready. Push me harder.
Up on the stage, Gwen watches the students with sharp eyes, gauging their reactions, measuring who absorbs fear and who absorbs resolve. She hides it well, but her lips twitch with the smallest, knowing smirk. She did warn him his speeches were… intense.
A single cough breaks the tension.
A nervous one.
Then another.
A ripple of shifting feet.
Someone in the back clears their throat too loudly.
The weight of the truth sits over the hall like fog-thick, not yet ready to rise.
Even so, beneath that fear, something else begins to stir in many of them:
Determination.
They came here to learn.
To fight.
To survive.
And Sir Michael just reminded them why they don't have the luxury of being anything less than exceptional.