The warmth of laughter lingered long after Kaela's pillow war ended, but when Elira finally drifted to sleep, it was with the weight of fire still humming beneath her skin.
The next morning, the ringing of a crystal bell echoed through Phoenix Wing, waking every student in its dormitory. Elira sat up, rubbing her eyes, as sunlight streamed across the room's polished marble floors.
Her cloak hung neatly on the stand beside her bed—she had noticed it last night but hadn't truly studied it until now.
The uniform of Heaven's School was unlike anything she'd seen before: a seamless blend of modern and royal. The underlayer was a fitted black tunic and trousers, comfortable but reinforced with faintly glowing runes stitched into the seams—resilient, flexible, impossible to tear. Over it came a high-collared jacket embroidered with her wing's crest, trimmed with golden thread. The cloak, long and flowing, was crimson for Phoenix Wing, its hem etched with flame patterns that shimmered when light hit them.
The clasp at the throat bore a single phoenix feather wrought from enchanted gold. She could feel faint warmth when she touched it, as though it carried fire itself.
Across the room, Kaela wrestled with her cloak like it was a wild animal. "Why does it keep slipping? It hates me."
"Because you fasten it crooked," Lyssandra replied dryly, her own uniform pristine, as if tailored by master artisans.
Selene, silent as ever, was already dressed, her cloak falling around her like shadows.
Elira smiled faintly and fastened her own clasp. The moment it clicked, the cloak adjusted itself, tightening around her shoulders perfectly.
"Magic clothing," Kaela muttered, glaring at hers. "Of course."
After breakfast, all first-years gathered in the central courtyard. Banners of every wing hung from the balconies, swaying in the morning wind. At the center stood the Headmaster—an elderly man with a staff taller than he was, his robes embroidered with constellations. His presence carried calm, but his eyes gleamed like he knew every secret in the world.
"Welcome," his voice carried without effort. "Today begins not just your studies, but your transformation. At Heaven's School, you will learn not only to wield magic, but to rule yourselves, to understand others, and to command the future."
He raised his hand, and attendants stepped forward, distributing gleaming bracelets to each student.
When Elira received hers, it hummed faintly in her palm. The band was sleek, forged of silver with a central gemstone that shifted colors with her touch.
"This," the Headmaster continued, "is your Arcanum Band. It will guide you. With it, you may access your schedules, find your way through the halls, communicate with your peers, and record your progress. Use it wisely. Misuse will not be tolerated."
Elira slid the band onto her wrist. Instantly, it tightened to fit perfectly, glowing faintly crimson in harmony with her cloak. She tapped the gemstone, and a projection bloomed in the air above it: a three-dimensional map of Heaven's School, vast and intricate like a living palace.
Kaela gasped. "Oh my gods, it's like a magical phone! Except fancier."
Lyssandra sniffed. "It is not a toy." But even she couldn't hide the way her eyes lingered on the glowing runes.
Selene merely tapped hers once, saw the projection, and turned it off without expression.
Elira stared at the band, fascinated. The projection shifted with her thought, showing her class schedule for the day:
Morning
Royal Studies: History of Realms & Courts (Phoenix Wing Hall)
Arcane Studies: Flame Manipulation (Hall of Embers)
Afternoon
Modern Studies: Enchanted Constructs & Technology (Innovation Chamber)
Combat Training: Basic Sparring & Channeling (Outer Grounds)
The schedule shimmered, glowing faintly as if etched directly into the air.
Their first stop was Royal Studies, held in a chamber that looked more like a throne room than a classroom. Chandeliers of crystal light hung from the vaulted ceiling, and every desk was carved from white marble.
Professor Veylen, a stern woman with her hair bound into a crown of braids, stood before them. "Power is nothing if one cannot navigate politics, diplomacy, and history," she began. "This class will ensure you understand not only where you come from, but the forces that will shape your choices."
Elira tried to focus, but the names and dates of ancient realms tangled in her mind. Still, one passage caught her attention:
"…and then, there was the legend of the First Flame—the primal fire said to have birthed stars and seas alike. Some call it the breath of dragons, though of course, dragons are but myths."
Her chest tightened. She looked down quickly, afraid someone would notice the heat rising in her veins.
Kaela leaned close, whispering, "You look pale."
"I'm fine," Elira whispered back.
But the professor's eyes flicked toward her briefly, as though she had felt the shift.
Their second class was Arcane Studies, held in the Hall of Embers. The walls here burned with eternal flames contained in glass globes, each flickering with different colors—blue, green, white, and crimson.
The instructor, a cheerful man with singed eyebrows, clapped his hands. "Today, you will learn to listen to your flame, not just command it. Fire has voice, fire has soul. Hear it, and it will answer."
He taught them techniques for grounding, channeling, and breathing in rhythm with fire. Most students produced small controlled flames; Lyssandra shaped hers into a perfect phoenix feather, earning admiration. Kaela managed to light her sleeve on fire, shrieking until the instructor doused it, then laughed at herself. Selene summoned a flame so dark it glowed violet at the edges.
When Elira's turn came, she hesitated. The flame inside her wasn't small, wasn't patient—it wanted to roar. She cupped her hands, breathing slowly, and summoned just a flicker.
A golden spark danced above her palm, harmless, ordinary. Relief washed through her. She could hide it.
But then, as her thoughts slipped, the spark curled into a shape—four wings of flame spreading wide before vanishing. Gasps echoed.
"Interesting," the instructor murmured. "Phoenix heritage, perhaps?"
Elira forced a smile, though her heart hammered. No one could know. Not yet.
After lunch, Modern Studies brought them into a chamber of glass and steel. Floating screens shimmered with magical diagrams, while enchanted tools hummed softly on the desks. The instructor, a young mage with silver spectacles, explained how ancient runes had been fused with modern enchantments.
"Your Arcanum Bands," he said, tapping his own, "function not only as maps and messengers, but as conduits for mind-linking. This allows you to speak to one another directly, thought to thought. Safer than letters, faster than shouting across halls."
He demonstrated by linking his mind to a student in the back, their voices echoing in each other's thoughts.
"Focus on the one you wish to reach," he explained. "Picture them clearly. Speak not with your tongue, but with intent."
They practiced in pairs. Kaela, grinning, immediately targeted Elira. Can you hear me?
Elira jumped, nearly knocking over her chair. Yes.
Kaela laughed out loud, breaking the link. "This is going to be so much fun!"
Lyssandra frowned. This should not be used for games.
"Relax," Kaela said aloud, "I'll only use it to annoy you a little."
Selene said nothing, but when Elira accidentally brushed her presence in practice, she felt something cold and sharp, like touching ice with her mind. Selene's golden eyes met hers briefly, then turned away.
Elira shivered.
Their final class was Combat Training on the outer grounds. Here, open fields spread beneath banners, with dummies, sparring circles, and training weapons arranged in neat rows.
The instructor, a grizzled veteran, barked, "Power means nothing if you cannot wield it under pressure. Today, you will spar—not to win, but to learn. Strike. Fall. Rise again."
Pairs were called up one by one. Students dueled with practice blades or conjured magic barriers. Lyssandra fought with elegance, Kaela with chaotic energy, Selene with unnerving precision.
Then the instructor called, "Elira. Ardyn."
Her blood ran cold.
Ardyn stepped into the circle with easy grace, fire already curling at his fingertips. His smirk was sharper than ever. "Try not to hold back."
Elira tightened her grip on the practice staff handed to her. The flame inside her stirred, restless, eager.
For the first time, she wondered if perhaps it wasn't just rivalry waiting between them—perhaps it was something far more dangerous.