It was herself she saw, or something that wore her shape, closer and farther at once, as if she were looking at a reflection in a shaken pool.
Opposite, a man stood, his features smudged by rain on glass. Their mouths moved, the sound that came through was distant, as though someone spoke from another room.
Words pooled and broke into snippets. Aurelia could not quite seize, half-breathed fragments of accusation, a name she almost heard, a sentence that petered out into static.
The impression was not fully hostile, only a pressure of something unresolved.
She felt the cold weight of a blade in hands that felt like hers, the electricity of a standoff, but the edges were powder-thin.
Faces blurred, tones blurred, intent blurred. She leaned forward as if focus could sharpen the image, but each effort only smeared detail further until the whole thing was thinner than a memory.
Then, from the doorway, came the rustle of slippers on floorboards and a bright, impatient voice.
"Aurelia, are you up or are you still sleeping, you silly thing?"
The vision snapped like a thread cut.
Rowena stood framed in the doorway, hair loose and bright, a satchel slung over one shoulder. She wore the kind of expression that meant she had arrived to solve a minor domestic emergency, or, in this case, to dress her sister for the Academy.
Aurelia blinked and found herself very much inside her body again.
She could not say what the vision had been. It had the quality of a dream you can almost touch if you wake and reach for it, there and gone.
"What was that?" Rowena asked, stepping in and closing the door with a thump. She took in Aurelia's face, then laughed the sort of laugh that needed no answer. "Don't be silly. Answer me, are you ready?"
"For what?" Aurelia asked before she could stop herself.
Rowena rolled her eyes. "The Academy, of course. Break's over. You'll be marching back right back in—" she glanced at the little clock on the mantel—"—an hour, if the carriage schedule hasn't been canceled."
Aurelia's stomach lifted with a dizzying clarity, she had almost forgotten. The months of quiet, training in the yard, dinners at the manor, the small domestic dramas, had folded into a thin blanket that now she had to fold away. "Oh." She let out a sigh. "Yes. I—" She straightened. "I'll be ready."
Rowena crossed the room, fingers already sorting the array of Academy uniforms on the chair.
Her voice softened, nostalgic. "You'll look right at home. I remember my first week, trying to hide my notebooks, terrified of the practicals. The scholars were ruthless but kind, in the way that fixes you rather than bruises you."
Aurelia watched her sister tuck a stray curl behind an ear and felt a small warmth, the simple comfort of being known. She let Rowena fuss over the collar, smooth the seam, and lace the boots.
When Rowena packed a small satchel with care, an extra pair of gloves, a jar of her herbal salve, Aurelia felt the panic of the vision recede like a tide.
At the door, they met the rest of the family, her father in a traveling coat, her mother with a shawl about her shoulders, and Sebastian, unexpectedly, leaning against the carriage step.
"I had intended to be away for training," he said with a wry half-smile, "but a brother could be excused the small indulgence of seeing his sister off."
"A little backlash is tolerable," he muttered when their father raised an eyebrow. "Besides, I couldn't let my sister go without a proper send-off."
Her father's expression was gentler than his words. He rested a fatherly hand on Aurelia's shoulder and studied her with a care that creased his brow.
"Are you sure you want to return?" he asked quietly, quieter than the others. "You don't have to go back, Aurelia. If this—" his thumb brushed at the air as if touching the last months, "—if this put you in danger, you could remain here. There are other paths. We could find a place for you where you can do good without being pulled into another…incident."
Her mother's face had the soft, exhausted calm of a woman who had watched enough suffering to know the truth of second chances. "Some students will not return," she added, voice small. "They couldn't bear the academy's memories of the Spire, it broke them more than time would mend. We do not blame you if you do not wish to go."
The words landed like stones in Aurelia's stomach. She thought, for a moment, of stepping into a different life, quiet and contained, a mantle of safety woven by family hands. It would be so easy to accept.
But then a face flickered through her mind. Lysandra's bright grin, Kael's steady competence, Lucien's cunning, the scattered presence of classmates who had been more than collection names on a roster. She saw their faces as if someone had held up a mirror, hopeful, ordinary, waiting.
Aurelia steadied herself. "I'll go back," she said, voice steadying as the decision landed. "They need to be there. I can't leave them." She looked at her father and mother, eyes bright but not defiant. "And I need to keep learning."
Her father's hand tightened once, as if in something that might have been a blessing or an admission of fear. "Then we will stand by you," he said. "Always."
They embraced, first her mother's careful warmth, then her father's solid reassurance, then Sebastian's quick, brotherly squeeze that said more than words. Rowena fussed with Aurelia's collar one last time, an affectionate pinch on the cheek that made Aurelia smile despite herself.
They helped her into the carriage, the world outside smelled of wet stone and the brief, bracing chill of dawn.
As the wheels rolled away from the manor, Aurelia pressed her palm to the window and watched the place she had called home recede until it was a small patch of roof and then a stripe on the horizon.
She allowed the vision she had glimpsed to fade into the background of her mind, pale and blurry, unresolved.
There would be questions to answer, lessons to learn, and perhaps ghosts to face. For now, she had chosen a path.
The carriage turned toward the Academy, and Aurelia sat up straight, listening for the cadence of the future as the day began.
-
Coeus let the office door close with the quiet of a man who knew the value of discretion, and the sound of smoked tobacco lingered in his wake.
Headmaster Veyron was behind his desk, a stack of lesson plans pushed aside, and he straightened at the intrusion with polite surprise.
"Archivist Coeus Grace, Whelm of Records and Knowledge," Veyron intoned on instinct, a formal bow following the title. "What is a Covenant doing here?"
Coeus blew a neat ring of smoke and waved it away. "Call me Coeus," he said without ceremony. "And I'm here on business concerning your students."
Veyron's brows rose. "Business?" He steepled his fingers. "Kael?"
"Yes—Kael," Coeus replied. He let the name sit for a beat, then added, "and another student."
Veyron's expression sharpened. "Aurelia?"
There was a small, private flicker of surprise on Coeus's face. "You know her?"
"Much has happened," Veyron said. "The Imperial Spire and the Academy—both have been… complicated. Lady Caelistra was one of the main factors in saving the Spire. She destroyed the Core—"
Coeus cut him off with a single, astonished cough. "It wasn't Kael?" he managed. "She—she destroyed the core?"
Veyron nodded. "She stopped it from consuming the Spire."
Coeus's lips tightened. He tapped ash, then laughed softly, more from the sudden change in expectation than humor. "Well. She's far more interesting than my informants suggested." He finished the cigarette and stubbed it out with the flat of his thumb. "Enlighten me. I've been away on Covenant business. I'm not up to date."
Veyron went to a cramped cabinet and brought out a slender folder. "If you'll excuse me, this is her file. Her record, assessments, and a note on her Aspect." He pushed it across the desk.
Coeus's fingers closed on the folder, and he flipped it open with practiced efficiency. "What exactly is her Aspect?" he asked while scanning.
"Remembrance," Veyron replied. "She reads echoes, memories, traces. She can anchor them, manifest them. It's a potent—" He paused, watching Coeus digest the word.
A private calculation passed through his face. Marcellin wasn't lying when he mentioned her. But I also spoke with Uriel, who insisted her signature is Finality. He sounded certain.
He glanced over the file for a brief moment, his sharp gaze absorbing the details before he returned it to him with a slight nod.
"Done already?" Veyron asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise.
"Let's just say I'm not an archivist for nothing. I can spot excellence quickly," Coeus replied with a smirk.
Veyron inclined his head. "Is that all? Kael's file—"
Coeus waved him off. "Not necessary for now. I prefer to see."
He rose, smoothing his coat. Before he reached the door, he hesitated for a moment and looked back, his voice lowered.
"One more thing, watch out for Marcellin Voss. He's a clown in many senses, Veyron, but he traffics in mischief that can become malice. If he turns his attention toward Aurelia, it could get dangerous."
Veyron's surprise was immediate, questions forming on his lips, but Coeus was already moving and slipped out the door with the same quiet that had followed him in.
When the door clicked shut, Veyron sat back slowly, the office suddenly a room that felt a degree colder and a great deal more full of waiting.
-
The Academy's gates, once shuttered and quiet, had become a beacon. Word of the Spire, of its ruin and the strange, terrible miracle that saved it, had done the opposite of scaring applicants away.
If anything, it had made the Arcane Academy more desirable. Curiosity is a hunger many cannot ignore, the reopening served as an invitation.
New faces flocked to the steps, eager to witness where the world's recent torsions had taken shape and to study under the same roofs as Aurelia and the others.
Parents pressed hopeful palms to cheeks, wide-eyed youths carried bundles of notebooks and secondhand staves. The Academy's reputation, jagged and luminous, drew them like moths.
Aurelia's carriage rolled up the lonelier lane and turned beneath the carved arch.
From inside, she saw a scatter of people gathered before the entrance, more than the usual trickle of returning students.
Many were not in uniform yet; street clothes, plain cloaks, the bright, awkward finery of those unaccustomed to the academy's austerity.
They clustered in small, nervous knots, eyes flicking toward the doors as if the threshold itself were a promise.
What surprised her more than the crowd was the figure waiting at the stone steps.
Headmaster Veyron stood there, hands folded beneath his teaching robe, a small bow already forming as the carriage door opened.
She stepped down, the familiar weight of her black blade at her hip, and Veyron came forward with the practiced courtesy of a man who had overseen hundreds of comings and goings.
"Lady Aurelia," he said, and the bow deepened into something almost like contrition. "I must apologize for the damage the Academy and the kingdom endured, and for any suffering our decisions caused. I have meant to make amends earlier, but the aftermath demanded so much of us all."
Aurelia's reply was immediate, steady. "None of us could have predicted the Core's failure," she said. "You made choices under pressure like the rest of us. You won't earn my blame for that."
He blinked, relief and gratitude both crossing his face. "You are far too gracious," he murmured. "If you need anything, anything at all, tell me. I will see it done."
Aurelia allowed herself a small smile. "If that's true, Headmaster, perhaps you could tell me what's happening today?"
Veyron gestured toward the students arrayed before the gate. "We have set an entrance assessment. The Academy will accept a new cohort. After the Spire, many more applied, curiosity, duty, and the strange prestige that clings to those who learn here. It's rather good for the school, in the end."
Aurelia felt the memory of her own first day press against her throat, a crooked, bright thing.
The exam hall, the hush, the tremor in her hands. Then the sharper sting, losing to Kael, her outrage spilling out as an unfounded accusation of cheating, the heat of shame that followed.
Veyron watched her with a careful, teacherly patience. "Are you all right?" he asked, concern soft at the edges of his words.
Aurelia blinked, smoothing the memory down, tucking it back into the place where lessons went. "Nothing," she answered.
Then, with a steadier tone, "I'm glad new students are coming. The Academy needs them, and perhaps they need what the Academy makes of them."
Veyron inclined his head, satisfied. Behind them, the gate opened wider, and the cluster of hopefuls flowed in, each a small current joining a larger tide.
Aurelia watched them move, awkward, bright, full of tentative purpose, and felt, despite the old embarrassment pricking at the edges of her mood, the thin thread of something like hope pull taut and true.
The ripple of students swelled the moment the carriage doors opened. Whispers chased itself down the stone steps—"moon maiden," "the hero"—and a dozen heads turned, eyes bright with the hunger of those who'd come to see a story made flesh.
Veyron's mouth tightened at the sound of it; he muttered a phrase under his breath, and, like a folded page snapping closed, the two of them were gone from the steps and standing on the Academy's high platform instead, surrounded by instructors and the long, patient gaze of the hall.
"Thank you," Aurelia said, breathing small with the odd vertigo of so many eyes. The students' chatter hummed like a swarm below.
Veyron inclined his head. "I heard of Headmaster Agnes' sacrifice," he said quietly, as if they stood apart from the rest of the world. "He took the Core into himself to protect what he loved. We respected him as a colleague and a teacher." He let the words settle.
Aurelia said nothing more than, "That's…nice," the phrase brittle and inadequate.
Then Veyron surprised her. "Would you consider being one of the examiners?" he asked.
Aurelia blinked. "Me? But I'm still a student—"
"Your Aspect will help," Veyron cut in gently. "Remembrance lets you perceive a candidate's practical grasp, the track record in their hands, and in the things they leave behind. It is not invasive if used well. You would only read the traces of ability, no private thoughts."
She scratched at her neck, uneasy. "Feels like I'd be prying."
"Only their practiced echoes," he assured her. "Not their sorrow or secrets. We need tempered judgments. You have the steadiness for it."
Aurelia sighed, then nodded. "All right. I'll oversee this year's intake."
Professor Marlec and Seris appear at Veyron's elbow like two notes completing a chord. Marlec with his habitual, careful formality; Seris with the warm, loud affection of someone who keeps too many fond memories on his sleeve.
"Aurelia!" Seris calls before she reaches them, grin wide enough to split her lined face. "My favorite student returns to save the school from its boredom. Come here, you ridiculous child."
Marlec rolls his eyes at Seris's flourish but inclines his head respectfully toward Aurelia. "Lady Aurelia," he says in the clipped, practiced tone of a man who prefers exactness to drama. "I'm glad to see you well."
Aurelia bows slightly, cheeks warming at the attention. "Thank you, Professors. I'm… well enough."
Seris bumps her shoulder against Marlec's, too proud to be subtle. "See? I told you she'd be perfect for the intake. You have to understand, there are talents waiting in the gates. Sharp hands, quick eyes, and the sort of stubbornness that makes great mages. We need yours to temper them."
The compliment settles into her like a small, unexpected coin. Aurelia straightens, the faint uptick of pride easing the lingering unease from the morning. "I suppose I am a second-year now," she says, trying for lightness and catching the satisfaction in her own voice. "I'll watch over the juniors."
Seris whoops softly. Marlec allows a ghost of a smile. "Very good," Marlec says. "Then we'll expect sensible decisions."
A murmur runs through the hall as a cohort of students files in, official returnees of the Academy, faces a mixture of eager and solemn after the break.
Among them, familiar shapes crowd together: Lysandra, bright and immediate, Arthur, solid and blunt, Lucien, easy and observant, Mirielle with her quick, bright motions, Cassian's steadying presence, Victoria's nervous, yet watchful gaze, and Kael, who slips in a little apart from the center, carrying his notebooks like weapons made of paper.
Lysandra sees Aurelia on the platform and bursts into a delighted exclamation. "Aurelia! What on earth are you doing up there with the Headmaster? Did you get promoted overnight?"
Aurelia smiles, lifting a hand in a small, mock-formal gesture. "I'm one of the examiners this year," she announces, pride and a flicker of nerves braided together.
Lucien's grin goes lopsided with teasing. "That's not fair," he says, loud enough for the students nearby to hear. "How are we supposed to win favors if the hero is judging us?"
"Wait in the lounge," Aurelia tells them with a practiced sternness that makes Lysandra pout dramatically. "While I do the important work, yes?"
Veyron steps forward then, his voice carrying with the surety it always has in halls such as this. "Make way for the examinees," he calls, and the students obediently shift, forming a channel to the next chamber. "I will greet them in the intake hall," he says, addressing the gathered instructors and students. "Prepare yourselves."
The platform hums for a moment with anticipation, the academy's old machinery of assessment creaking back into polite life, and Aurelia feels the small, steady beat of purpose in her chest.
She may still be a student, but for now, she stands where the school trusts her judgment.
The first line of candidates is already moving through the doorway, and the day, harsh, exacting, necessary, begins in earnest.