A knock at the door pulled Aron from sleep.
He opened his eyes slowly. Morning light filtered through the window, softer than yesterday. Outside, the courtyard was quiet, most students still sleeping before orientation.
Another knock. Harder this time.
"My lord? The orientation begins in two hours. You'll need to—"
"Coming." Aron sat up, rubbing his eyes. His muscles ached from yesterday's training, a dull burn that reminded him exactly how weak this body still was.
Silence from the other side of the door. Then footsteps retreating down the hall.
Aron stood, testing his legs. They held, barely. He walked to the window and looked out at the students below. Some were already in uniform, moving between buildings with purpose. Others were still stumbling out of the barracks, rubbing sleep from their faces.
'Two hours? Two is a long time. Why wake me now?'
He snorted. Nobles and their schedules. Always too early or too late, never just right.
---
The bathhouse water was hot enough to sting. Aron sank into it anyway, forcing his muscles to relax. Steam rose around him, thick and white, filling his lungs with each breath. He stayed until his skin flushed red and the ache in his legs faded to something manageable.
When he returned to his quarters, breakfast was waiting on the table. Still warm. Bread with a hard crust but soft inside. Cheese cut into thick slices, the kind that left grease on your fingers. Strips of meat that smelled like pepper and herbs.
He ate quickly, barely tasting it. Just fuel.
The uniform hung on the chair where Cedric had left it. Green jacket with brass buttons running down the front, each one catching the light. Dark pants, heavier fabric than his old clothes. Boots polished until he could see his reflection in the leather. The Greyman crest sat over the left breast, embroidered in silver thread that stood out against the green.
Aron dressed slowly, pulling the shirt on first, then the pants. He buttoned the jacket one button at a time, adjusting the collar so it sat flat against his neck. The fabric was stiff but well-made, tailored to actually fit instead of hanging loose.
Better than anything he'd worn in his old life. Hell, better than anything he'd touched.
He checked his reflection in the small mirror by the desk. Clean. Presentable. The face staring back still didn't feel like his, but at least it looked the part now.
Another knock.
"Enter."
Cedric stepped inside, already dressed in his usual dark clothes with silver embroidery at the cuffs. He bowed slightly, hand over his chest. "Ready, my lord?"
""Before we go," Aron said, his eyes catching on something around Cedric's neck. A chain, barely visible under his collar. Something hung from it, hidden beneath the fabric. "Is that an astral medallion?"
Cedric's hand moved to his chest, fingers brushing the chain. " Yes.., my lord."
Aron stepped closer. "Show me."
Cedric hesitated, then pulled the chain out. The medallion was circular, about the size of a large coin. Silver, with intricate engravings along the edges forming patterns that looked almost alive in the light. At the back, a small pin mechanism, sharp enough to draw blood.
'So that's what it looks like. The tool that connects you to the astral plane.'
Aron stared at it for a moment longer. 'And it vibrates when rifts open nearby. An early warning System.'
"In a month's time," Cedric said, tucking it back under his collar, "yours will be delivered. Custom made, attuned specifically to you."
Aron nodded slowly. A month. He had a month to prepare before he could even attempt entering the astral state.
Cedric reached into his coat and pulled out a small booklet, offering it to Aron. "The academy regulations and guidelines, my lord. You'll want to review these before orientation."
Aron took it, flipping through the first few pages. Rules. Diagrams. Information about the academy structure.
"The orientation will begin with Instructor Harrow," Cedric continued. "He can be... a bit dry in his delivery. But the information is important."
"Noted." Aron tucked the booklet into his jacket pocket.
"We should go, my lord."
---
They walked through the academy grounds in silence. Students passed in groups, their conversations loud and nervous. First-years, all heading the same direction.
The main building rose ahead, its stone facade catching the morning sun. Gargoyles perched along the roofline, their mouths open in silent roars, wings spread wide like they were about to take flight. The entrance stood open, carved doors propped wide.
Inside, the hallways were packed. Students moved in streams, all flowing the same way. Cedric led through the crowd, his pace steady, unhurried. They turned left, then right, passing doors and corridors until they reached a set of double doors at the end of a long hall.
The Orientation Hall.
Cedric pushed the doors open.
The space beyond was massive. The hall stretched at least a hundred feet, maybe more. The ceiling rose three stories above, supported by stone columns carved with scenes of battles. Heroes fighting beasts with too many limbs. Awakening ceremonies where figures glowed with light. Every detail was precise, the craftsmanship incredible.
Windows lined both sides, tall and arched, letting in streams of sunlight that fell across rows of wooden benches arranged in a semicircle. At the far end, a raised platform stood empty. Behind it, a massive banner hung from the ceiling, blue and gold, the academy's crest emblazoned in the center.
Students filled the benches already, their voices echoing off stone. Hundreds of them.
Aron walked down the center aisle. Eyes turned toward him. Whispers followed. He ignored them and found a seat near the middle, far enough from the front to avoid attention but close enough to see clearly.
He sat.
The bench was hard, uncomfortable. He shifted and looked around.
'Why the hell am I here this early?'
Most students were still filtering in, chatting nervously with each other. Forming groups. Making connections. He should've taken his time. He hated being early.
But even trying not to care, he couldn't help noticing how impressive this place was. The columns rising like ancient trees. The windows filtering light into golden beams. The sheer scale of everything.
'This... is very solid.'
His eyes drifted to the bench in front of him. Something was carved into the wood. Words, barely visible in the grain. He leaned forward.
The body is the vessel. The soul is the blade.
He looked at the next bench. More carvings.
Only the awakened see truth.
Another.
Fear is the first death.
He kept reading, eyes moving from bench to bench. Each one had something carved into it. Phrases. Warnings. Wisdom from students who'd sat here before.
One caught his attention.
Trust no one. Not even yourself.
'Cheerful.'
He leaned back and pulled out the booklet Cedric had given him. Might as well use the time.
The first page listed the eight rules. He'd heard them from Cedric already, but seeing them written down made them real.
Rule One: Discrimination based on origin, race, or status is strictly forbidden.
Rule Two: Bullying, harassment, or intimidation of any kind will not be tolerated.
He kept reading through them until he reached the eighth.
Rule Eight: Entry into the Astral State without direct instructor supervision is absolutely forbidden.
'Forbidden. But possible.'
He turned the page. A diagram of the academy grounds. Buildings labeled. Training yards marked. And there, in the western corner, a building labeled simply: Restricted.
'The archives.'
The next page showed a cross-section of the human body with points marked along the spine, chest, and head. Lines connected them, forming a pattern.
The Astral Core.
Below it, text explained:
The Astral Core is the focal point of a human's connection to Astral Energy. Located at the center of the chest, it serves as the anchor between the physical body and the Astral Plane. During awakening, Astral Energy bonds with the core, permanently altering its structure.
He kept reading.
Entry into the Astral State requires meditation and focus. The soul must separate from the body while maintaining a connection through the Astral Core. This connection acts as an anchor, preventing the soul from drifting too far into the astral plane. Without it, the soul becomes lost, unable to return.
The process is dangerous. Physical strain weakens the anchor. Mental instability disrupts the connection. Fear can sever it entirely. This is why physical conditioning and mental discipline are mandatory before attempting entry.
'So it's not just about wanting power. You have to earn the right to even try.'
He flipped to the next section. Classifications of rifts and their dangers.
Rifts are categorized by color based on threat level:
White Rifts: Contain beasts of the 1st and 2nd tier. Common. Suitable for novice heroes with proper support.
Red Rifts: Contain beasts of the 3rd and 4th tier. Dangerous. Require experienced teams.
Black Rifts: Contain beasts of the 5th tier and above, including Riftspawn—apex predators born directly from astral corruption. Extremely dangerous. Only Master-level heroes and above should attempt clearance.
Apex predators. Born directly from astral corruption.
The description was clean and clinical. But he'd read the casualty reports in the story. Black rifts had mortality rates above sixty percent, even with Master-level teams. Most heroes who entered never came back out.
'One day I'll have to face one of those things.'
The thought sat heavy in his chest.
He turned the page again. Hero classifications.
Heroes are ranked by experience and mastery:
Novice: Newly awakened. Still learning basic astral techniques.
Adept: Competent in combat. Capable of solo white rift clearance.
Expert: Highly skilled. Can lead teams into red rifts.
Master: Elite. Qualified for black rift operations.
Heroic: Legendary. Few reach this level.
Below that, another section caught his attention.
Soul Forms represent the quality and potency of one's astral connection. Unlike hero ranks, which measure experience, soul forms measure raw potential and power. A hero's soul form determines the strength of their abilities far more than their rank.
The five soul forms, in ascending order:
Ember Soul: The weakest form. Unstable connection to astral energy.
Flame Soul: Moderate connection. Most awakened heroes possess this form.
Blazing Soul: Strong connection. Rare. Significantly enhances all abilities.
Spirit Soul: Exceptional connection. Very rare. Grants overwhelming power.
Divine Soul: Legendary. Almost mythical. Only a handful in recorded history.
Note: Soul form is paramount. A Novice hero with a Spirit Soul possesses far greater combat capability than a Master hero with an Ember Soul. Rank measures experience and technique. Soul form measures power.
'So you can be skilled but weak. Or inexperienced but overwhelmingly strong. Power isn't linear here.'
That changed things. It meant being careful around anyone, regardless of rank. A first-year with the right soul form could be more dangerous than a graduate.
Movement near Cedric caught his attention. The pendant around the servant's neck shifted slightly, visible for just a second above his collar. Aron's eyes flicked to it.
It was shaking.
Barely. Just a faint tremor, like something was vibrating it from inside.
Aron frowned. 'Huh—'
The sound of doors opening pulled everyone's attention.
The noise in the hall dropped immediately. Students turned to look.
Figures entered from the side doors near the platform. Instructors, wearing gray uniforms with various insignias on their chests. They filed onto the platform and took positions along the back, standing in a neat line.
Then another door opened at the center of the platform.
More figures emerged. These wore different uniforms. Black fabric with silver trim, medals pinned to their chests, swords hanging at their sides. Heroes. Actual heroes who'd graduated from this place and survived long enough to return.
They moved with confidence, each step deliberate, their postures straight. One was tall, broad-shouldered, with a scar running down his left cheek. Another was smaller, wiry, with sharp eyes that scanned the crowd. A third had white hair despite looking young, her face pale and beautiful in a way that seemed unnatural.
They took seats on the platform, arranged in a semicircle facing the students.
The last to enter was a woman.
She stepped onto the platform, and the entire hall seemed to shift. The air itself felt different, heavier, like a weight pressing down on everyone at once.
Her armor caught the light. Full plate, polished to a mirror shine, but light enough that it didn't seem to restrict her movement. Silver with blue accents along the edges that looked like frost patterns. A sword hung at her side, its hilt wrapped in white leather. Her hair was white, not gray from age but pure white, pulled back in a braid that fell past her shoulders. Her face was sharp, angular, with pale skin and eyes so blue they looked like chips of ice.
Aron stared.
'Flona Frost.'
He knew that name. The story had mentioned her. One of the kingdom's strongest heroes. A legend who'd cleared more black rifts than anyone alive.
She walked with a fluidity that didn't match the armor she wore. Each step placed precisely, heel to toe, her weight balanced perfectly. Her hands hung relaxed at her sides, fingers loose, but her shoulders stayed squared. Alert. Aware. Like she was constantly reading the room, tracking every movement, every sound.
Beautiful didn't seem like the right word. Too simple. She was striking in a way that made it hard to look away. Not soft. Not delicate. Something else entirely. Dangerous.
'More beautiful than anyone I knew in my old life. And definitely more dangerous.'
Her presence filled the room without her saying a word. Students sat straighter. Stopped whispering. Just watched.
She took a position at the center of the platform, standing alone while the others sat behind her. Her eyes swept across the students, taking them all in with a single glance. Slow. Deliberate. Like she was memorizing every face.
Aron frowned. 'Wait. Cedric said Instructor Harrow would start the orientation. Why is she—'
Something was off. Flona Frost wouldn't be here unless something had changed. Something important enough to pull her away from whatever she'd been doing.