The Prism Hall was unlike any classroom Lyra had ever imagined.
A cathedral of glass and energy — its walls constantly shifting with color that echoed the emotions within. Every heartbeat sent ripples through the air, every breath left faint trails of light that shimmered before fading away.
The six new initiates stood at the center, unsure whether to be amazed or terrified.
Floating crystalline pillars surrounded them, each one humming softly — as if waiting to recognize the soul that could command it.
From the far end, a tall figure entered — Instructor Calden, Keeper of Luminal Arts
— the discipline taught to those of the Light Division.
His silver eyes gleamed beneath a mantle of lightwoven fabric, and his voice carried the calm of someone who had once commanded storms.
"Welcome, Initiates," he said. "This is where light bends to your will — or breaks you."
The air stilled. Even the colors on the walls dimmed to listen.
Calden raised his hand, and a pillar at the far edge of the room shattered into a thousand shards — yet none fell. Each fragment floated, catching beams of radiant energy until the space glittered like a sky of suspended stars.
"Here," Calden continued, his voice like tempered glass, "emotion defines color. Control your heart, and the hue will obey. Lose control, and it consumes you."
He turned toward Lyra. "Step forward."
Lyra's pulse raced. The crystal mark at her palm glowed faintly — the insignia of Luminara -the Light Division she had been bound to since her awakening.
She closed her eyes, remembering her mother's words: Light isn't seen. It's felt.
When she opened them, warmth flooded her veins. Golden radiance unfurled from her fingertips, weaving like silk across the shards. They began to spin, orbiting her in elegant rhythm, refracting a thousand suns across the hall.
For a moment, she smiled — until the memory struck.
Broken ruins. The dimming horizon. The day the light had died.
Her focus wavered. The glow quivered, splitting into jagged bursts of gold and white.
"Hold the line!" Calden's voice cracked through the shimmer.
Lyra gasped as the shards tilted — spiraling out of control — but before the light could burst, a crimson flare slashed through the air.
Draven.
His aura burned bright, wrapping her wild radiance in arcs of flame, steadying the chaos. Heat and light collided, flooding the hall in blinding brilliance.
When it finally dimmed, the glass reformed around them — perfect once more. The others stared in stunned silence as both Lyra and Draven stood breathless, their magic fading like twin echoes.
Calden studied them, then nodded — approval hidden behind calm eyes.
"Two hearts. Two lights. Controlled chaos," he said quietly. "Not bad for the first day."
At the edge of the group, Eira watched. Silent as frost, her pale aura flickered faintly, reflecting every emotion she refused to voice. The reflection of Lyra's golden light danced across her ice-blue eyes — and for the briefest moment, something softened. Not warmth exactly… but recognition.
Eira said nothing, yet in that quiet, her resolve deepened. She wanted to understand — not just the art of control, but the feeling behind it.
Seren leaned close to her with a faint smirk. "At least they didn't blow up the ceiling."
Eira blinked once, then whispered back, "Yet."
Riven chuckled under his breath.
Calden motioned to a large archway at the rear of the hall. Behind it shimmered a sealed gate made of mirrored stone, its surface rippling with faint prismatic waves.
"Beyond this gate lies the Hall of Refraction," he said. "It opens only to those whose hue has found balance. And when it opens…"
His voice softened — almost reverent.
"…the Academy itself begins to test your truth."
The six stood quietly, the weight of his words sinking in. The hall seemed to pulse with unseen awareness, as though listening.
As the class ended, Lyra lingered, glancing back once more. The mirrored gate shimmered faintly, as if it had heard her heartbeat — or answered it.
Far below, in the unseen depths of the Academy, the prism's core stirred.
A faint pulse of violet and silver drifted through the crystal veins of the school — and with it came a whisper, distant and forgotten:
"Six lights are never enough…"
The glass trembled, and the faint echo of a seventh hue — soft, impossible, alive — passed through the walls like a breath of destiny.