The classroom hummed with quiet anticipation as Aria Thorne stepped inside. The heat of the volcano pressed against her skin, molten light spilling through tall obsidian windows and casting elongated shadows across rows of enchanted desks. Each desk bore glowing sigils carved into the wood — runes that pulsed faintly, recording every movement, every word, every misstep.
Ashwright Academy did not believe in privacy.
Aria moved slowly, letting her eyes sweep across the room. Some students fidgeted nervously, adjusting robes and testing their grips on spell-chalk. Others whispered incantations beneath their breath, their words flickering like sparks in the superheated air. The classroom smelled of ash, ozone, and anticipation.
Near the back, a boy leaned lazily against his desk, one foot propped on the rung. His hair spiked out like blackened steel, and a tiny flame flickered between his fingers — a plaything rather than a threat.
"Well, well…" He smirked without bothering to sit up. "Looks like the Death-Touched finally decided to show up."
Aria froze a fraction of a second.
So the nickname had already spread.
She turned her head, meeting his gaze with a cool stare.
"And you are…?"
"Riven," he said, voice smooth as smoldering coal. "Don't worry. I won't burn you…"
His smirk widened.
"Unless you deserve it."
Before Aria could respond, a girl near the front straightened sharply, adjusting her robe sleeves with crisp, practiced precision. Her dark hair was braided tight, not a single strand out of place. Her gaze was sharp, predatory — the kind of look forged through years of discipline.
"I'm Selene," she said, voice soft but honed like a blade. "If you want to keep up, you'll have to earn it."
Aria felt the subtle pulse of the God of Death's gift beneath her skin.
They're strong… but untested.
Stay wary.
A ripple passed through the classroom as the teacher finally entered — a tall woman with ember-bright eyes and a presence that demanded absolute attention. A piece of glowing chalk drifted beside her like a loyal familiar.
"Intent. Medium. Denominations," she announced, her voice carrying easily over the murmurs. "Today, we begin the foundation exercises."
The chalk darted forward, writing brilliant words across the board:
INTENT — what the spell must accomplish.
MEDIUM — how you channel it.
DENOMINATIONS — the limitations that keep it stable.
"Magic thrives when all three are balanced," the teacher continued. "Without balance, it collapses. With mastery… it bends to your will."
A nervous silence settled.
Intent Practice
"Riven," the teacher called. "Show Intent."
Riven rolled his shoulders and tossed his flame upward.
"Spark."
The flame erupted into a brief, controlled burst — sharp and bright. Showy, but effective.
Selene stepped forward next. "Stabilize," she breathed.
A delicate lattice of light formed in the air before her — perfect angles, perfect lines. A spell with no wasted motion.
Another cadet muttered an uncertain Intent; a jagged shard of ice formed and wobbled dangerously.
"Aria Thorne."
The room quieted.
She centered herself.
Use the life you were given, the God of Death whispered in her mind.
Take what is yours.
"Reveal," Aria said.
A soft silver sigil bloomed over her desk. Smooth, clean, elegant. The class murmured.
Riven stopped twirling his flame.
Selene's eyes sharpened.
The teacher gave a single approving nod. "Focused. Controlled. Good."
Medium Practice
"Now your Medium," the teacher said. "Try three variations."
Riven dragged his finger through the air, leaving streaks of fire that shaped his sigils.
Selene used precise geometric gestures, each movement crisp and formulaic.
A few students fumbled, their chalk lines breaking or sparking uncontrolled.
Aria tested carefully:
— Drawn sigil: stable and bright.
— Verbal casting: flickered weakly.
— Somatic gesture: the sigil surged, clearer than before, as if her body remembered how to shape magic long before her mind did.
The teacher raised an eyebrow. "Your somatic Medium resonates strongest. Develop that."
Aria nodded, filing it away.
Denominations
"For structure," the teacher continued, "you must choose Denominations: time, distance, force, and restrictions."
Selene worked like a master craftsman, layering crisp limitations into her spell.
Riven added only the bare minimum — and even those flickered dangerously.
Aria hesitated.
The necromantic whisper rose up under her ribs, cold and coaxing.
Let me out.
I can make it stronger.
Show them what you are.
She pushed it down with effort.
"Five-second duration. Illumination only. No secondary effects."
Her sigil obeyed instantly — glowing, pulsing, then fading precisely on time.
The teacher's expression warmed with approval. "Very good control."
At last, the teacher clapped her hands.
"Combine all three. Intent, Medium, Denominations. Your first personal spell."
The room erupted into chaos.
A student shrieked as smoke poured from their desk.
Someone's parchment caught fire.
A third student fainted after their sigil overloaded.
Selene worked in unwavering silence.
Riven laughed as his spell misfired and left scorch marks on the ceiling.
Aria inhaled deeply.
Intent: Reveal.
Medium: Somatic.
Denominations: Five seconds. Contained light.
And above all — control.
She traced her hand through the air. Magic surged up her veins, a chorus of silver threads weaving into form. Her sigil appeared with crystalline clarity — brighter, more intricate than any previous attempt.
The room went completely still.
Selene's posture straightened, competitive fire igniting.
Riven's smirk dropped into something more serious — curiosity, maybe even respect.
The teacher stepped forward slowly, eyes reflecting the silver glow drifting from Aria's spell.
"Aria Thorne," she said softly.
"Death-Touched, yes. But more importantly…"
Her gaze sharpened.
"You are a student with real potential."
The sigil dissolved into sparkling dust.
A faint tremor of pride warmed Aria's chest — the first warmth she had felt since waking in a grave of bones.
Students hurried to gather their things, talking all at once.
"Did you see Riven almost set the ceiling on fire—?"
"Selene's lines were so clean—"
"Aria's spell—what even was that sigil—?"
Riven shot her a sideways grin as he passed.
"Not bad, Death-Touched. I almost had to try."
Selene paused next, eyes cool but not unfriendly.
"You're disciplined," she said. "That's rare here. Don't waste it."
Aria watched them leave — rivals, allies, both.
She wasn't sure yet.
As the classroom emptied, Aria remained seated, fingers brushing the faint silver residue left on her desk.
I will survive here.
I will master what I am becoming.
And I will become what the Old God's cult fears most.
For the first time since she crawled out of her own grave, Aria felt something new rising within her chest.
Not terror.
Not grief.
Purpose.
The first day at Ashwright Academy had only begun — and already, Aria Thorne had carved her place among the living.