The morning Freya left the city did not feel dramatic.
There was no storm. No swelling music. Just pale light filtering through thin curtains and the distant sound of vendors setting up their stalls. The world continued with stubborn normalcy, indifferent to the fact that her life was about to tilt again.
Her suitcase sat open on the bed.
It looked too small to contain the years she was packing into it. Clothes folded with careful precision. A bundle of charcoal Pencils wrapped in cloth. Her sketchbooks stacked at the bottom, heavier than anything else she carried.
Each one held fragments of the girl she had been.
Inky sat atop the dresser, observing.
Freya paused with a shirt in her hands and looked around her room. Every corner whispered familiarity. The faint crack in the ceiling above her desk. The scuffed floorboard that creaked if stepped on too quickly. This space had held her nightmares and her quiet victories. Leaving it felt like peeling away a layer of skin.
Her father knocked softly on the doorframe.
"You ready?" he asked.
She nodded, though the word caught in her throat. He stepped inside and set a small object on her desk. It was the ceramic cup she had drawn with her mother years ago, the chipped rim smoothed by time.
"I-i uhh, thought you might want this," he said.
Freya stared at it. Memory bloomed sharp and vivid. Her mother's voice. The scratch of charcoal. Same object. Two different worlds.
"Thank you," she whispered.
She wrapped the cup carefully and nestled it between her sketchbooks. A fragile anchor.
The journey to the capital blurred into a sequence of passing landscapes. The city receded behind them, its familiar skyline dissolving into distance. Fields stretched wide and open. Villages flickered by like half remembered dreams.
Freya pressed her forehead to the window and sketched the changing scenery in quick, restless lines. Each mile felt like a thread unwinding from her past and weaving into something unknown.
Her father watched her from across the compartment, pride and worry braided tightly in his expression.
"You don't have to be fearless," he said quietly.
She glanced up. "I'm not."
He smiled faintly. "Good. Fear means you understand the weight of what you're doing."
She considered the weight of his words as the train thundered forward. Fear pulsed steadily in her chest. But beneath it, something brighter stirred. Anticipation. The fragile thrill of possibility.
The capital rose from the horizon like something imagined rather than built.
Freya saw it first through the thin glass of the transport carriage, her reflection ghosted over a skyline of impossible height. Towers of white stone and mirrored crystal speared upward into low morning clouds. Bridges arced between them like strands of spun light. Even at this distance, the city shimmered faintly, mana woven into its bones.
Her breath slowly fogging the glass at the enormity of the city before her.
The carriage hummed steadily beneath her, a smooth vibration that traveled up through the seat. Around her, other passengers leaned toward the windows, murmuring to one another. Some were students like her, clutching bags and documents with white knuckles. Others were merchants or travelers returning home. The air inside the carriage carried the electric tang of anticipation.
Inky sat in her lap, a compact weight of warmth and fur. His eyes were half closed, as if the spectacle outside bored him. Freya absently traced a finger along the edge of her sketchbook, resting against her thigh.
'This is it,' she thought.
The words did not feel triumphant. They felt heavy. Real.
The carriage descended a gentle slope and passed through the outer gates. Guards in polished armor stood watch, their contracts manifested at their sides in disciplined stillness. A ripple of mana washed over the carriage as it crossed the threshold, a sensation like stepping through cool water.
The city opened around them.
Noise crashed in. Voices layered over the rumble of traffic and the distant cry of airships docking overhead. Contractors moved openly through the streets, their companions walking beside them in a dizzying array of forms. A woman with translucent wings laughed as she lifted off the ground to avoid a crowded intersection. A man strode past trailing sparks that fizzled harmlessly against the pavement.
Freya's chest tightened.
The world felt bigger here. Denser. Mana pressed against her skin from every direction, a constant hum that set her nerves on edge. Her pulse quickened, thoughts scattering like startled birds.
Too much.
Her fingers found her sketchbook without conscious decision. She flipped it open and let her pencil fall to the page. The first lines were shaky. She focused on the curve of the window frame, the angle of the street beyond. Line by line, her breathing slowed. The city shrank to the size of her drawing.
Inky's tail brushed her wrist. She did not look at him, but the contact anchored her further.
When the carriage finally came to a stop at a bustling terminal, Freya closed her sketchbook and slid it into her bag. Her heart still beat fast, but the panic had receded to a manageable thrum.
Passengers spilled onto the platform in a tide of motion. Freya stepped down after them, the cat leaping lightly from her arms to the ground. The terminal stretched wide and bright, sunlight pouring through a vaulted ceiling of glass.
A man holding a placard scanned the crowd. His gaze snagged on her.
"Freya Valemont?" he called.
She nodded and threaded her way toward him.
"I'm here on behalf of the academy," he said, offering a polite smile. "Transport is waiting."
They boarded a sleek vehicle that glided silently through the streets. As they ascended toward the academy district, the city shifted around her. The chaos of the commercial center gave way to broader avenues and quieter architecture. Buildings here were elegant and restrained, their designs favoring sweeping arches and open space.
Then the academy came into view.
It crowned a hill at the city's heart, a sprawling complex of towers and courtyards enclosed by high stone walls. Banners snapped in the wind, each bearing the emblem of a house. Students crossed the main gate in steady streams, their laughter echoing across the stone.
Freya's throat went dry.
The vehicle passed through the gates and rolled into a wide courtyard. When she stepped out, the air felt different. Charged. The academy thrummed with contained power, like a storm held carefully in check.
Students clustered in small groups, contracts manifesting in flashes of color and sound. Some glanced at her, their eyes flicking briefly to Inky before moving on. She was just another newcomer among dozens.
Inside the central hall, the ceiling soared overhead, painted with a mural of the Shattered Pantheon. Divine figures spiraled across the expanse, frozen in the moment of their fall. Fragments of light and shadow scattered from their breaking forms.
Freya stared up at it, a chill threading down her spine.
Rows of seats filled the chamber. She found an empty place near the back and sat, hands folded tightly in her lap. Inky curled beside her, a silent presence.
A hush rippled through the hall as a figure stepped onto the raised platform. The head instructor was an older woman with silver streaks running through her dark hair, her posture straight and unyielding.
"Welcome," she began, her voice carrying effortlessly. "You stand at the threshold of your future."
The word struck something deep in Freya's chest.
The instructor spoke of discipline and responsibility, of power tempered by judgment. Freya listened, each sentence settling over her like a layer of armor. This was why she was here. To become strong. To never freeze again.
When the speech concluded, attendants guided the students toward the sorting chamber.
The chamber was circular, its walls etched with sigils that pulsed faintly with light. At its center floated the Crest Sphere, a crystalline orb suspended in midair. It hummed softly, a note that resonated in Freya's bones.
Students approached one by one. Each stepped into the circle and touched the sphere. Bursts of color flared above their heads, resolving into house emblems. Cheers erupted from the balconies.
Freya's turn arrived too quickly.
She stepped into the circle. The air thickened. Inky sat just beyond the boundary, his gaze fixed on the sphere.
Her hand trembled as she reached out.
The instant her fingers brushed the crystal, the world vanished.
White light swallowed the chamber. Pressure descended, vast and ancient. Four presences stirred at the edges of her awareness, immense and sharp. They pressed inward, curiosity radiating from them like heat.
Beside her, something rose.
Inky expanded in her perception, his small form unfolding into a silhouette carved from shadow and starlight. Authority poured from him in a silent wave. The encroaching presences faltered.
A name rippled through the void.
Kaelithar.
It was not spoken aloud. It existed as recognition, as memory. The other presences recoiled slightly, their curiosity sharpening into something edged with disbelief.
Questions brushed against her mind, alien and insistent. Kaelithar answered with silence. A wall of indifference that admitted nothing.
The white light shattered.
Freya staggered as the chamber snapped back into focus. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Above her, a banner of deep green unfurled in a flare of light.
Verdant.
Applause followed, distant and muffled in her ears. Attendants guided her from the circle. Her head rang with the echo of that impossible moment. The sense of being observed clung to her skin.
Inky resumed his ordinary shape and leapt onto her shoulder, as if nothing had happened.
She swallowed hard and joined the cluster of students beneath the Verdant banner. A girl with braided hair stepped forward, smiling.
"Welcome," she said. "Looks like we're housemates. I'm Sera."
"Freya," she replied.
They moved with the rest of their house into the sunlit courtyard. Verdant gathered in loose formation, voices overlapping in excited chatter. Freya caught fragments of conversation about training schedules and dorm assignments.
Her thoughts drifted back to the void. To the name that still echoed faintly in her mind.
Kaelithar, what did that mean?
She glanced at Inky. He stared ahead, expression unreadable.
The academy stretched around her, alive with possibility and danger. Somewhere within its walls lay the path her father had set her on. The promise she had whispered at her mother's grave.
Freya squared her shoulders.
Whatever waited for her here, she would meet it head on..
The celebration blurred into motion.
Students drifted from the sorting chamber in a tide of color and noise, clustering beneath their new banners. Verdant gathered near one of the open archways leading into a sunlit courtyard. Freya followed the braided girl who had greeted her, still feeling the phantom pressure of the Crest Sphere lingering behind her eyes.
"I'm Sera," the girl said, extending a hand. "Verdant prefect-in-training. Or that's the hope, anyway."
Freya shook it. "Freya."
"Inky," Sera added casually, nodding at the cat. "Strange... but cute."
Freya blinked. "How did you—"
"You said it when you picked him up," Sera said with a grin. "Sorting nerves. Happens to everyone."
Freya felt heat creep up her neck. She did not remember speaking. Inky, perched on her shoulder, flicked an ear in mild irritation.
"Well," Sera continued, clapping her hands, "welcome to Verdant. We're the adaptable ones. The academy throws something strange at you, and we figure out how to survive it."
"That's… comforting," Freya said.
"It should be. Come on. We'll show you the dorms."
They crossed the courtyard with the rest of their house. The academy unfolded around them in layers of polished stone and living greenery. Vines climbed trellises that arched overhead. Trees grew from carefully shaped beds integrated into the architecture, their leaves whispering in the breeze.
Students sparred in a distant training ring, contracts flaring in controlled bursts of light. Freya watched, equal parts fascination and apprehension knotting in her chest.
"You'll get used to it," Sera said, following her gaze. "First week's the worst. After that, it's just… life."
The Verdant dormitory occupied a curved wing overlooking a garden. Inside, the air smelled faintly of earth and clean linen. Rooms branched off a central hall, each marked with a small plaque.
"This is you," Sera said, stopping at a door. "Room assignments are random… except when legacy placements interfere," Sera finished, tapping the plaque. "No famous ancestors pulling strings for you, right?"
Freya shook her head.
"Good," Sera said cheerfully. "Then fate did the choosing. Solo room. Congratulations. Either you're lucky... or the academy expects you to need the quiet."
She pushed the door open.
The room was simple but bright. A single bed faced a narrow window that poured late afternoon light across polished floors. A desk sat beneath the glass, already stocked with fresh parchment and ink. A wardrobe waited against the far wall. The space felt larger than Freya expected, its emptiness echoing softly.
"You get used to the silence," Sera said, leaning against the doorframe. "Some people hate it. Others swear by it. Verdant's flexible like that."
Freya stepped inside slowly. The air smelled faintly of clean linen and sun warmed stone. The room felt untouched, suspended in that fragile moment before it became lived in.
"I like it," she said quietly.
Sera smiled. "Good. Unpack, breathe, panic quietly. Orientation dinner's in an hour. The bell will scream at you if you forget."
"Thank you," Freya said, meaning it.
Sera gave a small salute and disappeared back into the corridor.
Silence settled.
Freya set her suitcase on the bed and opened it. The familiar ritual steadied her hands. Clothes slid into drawers. Sketchbooks stacked neatly on the desk. Last came the wrapped ceramic cup. She unrolled the cloth with careful fingers and placed it near the window.
Sunlight caught the faded blue flowers.
For a heartbeat, the academy room blurred into memory. A kitchen table. Charcoal dust. Her mother's voice murmuring about seeing what was truly there.
Freya exhaled slowly.
"We made it," she whispered.
Inky sat at the edge of the desk, tail flicking once. His gaze swept the room with cool appraisal, as if cataloging weaknesses. He hopped onto the windowsill and stared out at the garden below.
The quiet did not feel empty.
It felt like space. Space to think. To draw. To breathe without an audience. Freya pulled out her sketchbook and sat at the desk, letting her pencil trace the unfamiliar lines of her new home. The curve of the window. The sharp angles of the wardrobe. The small cup glowing in the light.
Line by line, the room became hers.