Magic had always existed. Long before cities rose. Long before empires fell. It hummed through the air, lighting lanterns that never dimmed, carrying voices across vast distances, healing wounds thought fatal. To most, it was simply life itself.
But power comes with a price.
Three names haunted whispered tales: Aboxoth. Chayula. General Lioneye. If they ever met, kingdoms would burn. Armies would fall. Even the strongest mages had tried — none returned.
Yet humanity endured. They hoped. They trained. They built four great academies — Himwarrry, Baewiths, Drotora, Klosort — bastions of learning and power. Here, the gifted honed their magic. Here, rivals tested one another. And here, secrets waited in shadowed corners.
Aether Ryens stood before his mirror. Fifteen yesterday. Today, the first step of his journey. Auburn-brown hair fell into his eyes. Light-dark blue eyes stared back, full of excitement and fear.
"My name is Aether Ryens," he whispered. "And today… today I go to Himwarrry."
Downstairs, life hummed with warmth. His mother pressed a flour-dusted kiss to his forehead. "We're proud of you."His father ruffled his hair. "Try not to burn the place down, kid."
Aether laughed. But the knot in his stomach remained. Beyond his village lay a world of soaring academies, echoing corridors, and students from every corner of the realm — each one a potential ally… or a rival. Somewhere unseen, dangers from the old stories still lurked. The Council of Magic kept the masses calm, but every child knew the truth: monsters that could crush kingdoms, magic that could destroy cities, and power with a cost no one dared name.
And so, with a steady breath, Aether stepped forward. Spells would dance. Secrets would be tested. Ancient dangers would stir.
Somewhere in the world, fate was already watching.