The moment Aurora stepped through the silver arch, the world changed.
The air became heavier, colder—dense with magic that clung to her skin like mist. The forest behind her had vanished, swallowed by a ripple in the sky. Now there was only the stone path, winding toward a structure that rose like a blade against the violet sky.
Aetherwyn.
The castle was immense. Towers of obsidian and silver spiraled into the air, some suspended mid-float, defying gravity entirely. Bridges made of woven light arched over pools of still water that reflected no stars. Lanterns burned with blue fire. The moon above her pulsed like a second heartbeat.
And yet, even in all its strange beauty, the place felt… wrong. Like the world had been tilted, and she was the only one who noticed.
Atlas walked several paces ahead, his posture straight, his footsteps silent.
He hadn't said much since they left the forest.
He hadn't needed to.
The look in his eyes—equal parts curiosity and dread—told her what his words didn't: she wasn't supposed to be here
They passed under an archway etched in glowing sigils, and the world behind it faded into a blur. Aetherwyn Academy was now all there was.
They moved through a wide corridor lined with statues—cloaked figures whose faces were carved in anguish or serenity, she couldn't tell which. Their eyes seemed to follow her. Whispers curled along the ceiling, not in sound, but in sensation: breath on her skin, thoughts not her own.
Students crossed their path. Some wore long, high-collared coats embroidered with silver thorns. Others moved in robes trimmed with pale blue or black and gold. Each of them bore a sigil pinned over their hearts. Most glanced at her. A few stopped to stare.
Aurora tried to keep her head down, but it was impossible not to feel it—their attention, the way their footsteps slowed, the confusion rippling in their wake.
She didn't belong here.
She had no sigil. No robe. No idea what was happening.
She was a stain on the symmetry of this place.
"Don't speak unless spoken to," Atlas said quietly as they reached a massive onyx door. "And do not lie."
She looked up at him.
"I'm not planning to," she said.
His expression didn't change. "Good. Because the walls will know."
The door opened with a groan like distant thunder. Cold air spilled out, prickling her skin.
Inside was a circular chamber lit by no candles, no lanterns. The light came from the ceiling—a dome of shifting constellations, glowing and moving slowly in patterns she didn't recognize.
Three massive pillars ringed the room, each carved with a different symbol: a flame, a mirror, and a spiral of thorny roots.
At the far end stood a woman.
She wore robes of shadow-blue, her long white hair tied in a knot at the base of her neck. Her posture was regal, motionless. Eyes the color of steel locked onto Aurora the moment she entered.
The room closed behind them.
"Bring her forward," the woman said.
Her voice wasn't loud, but it filled the room like a blade drawn from its sheath.
Atlas obeyed, stepping aside.
Aurora took two hesitant steps forward. Her fingers curled instinctively. Her heart pounded.
The woman watched her without blinking.
"You are Aurora Lane," she said. "From the human world. No lineage. No sigil. No magical history recorded in the Codex."
"I don't know what the Codex is," Aurora said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I don't know why I'm here."
The woman's brow lifted slightly. "And yet, you passed through the Veil. A feat that requires either extraordinary intent… or ancestral right."
"I didn't mean to," she whispered. "I just touched a book.
The woman stepped down from her platform, eyes narrowing.
"Intentional or not, you are here. And the Veil opened for you. That is no small thing."
She raised a hand, and a pale light gathered at her palm. It shimmered outward, scanning Aurora from head to toe
Aurora felt nothing—no warmth, no sting—just the eerie sense of being seen.
The light stopped at her chest. Glowed brighter. Then dimmed.
The woman frowned.
"What did it find?" Aurora asked.
Silence.
Finally, the woman said, "You have no known bloodline. You carry no crest. And yet… the Veil responded."
She stepped back.
"You will be permitted to remain within Aetherwyn for evaluation. During that time, your access will be limited. You will be watched. Closely.
"Watched?" Aurora echoed.
Atlas stepped forward. "If she has no lineage, she cannot be matched with a house."
The woman nodded. "She will stay in the Mirror Wing until further notice."
Aurora looked between them. "What happens after evaluation?"
The headmistress offered a thin smile. "That depends on what you are."
The walk to the Mirror Wing was mercifully quiet.
A spiral staircase led them up through a tower that grew narrower as it climbed. The walls shimmered faintly, as if polished glass hid something beneath.
Every step seemed to echo twice, When they reached the top, Atlas pushed open a door without knocking.
"This will be your room."
It was circular, sparsely furnished, and eerily silent. A small bed sat beneath a stained-glass window. A mirror leaned against the far wall, tall and narrow, its surface misted.
Aurora stepped inside, turning in place. "No roommate?"
"Unmarked students don't share quarters."
"Right." She looked over her shoulder. "Because I don't exist."
Atlas didn't respond.
She crossed to the window, gazing out over the academy grounds. From here, she could see the forest she had come through—though it now seemed distant and dreamlike.
She turned back to Atlas. "Why did the Veil open for me?"
He met her gaze. His expression was hard to read.
"I don't know."
She didn't believe him.
He turned to leave. At the door, he paused.
"The room across from yours belongs to Ethan Valesh," he said. "Don't trust him."
"Why not?"
"He charms people. Sometimes even himself."
With that, he was gone.
Aurora sat on the edge of her bed.
Her body trembled—not from cold, but from the weight of everything she didn't understand.
She looked at her hand. It didn't glow. Didn't spark.
But something in her had changed.
The mirror in the corner pulsed faintly. She looked at her reflection. For a second—just a second—she didn't recognize her own eyes.
Deep in the heart of Aetherwyn, a book lay sealed beneath chains of bone and silver.
It stirred.
Its pages began to turn.
A name burned faintly into the parchment.
Aur—
And then it vanished.
The ink faded. The page went blank.
The book slammed shut. The chains pulled tighter.
And the academy held its breath.