They walked side by side through the grand halls of the Academy, their footsteps echoing against polished stone. Ornate banners hung overhead—deep crimson, ink-black, royal blue—each one bearing the insignia of different Essentia disciplines. The air was thick with the scent of paper, old magic, and a touch of stress.
“So,” Elliot began casually, “how were Eryndar’s students?”
Towan shrugged, a little disappointed.
“Didn’t meet any. His actual disciples are based in the capital dojo. I trained alone.”
Elliot winced theatrically.
“Oof. Solo training arc, huh?”
Towan smirked.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy the spotlight with Selene and Lytharos babysitting you.”
They turned a corner and finally spotted the sign:
ENTRANCE EXAM REGISTRATION
A modest plaque, plain letters etched in gold above a thick wooden door. Inside, a lone teacher sat behind a desk, surrounded by towers of paperwork and an hourglass that seemed to be leaking sand a bit too fast.
He looked up as they entered.
“Ah. You’re here to register, I presume?”
“Correct,” Elliot replied, stepping forward.
The teacher laced his fingers together.
“Good. Then please present your certification from the Entrance Course.”
Towan blinked.
“...The what?”
The brothers exchanged a glance. Neither of them had heard anything about a course.
Then—Towan reached into his cloak and pulled out a parchment sealed in golden wax.
“I have this.”
He placed it on the table.
Elliot mirrored the motion, presenting his silver-lettered parchment, signed by both Selene and Lytharos.
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The teacher’s hand hovered over the seals. His expression didn’t change
“I’m afraid,” the man began carefully, “we’re no longer taking recommendations. That policy changed last season—due to... complications.”
Still, his fingers moved—almost unconsciously—to unseal the parchments.
Golden wax cracked. Silver script gleamed.
Then—pause.
A breath held too long.
His expression didn’t shift, but his eyes did. A flicker of disbelief.
( Selene Vaelis. Lytharos. …ERYNDAR? )
Even a man trained in bureaucracy couldn’t suppress the twitch in his brow.
(These aren’t recommendations.)
(These are relics.)
“Is that so?” Towan said slowly, voice deceptively calm. “Well, in that case, how do we—”
He didn’t finish.
“They’re not doing the course,” said a voice from the hallway. “They’re registered under the Warrior Clause.”
It was smooth. Relaxed. Slightly amused.
A woman stepped into the room, arms crossed over robes of deep forest green edged in black. The insignia at her shoulder marked her as an instructor—but the way she moved said something more.
Sharp eyes. Crooked smile. Like someone who’d seen too much and decided to enjoy the mess anyway.
She glanced between the two boys like she was mentally updating some file.
“Towan. Elliot. Been a long time since we had someone come in with this kind of paperwork.”
“Do we know you?” Towan asked, wary.
She offered her hand—firm shake, practiced grip.
“No. But I’m a friend of Selene’s.”
“Name’s Kaelin. I’ll be overseeing your combat assessment.”
Elliot raised an eyebrow. “So we still have to do the entrance exam?”
Kaelin smirked.
“Oh, absolutely. We don’t let you in just for knowing cool people.”
She nodded at their parchments.
“Those just mean if you fail, we won’t toss you out. We’ll toss you into a private remediation dungeon with double the expectations.”
Towan blinked. “...That’s a joke, right?”
Kaelin winked. “Mostly.”
An attendant led them down a narrow corridor lined with numbered brass plates. “Temporary quarters for exam candidates,” she said briskly, not slowing her pace. “You’ll find bedding and washbasins inside. Academy rules apply—no open flames, no unsupervised Essentia practice after sundown. No exceptions.”
Towan shouldered open the door to their assigned room—and stopped cold.
"You’ve got to be kidding me."
The space barely fit two cots, a single flickering lamp, and a window so narrow it might as well have been a slot for moonlight to sneak through. The walls looked like they’d been bleached by time, and the bedding was clinging to its last thread of dignity.
Elliot nudged past him and dumped his pack onto the nearest cot with a thump.
“This is the worst bunk we’ve shared,” Towan muttered, toeing the frayed edge of a moth-eaten blanket.
“At least it’s not raining. Yet.” Elliot flopped onto the cot, which groaned in protest. “Though if Selene were here, she’d make us meditate in the hallway for even thinking about complaining.”
Towan snorted. “Meditate? You?”
“Don’t laugh. She once made me sit cross-legged in glacier runoff. Three days. Said I needed to ‘internalize my flow.’” He shivered at the memory. “Didn’t feel my legs for a week.”
Towan winced. “And you actually listened to her?”
Elliot’s grin stretched like it was proud of itself. “You try saying no to Selene.”