Nathan woke to someone standing on his chest.

  Technically, it was a boot.

  Less technically, it was Lissandre, who had climbed onto his bed in full orientation robes and was currently waving a steaming mug of something over his face.

  “Rise and shine, mystery boy!” she declared. “It’s the dawn of your magical academic journey, and you have fifteen minutes before you’re officially late.”

  Nathan groaned. “You’re standing on my lung.”

  She stepped off with the grace of a panther and shoved the mug into his hands. “Drink. It’s enchanted caffeine. It’ll make your bones vibrate and your brain see in color.”

  He sipped it. She wasn’t wrong.

  Ten minutes later, they were winding their way through the towers and descending into the orientation courtyard—Nathan still barely awake, Lissandre humming a tune about burning down mediocrity.

  The courtyard was enormous, sunlit, and unlike anything Nathan had ever seen. The stone beneath their feet was soft white, and curved sigils pulsed beneath the surface with every footstep, glowing

  in gentle colors. Floating platforms circled slowly above, and flower-covered balconies spilled scent into the air like perfume. Students were everywhere—some talking in groups, others standing alone. Most were around Nathan’s age, but a few looked much older. Their robes varied in color and cut, like uniforms had been designed by individual personality.

  “Nervous?” Lissandre asked.

  “I feel like I’m in a dream I forgot how to control,” Nathan muttered.

  “Good. That’s how you know it’s real.”

  At the center of the courtyard stood a raised stage formed of slowly rotating stone blocks that hovered an inch off the ground. On them stood five figures—professors, Nathan guessed. They all wore variations of long, rune-stitched robes, but their presences were wildly different. One glowed faintly with heat. Another was surrounded by slowly orbiting scrolls. A third had antlers made of glimmering quartz. A hush fell over the students as the woman in the center stepped forward.

  She was tall, copper-skinned, androgynous, with long platinum dreadlocks that floated slightly, like they were suspended in water. Her eyes glowed a soft orange. “Welcome,” she said, and her voice rolled over them like a bell struck in the soul. “I am Professor Alorra. You stand today not as mages, but as seeds. You have crossed into a realm older than your bloodlines, shaped by hands that wrote the laws of matter and motion. Here, you will learn to speak those laws—and bend them.” She paused, letting the silence thrum. “You were chosen, not summoned. That distinction will matter, in time.”

  Nathan swallowed. The caffeine did nothing to calm the knot in his chest.

  Professor Alorra raised one hand, and glowing diagrams spun in the air above the crowd: eight floating spheres, each orbited by smaller runes. “The eight elements,” she said. “Your education begins with knowing your place among them.”

  The orbs shifted and sorted themselves:

  Low Tier: Fire, Earth, Water, Air

  Mid Tier: Metal, Wood

  High Tier: Sun, Moon

  One smaller, pulsing orb hovered beneath them all: Blood, glowing dark crimson.

  “Most of you will have affinity with one. A few, if you’re fortunate or unfortunate enough, will have dual-tier access.”

  Nathan noticed Lissandre stiffen beside him. “They said I couldn’t even be tested for a second,” she whispered. “Too unstable.”

  A boy in front of them laughed softly. “That’s what they always say to Fire kids.”

  Professor Alorra continued. “Sun and Moon affinities have not been seen in generations. Blood… is forbidden. Do not ask about it. Do not seek it. It is the echo of violence, not an element.”

  Nathan couldn’t look away from the Blood orb. It pulsed slowly, like a heartbeat under water.

  Alorra raised her voice again. “You will each be tested—privately. Affinity and channeling capacity will be recorded. Once determined, your classes will adapt to suit your strengths. You will be challenged. You will be remade. Or you will be sent home. She didn’t blink as she said it. “Testing begins this afternoon. Until then, explore. Observe. And above all—do not lie to yourselves. The elements will know.”

  The orbs vanished. Students began murmuring, dispersing in clumps. Lissandre turned to Nathan and wiggled her brows. “Well. That wasn’t ominous at all.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

  She handed him a mint. “Better to throw up now. They’ll probably grade you for it later.”

  Nathan looked around the dispersing crowd and locked eyes with someone standing across the courtyard—tall, elegant, skin like riverstone, silver eyes rimmed in deep blue.

  They were dressed in deep blue robes stitched with patterns that looked like rainfall. Their presence was calm. Still. They didn’t smile, but they nodded slightly. Nathan felt a flicker in his chest. Like a tuning fork had just been struck.

  “Who’s that?” he asked.

  Lissandre followed his gaze. “Oh, that’s Krit. Non-binary elf from the Veilgrove. Water affinity. Rumor says they read spellbooks in their sleep.”

  Nathan blinked. Krit turned and walked away, their coat trailing ripples in the air like a wave following them. Nathan didn’t know why, but he was certain they’d meet again. He expected to be shown around campus in some structured way. Instead, orientation turned out to mean “wander and try not to get hexed.” He and Lissandre walked through the sprawl of the university, passing towers shaped like coiled shells, gardens where flowers floated above the soil, and halls that stretched longer than the outside walls should allow. There were no maps—only floating runes near major walkways that pulsed when you stared at them long enough, revealing paths based on your current affinity… or lack thereof. For Nathan, the runes just shimmered vaguely, then flickered out like tired lights.

  “Well,” Lissandre said, looping her arm through his, “guess we’ll be navigating the old-fashioned way. Dumb luck and poor choices.”

  “Do you ever slow down?”

  “Nope,” she said cheerfully, and yanked him into a narrow corridor.

  The hall they stepped into opened into an inner courtyard—octagonal, sun-drenched, and surrounded by balconies. Students were scattered around the edges, sitting on rune-carved benches, meditating, talking, or just people-watching. In the center of the courtyard stood a wide stone ring, carved with fire glyphs. Inside, a dozen students were gathered in a loose circle. One professor, a short woman with wild red hair and glowing eyes, paced the perimeter, snapping her fingers as she spoke.

  “Fire is not about rage,” she said. “It is not chaos. It is will, shaped by discipline. You don’t feel fire—you command it.”

  Lissandre’s eyes lit up.

  “Oh,” she whispered. “This is my jam.”

  Before Nathan could object, she pulled him into the circle.

  “Uh—Liss—”

  “Shh,” she said. “If you look like you belong, they won’t question it.”

  The professor turned. “New volunteer? Excellent. Fire affinity?”

  “Yes,” Lissandre said proudly, raising her chin.

  The professor nodded. “You’re up. Show me what you’ve got.”

  Lissandre stepped into the ring, rolled her shoulders, and held out one palm. With a breath, she summoned flame. It curled upward from her fingers like a dancer—elegant, swirling, balanced. Not a wild blaze, but a sculpted ember, held perfectly in check. The crowd murmured in approval. Nathan blinked. He hadn’t seen her this serious before.

  The flame expanded, forming a narrow whip that she spun overhead, then cracked toward the ground, forming a symbol that hovered a few inches off the stone.

  “Solid rune control,” the professor said. “Good balance. What’s your channel range?”

  “Medium-to-high,” Lissandre replied. “But I spike under pressure.”

  The professor smiled. “Don’t we all.”

  She turned to the group. “Anyone else?”

  Nathan took a step back.

  The fire rune was still burning on the stone.

  He could feel it—like heat pressing on his spine. Not the heat of a flame, but of a sun warming stone. Something in his chest pulled toward it.

  The rune flickered.

  And for a split second, it pulsed gold.

  Nathan flinched. Lissandre’s head snapped toward him.

  “Did you see—?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” he whispered.

  The professor didn’t seem to notice.

  But someone else had.

  Across the courtyard, Krit stood at the edge of a column, watching him. Their arms were folded, and their eyes glinted in the sunlight—not judging, but... calculating. Reading something no one else could see. Nathan met their gaze, and again, there was that strange pull. Like something deep in him was syncing to a rhythm he hadn’t known he carried.

  After the demonstration, Lissandre dragged Nathan to a floating café garden two towers over, where students lounged in tree hammocks and drinks stirred themselves in midair. She ordered a bubbling cherry tonic that sparked when it fizzed. Nathan just asked for water.

  “You okay?” she asked, settling into a hammock beside him.

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Everything feels like it’s trying to tell me something.”

  She sipped her drink. “Maybe it is. This place is alive. Sometimes you don’t hear it until it’s ready for you to listen.”

  Before he could respond, someone else stepped up beside them.

  “You touched the fire rune,” Krit said.

  Nathan looked up. “It was an accident.”

  “There are no accidents in that circle,” they replied softly. “Only reactions. And yours was… different.”

  Krit wore a robe patterned with flowing blue lines that shifted subtly like water in moonlight. Their pale hair was braided close to their scalp, and small glowing beads floated around their wrist like a bracelet made of droplets.

  “I’m Krit,” they said. “They/them. Water affinity.”

  “Nathan,” he replied. “Still pending.”

  “I know.”

  Nathan frowned. “How—?”

  “You hum when you cast,” they said, almost absently. “Even when you’re not really casting yet. Most don’t. It’s interesting.”

  Lissandre raised an eyebrow. “I don’t hear humming.”

  Krit tilted their head. “That’s because it’s not sound. Not really. It’s more like… intent. And yours is very loud.”

  Nathan’s throat went dry.

  Krit smiled, the first hint of warmth in their otherwise serene expression.

  “I look forward to your test,” they said. “It’s going to be… illuminating.”

  And just like that, they walked away, coat trailing like the wake of a ripple.

  Nathan stared after them, heart pounding.

  “What the hell was that?” he asked.

  “That,” Lissandre said, draining the rest of her drink, “was the most magical flirting I’ve ever witnessed.”

  “I don’t think that was flirting.”

  “Oh, honey. That was flirting. The elf equivalent of buying you a drink and writing a sonnet about your aura.”

  Nathan groaned and slumped deeper into the hammock.

  The sun drifted higher.

  Afternoon shadows fell across the skywalks.

  And somewhere in the depths of the university, a voice was preparing to ask Nathan questions he wasn’t ready to answer.