The morning sun casts golden light across the sprawling capital of Asteria. Carriages rattle along cobblestone roads, merchants hawk their wares, and in the distance—perched atop a gentle hill overlooking the city—the ivory spires of Lumena Academy pierce the sky.
A sharp figure stands at the base of the main boulevard leading up to the academy gates. A warm spring breeze carries the scent of blooming wisteria from the campus grounds. Students of all backgrounds stream past him—some in fine noble attire with family crests embroidered on their cloaks, others in simpler traveling clothes with worn leather bags slung over their shoulders.
The registration hall lies ahead, past the wrought-iron gates and across the central courtyard. A large banner stretches between two pillars at the entrance:
「LUMENA ACADEMY — IMPERIAL YEAR 1044 — FIRST-YEAR ENROLLMENT」
He follows the crowd through the gates. The courtyard is alive with activity—upperclassmen directing lost newcomers, professors striding purposefully between buildings, and a few students already sizing each other up with competitive glances. Befitting of the most prestigious institution of the Aster Empire.
The Registration Hall is a grand stone building with tall arched windows. Inside, long queues snake toward wooden counters where academy clerks process enrollments. A sign overhead divides the lines:
← KNIGHT DEPARTMENT | MAGIC DEPARTMENT →
A harried-looking clerk at the front notices him approaching and adjusts his spectacles.
Step forward and state your name, department, and background—noble or commoner. We'll get your enrollment papers sorted and assign your dormitory.
He taps his quill impatiently against the ledger.
My name is Eric, of House Void. I enroll in the Magic Department. Expedite the formalities.
The clerk's quill freezes mid-tap. His eyes lift slowly from the ledger, spectacles sliding down his nose as he takes in the noble's appearance. The name alone means nothing to the common folk—but the crest on the youth's cloak, that obsidian sigil of a spiraling void, sends a visible ripple through the nearest clerks.
House Void. An old noble house—not a duchy, not a marquisate, but a county of peculiar reputation. Known for producing mages of extraordinary mana capacity across generations, yet perpetually shrouded in rumor and whispered suspicion. Their bloodline carries an innate affinity for spatial and abstract magics that defies conventional classification. Respected, but kept at arm's length by the more established houses.
V-Void...? The clerk straightens immediately, nearly knocking over his enchanted inkwell. Of course, young lord. My apologies for not recognizing your family crest.
He pulls a separate ledger from beneath the counter—the priority enrollment registry—and flips to a fresh page.
Eric of House Void, Magic Department, first-year. Dormitory Hall A, Room 7—a private chamber, as befitting your station.
He stamps the parchment with the academy seal and slides a small bundle across the counter: the room's keyward, a class schedule, a campus map, and a silver badge bearing the Magic Department's insignia—a crystalline circle wreathed in arcane script.
Classes begin tomorrow. Today is for settling in and attending the opening ceremony at noon in the Grand Hall. Is there anything else, my lord?
Behind him, a few students in the common queue mutter—some with annoyance, others with curiosity. Feeling eyes on his back he turns around to face the muttering students, eyes narrowed.
Does someone have a problem with my presence here?
The murmuring dies down—but not entirely. A few students avert their gazes immediately, suddenly fascinated by the ceiling architecture or the contents of their enrollment packets. Others, however, hold his stare.
One boy—a tall, broad-shouldered noble with a Sparrow crest on his lapel—snorts and looks away dismissively, clearly unimpressed but unwilling to start something on the first day. Beside him, a girl in commoner's clothing clutches her bag tighter and steps back.
But one voice doesn't retreat.
Problem? No, no problem at all.
A red-haired girl with sharp green eyes steps out from the common queue, arms crossed. The Brightwell crest glints on her collar—but hers is smaller, a commoner family. A calculating smile on her face.
I was just admiring the efficiency of noble privilege. One name, and the whole queue parts like the sea. She tilts her head, smile never wavering. House Void, was it? Fascinating. I've heard your family produces remarkable mages—and remarkable rumors in equal measure.
Her tone is light, conversational—but there's a probing edge beneath it. She's measuring him. Evaluating. The students around her seem to recognize her name too—Brightwell, the merchant family. Money, connections, information.
A few onlookers watch with bated breath. The first social exchange of the academic year—and it's already drawing an audience.
The clerk behind them clears his throat nervously.
The eldest of House Void offers a cold, thin smile. Privilege is simply the fruit of competence, Lady. You ought to remember it.
A beat of silence. The onlookers shift uncomfortably. The words hang in the air like a blade—polite in form, cutting in substance.
The redhead's smile doesn't falter—but her fingers tighten, just slightly, around her crossed arms. Competence, is it? How refreshing. Most nobles cite bloodline.
She uncrosses her arms and offers a small, precise curtsy—more mocking than respectful. Sara Brightwhell—I'll remember that, Lord Void. And I do hope you'll have the chance to... demonstrate that competence. Words are free, after all. Even for commoners.
She turns back to the queue without waiting for a response, red hair swishing behind her. But he catches it—the faintest tightening at the corner of her jaw. She's filed him away. Categorized. Priced.
The crowd disperses, the brief spectacle over. A few students whisper his house name as he passes—some with wariness, some with curiosity. First impressions are currency here, and Eric just spent his boldly.
He leaves the registration hall without a backward glance, letting the whispers trail behind him like a cape. The cobblestone path narrows as he passes through a vine-covered archway into the academy gardens.
It's quieter here. The noise of the courtyard fades to a murmur, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant trickle of a stone fountain. Wisteria drapes overhead in lavender curtains, and neatly trimmed hedges line pathways that wind between flowering beds and ancient oak trees. Enchanted lanterns—dormant in the daylight—hang from wrought-iron posts along the walkway.
The Magic Department building rises ahead at the path's end: a tower of pale marble and dark slate, its upper floors dotted with faintly glowing rune-etched windows. Even from there, Eric can feel the ambient mana density thicken—the grounds around the department are saturated with residual magical energy from decades of practice and research.
Few students have wandered here yet. Most are still caught up in the bustle of registration. The solitude suits him.
He passes a bench beneath a willow tree—and stop.
Someone is already there.
A small figure lies sprawled across the entire bench, a thick tome open across her face like a makeshift pillow. Silver hair combed into a braid spills over the armrest, catching the morning light. Her academy badge—Magic Department, first-year—is pinned crookedly to her wrinkled uniform. She's... asleep. Completely, utterly asleep. On the first day of enrollment.
A soft, rhythmic breathing. The book on her face rises and falls. Mmn... five more... minutes...
She mumbles to no one in particular, shifting slightly. The book—'Advanced Mana Circuit Theory, Vol. III'—slides a few centimeters down her nose.
The gardens are otherwise empty. Yet, his mana senses prickle in the morning breeze.
Interesting.
He settles onto the edge of the bench without a sound. The wood creaks faintly under his weight, but the sleeping girl doesn't stir. Up close, the scion of House Void can observe her more clearly.
She's small—almost childlike in frame, though her face carries the softness of almost twenty years. Her uniform is the standard academy-issue for the Magic Department, but she's wearing it loosely—top button undone, sleeves rolled unevenly, skirt wrinkled as though she'd slept in it before even arriving here. The badge pinned to her chest reads simply: 'Lena.'
No family crest. A commoner.
And yet—
Even in sleep, the ambient mana around her moves differently. It flows toward her in lazy spirals, drawn in like water to a drain. The density of her personal mana field is... absurd. It sits around her like a still pond—vast, deep, and utterly calm. Seven circles. He can feel the layered structure by focusing. Seven perfectly constructed mana circuits, humming in effortless equilibrium.
His own three circles—child's play in comparison.
A first-year commoner with seven circles. The valedictorian, then. I heard she was a genius, but... seven circles at nineteen is unheard of.
The book slides another few centimeters. 'Advanced Mana Circuit Theory, Vol. III'—a text meant for fourth-years at minimum. She's using it as a sleep mask.
A breeze rustles through the willow. A petal drifts down, landing on her nose.
Mn... Her nose twitches. One purple eye cracks open—hazy, unfocused. ...huh.
She stares at him through the gap between the book's pages. A long, drowsy blink. Then another.
...who're you? Her voice is soft, half-swallowed by a yawn. Did the ceremony... start already...?