The First Flame
Crownshade Academy – Entrance Hall
Aeron didn’t move.
Renholt’s fist came crashing toward him—but just before it could land, it froze.
Inches from his cheek.
Gasps rippled through the students.
The force behind the punch crackled faintly, tinged with red mana, but it was halted by a single hand—elegant, steady, casual.
A man stood between them.
His grip firm around Renholt’s wrist.
He wore no uniform.
A dark gray tunic, sleeves rolled, a silver chain around his neck.
A teacher’s robe, not a formal suit.
Just a man… but something about him made everyone freeze.
The weight in the air shifted.
Renholt’s smirk vanished.
His eyes widened.
“P-Professor Caldus…” he stammered.
The man didn’t say anything.
He simply let go of Renholt’s hand.
Renholt stepped back, clearing his throat.
“I-it was just a friendly spar, professor.
A greeting.”
Professor Caldus didn’t respond.
He turned to Aeron instead.
Aeron shrugged slightly.
“He tried to kill me.”
Renholt’s mouth fell open.
“You—!”
Aeron tilted his head, thinking, Why do I waste my time on them.
When I can easily deal with them like this.
I already don’t have much time and so much to do.
Professor Caldus finally spoke.
“Okay, Everyone.
You are getting late for the opening ceremony.”
“You’re excused.
Continue to the Grand Hall.”
He turned to Renholt, voice cool.
“You.
Principal’s office.
Now.”
Renholt clenched his fists, his glare burning into Aeron.
But under that gaze, Aeron merely smirked.
Another loss.
With a suppressed curse, Renholt followed the professor.
Lyra released a breath beside him.
“T-that could’ve gotten messy…”
Aeron looked ahead.
“Would’ve.
But it didn’t.”
“Let’s go, then,” she smiled softly.
Midway – Path to Grand Hall
As they resumed walking, another voice interrupted them.
“Wait…”
A girl appeared beside them.
Jet-black hair.
Fine features.
Her red Division A blazer crisp and immaculate.
A golden badge pinned to her collar.
She bowed slightly.
“I apologize on behalf of Renholt Virein,” she said, her voice calm and respectful.
“He is under my class—Division A, Year One.
His behavior was unacceptable.”
Aeron looked at her, silent.
She continued, “My name is Kaelin Draes.
Class president.”
Aeron raised a brow.
“Class president… on the first day?”
Kaelin nodded.
“Some of us were selected during orientation after written aptitude trials.”
He didn’t dwell on it.
“You didn’t do anything.
No apology needed.”
Kaelin looked at Lyra.
“Still, it matters.
I thank you both for your patience.”
Lyra nodded shyly.
“I-it’s alright…”
Kaelin smiled faintly.
“Thank you…”
“It seems we are getting late, we should go.”
Crownshade Academy – Grand Assembly Hall
The vast hall opened before them like a throne room carved of obsidian and light.
Dozens of chandeliers floated high above, glowing gently with enchanted crystal orbs.
The walls bore ancient engravings of battles and magical rites.
The floors gleamed like water beneath their feet.
Students filled the space in waves—each group gathered under colored banners.
Division A students—roughly a hundred of them—stood beneath a high crimson banner.
Their red coats practically glowed with charm enhancements.
Division B followed beside them.
Nearly two hundred students, more humble but equally noble.
Division C… only Aeron and Lyra.
Division D.
Over five hundred first-years.
Most commoners.
Many with magical talent but …low or maybe just unawakened…
Teachers lined the edges of the hall, murmuring among themselves.
As Aeron walked in, a hush fell.
Two students.
One boy.
One girl.
Dark blue coats.
Division C.
All eyes turned.
Aeron strode with calm confidence.
Lyra followed a step behind, her cheeks flushed, ears down.
He found their marked space—a wide empty stretch between the sea of purple and gray.
Reserved for Division C.
He stood there.
Tall.
Composed.
Lyra beside him, fidgeting.
Then—
Footsteps.
From a door behind the grand stage, a man emerged.
His beard snow-white.
His robe black with gold trim.
Tall, his gaze piercing through years.
The principal.
Headmaster Deran Vostrik.
A hush blanketed the crowd.
Deran raised one hand.
“I welcome you, students… to the heart of Crownshade.”
His voice rang like a bell in the mind.
Magic laced through every syllable—compelling, commanding.
“Today marks the beginning of a journey.
One that will test your minds, break your limits, and forge your identities.”
He turned his gaze across each division—A, B, and D.
But when his eyes settled on Division C, on Aeron and Lyra—they lingered.
“This academy is the place, where we helps you make the most of your talent.
All under it are equal, no discrimination, no favours.
Only Hard work and results from training.”
“Whether you wear red, blue, or gray, you will rise by merit.”
He paused.
“And fall by your weakness.”
A weight settled over the hall.
“Your classes begin today.
Your future has already begun.”
He lifted his arm again.
“Best of luck.”
“Dismissed.”
And within moments, the hall gets empty.
Outside Grand Hall – Stone Courtyard
The crowd dispersed into clusters.
Lyra and Aeron stepped out last.
Aeron halted, frowning.
Lyra blinked.
“What’s wrong?”
“…which way should we go?…,” he admitted.
Lyra stamerd.
“W-what?”
“It’s just… i didn’t know where our classes are…”
She blinked, then… laughed.
“Hahaha…”
“You didn’t check the memo?”
“I did.
But there was just the guidelines.
No class schedule.”
“Page two, Aeron.
All schedules for all the classes were written there.”
A beat of silence.
“…I didn’t turn the page.”
She smiled, then led the way.
Division C – Classroom 3
Their class was small—only twenty desks.
But well equipped, clean, great furniture.
And right on cue, the door opened.
In walked none other than… Professor Caldus.
The same man who stopped Renholt.
They stood up.
He waved them down.
“Sit,” he said.
He strode to the front, setting a small orb on the table.
It hovered midair, glowing softly.
“I’m Caldus Raen.
I’ll be handling your theory and combat basics for the first term.”
“No time for formality.
Let’s start.”
He pointed at the orb.
“Who can tell me how many magic circles exist?”
Lyra raised her hand.
“Eight.”
“Correct.”
“Magic Circle progression is what defines magical mastery.
From First to Eighth.”
“First and Second Circle – Novice.
Most mages remain here.”
“Third and Fourth – Adept.
Requires significant talent.”
“Fifth – Expert.
Elite status begins here.
Mastes.”
“Sixth and Seventh – Only Legendary figures.”
“Eighth… Archmage tier.
None known in existence.”
He turned, “Now, what defines combat rank?”
Aeron leaned forward, curious.
Caldus wrote on the board:
Combat Ranks:
F: Basic civilians, untrained.
E: Entry level – Low physical strength, no magic control.
D: Trained individuals.
Physical conditioning or minor magic.
C: Common adventurers or soldiers.
First and second circle mages.
B: Skilled elites.
Third and fourth circles.
A: Masters.
Capable of leading armies.
S: Monsters.
Only a handful alive.
“You are all currently between D and C.
Those of you awakened to magic may climb faster.”
Two more classes passed quickly—runes, magical theory.
Then came break.
Academy Cafeteria – Southern Wing
Cafeteria navigation was easy, thanks to the signs etched into the courtyard stones.
Crownshade’s cafeteria was massive—spanning nearly an acre, with sections marked for each division but open seating allowed.
Glass walls let sunlight pour in.
Plants and floating crystals adorned the ceiling.
Enchanted trays served steaming food, floating down like gentle gliders.
Aeron and Lyra found a table at the far end—quiet, isolated.
Aeron hadn’t even sat down when—
“Eep!
I found you!”
He turned.
Aira Everdawn stood beside him, smiling brightly, her tray in hand.
Her hair shone auburn-brown, bouncing with each step.
Her uniform—red Division A—neat and glowing.
She didn’t wait.
Plopping beside him, she beamed.
“Aeron!”
“…Hey,” he said.
Lyra blinked at her, confused.
But the moment Aira’s looked ahead… her smile faded.
A solem look coming to her face.
“A-Aeron, w-who is she?” She asked turning—
.