Arch Mage Vesperus raised his hand, and the whispers died as quickly as they had begun. The light in the sphere faded, and the room stilled. His eyes, which had been closed in concentration, snapped open. The silence was deafening, the tension palpable. The old man studied Noah with a keen gaze, his expression unreadable. "Very well," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the very foundation of the chamber. "You are indeed special, young Quasar."
The professors whispered among themselves, their eyes wide with astonishment. One, a stern woman with a sharp nose and a mane of silver hair, stepped forward. "Never before have we seen a mind-bender of such caliber," she murmured, her voice filled with both awe and wariness. "What is your will, Arch Mage?"
Vesperus' gaze remained fixed on Noah. "Young Quasar," he began, his voice filled with gravity, "Your power is indeed... unprecedented. However, it is also unpredictable and potentially volatile. For the safety of your peers and the integrity of our institution, I am placing you under the personal tutelage of Professor Syrus."
Noah felt a twinge of disappointment as the arch mage continued, "You shall be placed in the Baron dorms for now, but fear not. At the end of the year, during the Grand Ascension Exams, you will have the opportunity to prove yourself further. Should you excel, you may be granted a higher rank within our institution." The room buzzed with whispers as the other students looked at Noah with concern and worry.
The whispers grew louder as the students around him began to disperse. "Did you see his eyes?" one whispered. "They looked like they could peer into your soul!" "What kind of magic is that?" another hissed. "I heard his mother was a witch," said a third, her voice thick with spite. The rumors of his volatile power spread like wildfire, casting a shadow over his first day at the academy.
As the crowd thinned, Noah felt a sudden chill. He looked up to see Clarissa, his sister, standing in the entrance to the Countess dorms, her eyes narrowed into slits as she glared at him. She was dressed in a uniform of the same royal purple that Luna had worn, her hair pulled back into a tight bun that made her sharp features appear even more severe. Her beauty was a stark contrast to Luna's softness, a reflection of the storms she could command.
Clarissa's lips twitched into a sneer as she turned and strode away, her footsteps echoing down the hall like the crack of a whip. It was a gesture that mirrored their father's dismissal, and it stung Noah to the core. Despite their differences, he had hoped for a moment of camaraderie, a shared nod of acknowledgment as siblings entering this new chapter together. Instead, she had dismissed him as if he were unworthy of her time.
The silver-haired Professor Syrus stepped forward, her sharp gaze softening slightly. "Follow me, Mr. Quasar," she said, her voice a cool breeze that offered no comfort. The students parted like the Red Sea before Moses, their whispers trailing behind them like a veil of mist. The corridors of the academy grew narrower and less ornate as they approached the Baron dorms, a stark reminder of his lower status compared to his sister.
The dormitory was a simple stone structure, a stark contrast to the grandeur of the Count and Countess dorms. The hallways were lined with wooden doors, each with a brass plaque engraved with the name of the student who resided within. The walls were bare, save for the occasional flickering candle sconce that cast dancing shadows along the corridor. Professor Syrus stopped before one such door, and with a flick of her wrist, it swung open to reveal a small, sparsely furnished room.
"This will be your chamber for the year," she said, her voice clipped. "You will begin your classes tomorrow at dawn. Be punctual."
Noah nodded, his eyes lingering on the door as it closed behind her. He took a deep breath and turned to survey his new living quarters. The room was small, but it was his own—a sanctuary from the prying eyes of his classmates and the suffocating expectations of his family. He could feel the power thrumming in the air, a constant reminder of the gift and the curse that was his.
As night fell, the whispers grew quieter, and the academy settled into a rhythm of hushed footsteps and muffled snores. But in the solitude of his chamber, Noah found no peace. His dreams were haunted by the memory of his father's rage when he had discovered Noah's lack of power. The Viscount had stormed through the hallowed halls of their manor, his eyes alight with fury as he searched for any sign of his son's deceit. The walls had trembled with each step, and the very air had crackled with his wrath.
In the twilight of sleep, Noah heard the sound of his father's heavy boots echoing down the corridor, growing louder with each passing second. He knew what was coming—the inevitable confrontation that had been brewing since the moment he had been born. The door to his room crashed open, and he sat up with a start, his heart racing. But it was only the shadow of a tree branch dancing on the wall, cast by the moon's fickle light.
"It's just a dream," he murmured to himself, his voice shaky. He clutched at the blankets, his breaths coming in short gasps. The room was quiet except for the distant sound of an owl hooting outside his window. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow and took a deep, shuddering breath. It had felt so real, so visceral. The fear of his father's disapproval was a specter that haunted him even in his slumber.
With a resigned sigh, Noah pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He padded over to the washbasin and filled it with water from the pitcher, the cold liquid a bracing slap against his wakefulness. He splashed the water onto his face, feeling the droplets run down his neck and soak into his nightshirt. The mirror above the basin reflected his tense features, his eyes dark and haunted by the shadows of his thoughts.
Taking a deep breath, he reached into his trunk and pulled out his burgundy blazer, the color of his dorm. It was heavier than the ones his sister and her friends wore, but it was a symbol of his place here, a reminder that he had earned his spot through his own unique talents. As he slid his arms into the sleeves, the fabric whispered against his skin, the material thick and warm. He tied his tie with shaking hands, each knot a silent declaration of his determination to succeed.
Fastening the final button, he looked down at the simple silver band that encircled his thumb. It was his mother's ring, a gift she had given him before her untimely death. It was the only memento he had of her, and it was said to contain a small measure of her power—power that could protect him from the darker aspects of his own abilities. He kissed the ring gently, feeling the cool metal against his lips. "I will make you proud, Mom," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.