When Lyra was first told she was a saint witch, she still clung to the feeling that she was someone special, someone destined for greatness. The weight of that realization was thrilling, and she couldn't help but feel that her journey was just beginning. After all, witches were rare, and surely, she was one of the chosen few.
However, as time passed and more saint witches surfaced in her class, Lyra's excitement began to fade. Three saint witches had appeared in her year alone, and there was even a senior, only a year older, who had already been through what they were experiencing. The academy buzzed with the presence of these young saint witches, and Lyra's initial thrill gave way to a quieter acceptance.
Maybe, in the past, witches were a rarity, but now it seemed that every year there were more and more. She was just one of many, a lucky one in a quarter. Her mood shifted from exhilaration to calm determination.
The truth was simple: no matter how much potential a saint witch possessed, potential was just that, potential. It wasn't power yet. It wasn't strength until she honed it, learned, and grew. The real challenge lay in turning that raw talent into something formidable, something that could change the world.
At the entrance ceremony, the excitement in the air was palpable. After the initial test, the auditorium was alive with whispers and conversations, the kind that hum with possibility and nervous energy. Even Ms. Amisha, a seasoned witch herself, didn't quiet the room. She simply scribbled notes into the ancient Witch Clan Book, letting the students enjoy their moment of excitement.
Lyra, alongside Vasida and Sylph, quickly became the center of attention. As the three newly-discovered witches, they drew a steady stream of classmates and seniors eager to meet them. For the younger witches, meeting someone like Lyra was like meeting a star, and they wanted to be a part of her orbit.
But to Lyra, this was nothing. She wasn't truly a thirteen-year-old, after all; at least, not in spirit. In a past life, she had lived through the mundanity of larger classrooms and massive universities, where the number of students far outnumbered the small cohort of 156 witches here at the academy. Compared to that, this academy felt quaint, almost cozy.
Her sharp mind was another gift. She didn't know if it was because of the memories of her previous life on Earth, but her memory was something extraordinary. Everything she saw and heard crystallized into perfect images in her mind. Every face, every detail of the test; recorded, cataloged, ready to be recalled at a moment's notice. Only the things she studied carefully were etched with clear detail, but even a passing glance was enough for Lyra to remember most things.
This ability served her well. She quickly memorized the names, grades, and even the magical specializations of her seniors. To her, they weren't just fellow students; they were like walking encyclopedias of magic. Each of them wore badges on their robes that marked their proficiency, making it easy for Lyra to know who to approach for advice.
Every time a senior came to greet her, Lyra seized the opportunity to ask about their magical faction, seeking their wisdom. When classmates approached, she would impress them by greeting them by name first. These were details she had gleaned during the testing ceremony, along with their magical talents. Each girl, flattered to be remembered, smiled at Lyra as if she were someone special. They thought they had been singled out by her, someone destined for greatness. But as more and more classmates were greeted by name, the realization dawned: Lyra remembered everyone. Every little witch.
"She's definitely a saint witch!" they gasped in awe, unable to hide their admiration. Even Sylph, standing nearby, expressed her disbelief at how sharp Lyra's memory was.
Sylph, on the other hand, was still reeling from her own test results. She hadn't expected to score so highly, but as the last one to be tested, she hadn't had much time to process it. Before she knew it, she was swarmed by seniors and classmates alike, their enthusiasm washing over her in waves.
Growing up in the quiet Starlight Forest with her parents, Sylph had never encountered so many witches at once. The attention was overwhelming, and while she was flattered by their excitement, she found herself struggling to keep up. Nervous, a little unsure, and still coming to terms with her newfound identity, Sylph was swept along by the whirlwind of her new life.
Meanwhile, Lyra watched it all, knowing her journey was only just beginning. She would turn her potential into strength, step by step, until she was no longer just a witch; but a force to be reckoned with.
Sylph wasn't as outgoing as Lyra. She struggled to keep up with the constant stream of greetings from the other witches, doing her best to smile and respond politely, even though her nerves threatened to get the better of her. Each interaction made her feel a little more awkward, as if she were somehow letting everyone down by not matching their enthusiasm. Despite her efforts, a flush of embarrassment colored her fair cheeks, betraying her inner discomfort.
Inspired by Lyra's effortless charisma, Sylph tried to remember the names and faces of the witches she met. She wanted to do better, to live up to the kindness everyone showed her. But her attempts were largely unsuccessful. Only a few particularly distinct faces stood out, and the rest blurred together in a confusing swirl of excitement and names she couldn't quite place.
Not everyone has a perfect memory, Sylph thought to herself, stealing a glance at Lyra, who moved through the crowd with ease. She couldn't help but feel a pang of envy as she watched her classmate greet each witch by name, her confidence never faltering. It was as if Lyra had been made for this world, while Sylph was still finding her place.
Lyra, for her part, kept a close eye on her fellow witches, even as she engaged in conversations with others. She was always observing, always learning. Sylph noticed her attention shift toward her, and for a brief moment, their eyes met. They exchanged a small, knowing smile, though there was no time for words. Lyra's gaze lingered for just a second longer, taking in the redness of Sylph's ears.
Sylph's ears were slightly pointed, an unusual trait for a witch. Most witches had human-like features, but Lyra suspected that Sylph might have some elven blood in her ancestry, perhaps from her father or mother. The thought intrigued her. Witches, after all, were awakened human females, but it wasn't unheard of for certain magical bloodlines to manifest subtle differences.
While Sylph's shyness was evident, she at least tried to meet the warmth of her classmates. Vasida, however, was a different story. The girl stood apart from the crowd, her demeanor withdrawn, hands tightly clasped together, and head bowed low. Her short black hair curtained her face, leaving only a glimpse of her round chin visible. At first glance, she seemed to be hiding from the world.
Lyra noticed Vasida shrink further as a fellow witch came over to greet her. Vasida barely moved, offering only the slightest nod in acknowledgment. It seemed curt, almost rude, but as Lyra stood close by, she heard a soft whisper escape Vasida's lips: "Hello."
The sound was so faint that Lyra had to strain to hear it. Is she afraid of social interactions? The idea excited Lyra, not out of cruelty, but because it gave her a new curiosity about her quiet classmate. She was just about to strike up a conversation with Vasida when, suddenly, the auditorium fell silent.
The once vibrant room full of buzzing witches was now completely still, as if a spell had swept over them all. Every voice had been "muted," their excitement hushed in an instant.
Ms. Amisha's commanding voice broke the silence: "Quiet, please. The appearance of new witches is an event of great importance, and I have reported it to the three elders. But regardless of whether you are a witch or a sorceress, remember that in this academy, your identity is first and foremost that of a student. Your one and only task here is to learn."
Her words were firm and unwavering, cutting through the air with the weight of tradition. "I hope each of you will treasure these next five years. Learn how to study on your own, and more importantly, learn how to survive on your own. These years are the only time you will receive free instruction. After that, no matter your achievements, you will leave this academy and start your own lives."
Lyra recognized this speech from her memories, one that Ms. Amisha delivered every year during the entrance ceremony. And although she had anticipated it, she couldn't help but feel a deep resonance with her words. Lyra had come to the academy with a burning desire to learn, fully aware of the responsibility that came with her gifts. She had already steeled herself for the journey ahead, eager to transform her potential into something tangible.
But as she glanced around, Lyra noticed that her peers were listening with the same seriousness, their faces reflecting their understanding of the gravity of Ms. Amisha's words. This wasn't like the classroom speeches Lyra remembered from her past life, where students would often tune out the teacher's motivational monologues. Here, the witches were taking it to heart.
Lyra understood the eagerness of the first-year witches. They were excited about college life and filled with curiosity about magic. But she wondered: after the wonders of magic had become routine, would these same witches be able to focus? Would they be able to push aside distractions and truly dedicate themselves to their studies? Even adults, seasoned by the hardships of life, often struggled to stay disciplined. How could these young witches, just starting out; be expected to transform from playful novices into independent, capable witches in only five years?
The question lingered in her mind as the ceremony continued. Could the academy really mold them into the witches they were destined to become? Only time would tell.