Thrill surged through me, my pulse racing as I darted to the circular window in the elevator. Pressing my face against the cool glass, I watched the earth recede around us. Roots twisted and worms slithered through the soil, while families of moles burrowed.

As we plunged deeper, the view transformed. A colony of Fluffles, fluffy monsters with no eyes and floppy ears, trotted through their intricate network of tunnels. A few turned their heads toward us as we passed, their tongues lolling out like curious dogs.

The soil gradually transformed into rough, jagged rock, and I could make out the occasional sparkle of mineral veins. And as the elevator plunged even deeper, the vibrant life of the subterranean world faded into a deep, impenetrable darkness. Soon, I couldn’t see a thing beyond the glass. 

With a final, heavy thud, the elevator halted, the sound echoing in the cavernous space. My pulse sped up, knowing what was coming next. The bark doors swung open to reveal…

Draconia Academy in all its glory.

Time seemed to slow as I gazed at the place I’d envisioned for years—my greatest dream since childhood, sketched and imagined countless times. It was now real, towering before me.

My heartbeat reverberated in my ears, each thud like a drum signaling sheer joy. This moment was, without doubt, the best of my entire life.

We stood at the edge of an underground cliff, staring out into a void where the boundary between nothingness and infinity blurred. Colors unfurled and danced in the darkness—rich streaks of violet and cerulean intertwining like liquid light, swirling and weaving in breathtaking patterns. But what looked like ‘colors’ weren’t actually colors at all. It was pure magic. So much that it could actually be seen by the naked eye.

Before us stretched a bridge, its entrance sculpted like a dragon’s skull, jaws agape as if ready to devour any who dared cross. The bridge led to a floating island of rock, hovering majestically at the heart of the swirling abyss of magic. 

The school’s main building rose up from the island. It resembled a castle, made from crimson-tinted stone, with hundreds of spires of varying heights. Some were slender and needle-like, while others were broad and adorned with balconies and terraces, glowing vines and flowers dripping off them. The most striking feature was the sculpted dragon’s tail coiled around the spire that formed the clocktower. The clock’s golden face glowed through the darkness like a vigilant eye.

Rope bridges spread out from the main building, leading to three smaller floating islands of rock where three more buildings waited. My pulse jumped in excitement. These were the Three Schools of Magic!

There are three types of magicians in the Owen Thorn universe: Telekinetics, Alchemancers, and Psychomancers.

For the most part, magicians can perform magic in all three categories, but they have a significant strength in one. At the start of their first year, students are sorted into their primary magic class and take extra classes focusing on their specialty.

My gaze fell to the first building. The School of Physical Arts, where the telekinetic magicians trained. I’d always dreamed of being a Telekinetic. That’s what Owen Thorn was, afterall. 

Telekinetics are magicians that are able to physically affect the world around them. When they cast a spell on something, it causes a direct reaction—ranging from simply making a slice of cake three times bigger to straight up blowing someone up. It’s the most commonly used magic due to the fact that most spells fall into this category. But something can’t come from nothingness, which means every telekinetic spell has some sort of cost. 

The School of Physical Arts was built from dark, storm-blue stone that seems to absorb and radiate pure energy. The walls were covered with enchanted vines that resemble flowing currents of electricity. They emitted a soft, blue-white glow and crackle with static power, reacting to the presence of students and faculty whenever they drew near. 

Storm clouds swirled around the building’s towers, even though there were none anywhere else on campus. Bolts of lightning shot out of them, striking the spires, and illuminating the school in flashes of light. 

Overlooking the entrance was a statue of a thunderbird, lightning crackling around its outstretched winds. The magical statue was the guardian and protector of the School of Physical Arts, the bird stirring to life whenever someone stepped through the entrance. 

Next, I turned my attention to the School of the Alchemic Arts. This was Lucian’s specialty, along with most of the other villain’s in the series. General rule of thumb, if you were an Alchemancers—you were probably bad news. 

Alchemancer magic is more akin to science, involving potions, elixirs, and sometimes even necromancy. Though (and this is super important to note) raising the dead is strictly forbidden, and punishable by expulsion and loss of magic.

Purple fog surrounded the building, swirling up the spires, half-hiding the School of Alchemic Arts. The building itself looked like a fortress, constructed from dark, jagged obsidian with veins of violet crystal running through it that pulsed with light. 

The school’s own statue guardian, a giant kraken, hovered over the entrance, its tentacles dripping down over the doorway. The purple fog that surrounded the school dripped from its tendrils, a constant, low bubbling noise filling the air around it.

Finally, my gaze fell to the final school. The School of Mental Arts, home to the Psychomancers (what I was pretending to be). The most mysterious magicians from the Owen Thorn book belonged here. 

The island was covered in a hazy green mist, blurring the form of the ancient, sprawling building. Jagged, asymmetrical towers tilted at angles that defied the laws of physics. Sculpted into the walls were hundreds of ornate eyes, formed by glowing emeralds. Their pupils were constantly following along, tracking and observing anyone who passed by. 

A statue of a kitsune, the School of Mental Arts’s guardian, hovered over the doorway, its eyes glowing bright green as well. 

“Would you stop gawking at everything,” Lucian said sharply. “We’re going to be late.”

He yanked my arm with a sharp tug, pulling me onto the bridge. My heart raced with exhilaration, and I bounced on the balls of my feet, practically skipping across. The bridge swayed under our weight, the wooden planks creaking and groaning as we charged ahead.

A piercing screech sliced through the air, and I glanced up just in time to see one of the faculty's dragon familiars swoop overhead, its massive wings beating the air with powerful whooshes. The dragon’s scales glinted like polished rubies as it soared toward a distant floating cliff where the Dragon’s Roost was located.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head in awe at the sight. “Woah!”

“Careful,” Lucian muttered, laying a hand on my head to push it back down, “keep staring up like that and you’re going to break your neck.”

From the direction of the school came the rich, velvety sound of strings—music that seemed to weave through the air.

“Oh shit!” Lucian gasped, taking off running. “It’s starting! Come on, Nemo!”

“For the last time, it’s Niko!” I yelled back, but even the misuse of my name couldn’t stop the grin on my face as we tore across the bridge.

***

Do you think it's possible to faint from excitement? I had no idea, but I felt pretty damn close to swooning when we finally stepped into the great hall of Draconia Academy. 

The high ceiling soared above us, an architectural marvel sculpted to resemble the ribcage of a dragon, giving the sensation of being inside the very beast itself. Massive stone pillars, shaped like the clawed limbs of the beast, reached skyward, their intricate scales carved with stunning detail.

Beneath the dragon’s ribcage, long mahogany tables stretched endlessly, each laden with an array of steaming, mouthwatering dishes. The rich aromas of roast meats, fresh bread, and spiced vegetables curled through the chamber. 

Above us, a miniature orchestra floated, the source of the music we’d heard outside. The instruments danced through the air over the tables, bowstrings moving and string plucking all on their own.

The students of Draconia Academy flooded the hall. Jackets were color-coded to their classes—blue for Telekinetics, purple for Alchemancers, and green for Psychomancers. Every student bore the school’s seal on their jacket lapel: a majestic golden dragon with the initials D.A. proudly emblazoned beneath it. The neckwear varied dramatically, reflecting the students' personal style—from traditional ties to bow ties to casual, unfastened collars. There were even a few cravats!

Just like in the books and the movies, students were hugging each other and smiling, greeting the classmates they hadn’t seen all summer with open arms. I noticed Lucian was hanging back from them.

“Let’s sit down,” Lucian said curtly, striding ahead. He shoved past a few startled students who had to scramble out of his way as stormed off to a secluded corner of the hall.

I followed after him, having to practically jog to keep up with his long strides. “Don’t you want to greet your friends?” 

“I don’t have friends.” Lucian’s expression had gone blank, his voice monotone as he added, “They both got roasted to a crisp by a wyvern.”

Oh shit. Yeah. Forgot about that.

Lucian’s gaze darkened, his fingers curling against the edge of the table as he sat down. “And just so you’re aware, your precious Owen Thron did absolutely nothing to save them.”

I could have given Lucian a full Reddit rant (a rant several online strangers had the misfortune of receiving at two in the morning) about all the reasons Owen wasn’t able to stop the wyvern attack. But, judging from the broken look overtaking his expression, this was definitely not the time.

As much as I hated Lucian, I’d never actually thought about how painful going through his final opening feast without his two best friends must have been.

As we settled into our seats, Lucian’s eyes narrowed, glancing around the crowded hall. “Speaking of Owen Thorn,” he sneered, “where the hell is he? He’s always so disgustingly happy about the feast.” His gaze fell to a table near the front of the chamber. “He’s not sitting with his little loser friends either.”

I followed his gaze and nearly jumped out of my seat. 

Two figures sat side by side at a nearby table, engaged in an animated conversation.

The first was a human girl with straight mint-green hair that fell almost to her knees, her bangs obscuring her eyes. Her look was bold and unconventional: black lipstick smeared across her lips, and her nails painted the same deep black. 

A well-built boy sat beside her. He was nearly seven feet tall, his head shining with a mop of golden hair. Two fluffy lion ears, golden and expressive, poked from the top of his head, a distinctive feature that marked him as a half-chimera. He was one of the only of his kind.

These were Owen’s two best friends, Ferula Crowe and Wesley Wilds. I couldn’t believe I was really seeing them!

The seat beside the two was pointedly empty. 

Wesley had to practically hunch over just to be level with Ferula as he whispered something to her. Their gazes both fell to the door, clearly looking for Owen. And they weren’t the only ones. 

Lucian’s expression twisted into a scowl, head whipping around. “Is he not coming?”

I, of course, knew exactly where he was. At this point in the books, Owen had been delayed by some of the Great Darkness’ followers who had attacked him on his way to school.

“Wait fifteen minutes.” I adjusted my glasses. “He’ll be here.”

“And you know that because of your exceptional skills as a Psychomancer?” Lucian asked.

I shrugged. “Sure.”

The music from the floating instruments suddenly halted, their silenced notes hanging in the air like a suspended breath. A hush swept through the Great Hall, the murmurs of conversation fading into an expectant silence. 

The ground beneath us rumbled. A large platform rose up from the floor, shaped like the elegant curve of two dragon’s wings folded together. On it stood the staff of Draconia Academy.

An elf stepped forward, his presence effortlessly commanding the attention of everyone in the room. He was draped in glistening robes of white and blue silk that seemed to ripple like liquid light, the train of the robes dragging behind him. His light blue hair cascaded past his waist, and crystals dangled from his pointed ears, catching the light to reflect little rainbows on the wall wherever he faced. 

This was none other than Morgan Banecliff, mentor to Owen Thorn, and the youngest headmaster the school had ever had. 

Banecliff stepped forward, his arms sweeping out as he stared down at us. 

And then he said it. 

The words I’d dreamed of hearing my entire life.

“Welcome to Draconia Academy!”