Your breath catches. At first glance, they look like ordinary people -though all wearing the same clothes except for one- but the details are all wrong. One man’s wings shimmer faintly, feathers shifting as if alive. A boy with dark furred ears keeps glancing around, his sharp eyes catching the light. Another figure, taller and with a set of twisting horns, strides confidently at the back.
But it’s the man leading them that draws your attention.
He’s tall, exuding a presence that demands respect without effort. His white coat flows behind him like a cape, the hem brushing the polished stone floor. His piercing blue eyes fix on you with an intensity that makes your stomach twist. He doesn’t look angry, exactly, more like he’s trying to solve a particularly vexing problem, and unfortunately, you’re the problem.
“You there,” he says, his voice smooth but sharp enough to cut through the tension. “What are you doing here? And how did you get in?”
You open your mouth, but nothing coherent comes out. What are you doing here? You were in a library, you think, but that already feels like a half-forgotten dream.
The man narrows his eyes. “Well? Speak up.”
You stammer something, an apology, maybe? A declaration that you have no idea what’s happening? His frown deepens, and he glances at the group behind him.
“Odd,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “You’re not supposed to be here. Students arrive by carriage, not… whatever this was.” He gestures vaguely, as if indicating the entire situation.
Students? Your confusion must show on your face because the man’s expression shifts slightly. Not softer, exactly, but less impatient.
“You are a new student, aren’t you? You’re wearing the ceremonial robes.”
Ceremonial robes? That’s impossible. You look down at yourself and freeze. Gone are your familiar clothes. Instead, you’re wrapped in a flowing white robe, intricate gold embroidery glinting faintly in the low light. The fabric feels impossibly soft, like woven light, and yet it’s undeniably real. It’s the same strange clothes the others persons are wearing.
Your head snaps back up. You want to protest, but the words falter. What can you even say?
The man sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Of course. Something unusual had to happen today. Why not? Just… get up. Let the others pass. We’ll sort this out in a moment.”
You scramble to your feet, heat rising to your face as the procession walks past, their eyes flicking toward you with varying degrees of curiosity and wariness. They gather around a massive, perfectly round pool in the center of the room. The water’s surface is so still it looks like glass, reflecting the faint light above.
The man gestures for you to follow and walks toward the group without waiting. You trail behind, trying to ignore the way your strange robes whisper with every step.
When he reaches the pool, he turns to face you. His gaze is assessing now, as if he’s trying to piece together a puzzle.
“My name is Solon Arclight. I am the headmage of Fablewood Academy. And you,” he says, “are about to participate in the Resonance Ceremony.”
Fablewood Academy? Resonance Ceremony? The words mean nothing to you. Solon seems to notice your blank expression, and for the first time, he looks genuinely perplexed.
“You don’t know what that is?”
You shake your head.
He blinks, then frowns. “Everyone in Scriptoria knows what the Resonance Ceremony is.”
Scriptoria? That word hits like a jolt, unfamiliar yet heavy with significance. It spirals through your mind as Solon continues speaking, though his words are drowned out by your racing thoughts.
What in the world is Scriptoria?
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