SCENE 9 – “Old Soul”

[EXT. ELVEN ACADEMY – MORNING]

The peaceful school is tucked within a forest grove, where enormous glowing trees arch over the courtyard like guardians. The building is made of natural elements—vines, crystals, polished wood, and flowers that bloom with the passing sun.

Lyria steps through the vine-laced gates, still a little quiet from her morning with her father. Her white hair glistens in the sun like silk.

Kids are already gathering. A group of elven children notice her.

Random Elf Kid (grinning wide):

“Whoa! Long time no see, Lyria!”

She blinks at him with a blank face.

Lyria (squinting, tilting her head):

“Uhh... who are you again?”

Kid (dramatic flop to the ground):

“You don’t remember me?! My heart... shattered like a mana crystal—OOH HOO HOO 😭!”

Laughter ripples through the group, but all in good fun. Lyria gives a teeny shrug and a mischievous smile.

[CUT TO: HER FATHER ENTERING THE COURTYARD]

He claps his hands once, gently but firmly, and all the kids turn.

Father (calmly commanding):

“Alright, young sparks—today, we begin our first practical in aura control. We’ll be practicing outside. Follow me.”

[EXT. TRAINING FIELD – LATER]

A wide open glade lined with glowing training posts. Magical rings float mid-air, and light orbs hover like drones. Kids line up, excited and nervous.

One by one, the students step up to a glowing circle etched on the ground, focusing their mana.

Some manage to form weak, flickering aura balls — tiny orbs of color hovering like candlelight.

Others... fizzle out completely.

Then…

Father (gently):

“Lyria. Your turn.”

She nods, steps into the circle.

The air changes.

Her eyes glow softly—green and blue—and she lifts her hand. The wind seems to hush.

With no chanting, no effort — just a breath — she forms a MASSIVE glowing aura sphere, larger than her own body, hovering effortlessly above her palm. It radiates a mix of green, blue, and golden light, pulsing like a heartbeat. Sparkles trail from it like comet dust.

Everyone. Is. Stunned.

A few students drop their jaws. One literally falls backward into a bush.

Elf Girl (whispering):

“No way... did she just...”

Other Kid:

“That took me a month to even flicker...!”

Even another teacher, standing at the edge of the field — an older elf woman with silver eyebrows and scrolls tucked under one arm — walks over, stunned.

Teacher (in awe):

“This is... impressive. I’ve been studying aura shaping for decades, and even I can’t hold something that dense without a stabilizing spell.”

Lyria looks at the orb like it’s a balloon she made on accident. Just curious, not proud. She blinks and pops it with a finger — it disperses into a mist of shimmering light.

The teacher turns to her father.

Teacher (amazed):

“Three days? She’s only been training for THREE days and she’s doing this?!”

(beat)

“Your daughter is... not just gifted. She’s something else entirely.”

Lyria’s father remains silent. His expression is calm, but his eyes betray something — fear? Worry? Regret?

Teacher (frowning):

“You don’t seem surprised... or even grateful.”

Father (quietly):

“...She’s not ordinary. That’s why I worry.”

Teacher (coldly, turning away):

“Tch. Fine. Be as stoic as you like. But you should count your stars, old friend. You’re raising an old soul... whether you like it or not.”

She walks away, muttering about potential and talent, while the other students run up to Lyria, amazed and buzzing with questions.

Kid from before (half crying again):

“You remember magic, but not me?! This is a betrayal!!”

(sniff sniff)

“But also... THAT WAS SO COOL!!”

Lyria giggles softly, cheeks pink.