The air inside Mistalin’s Academy felt different from the outside world charged, ancient, and expectant. As Fenric and I passed through the great black-iron gates, the pulse of silver light that had responded to our scrolls faded behind us. The heavy doors shut with a low groan, sealing off the world we knew.

Before us lay towering stone halls veined with glowing runes, banners bearing the crests of each noble family, and staircases that shifted just slightly when you weren’t looking at them. The academy was alive not just with magic, but with generations of ambition, rivalry, and bloodlines.

A tall figure in elegant robes awaited at the center of the courtyard, her presence commanding without a single word spoken. She was Headmaster Valeria Moonstone.

Her voice was calm and precise. “Welcome to Mistalin’s Academy. You are here not only because of your talents, but because this kingdom has deemed you worthy of something greater. Do not mistake that for safety.”

Students murmured among themselves. Fenric nudged me, eyes wide. “I like her already.”

We were guided into the Great Hall a circular, domed structure with floating crystal lights that glowed with shifting colors. Rows of wooden benches fanned out beneath a ring of grand tapestries, each depicting a founding city: the silver towers of Moonstone, the floating gardens of Carmine, the obsidian forges of Blackwater, and others I hadn’t even heard of. Each banner bore the sigil of its ruling family: Moonstone, Carmichael, Blackwood, Darrow, Easton, Jaynes, Falconer, Greyson, Harrow, Ivers, and Arentus.

“Are we supposed to memorize all of these?” Fenric whispered.

A voice behind us said, “You’ll want to. It’s how you avoid offending someone who could buy your whole village.”

I turned around and saw her, and thats how i met Kael. She was lean, her silver-black hair pulled into a braid that framed striking green eyes. She wore a sleeveless violet-accented uniform that marked her as a Carmichael. There was a relaxed grace in her movements, and a smile that felt more curious than proud.

“Sorry,” she added, noticing our expressions. “That came out more dramatic than I meant. I’m Kael Carmichael.”

“Zildra,” I said.

“Fenric,” he added, nodding.

Kael’s eyes flicked over our clothing. “First years from a small town?”

“Something like that,” I answered.

She raised her hands playfully. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to mock anyone. I actually like commoners. Some of my best friends back home in Carmine weren’t nobles. If anything, they had more heart.”

Fenric arched a brow. “Didn’t expect that from a Carmichael.”

“Most don’t. But I’d steer clear of the Blackwaters if you want to avoid unnecessary lectures on ‘lineage.’ They practically bleed arrogance.”

I smirked. “Thanks for the warning. are you a first year as well?”

"Yes, but im a bit of an Alumini, my sister used to go here"

"Ah i see" i answered

Kael gave a friendly grin. “If you dont mind here is a bit of an advice. Just act like you belong. whatever the case may be, atleast thats what my sister told me”

That was the end of it. No drama. Just a kind, unexpected conversation. Somehow, it stayed with me longer than I expected.

The Headmaster continued. “You will be assigned to one of five tracks: Sorcery, Martial Combat, Divine Studies, Strategic Arts, or Alchemy. Some of you will straddle more than one. A few of you might change completely. But by week’s end, you will submit your path.”

We were then led to dorms. I ended up in a shared room stone walls, two beds, and a floating orb of light that dimmed when you touched it. Fenric and I were roommates, unsurprisingly.

“Bet mine’s bigger than yours,” he said, throwing his bag on the bed.

“Not even unpacked and already lying,” I muttered, trying not to smile.

The next morning arrived faster than I expected. After a rushed breakfast in the mess hall, we followed signs to our first set of classes. Mine was labeled: History of the Realms.

The classroom was round and tiered, built like a miniature amphitheater. A robed man stood at the center, tall and slender with a trimmed beard and a staff made of blackwood capped with a crystal that shimmered with pale blue light.

“I am Professor Marrick,” he said as we all settled in. “Keeper of histories and ward of remembrance. Today, you begin to understand the soil you stand on.”

His voice held weight, as if every word had roots.

“Mistalin, the founder of this land, rose not by birthright but by merit. A warrior, a leader, and eventually, a king. His closest ally, Nylox, was a master of the arcane. Together, they gathered relics and knowledge to unite the fractured kingdoms.”

A few students leaned forward.

“But power tests all bonds. And Nylox broke first. He turned from unity to control, from peace to conquest. It is said he sought to bind death itself.”

“Mistalin was forced to do what no friend should. He struck Nylox down, ending their brotherhood and sparking an age of sorrow. The Marks gifts and curses alike appeared thereafter, linked forever to that conflict.”

Professor Marrick paused, looking out over the students as if weighing how much to share.

As the class continued, Professor Marrick spoke of the continent’s fractured past how the Great Houses once waged war for control of the arcane wells, and how cities like Blackwater and Falcon’s Crest rose through steel while Carmine and Easthaven clashed through politics and magic. He described the Treaty of Twelve, a fragile accord that bound the royal families together under the Moonstone banner, and how Mistalin’s Academy was born from that same treaty.

The Academy, he explained, had been founded with one unshakable principle: neutrality. It served as both a crucible and a refuge where the blood of rival houses might mix without spilling, and where ambition could be tested without the burden of banners. It had its own laws, its own guardians, and while every noble house had a seat on the governing council, none could command the institution outright.

He traced a line across the chalkboard, connecting city names to key events. “Here,” he said, “knowledge prevailed where swords could not. This is the role Mistalin’s Academy has played for generations. Not a fortress of power, but a gatekeeper of balance.”

The bell rang, and class was dismissed.

As we stepped into the sunlit courtyard again, the lesson clung to me like smoke.

Would i be able to do what Mistalin did?